Thoughts on a guy who knew how to travel

Yesterday, as I groggily turned on the water for a 7:00 am shower to begin the day, a text from an old friend alerted me to the news of the passing of Anthony Bourdain. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. All day long, I couldn’t concentrate, I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t process. What the hell was going on? Why was I flustered? Celebrity death was never a big deal to me. Sure it was sad, but it wasn’t personal. It was something that just happens; seemingly on a weekly basis. Somebody famous dies; a bunch of statements and tributes; play an album, watch a movie, read a few passages and move on.

This really felt different. As the topic was broached in the office I was almost brought to tears. “The same week as Kate Spade, too” someone uttered. But I didn’t know Kate Spade. I had barely heard of her. This was Tony. Don’t talk about him like he was some celebrity who died. This was somebody I knew. Tony was my friend.

Tony knew of the powers of nootdles+broth

I first met Tony in a tiny apartment in Seoul, South Korea. I was already a seasoned traveler and never had much use for travel shows. No Reservations had been on for years and Bourdain was already a household name, but I viewed celebrity chefs with disdain and I wasn’t the least bit interested in a food show. I am not sure what led me to seek out that first episode of his show, whether it was an upcoming trip or something else. Nevertheless, I did, and immediatly I was hooked.

I quickly realized this wasn’t some jackass discussing the correct way to plate an entree. Here was a proper traveler, candidly bouncing around the globe, smoking cigarettes, drinking booze, eating cheap meals and talking to locals. He traveled like I did (minus the camera crew and paid expenses.) He had a New York attitude and sarcastic sense of humor (just like me). If he didn’t like something, he made it known (in the early days, at least). He was a down-to-earth, funny guy. Noodle soup was his favorite (same as me). We hit it off instantly.

I sped through Kitchen Confidential to learn more about my new buddy, who was quickly turning into something of a hero. Not only could he cook but the motherfucker could write too. Hell, writing was what made him famous. Kitchen Confidential was incredible and not just for the fact that it made me stop entertaining the idea of entering the restaurant business. I poured through A Cook’s Tour while bouncing around trains and buses in Thailand, giggling through Tony’s accounts of killing goats in Northern Africa, seeking out Khmer Rouge agents in Cambodia, and choking on natto in Japan (attempting the same this summer) This was my guy.

sought out after a Parts Uknown ep

Over the years, Tony and I became close. My then girlfriend, now wife and I ripped through his shows, taking notes on the places we wanted to hit on our adventures. We watched Tony get tatts in Malaysia, dodge bullets in Lebanon, and cruise drunkenly around Chiang Mai in a tuk with his best friend Eric (I have a best friend Eric too, although he spells it with a k). We retraced his steps any chance we could, whether we were in Singapore, Myanmar, the Golden Gai, or a dive in Miami Beach. Sometimes the food wasn’t so great. But that was ok. I knew Tony kept the best places to himself. The real gems were the ones you found on your own.

When news hit that Tony was returning to Seoul for an episode of Parts Unknown, I was giddy. I stalked his twitter, hoping to bump into him in a city of 10 million; to disrupt planned film shoots in order to show him my version of Seoul. Of course it never happened. Missed him by minutes! (The final product was decent. I could have added a few things.)

As Tony’s reach grew, so did his social conscious. Parts Unknown was less about trying food and drink and more about discovering places. They were in Iran, Cuba, Haiti, Madagascar, Detroit, Pittsburgh. He was giving voices to people who needed them. In a world filled with violence and fear, Tony was showing us what all travelers already know. That people are fucking awesome everywhere. That problems exist and we need to think about them and work together to fix them. That customs and culture are different but first and foremost we are all human.

As I fight back tears, contemplating my friend’s death, I am not going to ask why. I am not here to judge you. All of your friends know you had demons; know you were a rock star, know you had some Hunter S. in you. We know that if a small village in France was where it had to end, than that is how it must be. We feel sadness. I’m going to be sad that you won’t be around to explore a new place with us. I am going to miss your musing and wisdom, quips and commentary. But I am thankful for your memories. I feel blessed to have known you. You inspire me. And what I learned yesterday was that you shared this same friendship with countless others. Thank you Anthony, and see you on the road.