The Foreign and the Familiar

The place I have never been to in all the years of my life.  The one place that everyone has been to and has praised beyond end, but has hidden from me.  I finally get to go: the beach.

Now, a clarification on a definition.  According to me, I have been to a beach before as I have been to shores of Lake Erie more than several times.  However, according to all of my peers, one has never been to a beach unless one goes to a saltwater beach.

Well, I will gladly take the Mediterranean Sea as my first trip to the beach!   The day after Easter no one has classes, so a trip is organized, and I go with a large group to the edge of the Italian Peninsula.  The sun shines bright in the sky, and the moment finally comes.  Taking my shoes off to run barefoot, I first feel the dark, almost black, sand between my toes, a thick smooth texture.  Running along this ground of an foreign planet, I catch sight of the main attraction:  the shore.  Now it looks like any other beach on Lake Erie, but I have not been to one in so long that it looks as if I just found a brand new paradise.  The rhythm of the waves against the sand beat steadily as I stroll towards the edge, and the water washes my sand covered feet.  I took a seat near the edge and just sat there.  I could have been there forever, just being one with God's creation, thinking of nothing except the waves of the sea.

Now fast forward to Saturday evening.  I find myself on an excursion to Southern Italy, staying a hotel in Paestum, a town near the city of Naples.  The hotel is located only a two minutes walk from that glorious place where ocean and continent meet.  After walking through a buffalo farm and ancient Greek temples, it has been an exhausting day, but two of my friends and I are determined to see the sun set over that scene that caught my attention so well earlier in the week. We nearly ran there out of excitement, only to run into some other Duquesne students who went down earlier.  "Aw, what a shame.  You guys just missed the sunset".  Just missed it?  Well, we decide to go anyway, even though I am slightly dissapointed.  We missed God's big show, the point where all the colors that ever existed surround the great power of light that shines through the day. 

Reaching the beach, we have a seat on the soft sand to take in any remnants of the show.  The feeling of the sand once again between my toes, and the sound of the crashing waves bring back pleasant memories of Monday's trip.  However, this visit held a new surprise:  the show was not over.  Although the orange sun had disappeared, God still had painted the sky into a masterpiece of color.  Most of the sky was a deep blue by this point, but a strip of light blue introduced the bright orange and yellow placed lower in the sky.  Over all of this is specks of a dark pink, outlining the absent sun, and the purple of the light streaks of clouds.  In front of this natural postcard I no longer sat in the still slightly foreign atmosphere of the beach, but rather at home.  The silence of awe between the three students in the sand felt right.  No need to say anything.  Rather, we needed to take in one of the best scene of our lives.  If heaven felt like this, I would have no problem staying forever. 

My week however, is not defined by the triumph of the beach, but also shadowed a bit by the defeats in the city center of Rome.  Tuesday brought more of the sun shining, the warmth, and no class, so I walked around Rome in the afternoon.  Many people had suggested this one place to get gelato, and I planned on visiting some sites in the area, so I took a swing on by  for ice cream.  Although kind of hidden in the midst of several side streets, I was able to find my way using landmarks I had become familiar with in the past three months.  Feeling very accomplished, I took my gelato and took an immediate right and down a couple blocks where I knew to be the spacious Piazza Navona.  The tasty treat and the people watching completed my afternoon.

Fast forward this story to Thursday Evening.  After going out to dinner near Piazza Navona, my friends wanted to get gelato at that same place I went to earlier in the week.  I was fine, as I even knew how to get there.  Or so I thought.  I lead my little group to the Piazza, down a street, and taking a left.  No ice cream.  The moon shone brightly in the night as suddenly, this area I have been around so much for the past three months looked like a place I had never been before.  Perhaps I just didn't go down the street far enough.  No, what about taking a left here?  No again.  It takes asking at least five storekeepers for directions, and passing the same bus stop three times to find it.  The gelato never tasted more delicious and well deserved.  The cold, thick and creamy treat with chocolate pieces refresh my mouth after my huge disaster.  Yes, I did get my gelato eventually, but I knew the route!  I had taken it before and I should have easily been able to navigate these streets!  Yet I failed in this mission, and it was certainly not my best moment in the city of Rome.