This past week, my class had a mid-semester break. I, along with my two good friends Danielle and Caroline, traveled from London to three other major cities in Europe. Since I was young, I have always wanted to go to Italy. At the time, I accepted pasta as a valid meal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, so the delicious saucy food was a clear motivation. Now that I am older, I was hoping to also be able to walk up the hundreds of cobblestone steps to the top of the Duomo (the church) in Milano, throw half a euro into the Trevi Fountain in Rome, and stand for an hour in awe of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican. I even wanted to wander the historic streets of Prague (we visited the Czech Republic after Italy!) until I reached the looming clock tower overlooking the red rooftops of the city or the Old New Synagogue and historic Jewish cemetary. In the whirlwind of booking apartments, flights, bed and breakfasts, trains, and exchanging currencies, I never once thought hard about what it might be like to meet the people of these beautiful places.
           When we were in Milan, our first city adventure, we were puttering around the streets near our flat when we meandered into a small jewelry shop. A silver bowl in the window had caught Danielle’s eye and she was speaking to the shop owner’s daughter about buying it. As always, we were asked in sweet yet broken English where we were from. And, as always, we responded haphazardly that two of us were from New Jersey, which is close to New York and Philly, but one of us is from Atlanta which is south, but we are studying in London with our University, which is actually in Boston, Massachusetts. The girl’s eyes kept growing wider and wider. She seemed so happy just to learn that we lived near New York, as she had always wanted to go there. She was also astounded that we wanted to come to Milan, a city she saw as her small hometown, one she clearly wanted to break free from. I had never thought that in Milan, the fashion-forward metropolis with impeccable history, wine, and food, would seem so dull to someone growing up there. Then again, I suppose living thirty minutes outside of the Big Apple and a few minutes’ walk from Kenmore Square and Newbury Street has made me immune to the awe which can come from what is, to someone else, breathtaking international city life.
           Now, I’m not about to go home and stand in front of the Empire State building gawking, but I do believe that this encounter taught me to appreciate what I have, where I have come from, and the opportunities I have been given. I have worked arduously, and I am now able to travel across Europe, seeing all the sites I want to see as well as meeting the interesting people along the way (and boy, are some of them interesting… but those are some stories for another time).
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