Mijn vrouw heeft een weekendje ‘weg’ gepland met haar dochters. Het was al zoooo lang geleden. Naar Londen want ze hebben een connectie met Londen.
Natuurlijk hebben ze ook een voorstelling geboekt, “Les Misérables”. Dat wordt een topavond tijdens een topweekend.
Ook stond in hun plannen, maar minder duidelijk: “een etentje op een exclusieve locatie”. Maar zoals uit de beschrijving blijkt, exclusief is meestal duur…
Ik wou mijn steentje bijdragen en daar zag ik mijn kans; “ik betaal het etentje en verpak het als een verrassing”.
Bij hun vertrek kregen ze alle drie een enveloppe in hun handen gestopt met daarop de tekst “Do Not Open Upon Arriving on English Soil”.
En heb ik een AI een tekst laten schrijven in Harry Potter style, LOTR style en ‘hip, modern, instagram en influencer’ style.
Hieronder één van de 3 versies:
🍃 Sealed by the hand of one who waits at home Bound with a thread of silver, marked with a single rune of the old tongue
To the Fellowship of Three, Bound for the great city beyond the Sundering Sea
My dear travellers,
If your eyes fall upon these words, then the long road across the grey water is nearly ended, and the shores of that ancient kingdom rise before you out of the morning mist.
Welcome, then, to the Lands beyond the Channel. A realm older than it looks, where kings still keep their crowns and the rivers remember every name spoken upon their banks.
A small blessing was laid upon your packs before you departed. Nothing of great craft, only the kind of quiet word Bilbo himself was rumoured to mutter at his round green door before setting off on roads he had not planned to walk.
Yet it has travelled with you across the water, and now, as you read, it stirs and takes its proper shape.
Hear, then, the quest that is laid upon you, gentler than Frodo’s, and ending not in fire upon the slopes of Mount Doom, but in candlelight and laughter and the soft clink of glass upon glass.
Somewhere within that great city there stands a hall, a hall of fine tables and finer company, the kind of house one passes by with a longing glance and a quiet “another day, perhaps.” Such halls, like the Last Homely House of Elrond himself in fair Rivendell, have a way of waiting patiently for the right travellers to step inside.
That day has come. That hall is yours.
Step through its doors as the Company once stepped into Rivendell, without hurry, without apology, as though you were long expected. (You are.)
Sit at the table they offer. Order the dish whose name you cannot pronounce. Order the wine you would never pour at home. The sort, perhaps, that Galadriel herself might have offered from the silver flagons of Lothlórien.
Order the sweet thing shaped like a small piece of treasure, and do not leave a single crumb. Raise your glasses to one another, to the long road behind you, to the longer road still to come.
The reckoning is mine to bear, as Aragorn once bore the weight of his hidden crown through long years in the wild, and I bear it gladly.
Two small tokens I ask in return, as is the custom of all good tales:
🌿 Of the Reckoning: send word of the bill, that I may know the deed was done in full and not in halves. A feast too modest is no feast at all, and Sam Gamgee, who knew more about a proper meal than most loremasters, would be the first to tell you so.
🌿 Of the Images: send images of the evening, that I may share in the light of the candles and the sound of your laughter from across the water.
And should fortune turn her face away, every door shut, every table claimed, then take the second path, which is no lesser path at all.
Sam himself well knew that the simplest meals upon the road are often the ones the heart remembers longest.
Gather a soft blanket, bread and cheese and fruit, something sweet for after, a flask of wine, and find a green place within the city, secret as the eaves of Lothlórien itself. Spread your blanket upon the grass and feast beneath the open sky. The late sun, the laughter that carries further than it should. These are old magics, older than Gandalf’s, older than the towers of Minas Tirith, and they do not fade.
And should both paths open before you? Then walk them both, and count yourselves twice-blessed. Some journeys are written in two chapters, and the second is often the truer one.
Go now, my three travellers.
Tread lightly upon the stones of that ancient city. Speak kindly to the keepers of doors, for they remember more than they say. Order the thing. Laugh too loudly. Tip the servers well. Walk the long way home through streets you do not know. Come home with your pockets full of stories.
The Road goes ever on and on. Walk it well, all three of you, together.
With all my love, from the quiet house at the edge of the map,
Gust
🍃 P.S. Not all those who wander are lost. But it does help, on occasion, to know where dinner is booked.
🌟 P.P.S. If a tall grey traveller in a pointed hat should nod to you in the street, nod back. He has been known to leave excellent recommendations.