Class act.
Tuned-in readers may know that one of my wickets is travel writing and editing. Whenever I take a trip, I’m in the habit — whether I’m on assignment or not — of taking along several guidebooks, to compare and critique the writers’ perspectives and the quirks of the brand/series. On one of my trips to Paris in 2004, my parcel included a guidebook by Haas Mroue, a writer I’d worked with previously. Typically, after my trip is done and if I’ve worked with the writer in the past and plan to again, I send a note full of constructive criticism and updates — nothing gnarly, hopefully helpful. For Haas, however, I had only two words: Thank you.
Y’see, Haas’s guide to Paris was what you always hope a guide will be but so rarely is: reflective of a shared sensibility, one that nudges you gently towards fresh discoveries (even in a place that would seem to have few left, like Paris), and appreciative of the traveler’s experience. I found myself relying on Haas’s guide in ways that I hadn’t relied on a guide before, to help me find the cafe to suit my mood, the store to satisfy a desire, the experience to ground myself in a dislocated moment. Thanks to Haas, I found at least two places that make me feel at total ease in Paris, one of which I’ve mentioned before, the other I won’t reveal, and every time I go to both or lead other people there, I think of Haas fondly and say a silent “thank you” again.
There will be no new recommendations from Haas; I just got the news that he suddenly passed away last month in Lebanon at the age of 41, the same age his father was when he died three months before Haas’s birth. Do read the obituaries about him and his poetry. And if you ever run across any travel guides written by Haas Mroue, snatch ‘em up and use ‘em. You probably won’t find a more elegantly attuned traveling companion.