Travels With Gloria

Finding beauty mile by mile.

Tag: commercial art

Fridays on Etsy: Reading Rainbow

I have a fascination with old travel guides. I’m fiercely jealous of this guy, who recently published a book about traveling through Europe with a 1963 edition of Europe On Five Dollars A Day. Envy aside, though, old travel guides are often beautifully designed and filled with hilarious moments wherein someone laments how hard it is to find American cigarettes in France. Seriously, international guidebooks of the sixties are OBSESSED with how to get your home brand of cigarettes abroad or carry them into the country yourself despite customs laws. I’m pretty sure the Duty Free phenomenon can be traced to some dude who just wants his damn Lucky Strikes.

I’m not entirely sure that this book is about lesbianism. It being the fifties, I’m leaning toward the idea that probably it’s just a book about riding a bike through the Netherlands. Which is something I’ve always wanted to do. Regardless of whether I’m a dyke on a bike or not. Ahem. Anyway, you can find out whether there are any sapphic allusions for a mere 8 quid and whatever they’re charging for international shipping these days.

Four Days In Paris. Via Etsy seller RetailDreamer.

Who doesn’t want to spend four days in Paris? I’ve never been (saving it for some future time when I am in love), but this vintage pamphlet and map make me want to change my mind. I mean, it’s only six hours from JFK to Charles De Gaulle.¬† And I could do the whole thing in barely a long weekend! I’ve never been to the Louvre. Or Versailles. Or the Champs Elysees. How could I possibly have put it off for this long? For $9.99, you, too, could re-evaluate why you’ve been waiting to visit Paris. Or perhaps you could recherche temps perdus, if you’re into Proust and have been to Paris already.

1903 Baedecker guide to Southern Italy. Via Etsy seller MoreLooseEnds

Maybe you’re not into Paris. Maybe you’ve always wanted to visit Sicily, Capri, Pompeii, or Naples. And maybe you want to do it before the war. Both wars. Maybe what you want is not so much a vacation, but a Grand Tour. In that case, this 1903 Baedecker guide to Southern Italy is exactly what you’re looking for. For only $30, you could take a mental journey through all the places we bombed in World War II, all the ancestral villages of all the Italian-American immigrants, and all the most chic places to spend the winter if you’re Coco Chanel or James Joyce.

So, I guess that’s another Friday with Etsy. But you don’t have to take my word for it…

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The past is a Yakov Smirnov joke.

1961 USSR postage stamp celebrating Yuri Gagarin's space flight. via Flickr.

I have a fascination with Soviet Russia, especially the aesthetics of the USSR from the 60’s through the fall of the Iron Curtain. Call it ostalgia if you want. I’ve always wanted to visit Russia, even nowadays when obviously most reminders of the Soviet days are long gone.

I think it comes from the mystique of the Soviet Union as “other” when I was little. I remember taking a theater workshop when I was like seven years old (yes I was always a dork) where we were given the improv prompt “what if a Russian kid moved to your town?”

The teacher was really mad when I said I would ask him what it was like in Russia and try to become his friend.

Via Coolhunting.

Of course, now ostalgia is trendy. A museum of Soviet arcade games recently opened in Moscow.

There are also two recent books on design behind the Iron Curtain. Iron Curtain Graphics is a book of Romanian communist poster and propaganda design, while Made In Russia: Unsung Icons of Soviet Design is an exploration Russian product design.

A Krugozor cover from 1964. Via krugozor-kolobok.ru

My favorite Soviet product, though is Krugozor, a music magazine published from 1964 through 1991. It came with a flexible record, though I’m having trouble finding out exactly what was on the records. A 99% Invisible podcast episode dedicated to Krugozor claims that the records included sound effects and music, and that somehow the editors were allowed to include rock music. Which sounds weird to me because rock was apparently censored or at least stifled in the Soviet Union at the time. Then again, I’m not up on my Soviet policies on Rock n Roll through the ages — maybe it was only later issues of Krugozor that included that sort of thing, during Perestroika.

It’s really difficult to find out exactly what Krugozor was or what it included, because virtually everything I can find written about it is in Russian. This definitely adds to my fascination with it. If I could read Russian, I would probably discover that Krugozor was the Soviet equivalent of Readers’ Digest, and it would cease to be interesting.

Another Krugozor cover, this time from 1971. Same source.

Sidenote/pointless quasi-proustian reminiscence: For years, there was a Taaka Vodka billboard featuring Yakov Smirnov on Veterans’ Memorial Boulevard (AKA “Vets”, to the extent that I just had to look up the actual name of the street) in New Orleans on the way to the airport. My mother’s parents spent most of the 80’s living in Cameroon, so Driving To The Airport was always a momentous occasion. I will always ever so vaguely associate world travel, the Cold War, AIDS, terrorism, apartheid, Ronald Reagan, and Duty Free, with Taaka Vodka. For no reason other than that this billboard happened to exist and perfectly symbolize everything my five year old brain didn’t understand about the world. (I still totally don’t understand Duty Free.)

The Fruited Plain

Airship Brand Oranges. All images in this post courtesy of the Smithsonian.

This is a label for a crate of oranges But it doesn’t just say FRESH ORANGES, or BEAUTIFUL ORANGES, or even CALIFORNIA ORANGES.

It says “Airship”.

This was no mere box of citrus fruit, it was a dream of a better life. In the future, the label seems to say, you’ll go wherever you want, and on the way, you can eat an orange. And in the first half of the twentieth century, in Orange County, CA, the future was now.

Airship wasn’t the only brand to use wanderlust-inducing images to sell citrus fruit. Every citrus growing concern, from Sunkist to the Ventura County Citrus Association, had its own mouthwateringly illustrated crate label extolling the promise of California, the new American paradise. Making lemonade or peeling an orange wasn’t just a way to get your daily vitamin C. It was a destination. Buy this fruit and be transported to a warmer and sunnier place, where there’s fruit on the trees year round, and everything is fresh.

All Year Lemons, Fillmore Lemon Association. Dig how, when fruit is depicted, it's usually drawn individually wrapped. Like a present. A citrus present.

 

Sunkist California Dream. Check out the proto-Disneyland in the background!

 

Passport Lemons. It's rare that a lemon makes me want to forget blogging and go play around on Kayak Explore instead.

 

Ramona Memories. Remember that time you took a bite of lemon meringue pie and were instantly transported to a hacienda, where this girl did unmentionable things to you? Yeah, that was great.

 

Then there’s this gem, which has nothing to do with wanderlust but is trippy as all hell. Seriously, this vies with the Sunmaid Raisin maiden for mind blowing illustration in marketing.

No, you have one! OMIGOD IM HAVING A BAD TRIP (studies show citrus fruits are unlikely to be hallucinogenic)

 

By the way, apparently the Smithsonian has blogs. This post was inspired by a six-part series on their new design blog all about the use of design to market citrus fruit to Americans. I mean, that’s what the series was about. There are hopefully going to be all sorts of other neat things on the blog, very soon. There are also blogs about history, archaeology, film, science, dinosaurs, and a million other cool subjects you’re probably interested in. Who knew?

What if we could take vacations in time?

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.

Via visualnews. You can see high-res images of the whole book at archive.org.

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