Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I had seen firsthand how believing in someone else was not only the medicine I
needed—it's the medicine the whole world needs. I saw it in Tchale and Finesse's eyes
when I offered them the gift of the music video. I wasn't just giving them something, I was
saying to them,
I believe in you
.
I have faith in your gifts. You are special, and your talent
is unlimited
. We all need to hear those words.
Which brings us back to Saint-Tropez, the legendary French playground of the rich and
famous like Bridget Bardot, Brad Pitt, and, more recently, the great man himself, Justin
Bieber. As I drove along the French Riviera, I was sure that I was on my way to the best
night of my life. I saw myself sleeping on a ten-million-dollar yacht, replete with hip-hop
stars and some caviar. I envisioned David Attenborough narrating my experience in his
thick British accent, “And here Leon docks for the night on the decadent yacht of Mari-
ah Carey, enjoying fine Michelin dining and sleeping under two-thousand-thread-count
sheets.” I saw myself falling asleep to violins in the distance and awakening to the lapping
waters of the French Mediterranean.
I did not fantasize that it would take me three hours just to get a free crepe for lunch. And
sadly, nearly everyone else I approached either laughed at me or pretended they couldn't
understand what I was saying. This was Saint-Tropez, half of them were from the UK or
America, so I knew they spoke English. They weren't bloody fooling anybody with their
“Non Anglais.” I know you Anglais people!
They say those who have a lot give a little. I had been given much by those who had
little, but despite what was happening that day in Saint-Tropez, I reminded myself that I
had also been given much by those who had a lot. Because for every Tony, who lives on
the streets, there is a Taso, who lives in a Midtown high-rise. Both of them had offered me
hope.
I was wondering where to head off to next, and then I remembered I have friends in
Italy. I opened up my magic bag and quickly dug out the number of the family I had met in
New York City, the ones who were visiting from Torino. It had only been two weeks since
I had been in New York, and yet it felt like scenes from a movie I had watched and not
necessarily memories from my own life.
“Haha,” I cried out to no one in particular as I pulled out the Italian family's phone num-
ber. Torino it was. I got back on Kindness One with a new verve. I revved that little engine
and swung back out onto the highway. It would only take me seven hours. Surely I would
find a bed there.
