Recently I was reading a novel by Ernest Hemingway called “The Sun Also Rises” in which a bunch of American ex-pats wander through Europe from city to city drinking and searching for a happiness they never truly find. It was a rather depressing read, and in the most Hemingway-ish way possible, the story, devoid of much textual details or conversational depth, has a hidden richness buried deep between the lines that would be easy to miss if one wasn’t careful. The basic human need to be loved and to feel adequate is found on each page. The superficial nature of their conversations showing their desire to avoid uncomfortable topics or to pretend that their ‘best’ self is their true self. Unpleasant, uncomfortable things happen, but are rarely ever talked about. I couldn’t help but see the parallels between these fictional characters and our own self-made portrayals of our lives on social media. We see the highlights of each other’s lives, or at least the parts we choose to put out there, but we don’t really interact. There is so much life that happens outside of these brief glimpses that often gets lost between the cracks. We like to lead with the good and pretend the bad doesn’t happen. With this missing human element of raw emotion and interaction, we are starting to lose touch with each other. I feel it most often when I share photos or stories of our tours with people that weren’t there. You can see a picture, or hear an account of a story, but if you weren’t there, there are large gaps that are missing. It’s hard to find the words to relay how it really was. We recently returned from a 12 day journey through the Spanish, French and Italian countryside with some of the best people I’ve had the privilege to know and I desperately want to be able to share the experience with those of you that weren’t there. I’ve shared pictures, I’ve invited you to join us in the future, but I haven’t given you a real taste of what this was like.
It’s hard. How do you describe in words an experience that’s only defined by the emotions it has sparked in you? Like how we struggled for four days to learn the names of everyone on our tour. We came from different parts of the country, we had different interests and we were all fighting jetlag, but we took it upon ourselves to learn everyone by name and have an introduction ceremony over dinner—a large feat for a group of 40 plus travelers. I’ve never laughed so hard as when, in an introduction, it was revealed that one traveler had been sneaking food onto the bus. Watching our animated bus driver Giovanni’s delayed reaction upon hearing this translated into Italian, with all his loud, boisterous hand-waving, was very comical, especially given his previous warnings about what would happen to us should we dare to attempt eating on the bus. In truth, he took it fairly well. He was everything we American’s stereotype the Italians to be. Once we watched him pull the bus onto the side of the road and jump out of the driver’s seat to give another bus driver, who had gotten stuck in a toll lane, a quick driving lesson. He looked him straight in the eye, waving with his arms and hitting himself on the head to make an “are you stupid?” gesture, all while shouting “Mama Mia!” Or the time our bus blew a tire and he was covered to his elbows in grease trying to fix it so we wouldn’t miss a moment more than we had to in his beautiful city. These are the moments you don’t see in the pictures. Sitting speechless on the beach in Nice as we stood in awe of the most beautiful sunset we’ve ever seen. There are no words for that. We couldn’t do anything but sit and look. And, like so many times in life, our silence said so much more than our words ever could. Together we were changed having seen the sun set on the opposite side of the world. We touched exhibits that the Spaniards had made for the blind—laying out the architecture of the city so they can experience with their hands what we were seeing with our eyes. We are now all connected, the blind, the seeing—anyone who has stood in that square or felt the smooth edges of the model city’s display. We’ve shared in something special together. Going to a bullfight in an effort to immerse yourself in the local culture only to bawl your eyes out when you realize the reality of what it entails. It made us fall even more in love with Barcelona when we learned that it is the only Spanish city that forbids bullfighting. I watched as a weary traveler requested to sit out the day of touring because she was tired. A few other travelers encouraged her to push through and while it was a tough day of walking to be sure, during that morning’s tour of Park Guell, she serenaded us with an a cappella version of “How Great Is Our God” that moved me to tears—a moment that would never have happened had she chosen to sit that day out. Sharing a collective laugh as someone drops a pile of birdseed beneath a couple French- kissing on a park bench. It quickly became a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie—one I’m sure the couple did not appreciate—but one that made us belly laugh and will be the source of many a “remember that time in Barcelona” story. One evening at dinner, while were still all getting comfortable with one another, the song “We Are Young” came on the radio. Slowly a couple people started mouthing the words until eventually every single one of us was shouting “So let’s set the world on fire!” at the top of our lungs, drawing stares from waiters and guests alike. I doubt I’ll ever be able to hear that song and not remember that night, over our pasta, bonding over a feeling. Playing musical chairs on the bus and basically drawing straws based on who was the most car sick for who got the privilege of the window seat. Passing around the magical French nausea medicine between the few of us who couldn’t handle the winding cliff side streets of Monaco without losing our lunches. Or the other feeling of sickness—realizing your brand new GoPro camera is nowhere to be found, and as much as you’d like to retrace your steps, it is time to leave for another country. Watching as people dared each other to order frog legs and escargot while in Provence and actually finding out that they loved it. Seeing walls come down and understanding start to form, one snail at a time! Eating the best gelato you’ve ever had in your entire life in a small gelateria in Florence, prompting the immediate purchase of one more for the road. Or the panic we collectively felt in the Sistine Chapel when we realized two of our travelers were no longer with us. The Vatican guards were shouting at the crowd and herding us through the exit door like cattle. It was a challenging situation for sure, but one that, once resolved, brought us all closer together as a group. Seeing people that mere days ago were strangers have genuine concern for each other and relief when they are tearfully reunited was a beautiful thing to experience. These are the moments that fall between the cracks of the facebook album. The moments that bond us to one another and tell our stories—one that can’t be told scrolling through a newsfeed—one that requires interaction and shared experience to understand. I hope, in a small way, that you felt like a part of our journey. I genuinely want to make a more concerted effort to live life to the fullest. To share in real-life face-to-face experiences with people and to bridge the gaps between the moments that fall through the cracks. I don’t want to end up like Hemingway’s Brett and Jake, throwing out a false version of myself that, while fun to facebook stalk, isn’t the real me. In “The Sun Also Rises” their story ends in Madrid upstairs in the world’s oldest restaurant, Botin, over a plate of suckling pig—exactly where our journey began, but our experience was something else entirely.
