As most people concerned about the cultural decline of Western civilization continue to moan in despair* , I would like to take a moment to abandon my own complaining and look at one group, at least, that seems to be bucking the trend. But before I get to the point, I need to digress again which, I suspect, is why many of you are reading this in the first place.
It used to be, there were places where you could meet the right people, even if you were far from home.
When railroads and a general lack of Europeans from different nations slaughtering each other on sight made travel a lot more pleasant, certain places came to be generally accepted as the ones one went to to meet acquaintances. Perhaps for the Anglophones among us, the archetypal example is the Pump Room at Bath (below). Anyone familiar with English novels of manners from the pre-Victorian period will have run into this (even casual readers are likely to have encountered it in Austen).
Essentially, it got everyone who was anyone together in one place, without having to go to the trouble and expense of getting invited to the Royal Gala or whatever.
There are other places (notably certain hotels where one would meet for lunch), which took the anglophone through the Victorians and into the 20th century, but by then, the world had once again become a much smaller place, and culturally relevant people – even insular Englishmen – were no longer meeting exclusively in their own cities, or with people from their own countries.
By now, they were meeting in Paris. More precisely, they were meeting in the Paris Cafés. 1871 is usually pointed to as the beginning of the Belle Époque. From then until the first world war, Paris was the place to be seen at, and to meet your acquaintances, French, Dutch, Austrian or British. There is a myth, an image flying around that this era was overrun with impecunious artists. It is relatively true, but only tells a small part of the story.
Small, but what a story. It must have been amazing to witness the birth of a new and major current in art every few weeks, driven not by the established masters but by a previously unknown artist from the countryside, or from Spain or somewhere equally unexpected. The heady times among the currents and countercurrents in the avant-garde were balanced by almost equally exciting events in what was then considered high culture, from the World’s Fair, to Stravinksy. Even the now reviled Paris Salon gave us iconic images. Not all the great works were famously rejected, you know.
But WWI brought it to a screeching halt. Europe was not really in the mood for it all, and any mingling of nationalities would be best done on neutral ground, so the circus moved to Broadway.
Eventually, the in-crowds moved to Hollywood, and then spent some time in Monte Carlo (always at least peripherally on this list), but it also lost some of its melting-pot feel. The problem is that, as the world became smaller and smaller, the enclaves started catering to the super rich… and no one else. I’m certain you’ll run into the right people if you snag paddock passes for the Monaco GP, but there aren’t many of them, and you might have to sell a yacht to afford them. Any Dubai pool party classifies in the same category, too.
The day you sell a yacht is supposed to be the second best day of ownership after the day you buy it, but what about those who either prefer to keep their yachts or simply aren’t in that financial class? What about the slightly less well-to-do global citizen, who wants to be surrounded by like-minded people, but has accidentally travelled thousands of miles from their usual base of operations?
The answer to that, after decades of traveling in a variety of budget levels is surprisingly heartwarming, and I first got an inkling of it when I bought a pass that saved me money on a variety of New York attractions. The way it was set up was the clue: each ticket let you enter one of two attractions. One of the options was something typically touristy, while the other option was generally a museum. Strangely, the typical things you see on TV were usually mirrored by things that I really wanted to do.
I probably missed out on a lot of people very different from myself by choosing the museums. But I did enjoy them. And most of the people I generally have things in common with have spent a disproportionate amount of their time in major cities at the Met, MoMA, the Louvre, the Uffizi, the Prado or the National gallery, and considerably less at the photogenic large buildings / famous actor’s former homes / scenic countryside than others who visited the same places. Art museums seem to be the one place where you’re likely to run into the polymath and global citizen today. Even the ones who prefer hiking and hitchhiking aren’t going to miss the city’s big museum(s). The fact that the great cultural artifacts of humanity also attract much smaller crowds than Graceland is only a secondary consideration to the kind of people this blog is aimed at.
Most of them can tell me which wall this…
is hanging on.
Which, when you stop to think about it, is kind of nice.
*and yes, I know, we urgently need a nice knock-down, drag-out fight about the relative merits of high culture as opposed to popular culture on this blog – the very nature of this space cries out for that particular battle.