It was dusk in the piazza. Such a simple thing. No one else seemed to be impacted by it. It brought tears to my eyes, it was that achingly beautiful to me. I stood there for a full moment, long enough to let that scene imprint itself in my mind and then we moved on from the most beautiful moment in my life.
It was an accident that I was even in Madrid, Spain to begin with, you see. I was supposed to be flying home that day. There was fog in Rome and the fog delayed our flight and Madrid was where we landed and I ran to the plane, lunging past and dodging casual European travelers and I arrived at the gate just in time to watch the plane that was supposed to take me home fly off into the sky. And I was stuck in Madrid.
Later, I learned that my luggage had managed to get on that plane. But I didn't make it. So after nineteen days of being in Europe, traveling to five cities in four countries; my first time traveling abroad, my first time traveling alone (for some parts, at least), I was ready to go home, I had had enough art, churches and history, beautiful sights, now all a blur, except for those my camera pointed at; I wanted to go home.
I was the first one from our Rome flight to reach the gate and I sank into a chair in immobilizing misery. The rest of the faces were similarly stricken, eager to get to Chicago, not happy about a delay, so I followed them to the airline's help desk where we learned that the flight we'd just missed, the flight I watched depart, it was the last flight of the day and we would all be welcome to fly tomorrow and in the meantime stay overnight in a hotel at the airline's expense.
Everyone was glad. I was not. I don't just mean I wanted to go home. I was ready to be home. I needed to be home.
Europe had been wonderful and kind to me. It was exactly what and where I needed to be at that point in my life. It affirmed something in me that I knew all along but could not express until I saw it for myself. I may have been born in the United States of America, but my heart and soul were of the old way, of the European way. I fantasized about moving to Paris, I was thrilled by the clashing of cultures in Amsterdam, I adored every bit of Florence (the most charming place in the world), Vienna showed me Beethoven's Frieze and an exhibition on women in comics in one building, and then in Rome, I learned to love the metropolitan air. And after seeing all these things that made me love humanity, that made me fall in love with human artistry, human invention, humanity in its entirety, I was homesick and I wanted to be with the people I loved most in the world.
Except I was stuck in Madrid.
The petulance I describe amuses me now, to be stuck in such a wondrous and vast city, the shame of being so disappointed, to have a free night's stay in a bustling urban metropolis similar to New York (a place I still yearn to see someday), had it been the beginning of the trip, I wouldn't have minded so much. But it was the end. And what awaited me when I returned was freedom. I had cut myself loose from something I knew I wasn't ready for, and the freedom I'd chosen came with a man I felt as unsure and certain over just as a coin has two opposite sides, embarking on my college education and living alone for the first time in my life. I was 26 and my life was just beginning in a lot of ways, and I was eager to get started.
But first, Madrid. She lay before me in a splendor. So many trains, streets, sights. At the hotel, a group of us discovered we spoke the same language, primarily English, but also deep, speculative, explorative words too, and I was cajoled into exploring another city.
We set out to wander. A lovely thing to do as a traveler. To let the world lead you to where it wants you to go. A train stop, a noise, a crowd, a left then a right and we found that this weekend in Madrid was one of the biggest citywide celebrations devoted to the sun and people went to the streets to dance, sing, drink and relax. Decorations of suns were everywhere, strung across streets, lit up even in the waning sunlight, a myriad of colors.
I was deemed good with maps and given the title of Navigator. A thing I still smile over, to be in charge of the directions, to make sure we didn't go too far astray, to lead us in a big enough swirl around the city; it was a joy. No one had ever let me be in charge of something like that before. I enjoyed it very much and still enjoy staring at maps, determining where we are and where we're going.
We wandered through the streets, smiling at the people, taking it all in. Another beautiful side of humanity, this time in Madrid. There was nowhere we were going and nowhere we had to be, and home and freedom and him were all waiting for me, tomorrow. Sometimes learning how to be patient is a good way to appreciate what's happening right now; today.
And then there was a turn and a left, and maybe we were looking for the palace, but it was dark in the glower of dusk, a vague shadow in my memory. Across the busy street, perhaps that street had once been a garden, a path, a walkway; there sat the piazza.
The sky was a bowl over it. A globe of streaky dark blue clouds against the day's blue background, with the sun's departure imminent. There were birds. All over Europe, birds wander the skies in packs, more visible without the expanse of tall buildings to block them, and at dusk they circle overhead, I felt they were lamenting the darkening sky. There was a building, very symmetrical in its architecture and it was made of marble, which glowed pearlescent in the last light from the sun. A statue sat in the center of the piazza, centered in front of the building, all the paths of the gardens led to the statue of a man on a horse, riding triumphantly away from battle. The paths were laid with a peach colored gravel and lined with dark green manicured bushes. And then, it began to rain, a light breathy mist that feels good on your face.
I had already seen a million beautiful things, countless paintings, endless historical sites and buildings, every person themselves seemed a work of art. I saw them all with a blurry scope of innocence and rabid curiosity, but nothing more.
In the piazza that day, I saw something that no one told me about before, no one told me I would love it, no one told me I had to see it. No one told me how to feel about it, I just felt it.
I felt the rush of pleasure in humanity's clash against nature. The sky was showcased so that no matter which spot you stood in the piazza, it felt like you were in its center. The sky overhead might have any number of cloudscapes on a given day, but what surrounded you on the ground was a soothing palate of colors, a pruned and cultivated garden exhibiting man's control of some elements (stone, metal, plants), and in the middle, the statue of the man on the horse celebrating his triumph over his enemy.
For everyone else, it was just another piazza, another pretty spot some King had designed for him a long time ago, and with tears streaming down my face, I took one last look. I turned and felt the brightness of the day finally fade, dusk shut out the sun with a suddenness. And then we moved on through Madrid, exploring more, taking the train back to the hotel, enjoying each other, while internally I marveled at that spot and wondered when I could be there again.
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