Traveler Second

1. Describe your first impressions of your trip.  Focus on both your mode of travel and the location (or locations) to which you will travel.  Talk about any piece- the send-off, arriving in Newark, etc.

My trip to Rome began in Columbus, Ohio at 6:07am. I drove us up to Walsh University for the study-abroad program send off. I was the last person from the group to arrive, and the last one to board the busses on the way to the airport. I wanted nothing more than to extend time; reclaim a few moments to adequately hold my friends and family. But, the thing about travel is that if you cling to home, then the feeling that will permeate thought is dislocation. At the onset of this trip, I was not thinking of Rome – my mind was at a loss to connect with the location of my body.

After hugging my mom twice, watching tears well up in her eyes, and kissing my boyfriend unabashedly, I was swept into the van to the airport and into a new time zone, known as “travel time.” You cannot set your watches to travel time, or prepare your body, all one can do is keep their seatbelt fastened until the pilot, or driver, tells them it is safe to move freely about the cabin.

Settling into my seat, I looked out the window and said a silent goodbye to my comfort zone. My friend, Maria, asked me how I was doing. I looked at her with tears in my eyes, shook my head and said, “too soon.” I felt like luggage sprinted to a connecting flight.

The vans took us to Hopkins Airport. Packed in tight, talking of dreams of free weekends spent in foreign countries, we created an atmosphere of hope turned up to max volume. The smooth ride of the van is a distant memory as that same group loads the regional train into Rome. Here, wheels squeak and cabs jostle through trees and sweeping views of Lake Albano. Italian trains are normally places of hushed conversations and book reading, but American college students do not get that concept. We chat and laugh, volume increasing with excitement. Daily our conversations are extinguished with an exasperated “shhhh” from those locals seated around us. As we head to Hopkins, there is no one demanding silence – the banter is encouraged.

The group flew from Cleveland to Newark, New Jersey. Interestingly enough, the manager of Mr. Panino, a sandwich stand in the Termini train station, is from Jersey. He laughs at my broken Italian as I order an il caprese, a sandwich stuffed with mozzarella, tomatoes and basil. There is running, watch checking, and web browsing in Newark, but a significant absence of laughter.

My travel journal made its first appearance on the plane ride from Newark to Rome. First, I re-read my entries I wrote in Spain during my high school trip. Then, I picked up my pen to begin a new journey. I wrote that “the next few months will be self-exploration on a grand scale.” I do not plan on figuring out everything about myself in two months, but I hope to find a few pieces to the unsolved puzzle that is man. (Gaudium et Spes, 21.)

I also wrote “none of this seems real.” In truth, Rome did not seem real to me until a few days ago. The Coliseum and the Roman Forum did not break my stupor, but perpetuated it. Italy became a reality to me on the streets of Rome at night, when I experienced it not as city of the past, but a living entity. Piazzas are populated with a cast of characters: haggling artists, jazz musicians, couples murmuring the universal language of love, and gypsies using all languages to sell roses. These characters together with the trickling roar of fountains create the heartbeat of this eternal city.

The shuttle from Rome’s airport to our campus was just like the ride to Cleveland, but silent. Our driver spoke no English and I, the craver of all this communicative (except disease), was lost. I still feel those pangs of utter separation when I cannot order a meal, or ask anything beyond “how are you?” I feel both separation and union most completely in my conversations with Carmen, our local lunch buddy and impromptu Italian teacher. She will say something I cannot grasp and our eyes will search each other’s faces for something we recognize. Typically, I scrunch my forehead and just reply “come?”, what? When words fail, we just smile. Then she hits me on the head and we continue on our attempts at understanding. Travel truly brings people together. (Rick Steeves)

I have now been in Italy for a week. I have seen Rome and Assisi, and am still destined for Venice, Florence, Naples, Pompeii, Sorrento, and more. My mind is still catching up to my body’s constant motion. These destinations are but words on a page for me, but I know in time that I will live in those words – occupy their winding streets, taste their sweetness on my tongue – and write words of my own about them.

Not many things are the same between Italy and home, and comparisons are discouraged, but the constant revelation that writing provides me has no borders. Like Cahill, I like to think of myself as a writer first, and a traveler second.