What if we could take vacations in time?
by Sara Clarke
I’ve been at this desk for the last eight months. I’ve been sitting here twelve or fourteen hours a day — occasional Saturdays, too — in a bullpen office with my three bosses and a gang of sassy upstart production assistants. I’m here after midnight a lot of the time. I have to ask permission to go to the bathroom. This is the reality of a career in TV production.
In two weeks my work here will be done. A few days later, I take my first vacation.
Don’t get me wrong — I’ve done more than my fair share of traveling. But there’s a difference between traveling and going on vacation. Other trips have been ambitious. There were itineraries to tweak, languages to bone up on, cultural rules to learn. This trip is different: I’ll fly to Istanbul, sleep there eight times, and then fly home. I’ll learn some useful Turkish phrases and find out how to behave in a hamam. Otherwise, I’m going to play tourist.
Nowadays we’re so obsessed with authenticity that nobody will admit to being a tourist. We want to be vagabonders, temporary locals experiencing life “off the beaten path”, whatever that means.
In the middle of the last century, folks weren’t worried about all that. They went on vacation. It was what you did. There was no shame in it. They sunbathed on patios, rode horses, caught fish, and cooked said fish for dinner. The war was over. They beat the Nazis, and now what they really wanted was modernist vacation homes with free-standing fireplaces and built-in garages for their motorboats.
I’m excited to visit Istanbul, don’t get me wrong. But a part of me wishes I could take a vacation to the fantasy-land depicted in this book of designs for midcentury plywood summer homes.