Been on my mind a while...

The first night I ever spent in Europe was in a hotel in Milan. The hotel itself was easy to miss; the entrance was packed tightly and inconspicuously alongside the rest of the shops and cafes laid out along the strip, their signs being the only indicator that this block wasn’t just some massive single entity. There was a sign for the hotel, white and black with a lion in the center crying out at the letters above its head. I don’t know the exact name for that type of sign…it’s the type you see advertising Heineken of Amstel beer outside of bars and pubs, the ones that look as if they’d light up at night but often don’t.
The sign was to the right of the doors, painted nonchalantly to match the dark color flow of the buildings on the block, really just one big mass of construction with the individual businesses nestling into each separate crevice. Past the doors, however, was to a spacious open area leading to the entrance or, further past, the courtyard. Being my first experience with lodging in another country, I was clearly taken up with “How cool is this! I’m in Europe! At a cool hotel! And I’m going to eat Italian food made in Italy by real Italians!”
My enthusiasm, unbridled but neatly restrained to the observing passerby, continued long into the day while I checked into the room, while I walked around the city, while I ventured out to by my first coffee, beer, glass of wine in another country, as long as it seemed when in reality it was less than two hours before I got back to my room, messenger bag starting to form a comfortable groove in my shoulder, turning on the TV and not recognizing a word or product advertisement, keeping that idealistic high shared by first time traveling youth. Then I looked out over the balcony (oh, right, “I had a cool balcony!’) below into the courtyard.
Directly in the center stood a solid black table occasionally interrupted by small white coffee cups, surrounded by three women cloaked in European fashion smoking cigarettes and casually conversing. Had I still been on that rush of excitement the scene would fit in perfectly—three beautiful women smoking over coffee in a courtyard. Almost cinematic, really. Something had changed, however, in the moment it took to open the doors, step out and look down. My sense of everything went from excitement to an odd calm. It wasn’t cynicism, and it wasn’t fear or intimidation. I didn’t realize it at first, but in retrospect I think it was acceptance.
I’ve been undeniably lucky the past few years in what I’ve done and seen, where I’ve traveled and whom I’ve met. After some breathing room with each experience I had a reoccurring notion that the me from a few years ago, just starting college or considering future employment for a classical guitarist, would never imagine this. I remember there were moments where Europe seemed an impossibility, that movies and books were the closest I’d ever come Italy or Spain. Now that I can say I’ve been there, and I’ll be going back in the coming months, I’ve come to realize that life is much more attainable than I once thought it was. Notions of “impossible” are based out of laziness or fear or just not thinking hard enough. Money and time may be concerns, but ability is essentially perseverance and desire. Luck as well, perhaps.
Those three women I saw from the balcony that day were a bit of a wake up call. They were (probably) not movie stars, they were (probably) not famous—they were (probably) just three completely ordinary women drinking coffee in a courtyard in the middle of the afternoon (probably…jet lag sucks). I suppose that has nothing at all to do with learning any lasting lesson, but the image was striking enough. Sort of a postcard image, but in real life. Curious. Glad I got to see it in person.

Side note: last night I got a cocktail napkin from a passenger requesting “Free Bird.”





Bastard.