Essay number 1
Five hundred and twenty-one... five hundred and twenty-two...I took a deep breath and looked back to my fellow comrades. They weren't in much better shape than i was. Sweat was dripping down our backs, our faces flushed, and our muscles groaned with exertion. Just five more steps and we could rest. We powered through to the next round, and stopped alongside the trail that connected the five villages of Cinque Terre. We had finally made it to our next pitstop. I looked at the map (in all Italian of course) and groaned. We had so much more to go. I looked back to my hiking companions and motioned to the left. "Let's go this way- it looks like less steps."
As we wandered down the path to Cornilgia, I kept an eye out for our valued traveling companion- the red and white stripe. Throughout our seven hour hike from Riomaggiore to Monterosso, we searched high and low for the important marking. As with many Italian signs, I have noticed, it was poorly marked and put in places that may seem oh-so-obvious to the native, but ridiculously out of place to the tourist. From rocks to poles to trees and various random objects, we searched for the sloppily painted thick red and white stripe. The red and white stripe meant food, water and rest. The red and white stripe meant salvation.
One particularly frustrating situation that occurred during our perilous journey though the so called trail that connected the five villages of Cinque Terre happened when we had finished the climb from Monterosso to Corniglia. We had just completed the vertical climb (and I do mean vertical- the line on the map signifying the trail was straight up) and were again searching for our savior- the red and white stripe. We were drenched in sweat, out of water, stomachs grumbling and just wanting to get to the next town. We tried to decipher the large map of the trail and decided to choose the trail that would get us to food the fastest. We started our journey, and began the hike on the foot wide path along the jagged mountain edge entrapped by vineyards. We had not seen the red and white stripe in awhile, and as we opened the gate to someone's back yard, we realized we had chosen the wrong way. To rub salt in the wound, it had begun to rain, and we had to turn back and retrace our steps until we spotted the red and white stripe. It had been painted on both sides of a pole, both pointing in the opposite direction. Because of our previous error, we knew to go the other way this time around.
To the less adventurous tourist, the red and white stripe would mean nothing. If anything, it probably wouldn't even be noticed. But to the tourist who wants to experience all, and really "get the feel for Italy," these red and white stripes represented that we were on the right path. In many places the paint was faded and weathered, showing that this trail endures all kinds of weather. In the seven hours we hiked, we did indeed experience every type of weather imaginable. When we were doing the most difficult portion of the trail, the weather was blazing hot with not a whisper of a breeze. An hour later, when we had a thousand stone steps to descend, the weather changed to gusty winds and a torrential downpour. Now more than ever we were looking for the sacred sign, as we slipped and cursed our way down the mountain. At the end of the day, with soggy socks and aching muscles, we all gave a shout of joy when we saw our last red and white stripe. We had finally arrived to the beach of Monterosso. A glass of wine and a nap on the beach was soon to follow.
Essay number 2
Walking
up to the colossal structure takes my breath away. As I am hurriedly digging
into my overstuffed purse to find my camera, I glance around at my
surroundings. Hundreds of people are swarming the streets, talking on phones
and going about their normal business. Is no one else affected by this place?
The Colosseum captures my heart when I walk out of the metro station and into
the busy city center. I feel like time is frozen as I gaze up at the
magnificent ruin, yet everyone else seems to be moving in fast forward. This isn’t a place that was on my things to
see before I die list or even one of the things I am looking forward to most on
my trip, yet here I am, in absolute awe.
I
climb up the stairs to the first level, my heart pounding in anticipation. I
walk out to the first overlook and gasp. I rotate slowly in a circle, taking in
the sights of the crumbling walls and sheer magnitude of the Colosseum. I take
a hundred pictures of the same view, positive that I must have missed something
in the one before, not wanting to lose a single moment in time. I walk slowly
around the arena, and I just keep thinking, “Gladiators fought here. Their
blood has been soaked into the ground I am walking on.”
I
look to my left, and another tourist seems to be having the same moment. Our
eyes meet, and a moment of understanding passes between us. Although the
Colosseum isn’t a religious structure, there is an aura of reverence that
envelopes it.
I
walk now to the lower level, and again am taken aback by the size of the
Colosseum. Standing in the bottom and looking towards the skies, I can hear the
crowds cheering and the loud cries of defeat as another gladiator is taken
down. The Roman Colosseum was built in 70 A.D. and was mainly used for
fighting, whether man to man or man to animal. I am no history buff, but I
cannot help but be overwhelmed by the weight of the history of this place. I
continue my walk with the past, and two hours later, walk out feeling much more
reverent. I go on to see many more sights; the Pantheon, Forum, the Vatican,
the Sistine Chapel and Saint Peter’s Basilica. While the Sistine Chapel is far
more beautiful, something about the Colosseum has me enraptured.
Being
a traveler at heart, I will tuck away the memories of the Colosseum forever. I
have been to some incredible places- the Eiffel Tower, the Louve, Notre Dame,
St. Petersburg, Copenhagen, Brazil and London. I will keep all these memories,
yet I am unsatisfied. I yearn to be constantly in motion, experiencing new
places and making a new path for my future. Choosing one place to say call “my
place,” seems absurd to me, although I did for the purpose of this literary
work. To me, the place is an abstract thing. It is ever-changing, fluid, and
adapting to our interpretation of what we need in that moment. This is why I
know I am a traveler at heart- I cannot be satisfied. Looking up to see the
Colosseum satisfied me for a day, sure, but I am ready to experience my next
place. What could be better than having a moment like I did at the Colosseum a
hundred more times as I travel to my heart’s content? I am ready to live and breathe and experience
the place I don’t know I want yet. The anticipation of traveling more leaves me
breathless and my mind spinning. When my
insomnia is in full bloom I lay awake in bed, listening to the fan and making a
list of where I want to go next. To me, the place isn’t what gives me
satisfaction. Knowing that I am going to experience many more places is what
does.
No comments:
Post a Comment