Issue #2
May 15, 2023

Dear friends,

On a recent one-month trip to Europe, I got sick in two countries in three different ways.

The stomach bug hit on the plane to Paris. I promptly went to bed for two days, spending my first 48 hours in the City of Light on a friend’s guest bed in Le Kremlin-Bicêtre.

No sooner had I recovered my ability to eat than I was hit with an eye infection. I wanted to deal with the problem before I flew to Hungary, where I don’t speak the language. But it was a long weekend, and French strikes loomed. In my quest for medication and some reassurance that my condition was pas sérieux, I headed to the nearest emergency room.

The receptionist there turned me away, and sent me off to the one hospital (just one?) in the city that handles urgent ophthalmic problems. I got to L’Hôpital des Quinze-Vingts quickly enough on the Metro … then spent seven hours in its emergency waiting room.

As it happens, the Quinze-Vingts is an historic institution, built within the barracks of the elite King’s Musketeers — yes, those musketeers, who inspired the characters in Alexandre Dumas’ The Three Musketeers. However, only the entryway and chapel from the old structure remain, as the rest was torn down and replaced starting in the 1950s. The room where I took a number, then another number, was mid-century institutional, but more in a drab communist way than a sexy Mad Men way.

This waiting room was located just a four-minute walk from the Place de la Bastille, less than a kilometer from the Place des Vosges, and generally in close proximity to many places I would have rather been — including, as became more salient over the course of the day, about 500 restaurants, none accessible without risking my place on the ER’s waiting list.

I poked my head into the chapel, which had stained glass windows and crystal chandeliers, and sort of felt like I was sightseeing.

My big excitement of the afternoon was discovering that the waiting-room vending machine took credit cards. I staved off hunger with a bag of potato chips and an Orangina.

I finally got out of there with a prescription for some eye goop and instructions about hot compresses. I was now free! And ambulatory! And in Paris! I saw old friends and went for long walks, and Joe cooked lamb for Easter.

But just a few days later, I had a dire realization over a group dinner. It was like the moment in a zombie movie when the protagonists realize they can’t escape the undead. I was surrounded by people with colds. Perhaps all the colds that they, like me, hadn’t caught during the pandemic. I would not escape the microbes.

While Paris was meant to be leisure time, I flew to Budapest to research my next novel. I checked into a darling and very central AirBnB, planning to hit the ground running. (I was in denial.) Two days later, the sore throat and congestion hit. I canceled plans and dragged myself to the nearest pharmacy, where I could read none of the product labels.

One package had images of both a cannabis leaf and a hot pepper. I don’t regret leaving it on the shelf.

Thanks to an unfailingly helpful series of pharmacists, I acquired an arsenal of medications ranging from familiar brand-names to a liquid that turned out to be an extract of Icelandic lichen. (Zero stars. Not recommended.)

I stayed in, slept, and drank gallons of herbal tea. The heavy rain seemed fitting. Another 36 hours went by before I re-emerged into a sunny city with my zeal for exploration renewed.

I see one lesson and one silver lining in all this annoyance and discomfort.

The lesson: Travel slowly (when possible) to accommodate unforeseen events. My timetable allowed me to shut down for a few days – more than once – without falling into a FOMO panic on top of being sick. (There are many other good reasons to travel slowly. Take it from Sebastian Modak.)

The silver lining: When I’m in a new place, I actually like being forced to engage with practicalities that might pass by without friction at home. Like finding a pharmacy, or learning some new words. (Paupière, it turns out, is French for eyelid.)

It’s strange to be sick on the road, when you’re dealing with the cognitive load of new surroundings. It can be lonely, or unusually memorable. Our Paris host had a near-complete collection of Gérard de Villiers spy novels on his guest-room shelves, and their distinctive black spines are seared into my memory, so long did I stare at them. That’s not what I read, though. My sickbed reading time went to Rebecca Makkai’s I Have Some Questions for You, about murder and memory, which was wonderfully distracting and entertaining.

Budapest! Finally! Buda rooftops, the Danube, and the Pest waterfront from Caste Hill. 

Five Faves: Literary Novels About Romantic Relationships That are Not by Sally Rooney

Recently, a friend told me that he didn’t care for Sally Rooney – that he put down the Irish novelist’s global juggernaut of a bestseller, Normal People, mid-read. I know! Come to think of it, my mom didn’t like it either – too many navel-gazing millennials for her taste.

Personally, I found all three of Rooney’s novels, which dissect the romantic lives of young, mostly heterosexual Dubliners, to be compulsive reading, never mind a few quibbles. (Are the scenes where her characters discuss politics supposed to be satirical? I could never tell.) But it did get me thinking: What are some other recent novels that minutely analyze romance – and are terrific? Here are a few favorites.

Little Rabbit by Alyssa Songsiridej. This beautifully written debut novel explores a relationship between a writer and a choreographer who are locked in an ever-shifting romantic power imbalance. Each main character is both artist and muse, inspiring and influencing the other’s work. (2022, Bloomsbury)

Asymmetry by Lisa Halliday. This unusually structured novel features two seemingly disconnected stories. One is about a May-December romance. The other is about a man confronting a different kind of asymmetry as he is held by immigration authorities at Heathrow. Somehow, it works. (2018, Simon & Schuster)

Fleishman is in Trouble by Taffy Brodesser-Akner. This is a grand social satire about a certain class of New Yorkers, as well as a heartfelt book about friendship and middle age. (Plus copious sexting.) But at its core it’s about a married couple who have become unglued in ways that appear to be irreversible. (2019, Random House)

Vladimir by Julia May Jonas. A juicy novel of contemporary campus politics and extramarital affairs, with a wonderfully “unlikable” female character in the lead. (2022, Simon & Schuster)

Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff. An entire marriage – first from Lotto’s point of view, then from that of his wife, Mathilde, from which it looks very different. The words and sentences are gorgeous. The themes run to marital secrecy and female sacrifice. And since this is Lauren Groff, we detour through Florida, busting us out of the Northeast Corridor settings that dominate the rest of this list. (2015, Riverhead)

Let’s Talk

Do you have a question about writing or travel? Ask me at eavesdrop@elisabetheaves.com.

Happy trails,
Elisabeth