Sometimes the longest journeys begin at home.
I have three comforters that I use throughout the year, a lightweight one for summer, a silk-filled comforter for spring and fall, and a down comforter for the coldest winter nights. The other day, as I reached into the closet for the silk one, I was suddenly no longer standing in Croatia. I was back in Suzhou, just outside Shanghai.
More than twenty years have passed since I visited a state-owned silk factory there. It was much more than a showroom. Visitors could watch the entire process, from live silkworms feeding on fresh mulberry leaves to workers transforming delicate cocoons into quilts, pillows, sheets, and comforters.
I watched the cocoons being softened before impossibly fine silk filaments were unwound onto vintage machinery. Then came the part that fascinated me most. Four artisans stood together, gently stretching a small pad of raw silk until it became a paper-thin layer large enough to cover an entire bed. They repeated the process again and again, stacking dozens of nearly transparent layers until they formed a single silk-filled comforter.
I have always enjoyed seeing how things are made. Some people are perfectly happy walking into a shop and buying the finished product. I’m far more interested in seeing where something comes from, how it is made, and the people whose hands create it. Somehow, understanding the journey makes me appreciate the finished piece even more.
I couldn’t resist bringing one home.
That was in 2007.
It crossed the Pacific with me to Florida and later the Atlantic to Croatia. Nearly twenty years later, it still finds its way onto my bed every year.
People often ask why I buy things when I travel. The answer is simple: I rarely buy souvenirs. I buy memories.
Every time I unfold that comforter, I don’t just remember the factory. I remember the silkworms patiently spinning their cocoons, the quiet concentration of the artisans, and the care that went into creating something meant to last for decades.
A comforter keeps us warm. Mine does something more. It reminds me that a small piece of Suzhou still sleeps on my Croatian bed and every time I pull it over me, I travel once again.