Thinking about Holmes and Experiences

As this year’s sojourn to Europe comes to an end, I refer back to my old literary friend Sherlock Holmes. In The Adventure of the Red Circle, Holmes reminds his friend that, “Education never ends, Watson.” With that I am reminded that in each new travel experience we are exposed to new things and increase our knowledge and understanding of the world. Perhaps this is why I (and many others) enjoy travel so much, because it is a high dosage of education. Why else navigate alternative transportation options to spend less than twenty-four hours in Malmö?  Because it is an opportunity to see something new, to experience other things, to learn something.

At the airport in Copenhagen, there is a commemorative display to Danish writer, and national hero, Hans Christian Andersen. The display notes that Anderson made more than thirty trips outside Denmark in his life. This had a profound effect on Andersen and he wrote that travel enriched him and made him happy. In The Fairy Tale of My Life (1855), he concluded, “To travel is to live.”

These nineteenth century literary references tells us of the importance of discovery, experience and knowledge. While phenomena of travel and discovery has substantially changed from the nineteenth century, the basic human need to learn and explore has not. Yet, we would do well to remember that the act of travelling does not require us to go far. It is a state of mind. Any journey, even as short as fifteen minutes, can be a travel experience. It depends on the sojourner’s attitude: Are we willing to see something new? Willing to explore? To learn something?

It is also worth noting that Doyle has Holmes quote Shakespeare near the end of the Red Circle: “Journeys end in lovers meeting.”

The Adventure of the Lost iPhone

I was on my early morning walk, a ritual when I travel to major cities by myself. It was a cold November morning in Philadelphia but my walk was pleasant because I was out before most commuters were in downtown. The previous night I was listening to the Christmas-themed Sherlock Holmes story, “The Blue Carbuncle” as I drifted to sleep. I did not get very far into the story before I drifted off to sleep, but little did I realize that my experiences a few hour later would approximate Sherlock’s adventure of a previous century. In the story, Holmes is presented with a man’s hat and a Christmas goose, using the existing evidence he tried find the owner of the items. While seemingly mundane, the story takes a dramatic turn when a precious jewel is found in the crop of the goose. My story does not have such a fantastic ending.  

About halfway through my walk, I crossed 13th Street at Arch. As I approached the other side of the street, I spied what appeared to be a smart phone laying in the ramp from the street to the sidewalk. Initially, I walked by. I continued almost to 12th Street, thinking about the phone, who lost it, and how they would find it. I stopped in my tracks when I realized that a person or cyclist would crush the phone if it was unobserved.  I turned around to look, there was no one between me and the phone. It was still very early. I took it upon myself to retrieve the phone.

Despite walking nearly a block in downtown Philadelphia, there was no one on my side of the street. Surely, I thought, someone would see the phone before I did. Alas, no one did. As I approached I considered my alternatives: look in the phone book for a spouse or parent, see if there were any identifying marks, check and see if there were an email address? I tried to channel Holmes and deduce how to find the owner. I picked up the phone. It was a nice iPhone with a black case. I noted the Verizon service and saw that they was an email feed from a gmail account on the homepage. Yet, the phone was locked with a passcode. Despite several attempted maneuvers, I determined that using the phone to find the owner would be impossible.

There were no business immediately around, and even if there were it was too early for any to be open. I put the phone in my jacket pocket and experienced a twinge of guilt. Did someone see me and think I was pilfering a smart phone?

Now that I had a lost smart phone in my jacket– what was I to do with it? There was a feature to bypass the code to make an emergency call, but this did not seem like a situation that warranted a 911 call. I decided to continue my walk and consider my options; perhaps there would be a police officer to whom I could give the phone. A few blocks down I met a traffic officer and tried to pass the burden of the cellphone to him. He said he was not a police officer and could not accept the phone. He suggested that I continue my walk and if I came across a police office and give it to him (or her). Not finding a police officer until I reached my hotel near the corner of Market and Juniper Streets, standing outside a Dunkin Donuts was a police officer. He stood, staring at me dispassionately, as I explained by dilemma. He barely made a sound as I relayed my story. When I turned on the phone to demonstrate the phone was locked, a message popped up: “This phone is lost. Please call xxx-xxx-xxxx.” I looked up, the police officer continued to stare at me, even as he casually glanced down at the phone. I looked at the phone, then at him, and said: “Never mind.”

I returned to my hotel room to retrieve my own cellphone. I called the number, a man with a slight accent answered. I said that I had found his cellphone. After some preliminaries, including that I did not live in Philadelphia and the iPhone was his wife’s, we made arrangements to relieve me of the lost phone. He asked my name and the nearest coffee shop, which was the Dunkin Donuts where I encountered the disinterested police officer. He said is wife Anna would meet me there. I asked how soon and he replied, “Shortly.” I told him I would wait outside. After I hung up the phone I debated calling him back and say, “I am wearing a green jacket…or a hat.” I did not.

I waited outside the iconic donut franchise on Juniper Street for about ten minutes, watching people pass by. The policeman who I had spoken to earlier had moved on. As I watched people I tried to discern who might be Anna. I noticed a young woman in a green sweater walked by and made eye contact. She walked into the shop and I can continued to scan the people walking by. After a few minutes, the woman in the green sweater reemerged and asked, “Are you...?”

“Anna?” I replied. She affirmed my question with a nod.

I pulled the iPhone from my jacket pocket and Anna seemed relieved to finally see the phone. Her accent and appearance provided an indication that she was an immigrant from Eastern Europe; however, her accent was slight and were it not from speaking to her husband I might not have detected it. She explained that that she had fallen that morning and her phone had dropped, undetected, out of her pocket. She said with earnestness, “I would like to give you fifty dollars…” I cut her off and replied, “Absolutely not…it was my pleasure.” With little left to be said, we exchanged pleasantries and went our separate ways.

Philadelphia, which in Greek means brotherly love, does not always live up to its moniker. I am sure Holmes would have some profound statement at this point. I do not, except: It is these little vignettes that allow us to connect to people, and give us travel stories to remember.

On the Trail of Sherlock: one last post from my 2013 European sojourn

My 2013 sojourn to Europe had a subtext, at least in my own mind. I have been re-reading several of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s classic Sherlock Holmes stories while on the trip. Meanwhile I have also visited a few places that have some connection to either the author or the great detective. It is odd that despite the fact that these are fictional stories and characters there are a number of places and sites that commemorate Sherlock Holmes.

The Sherlock Holmes Museum - 221B Baker Street, London

In some ways I am embarrassed to admit that I visited 221B Baker Street while in London, call it a guilty pleasure. Of course, this was the iconic address of the sleeping rooms inhabited by Holmes and Watson for many years. Today, the building houses the Sherlock Holmes Museum. Although it is a piece of kitsch, the building itself was a late nineteenth century boarding house complete with 13 steps to the first floor, which is stocked with period pieces to makes it look as if Holmes and Watson once lived there. Sitting by the fire, imagining yourself in consultation with Sherlock is a thrill for many fans who visit the museum. It is very popular and it makes me wonder how many visitors have actually read any of the stories as opposed to seeing one of the Robert Downey, Jr. films that deviates far away from the original story lines.

One aspect of the Holmes stories that provides fascination for many is the references to locations in England, Scotland and throughout the continent. One gets the sense that Conan Doyle’s love of travel and exploration by his descriptions and references. But it is in London, in the dingy days of industrialized pollution, that most of the stories that place. The references to the great fogs, composed of “greasy, heavy brown swirl still drifting past us and condensing in  oily drops upon the window panes” (“The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Places”), gives a sense of late nineteenth century London that was dirty and gritty. Walking the streets of London today, one can still see the effects of the so-called fogs.

Despite this, it is clear that like Holmes, Conan Doyle loved London. The references to the infinite variety and order within London details his admiration. London itself becomes a character in many of the stories, such as The Sign of Four. Note that in “The Red-Headed League” Holmes acknowledges his penchant for knowing every corner of the city. As much as Holmes loves the city, he was distrustful of the countryside. Holmes, referring to the farms and rural residences of the countryside, says to Watson:

You look at these scattered houses, and you are impressed by their beauty. I look at them, and the only thought that comes to mind is a feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with which crimes may be committed there…This always fills me with a certain horror. It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside (“The Adventures of the Cooper Beeches”).

Sherlock Holmes Statue - Picardy Place, Edinburgh

It is in Scotland, specifically Edinburgh, that one can find the origins of Holmes. Conan Doyle was born at 11 Picardy Place in that city and a statue of Holmes, reportedly considering the grave of his creator, figures prominently in the square. At one corner of the roundabout is the Conan Doyle Pub, which honors the author’s literary legacy.

This is just an introduction to the links between Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes and my sojourns. I hope to bring further updates in the future, perhaps with a visit to Reichenbach Falls someday. Nevertheless, it is not far from the truth to say that Holmes, in some part, inspires this blog. In “A Scandal in Bohemia,” Holmes tells Watson, “You see, but you do not observe.” In my travels, I hope to be more Holmes than Watson.