The armchair traveller

1 George lived on his own in a flat in south London. He lived alone by choice, because he felt overwhelmed by the stupidity of people and the ugliness of his surroundings. As we all know, London is not a beautiful city today, and the climate is unpleasant. For George, the city was like an over-familiar elderly lady, who in the right light, reminded him of her past beauty, but who had lately become rather tiresome.

2 His lifestyle was modest and his financial circumstances allowed him to spend his days in an old and comfortable armchair, wearing a dressing gown and reading great works of literature. Despite his cynical and pessimistic nature, he especially enjoyed the classic works of travel writing, so that from the deep warmth of his armchair, he could travel in his mind to the farthest reaches of the world.

3 One morning, he was browsing through a book by Marcel Pagnol, whose visions of Provence in southern France have inspired several generations. Set against the dramatic background of, on the one side, the low mountains of the Alps, and on the other, by the deep blue of the Mediterranean Sea, Provence has a tradition of farming and local crafts. To Pagnol, it was a rural and conservative region, with an instinct not to trust strangers.

4 But George also knew, through his reading elsewhere, that Provence was a place which attracted the rich and the artistic. It was home to painters such as Picasso, Cezanne and Van Gogh, to writers such as Graham Greene, Ernest Hemingway and Emile Zola, and to actors such as Roger Vadim and Brigitte Bardot. The beaches of St Tropez, the Film Festival at Cannes, the restaurants in Grasse and the hotels in Nice all created a vision of unimaginable glamour.

5 But was it so unimaginable? As he continued to read, he became increasingly keen to see Provence for himself. Unable to contain his curiosity, he got dressed and went to a travel agency. After some hurried discussion, he understood that he only needed to take himself to the station to board a train which would take him directly to Avigon, in the heart of Provence.

6 Such was his astonishment that a journey, so rich in ideas, colours and impressions, could be made with such little effort, a train ride of a mere six hours, that he went straight to the station, bought a ticket and booked a seat.

7 It was early, and George had time to spare before the train left. Near by the station was a French restaurant offering customers meals full of the Mediterranean, fresh fish straight from the market, cheese, wine, olives, herbs and fruit and vegetables coloured with the sun. He chose a table by the window, and ordered a meal the like of which he would have found in the Old Port of Marseille.

8 But as the departure time approached, George gradually became tired, partly because of the effects of the large meal, but partly because he realized that it would be very tiring to make the journey. He sensed that he would have to hurry along the platform, search for his reserved seat, push his way through the crowds of other travellers, and remain uncomfortably seated -- at least in comparison with his armchair at home-- for six long hours. And when he arrived, he would have to find a hotel, sleep in an unfamiliar bed, and look for the sights, sounds and smells which his dreams had already been so effective in describing to him. Was it really necessary to go to Provence? In his imagination, wasn’t he already there? Surely it would be disappointing if his vision was not matched by the reality, at the very least? Wouldn’t it be simpler, safer just to stay here at home in London?

9 George was suddenly struck by the realization that as a stranger, he would never experience the warmth and colours of his mind. Perhaps the Provence of Pagnol, like elsewhere in the world, might be the reality. Perhaps it was just a nuisance to travel abroad at all?

10 So George paid the restaurant bill, got the bus back to his south London flat, and resolved never to leave home again.

Translation

坐在扶手椅上的旅行者

乔治独自一人住在伦敦南部的一套公寓里。他是自己选择独居的，因为他简直不能忍受别人的愚蠢行为和丑陋的周边环境。我们都知道，如今伦敦已不再是个美丽的城市了，而且气候也不宜人。对乔治来说，伦敦这座城市就像一个他熟悉得不能再熟悉的老太太，年事已高，只有从适当的角度看，才能让他想起她昔日的美貌，可最近却让人厌倦了。

他的生活很简朴，经济状况也还可以。他可以穿着睡袍，终日坐在一张古老又舒适的扶椅里，阅读文学名著。尽管他愤世嫉俗、悲观厌世，但他却特别喜欢阅读经典游记。这样，即便是舒舒服服地坐在温暖的扶手椅上，他也可以神游到天涯海角。

一天早上，他翻看着马塞尔·帕尼奥尔记述的有关法国南部地区普罗旺斯的见闻曾经鼓舞了几代人。普罗旺斯自然环境引人入胜，它背靠阿尔卑斯山脉低缓的丘陵，面朝地中海蔚蓝清澈的海水，有着悠久的农耕和民间手工艺传统。在帕尼奥尔看来，普罗旺斯地区既富有乡村特色又很保守，天生就不太信任陌生人。

不过，乔治从别的书中也得知，普罗旺斯是一个对富人和艺术家都很有吸引力的地方。很多名人都在此居住过，如画家毕加索、塞尚和凡·高，作家格雷厄姆·格林、欧内斯特·海明威、埃米尔·左拉，演员罗杰·瓦迪姆和碧姬·巴铎。圣特罗佩的海滩、戛纳的电影节、格拉斯的餐馆以及尼斯的大饭店都给普罗旺斯增添了令人难以想象的魅力。

然而，真的是那么难以想象吗？乔治越往下读，就越急切地想要亲眼去见识一下普罗旺斯。他难以抑制强烈的好奇心，于是换上衣服就去了旅行社。经过一番仓促的讨论，他得知他只要自己到火车站，就可乘坐火车直达普罗旺斯的中心——阿维尼翁。

令他感到惊奇的是，这趟激起他无尽遐思、色彩缤纷、让他充满想法的旅行，只要坐6个小时的火车就能轻而易举地实现。于是，他直奔火车站，买了张票，订好了座位。

乔治到火车站时时间尚早，离开车还有一段时间。火车站旁有个法国餐馆，为顾客提供具有浓郁地中海的食物：从市场直接买回的鲜鱼、奶酪、葡萄酒、橄榄、香草，还有吸收了大量阳光、色彩鲜艳的水果和蔬菜。他挑了一张靠窗的桌子坐下，要了一份可能在马赛古港才能吃到的饭菜。

可是，随着出发的时间慢慢临近，乔治渐渐感到了疲倦了，部分原因是刚才那顿大餐使他有些困倦，还有就是他意识到这趟旅行可能会很累人。他感觉到他得急急忙忙地穿过月台找到他订好的座位，在熙熙攘攘的旅客中挤来挤去，还得很不舒服地在那儿坐上6个小时——至少，和他在家坐在扶手椅上比是这样。等他到站下了车，他还得找旅馆，在陌生的床上睡觉，四处寻找那些在他的梦想中已经熟悉的风景名胜、声音和气味。真有必要到普罗旺斯去一趟吗？在他的想象中，他不是已经去过了吗？如果他看到的实景和他想象的不一样，那他起码肯定会感到失望的吧？就呆在伦敦的家里不是更简便、更安全吗？

乔治突然意识到，作为一个陌生人，他永远也不可能体验到他想象中的融融暖意和缤纷色彩。也许，帕尼奥尔笔下的普罗旺斯才是真实的，就像世界上其他地方一样。也许出国旅行根本就是件麻烦事？

所以，乔治付了餐费，乘公共汽车又回到了他位于伦敦南区的寓所，并且决定以后再也不离开家了。