Seven years ago, in the middle of the most amazing two weeks of my life, I found myself in Kaysersberg, France. This middle part of our honeymoon was where we rented a car in from the French side of the Basil airport (after sleeping in the Swiss part of the city), and just drove. We put in some random village about two hours away into the GPS and ended up literally as far into the center of town as our car would go. We stopped only when the alley was so narrow our little European car couldn’t fit anymore.
We got out and I had the best meal of my life. Was it the actual food – a (what I now know to be tourist-y version) of a tarte flambe with roasted onions and creamy goat cheese? Or maybe my surroundings as we sat at a table outside with perfect views of the village’s beautiful architecture and people watching at its finest? Of course, my company was amazing as I was so happy in love with the guy looking back at me. Whatever it was, it was the best.
After lunch, Randy and I wandered around town, soon following some stairs overgrown with greenery to see what was on top of the hill. When we got there, we found an old turret. Ironically, given what I’m about to tell you, I was too scared to go inside… It was dilapidated and dark and well, not my style. So as Randy explored, I turned around and looked at the view.
Immediately, I was hit with two thoughts:
1. I am going to come back here someday and write a book.
2. If something ever happens to Randy, this is where I’m starting a new life. (What can I say, if you’ve read enough of these posts, you know all my happiest moments are twinged with “this is going to end tragically at any moment…”)
Now, seven years later, I need to add a new thought.
3. Kaysersburg, my favorite place on earth that’s no bigger than a couple of football fields, is where my idol, Anthony Bourdain choose to die.
If you follow us on Instagram, you know that I’ve been weirdly shaken up by the news of Bourdain’s demise. As I’ve spent way too much time thinking about him this weekend, I came to the realization of why I was so in love with the dude – he was curious. Sure, his curiosity was led by his nose and taste buds, but he allowed those senses to take him to some of the most dangerous and interesting places on earth. He met interesting people. He learned how they lived. He appreciated their version of history. He would have climbed the stairs of the damn turret.
All of this to say, be curious, people. Ask the cashier about her unique jewelry. Let the waiter recommend your meal. Try a vacation in a new place. Read a book that doesn’t sound like your normal pick. Talk to a person with whom you think you disagree. Climb the turret and take in the view. Teach your kids to do the same. We need more curious people in the world.