Lights, Camera...Travel! Read online

  ANDREW MCCARTHY

  Andrew McCarthy is a contributing editor at National Geographic Traveler. He’s written for The Atlantic, Travel + Leisure, Men’s Journal, Slate, Afar, The Wall Street Journal, and many other publications. In 2010 he was awarded the Lowell Thomas Award for Travel Journalist of the Year. As an actor, he’s appeared in more than two-dozen films, including Pretty in Pink, Less Than Zero, Weekend at Bernie’s, The Joy Luck Club, and The Spiderwick Chronicles. He has starred on Broadway (Side Man), appeared often on TV (Lipstick Jungle), and directed numerous television shows (Gossip Girl).

  DON GEORGE

  Don George has edited five previous Lonely Planet literary anthologies, including A Moveable Feast, The Kindness of Strangers and Tales from Nowhere. He also wrote the Lonely Planet Guide to Travel Writing. Don has been global travel editor for Lonely Planet, travel editor at the San Francisco Examiner & Chronicle and founder and editor of Salon.com’s Wanderlust. He is currently contributing editor and book review columnist for National Geographic Traveler, special features editor and blogger for Gadling.com and editor of the online literary travel magazine Recce (www.geoex.com/recce). Don appears frequently as a travel expert on television and radio and hosts a national series of on-stage conversations with prominent writers. He is also cofounder and chairman of the annual Book Passage Travel Writers and Photographers Conference.

  LIGHTS, CAMERA…TRAVEL!

  ON-THE-ROAD TALES FROM

  SCREEN STORYTELLERS

  Lights, Camera…Travel!

  On-the-Road Tales from Screen Storytellers

  Published by Lonely Planet Publications

  Head Office:

  90 Maribyrnong Street, Footscray, Vic 3011, Australia

  Locked Bag 1, Footscray, Vic 3011, Australia

  Branches:

  150 Linden Street, Oakland CA 94607, USA

  2nd floor, 186 City Rd, London, EC1V 2NT, UK

  Published 2011

  Copy edited by Victoria Harrison & Patrick Kinsella

  Designed by Seviora Citra

  Cover Design by Mark Adams

  ISBN 9781742208664

  © Lonely Planet and contributors 2011.

  Cover images © Photolibrary & iStockphoto

  LONELY PLANET and the Lonely Planet logo are trade marks of Lonely Planet Publications Pty. Ltd.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be sold or hired without the written permission of the publisher.

  Contents

  Introduction – Andrew McCarthy and Don George

  LA Memories – Alec Baldwin

  Me, Floot and the Flute – Malcolm McDonald

  Dolphin Love: A Brazilian Romance – Dana Delany

  Honeymooning with Sharks – Rick Marin

  Island Love – Dani Klein Modisett

  Through Jordan and Syria – Josh Lucas

  Discovering Armenia, Recovering Myself – Andrea Martin

  Arctic Adventure – Brooke Shields

  Non Mia Piace Siena – Eileen Heisler

  Miami Diary – Rolf de Heer

  In Search of a Dolphin’s Grave – Bill Bennett

  Egyptian Magic – Anthony Sattin

  The Magic Garden of Nek Chand – Paul Cox

  The Wonders of Whitby –Neil LaBute

  A Day in Istanbul – Rick Steves

  A Shaggy Dog Tale – Eilis Kirwan

  Showdown in Real de Catorce – Bob Balaban

  Shooting in Romania: What Doesn’t Kill You … – Paulina Porizkova

  Thai Dyed – Eric Bogosian

  The King and I – Richard E Grant

  Behind the Scenes: Filming Tomb Raider at Angkor Wat – Nick Ray

  Stalking Monks in Thailand – Joe Cummings

  Sunrise in Balibo – Robert Connolly

  The Broome Circuit – Aaron Pedersen

  India: A Family Portrait – Stephanie March

  The Call of Morocco – Sandra Bernhard

  Off the Beaten Path in Guatemala – Bruce Beresford

  Kala – Jim Sharman

  Goods and Chattels – John Seale

  Glides Like a Piano – Anthony Edwards

  Islands in the Storm – Dan Bucatinsky

  Jenifer – Jace Alexander

  Life is a River in India – Brett Paesel

  Introduction

  ANDREW MCCARTHY AND DON GEORGE

  The premise behind this anthology is simple: since the ancient Greeks, actors have been society’s storytellers. And ever since Hollywood first left the backlot, these storytellers have been traveling to far-flung corners of the world to tell those tales.

  By necessity of the job, and often by nature, these ‘Hollywood types’ are a nomadic breed. Actors travel always with an eye and an ear – sometimes unconsciously, often deliberately – looking for characters, details of behavior, or inflections of voice, that can be logged away, stored for a future date, only to be recalled and employed for a role at the appropriate time. Writers move about listening for lines of dialogue that will unlock character, and directors bask in atmosphere in order to create a world on screen both specific and authentic. Most filmmakers will tell you that making a movie is easier on the backlot, but richer on the road.

  We thought it would be illuminating – and entertaining – to ask some of these peripatetic storytellers to tell us their most personal, inspiring, funny, embarrassing and human stories from their time on the road. The result far surpassed our expectations: thirty-three tales by distinguished actors, directors and screen writers from around the world that are rich, raucous, and intimately revealing. While these stories are multifaceted in setting, voice and subject, one common theme threads through them: contact with the wider world through travel can delight, enlighten, inspire and change lives.

  About half of these stories revolve around experiences related to a film. The other half recount travels not related to filming, in some case before careers even got started, in other cases in the troughs between triumphs, and in other cases on temporary career breaks.

  In organizing these tales, we tried to follow both a chronological and a thematic structure. We begin with a couple of pieces that take place in the distant past – Alec Baldwin’s wonderfully warm and wistful remembrance of Los Angeles, and Malcolm McDonald’s poignant picturing of an epic journey he took as a youth around the world, accompanied by his flute and a friend named Floot.

  These stories segue into further romantic remembrances set in Brazil, Australia and Hawaii. From there we present five stories that revolve around the theme of renewal – renewal through confronting the challenges of the road.

  Beginning with Bill Bennett’s evocative ‘In Search of a Dolphin’s Grave,’ we present fourteen stories that focus on film-related experiences. Sitting around on set, actors, writers and directors often regale each other with stories of ‘glory days’ and famous mishaps – often with a showman’s one-upmanship. Our tales capture this atmosphere: some recount adventures and discoveries encountered in the process of doing background research either for the writing of a script or for the making of a film; others focus on the rigors of filming in remote, often undeveloped places – and the unexpected riches and revelations that can result.

  For the last act in this multi-part epic, we present a suite of family stories – stories that explore themes of bonds made and broken, obstacles encountered and overcome, lessons learned, deaths endured and renewals nurtured. The final story in the book, Brett Paesel’s extraordinary ‘Life is a River in India,’ beautifully illustrates the many-faceted gifts travel can bestow when we are open to and trusting in the world, our loved ones and ourselves.

  Whether secure in a backlot or on distant location, working from a script or ‘off book,’ th
e storytellers in these stories ultimately reveal that they are just like us: human, full of foible, longing and grace – and that, just like us, when they venture into the wide world, that journey can touch and transform them.

  LA Memories

  ALEC BALDWIN

  Alec Baldwin has appeared in over forty films, including Beetle Juice, Working Girl, Miami Blues, The Hunt for Red October, Glengarry Glen Ross, Malice, The Juror, The Cooler (National Board of Review Award for Best Supporting Actor; Oscar nomination), The Aviator, The Departed and It’s Complicated. On television, Baldwin currently stars with Tina Fey in NBC’s 30 Rock, winner of three Emmy Awards for Outstanding Comedy Series (2007, 2008 and 2009). Baldwin has received five Screen Actors Guild Awards, three Golden Globe Awards, the Television Critics Association Award and two Emmy Awards as Best Actor in a Comedy Series for his performance on the show. He last appeared on stage in the 2010 Guild Hall (East Hampton) production of Peter Shaffer’s Equus, directed by Tony Walton. Other stage performances include the Roundabout Theatre Company’s 2006 production of Joe Orton’s Entertaining Mr Sloane, directed by Scott Ellis; Loot (Broadway, 1986; Theatre World Award); Caryl Churchill’s Serious Money (Broadway, 1988); Prelude to a Kiss (Circle Repertory Company, 1990; Obie Award); A Streetcar Named Desire (Broadway, 1992; Tony Award nomination); Macbeth (New York Shakespeare Festival, 1998); and Twentieth Century (Roundabout Theatre Company, 2004). He is also the author of A Promise to Ourselves, which was published in paperback in 2009. In 2011, Alec received his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

  Los Angeles has always been, well, a sore spot in my life. It might be safe to say that the bulk of the bad things in my life happened in LA, while the bulk of the good things happened in New York. It got so bad that I would feel a sense of personal defeat and demoralization whenever I landed there.

  I’ve heard all of the analyses. My uncle Charles said that ‘if you really are one in a million, then there are seven other people like you in New York City.’ My friend Ken told me that New York is a river, with its own natural currents that seem to pull you in some direction, while LA is a lake. No currents. You’ve got to row where you want to go. Another said, ‘LA will test everything you love, both friends and interests, because you gotta drive so far to get to them!’ Another friend instructed me to find the outdoorsman in me. Take up hang-gliding. Hiking in the Angeles National Forest. I gravitated more toward the subway.

  I heard more stuff like that. LA’s not really a city but ‘the chicest suburb in the world.’ ‘LA has great theater,’ they would assure me. So-so pizza. The best sushi. The women. The movies. I have been one of the great LA haters of all time. That traffic. The San Diego Freeway, like some red carpet right into Hell. I recall driving my Karmann Ghia convertible north on the 405 in 1983, heading to an audition in Burbank, the air over the Valley like mustard gas, my eyes tearing. I remember reading in the LA Weekly that Santa Monica Bay was so contaminated from runoff that veteran lifeguards were developing cancers. I lived in Venice, full-time, 1983 through 1985. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  LA seems different to me now. Sure, old age has made me soften my view on a lot of things. But here’s my LA, at least my memories of it. How I see it now.

  My first apartment was on Larrabee, just north of Sunset. My friend and roommate, Tuck, and I had driven cross country in the Ghia in January and froze our asses off through the Texas panhandle. The place was around the corner from Spago. And the old Tower Records. I’d stand in Tower on some evenings for hours, wondering if I could ever earn enough money to buy all the music I wanted there. I fell in with a group of writers who worked for Garry Marshall. All from out of town. We would go to Lew Mitchell’s Orient Express in the Miracle Mile district and eat ‘gourmet Chinese food,’ long before Mr Chow showed up. My friend Dana would order squab in lettuce cups. We’d go back to an apartment on Sunset Plaza Drive and drink and do all sorts of other illicit things late into the evening. In the morning we sobered up playing tennis at Dana’s. Or Tuck and I would call the La Cienega Reservoir Courts and give a fake name to reserve a court. ‘This is Dr Katz calling. I’d like a court at 11am.’ The guy at the booth never even looked up at us when we checked in.

  A few months later, Tuck and I moved to Venice. Sunset and Speedway. There was an empty, unpaved lot across from our apartment. Cars would insist on pulling into the soft sand and would get stuck there. People always asked us to call a tow truck for them. Late at night, cars would pull in that lot to party. We would throw eggs at them, ducking behind the wall of our second-story balcony like snipers, until they freaked out and left.

  Monday mornings in Venice brought a fleet of municipal cleaning trucks. Giant sand-grooming devices that sifted out the trash and gave the beach an almost golf-course-type manicure. Another unit blasted benches that God-knows-what had leaked all over that weekend. I would walk to the Lafayette Café for the best huevos rancheros in California. The cooks were like noble Pancake Warriors who gazed at you with a faint smile. They knew they were cooking you the best and most honest meal you would ever have in your life. They knew that, at that moment, you needed that place. You knew it, too. The locals used to say that the old Venice died when ‘the Laf’ closed. It was my Bright Lights, Big City moment. The sound of the steaming jet of water that followed the disinfectant brushes on the wooden seats. The whirr of the sand behemoth. The birds savoring the last bit of trash before it was hauled away. The smell of the Laf and the stoic countenance of the Pancake Warriors.

  Harry Perry on his rollerblades. The Figtree. The entrepreneur-freak called Jingles, who touched every base of the Venice Boardwalk Street Vendors Stations of the Cross. First he was a musician in a Sgt Pepper getup. Then a masseur. Then a palm reader. I think the only Venice gig he passed up was sketching portraits of Johnny Depp.

  I moved back to New York after three years. I came back and met my ex-wife. Got married and moved to the Valley. Hated it. Then grew to love it for its lack of pretension. My ex and I would go to Malibu on weekends. Take Encinal Canyon for the long, verdant drive. We’d hit the chain of spots above Kanan Dume, the necklace formed by Matador, Pescador, La Piedra and Nicholas beaches, before the county paved the parking lots and put in meters. We’d sit on the bluff, looking down at the surfers at Nicholas, reading the Sunday New York Times. We’d hit Geoffrey’s for dinner. The old Malibu Adobe. Moonshadows. Neptune’s Net, with all the bikers hanging out in their leathers in the sun.

  Even now, I think about the great Mexican food at Tia Juana in West LA. Seeing an old movie at the New Beverly. Johnston’s Yogurt Farm in Beverly Hills. The Getty, old and new. Patrick’s Roadhouse. Madeo. Descanso Gardens. Duke’s. Shopping for shirts at Citron on Montana. Tommy Tang’s. Vine Street Bar and Grill. The Disney Concert Hall. Sitting on the shore at Zuma in November with a blanket wrapped around you. Now, when I drive up PCH, heading up near Leo Carillo for the sunset, I think … I don’t hate it here anymore. I don’t hate it at all.

  Me, Floot and the Flute

  MALCOLM MCDONALD

  Malcolm McDonald transformed his early traveling passion for new people and places into a career (much to his delight and surprise), becoming a filmmaker whose projects have taken him to many exotic locations, from Costa Rica to North Africa to the Pacific Islands for Family Footsteps (Australian Broadcasting Commission) and Lonely Planet 6 Degrees. Lately he has concentrated on historical docudramas, including films on larger-than-life Australian characters such as Douglas Mawson, John Monash and William Buckley for ABC TV. He also worked as second unit director on Peter Weir’s Master and Commander. Malcolm’s films have been broadcast all over the world and have won numerous awards, including Australian Film Institute and ATOM awards for Watch the Watch (a film on hypnotism) and Gumshoe (on private detectives) and the Jules Verne Best Film and Director awards for Mawson: Life and Death in Antarctica. As life on the planet changes, Malcolm enjoys trying to document and understand it.

  When you are young, in a stra
nge land (Detroit, Michigan) in the early 1970s, staying with your aunt and wondering how to prolong the visit (as the food and board is a good change from the previous years’ European working-backpacking routine so common with Australians overseas on their first pilgrimage), and you’re drunk, standing at the top of the staircase of a Grosse Pointe country club at somebody’s wedding, and you spy a girl down below – well, the answer could be beckoning. No, I didn’t fall down the stairs! I glided down and fell in love.

  Let’s call her P. She had a semester to go for her degree at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor (famous for its football team and the Rainbow People’s Party, with frequent visits by John Lennon). She shared a big pea-green weatherboard house with students, and I shared her three-quarter-size bed in the room she shared with another girl.

  Living in the house were a bunch of musicians, so while P was off at lectures I decided to learn the flute so I could play in their band. One of the guys played sax and flute and taught a very willing me – it was a full-on winter and I had six months to kill. One afternoon P and I were doing what you do when your roommate has a lecture, our passion ending with a rather high-pitched musical finish from the wondrous P.

  At communal dinner that night one of the girls said, ‘Man, you’re getting really good on that flute.’ I told them I hadn’t played it all day and P chortled into her spaghetti. From then on P was called Floot!

  When Floot graduated (with a psychology major – you need to know this), she and I went traveling in Europe in a Volkswagen van we bought in Athens. We stayed with a family on the island of Skopelos for months as I started writing about my travels so far. Floot would make moussaka and carry it through the narrow whitewashed lanes to the baker and then be stopped constantly on her way home by all the women who would have a little look, touch and taste before commenting on her skills. Both of us loved going out with the fishermen at dawn – has barbecued octopus ever tasted better than in Greece?