Travel far enough.
Travel till you’ve outrun the grief; travel till you’ve made peace with it.
George Smiley no longer lived in No. 9. I knew it as soon as I saw the new door. Red. A come-hither hue so incongruent to, well, everything George is known to us to be. His abhorrence for attention. His diffident nature. Perhaps, if the goal was to hide in plain sight, a shouty red door would be the perfect blind for a tubby, clumsy, bespectacled man who would ordinarily merit no more than a passing glance. But…a red door would just be too much, I think.
Siena is a city in Tuscany known for its beautiful medieval architecture and a summer-time horse race that provokes fierce rivalries among the city’s wards.
The first time the boatman urged me to go below the surface, I resolutely plunged downwards and went as deep as I could go. Unfortunately — apparently — this was as deep as I could go:
I think every traveler has that moment in the beginning. A sight or sound or smell triggers a visceral feeling of surreality as you realize: “Oh my God, I’m actually here.”