The Princess and the Flee.
Tutti nudi, mistaken identities, and the royal wave.
Once, when I was in Utrecht, I was mistaken for a princess.
Maybe it wasn’t a mistake, maybe it was just a misunderstanding between three people who spoke English, Dutch, and Swiss-German. Or maybe I am a princess! I love British humor. My pinky naturally pops out when I drink tea. And I’ve always fantasized about being Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, and not just the escaping to Rome part.
We were walking to St. Martin’s, one of Utrecht’s Gothic cathedrals when I noticed a woman and her daughter across the street. We stopped to look at a building and they stopped too, only they were looking at us. The little girl had a giant bow in her hair and they both looked shocked. I immediately wiped my face, assuming the stroopwafel I’d eaten had left its syrupy mark, but my hand was clean. René, my Swiss boyfriend, was facing the building, but I was facing them. The mom leaned down, the girl whispered in her ear, and they giggled. They also pointed. I nudged René. “Do you think they need directions?” I said, motioning to the pair. “Oh!” he said, springing to life. He did that whenever anyone needed anything. “Let me see!”
He crossed the street and talked with them. The girl moved behind her mom but still peeked at me. René listened, nodded, and then laughed, pantomiming something over his head. He ran back to me, beaming. “Are they lost?” I said, fiddling with my travel bag. “Am I wearing something scandalous?” “No, nothing like that,” he said, practically hopping up and down. “They think you’re a princess!”
I looked down at my worn t-shirt and quick-dry capris. Even paired with Jackie-O sunglasses and a floral scarf, it still wasn’t the outfit of a Royal Anything. But I turned to them anyway, raised my right arm, bent it at the elbow, and moved my hand back and forth from the wrist like I was scooping air. I gave them the royal wave.
“Princessa!” the little girl cried, waving back at me.
“Princessa!” her mom said.
“Your subjects are happy,” René said, winking at me. We linked arms and continued down the street.
He called me Princessa all day, and honestly, it tracked. It was the summer of 2007, and I’d been running around Paris, the Netherlands, Switzerland, and Italy, which made me feel like a princess. For the first time, I took an entire month off of work. It was a gift to myself for finishing the first draft of my novel. I’d also traveled extensively for work and had AAdvantage miles burning a hole in my pocket. I planned to write but didn’t even bring my laptop, just a stack of journals and a spirit ready for adventure. There were no timelines, only trains to catch. And since the trip was loosely planned, days stretched out in front of me, sometimes at a leisurely pace. I did Paris solo, flew to Amsterdam, did a family trip to Zeeland, and returned to Amsterdam to meet up with René. We bopped around Holland for a few days before catching the night train to Zurich and his hometown. After spending a hiking weekend at a cabin in the Alps, we made an epic road trip through Southern Switzerland and Northern Italy.
My boyfriend’s car, a little red number, had many miles on it, but it was perfect for zipping through mountains, tunnels, and into the most magical places I’d ever seen. The light and landscape made everything feel like a fairytale. Soglio! Como! Venice and the Biennale! La Spezia and Cinque Terre! There was a lot of driving, so much of it was a blur, but I remember the way the light danced off buildings in Soglio; looking (jokingly) for George Clooney in Como; the roadside espresso in Italy that’s still the best I’ve ever had; everything about Venice; Sophie Calle at the Biennale; the weeping statues in a chapel in Verona; tiny Fiats in La Spezia; and hiking between towns in Cinque Terre, grateful for the lack of people and incredible views, including sliding down a steep path on our butts to get to a nude beach and swim in the sea. It was the trip of a lifetime and all of it, born from kismet and curiosity, loose planning and play, was one of the best months of my life.
Lately, I’ve been a princess at home, waving my way through February. After the frenzy of a new year, I needed a bit of wintering. Duolingo pestering me to keep up my streak? Wave, wave. External hard drive crash? Ooof, but wave. Nothing too enthusiastic, but nothing too dire, either. When my browser stopped streaming, I waved and took a media break. With the royal wave, I showed up whenever necessary – hello! hello! – and then went back to the depths of my delight. More books, less online; more early and late writing and editing, less formality; more walks in the rain, drawing for fun, meditating for longer stretches, swimming, and playing music. I waved goodbye, politely, to the massive amounts of information around me. And just like when I went to Europe, I got a new view – and things fell into place.
Suddenly, I remembered a time before the pandemic and even before Petey Sellers. I could almost feel the woman who stood at the edge of Lake Como, gelato in hand, looking around for Clooney with my Swiss boyfriend. “Tutti Nudi! I said, laughing, quoting a game show we saw on the T.V. in our tiny hotel room. ”Tutti Nudi!” he replied, smiling. It means “all nude” in Italian, but it became our catchphrase for anything fun. The language barrier between us was often great, but so was our love of traveling together and being silly. A perfect combination for seeing the world.
Petey Sellers was an incredible travel partner, too. He was an adventure dog in town, but we went to the beach more times than I can count, him in the backseat of various cars, eyes on the road, searching for the sea. When we got close he got excited, as if he could sense the ions, too. I’m sure he could. Petey was a dog, but he was also a prince. If he could have raised his paw and waved, he would have. And you know it would have been a royal wave, too.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ve forgotten how to travel, the art of leaving for long periods and wandering, but I think I’m just rusty. For a while, I didn’t want to leave the place I shared with Petey, the home we built together. He was there, so I wanted to be there, too. But like Princess Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, I’ve always loved to run away to new places. And this year, I will. Maybe travel moves in cycles, the right kind finding you exactly when you need it. Or maybe sometimes you change the view in small ways – new cafe! language class! Gorge hike! – and encourage a small shift to become a bigger one.
There are many ways to be a princess/prince/princet, and you can do it anywhere, but now I associate it with travel. Wave from the train. Wave from the cliffs! Wave to a break and the new stories that emerge with unfamiliar surroundings, languages, and views. Wave to the house that became a writer’s cottage, helped me build a family with Petey, gave me the stability to write books, and find a home within myself. There, I’m a princess all the time.
“Let’s go, Mom!” Petey says. “I’ll go with you!” I can already see myself, backpack on my back, talisman in my pocket, waving to my house as the Lyft pulls away. The Princessa, inside and out, excited for a new adventure, but already grateful to come home, too.
As always, thanks for reading, sharing, and becoming a paid subscriber. Are you traveling this year? What are you planning? Where are you going? Share your wanderlust in the comments! xoxo