I don’t know if it was the awe and wonder of my first time in Europe, or if Prague truly is an untouched gem, but it was an amazing city to have my first European experience in. The grandeur of the gothic spires that shot up along the skyline was overwhelming. I’d never seen the old world intermingled with new life before. Walking along the Charles Bridge and admiring local artists hard at work and weaving in and out of street vendor’s shops was something out of a fairy tale. I remember buying a hand-carved, wooden 3-way chess set from a man who greeted me in Japanese, and some Bohemian crystal in a shop I remember thinking I was too underdressed to be shopping in. The garnet and amber jewelry shops along the streets lured me in with their walls of red and gold glistening in the morning light. I climbed up to Prague Castle and looked out on the city below—finding it difficult to wrap my head around how vast and dramatic the landscape was compared to anything I’d ever seen before. I remember seeing a suit of armor on display in a torture museum and being blown away at how barbaric and harsh the world once was. I visited a university that ran an exchange teacher program. For the first time in my life I saw the possibility of living abroad--I saw life through a completely different lens than anything else I’d ever known. I took a “lift” instead of an elevator, I slept in down feather beds and ate foods whose names I couldn’t even pronounce. I saw a procession of Apostles parading themselves through an opening in a magnificent astronomical clock that was over 600 years old. The mere concept of a clock being so much older than my country was mind-blowing. I saw soldiers in uniform walking proudly amongst the streets. I saw a city untouched by the bombing of World War II, yet still impacted by its devastating effects. I saw resilience, and grit, and genuine kindness in the Czechs. I was truly sad to leave this city when it was time to move on.
From Prague I headed to Hungary. My stay in Budapest was very brief, but it lasted long enough for me to know I needed to return. The food, the aromas and the bustle of the city was invigorating. I spent three hours eating dinner—sharing stories, breaking bread and laughing with my new Hungarian friends. I saw extreme poverty—gypsies—discrimination and hardship—but also a lot of love and laughter.
I remember as I crossed the border from Hungary to Austria noting how interestingly and dramatically the landscape changed almost instantly. In both the Czech Republic and Hungary there had been fields of yellow wildflowers as far as the eye could see. In Austria I remember poppies--rows and rows of poppies--So red and vibrant that they almost didn’t seem real. Suddenly the rolling foothills transformed to enormous mountains that jutted into the heavens with beautiful blue green lakes nestled in between. There was something so quaint about it. I spent some of my time in a girl’s dormitory where I got to meet Austrian students that were my own age. How could it be that we lived worlds apart, yet had so much in common? It had only been just the year before when my English teacher had asked us to create a bucket list. “Write down things that may seem impossible, but that would make your heart soar,” she had said. The first item had been simple—“visit the set of The Sound of Music.” The film came alive as I walked through Mirabell Garden--recounting hours of singing Do-Re-Mi in my living room. I could envision the children clad in drapes hanging from the trees as I walked up to the palatial and intimidating home Maria would spend the next few years of her life—a moment I knew as if it was a scene from my own blurred childhood memories. I explored the Gazebo that Leisl escaped to in the night to be with Rolf as she rationalized life in a way only a sixteen-going-on-seventeen-year-old can. Checking something off my bucket list for the first time was indescribable—addictive, even. I just wanted to devour more experiences like this. We toured Salzburg, went into the depths of the Earth in a salt mine, and to the top of the world (it seemed) as we took a steam train up into the Alps, the very one the Von Trapp children had ridden on a day out with their new, fun governess. We saw Mozart’s home and stood in awe of instruments he himself practiced on. It was unreal to see all these things I had only ever read about coming to life. Suddenly I felt so small. My scope of reality was so microscopic compared to the vast infiniteness of humanity and my tiny, but somehow important role in it. I remember running my fingers over small one and two Euro coins---thinking how innovative and colorful European money was compared to dollars. For the first time I had to pay to use the bathroom. I remember thinking that the whole idea was unheard of and completely uncivilized, until I realized how much cleaner and nicer every bathroom in Austria had been compared to everywhere else, almost as if people appreciate things more when they’ve had to contribute to its upkeep. I started to change. I saw how I was starting to appreciate things—things that had never occurred to me before—like how effortlessly foreign speakers in my home country got by when I struggled so much here—sure, not everything they said was flawless, but I found myself overwhelmed with the graciousness the Czech, Hungarian and Austrian people had with my stammering, unapologetic lack of language. I thought about times where I hadn’t been so gracious and I suddenly became painfully aware of my inadequacies in past experiences. I vowed to change that.
There’s something so invigorating about travel. It unlocks things inside of you that you didn’t even know to look for. It can break your heart, it can make you sentimental, and it can rock your world view. I know for me personally, it has been one of the most transformative powers in my life and I am so grateful for each experience to view life through a different perspective.
