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by arianna hussain
Long before I had a passport full of memories, I had a screen full of them. Some of my earliest travel dreams began watching the big screen. From the first time I watched a film in a beautiful location, I noticed the scenery. But the more I watched, the more I fell in love with the idea of that place – the more it just seemed to get hold of me, a whole new life beyond the screen. Eventually, I stopped watching and decided to see these places for myself, to experience the magic of these amazing places I had grown up watching.
Letters to Juliet was one of those films that made me fall in love with somewhere I had never been. I loved watching the story unfold through Verona and the Italian countryside, but it was the setting that stayed with me: winding cobbled streets lined with beautiful old buildings, colourful shutters and flower-filled balconies, hidden courtyards and gardens glowing beneath the warm orange light. There were little restaurants tucked into every corner, tables spilling out onto the streets, and, of course, endless gelato. It all felt so effortlessly beautiful and romantic, like every street had been made to be wandered down. When I eventually visited, seeing those same picturesque streets, statues and historic buildings in person felt almost surreal. What I had once watched through a screen was suddenly around me.
Ratatouille made Paris feel like a city where anything was possible. I loved the way the film showed the beauty of Paris through food, its streets and the little moments between the characters. One scene that always stuck with me was Remy and Linguini cooking together in the apartment, with the Eiffel Tower in the background. I don’t really know how to describe the feeling it gave me, but it made me want a life like that in Paris – good food, good company and memories to look back on. It made me want to experience that feeling for myself. So when I finally visited, I had a list of things I wanted to try, from rich hot chocolate with a spoonful of cream to fresh pasta and a restaurant that reminded me of Gusteau’s. And when I saw the Eiffel Tower sparkle for the first time, it felt like I was finally seeing the Paris I had imagined through the film.
Monte Carlo was another film that made me want to see a place for myself. I fell in love with Monaco through film, fascinated by its glamorous lifestyle and the sense of luxury that seemed to surround it. It made everything feel so lavish and exciting, like a world completely different from my own. I remember watching it and wanting to know what it would actually feel like to experience that kind of life. When I finally visited, it was one of my most exciting trips to date. I wanted to see every part of it, from the F1 track and large yachts lining the harbour to the glamourous hotels, casinos and rows of designer shops, and there was something surreal about being surrounded by it all. It felt like I was stepping into the world I had watched in the film, but this time I was actually living it. More than anything, it made me realise that the life I had admired from behind a screen wasn’t necessarily as far away as I had once thought.
Egypt was another place that made me feel as though I had stepped into a film. Aladdin was always one of my favourite Disney films, and I especially loved the scene where Jasmine escapes into the village and walks through the bustling streets, taking in the world around her. Visiting Farsha Café reminded me so much of that scene. No amount of photographs could have prepared me for the moment I first walked in and looked over the cliffside to see rows of softly lit paths winding down towards the café, surrounded by colourful cushions, glowing lamps, mirrors in all shapes and sizes, tiny trinkets and beautiful decorations tucked into every corner. It felt like a huge, magical maze built into the mountainside, and for a moment, I felt as though I had walked straight into the Arabian world I had grown up watching on screen.
I think that is why I love films so much. They can turn somewhere completely unfamiliar into somewhere you dream of knowing, until one day you are no longer watching it through a screen. You are standing there, looking around, and realising that somewhere you once imagined has become a memory of your very own.
