The Maturity

Written on a bus from Paris to Vienna, 5:56 p.m.

Warning: Due to my inability to write for the last few weeks, this post is extremely long. So, take your time, read the parts that interest you, and please understand that this is but a fraction of what I could say. I’ll write more often, but even then I can’t promise a lack of verbosity.

As time drips through my fingers, I’m finding it much harder to write. Not for lack of anything to say, though, but because the chance to sit and contemplate and record has not yet presented itself. However, as I sit in a bus, a mere two hours into my 17 hour ride, I find myself with not much to do, but plenty to say.

Two weekends ago I was in Brussels. Last weekend, London. This week, Vienna and Prague. Moving, moving, moving, and I miss the chance to sit still. It’s the thing I miss most, the ability to relax, to not move, to laze the day away because I have an endless supply of similar days ahead of me. Unfortunately, for the time being, they are all behind. With two months in, and only two short months to go (exactly), I have to take what I can get. I have to absorb Paris and Europe through every pore in my body, all day every day, because chances like mine are slim, rare, and meaningful, at least to me.

I miss other things too. The ability to cook my own food, beef jerky, Jell-O, the sunny weather, access to books I’ve been yearning to read. Most of all, I miss my family and friends. The Sundays I spend at home with my mom, relaxing after church, competing on Bejeweled, watching football, napping all day on the couch and enjoying each other’s company, even if we don’t talk. Or the nights and weekends with my best friends, spent doing nothing but sitting, watching movies or acting stupid just for the sake of satisfying our own inner children. I miss Andrew, Brett, Andrew, Steve, Curran, Emily, the girls, my gym, my life, and the ease with which I live it. I don’t want to go home though. If I could, I would just transfer them here, everything I miss, and integrate them with the new things, the new way of life, the darker weather, the drearier days, the wonders of each new city and each feeling associated with all of my wanderings.

Most of my sadness comes from nostalgia though. The way I remember things, no matter when they occurred, or even if they no longer exist. I want cartoons, a lazy afternoon playing with Legos or swimming in the bay. I want Christmas, the stress of finals but the knowledge that I’ll spend most of my studying time wasting days with my roommates, which in the end, is no waste at all. Cookies, Christmas films, Christmas music, a tree, the feeling of love and compassion. I miss the simplicity of life, and even though life was never simple after childhood, I still feel as if I had the connection. I miss someone to share my sadness with, my happiness, my triumphs, failures, and circular voyages. People with which to share myself, give myself, because after all, no man is an island.

Maybe this was the sort of change I was looking for. Not the type of change where I see the world in a different light, but maybe the realization that the light I see is the light I love. Maybe I’m setting my priorities straight, seeing what my life should be, and it has nothing to do with the money I make, the job I have, my career path, or what I own and what I’ve seen. It’s my relationships, the parts of me that belong to other people. The slice of my ego, my love, my heart that every person I know has a claim to. I’m not just me, I’m everyone, and this sojourn without myself, without others is ripping the preconceptions from me, and giving me what I’ve had all along.

I already am who I always was. I’ve struggled so hard to better myself, to change myself, change my personality, that I didn’t even realize that I don’t need to change, I just need to mature enough to understand myself. I’ve spent so much time fighting, thinking that if only I could cultivate my image how I wanted it to be, that I would be that person. That if I pretended not to be upset, then I wasn’t. That anger was a sign of weakness, that pain was for the stupid or the unknowing, that love didn’t exist, selfishness was the highest ideal, and ultimately that I was superior because of my thoughts. But I’m not that person. I’m normal. I exult, I pout, I cry, I laugh, I miss, I wish, and I love. Just like everyone else. Why can’t I ever just acknowledge how I feel, why must I try to feel how I thought I should?

When you sit on a bus, and you know you have a wonderful 14 hours ahead of you of inactivity, your mind has quite a bit of time to wander.

Brussels and London are by far my two favorite cities I’ve visited aside from Paris. The weekend in Brussels was spent eating chocolate, waffles, and chocolate waffles. The city itself is quite old, much like any European city, but for the first time, Brussels had a distinctly European feel. It was exactly how I imagined Europe. It was a quiet town, not too full of tourists, not too full of natives, and a wonderful place to live. The city centre was exactly that, a centre, and I felt as if each road pulled toward the square.

I was reminded of Venice as well. In Venice, St. Mark’s square is the apex of the city, the crown jewel, and the starting point of the city. It was the same with Brussels, with the square constituting the beginning of each crossroad into the surrounding countryside. Like an onion, each successive layer outside of the square was more rural, more relaxed, and in my eye, more European.

The first day I went to a few museums and the European Union headquarters, and spent the rest of the day walking and eating. I don’t really remember the sites though, because they weren’t important as compared with the insight. It was the most relaxed I’ve been in Europe, even more so than the black beaches of Santorini, or among the stunning history of Rome. An eternal rain plagued the city all weekend, but it felt natural, as if rain was how the days passed, and without it, time would have stopped.

That night, we visited a very famous bar in the city centre. Belgium, aside from its waffles and chocolates, is known for its beer. In this bar alone, over 250 types of beer were on tap or available in bottles, and overall, the bar had 2500 types of beer in its cellar. Ranging from the bland to the exotic, it was quite an experience. As a group, we bought many different flavors of beer, and proceeded to pass the bottles around, taking a swig and comparing. From coconut to mango to chocolate to berry, the flavors were strange and the tastes were delightful.

My favorite part of Brussels though was the food. I have never tasted a waffle as delicious as one freshly made, with a score of bananas, chocolate, and whipped cream on top. In fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever had a waffle decorated in such a manner. Belgian waffles though, pale in comparison with the real Belgian gem, chocolate. On every street, in most sections of town, there was a chocolate store every 30 feet, and each one contained its own special brand of chocolate. I ate truffles, flavored chocolate, alcoholic chocolate, sweet chocolate, nutty chocolate, and just plain chocolate, and still I couldn’t get enough. I was sad to leave, but I knew it was necessary. It was the first time in a long time that I went a day without any sort of protein intake. Body be damned, it was worth it.

London, in a sense, was the exact opposite of Belgium. The city itself, though not quite alive in the same way that Paris is, holds its own secrets, which unfortunately I didn’t have the time to discover. A friend warned me before I visited that many people prefer London or Paris, but not both. Unlike Paris, London is modern, an old city revitalized and given the touches of the new high-tech society. I found it exactly as described then. But it was wonderful.

I spent most of the weekend by myself, even though I travelled with friends. Due to a combination of our extremely late nights, and my characteristic ability to not only function on little sleep, but also to wake up extremely early with no prompting, I was off on my own well before my companions woke up. London is a big city, so a good majority of my time was spent walking from museum to museum, but with only myself to entertain, I was able to understand the city much better than if I had been surrounded by friends.

As a city, London is a very expensive place to live. While the food is cheaper than Paris, unfortunately the attractions are not, and based on my status as a student, I decided to take the free tour. All of London’s national museums are free, so aside from seeing the outside of some of the bigger tourist destinations, including Big Ben and The Parliament, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the London Eye, and the London Tower, I spent my time in the Natural History Museum, the National Gallery, and the British Museum. I went to King’s Cross to see the famous Harry Potter platform, visited the original Magna Carta right next door at the British Library, and was able to see an extensive gallery of paintings by many master’s in the National Gallery.

It was strange, too, being once again in a country where English was the primary language. I no longer had the worry of not making myself understood. Strangely, I felt as if the British were my long lost brothers, separated at birth, but with a similar understanding of life. I guess it was the American in me reaching to the surface.

London was the opposite of Belgium in terms of food. In the UK, the food is hearty, meant for the working man. It’s full of meat, cheese, and potatoes, and everything I’ve loved about food. I gorged on steak pies, chicken pies, and fish and chips, and like Belgium, still I couldn’t get enough. I felt ready to work in the field, to labor over a farm, to plow a harvest. I also ate in the stereotypical English pub. The lighting was dim, the pub was old (formerly the site where Henry VIII denounced his marriage to Catherine), and the food was delicious. It was quite cold outside, so the mug of apple cider I had was especially fitting.

On Saturday night, we went to the Ministry of Sound, a very famous club in London’s centre. The boys snuck in for free, we managed to find free drinks, and after 4 hours of dancing and chatting, we finally retired to our beds. Only later did I find out that the club was well known over all of Europe, and is a must visit for any club-hopping fanatic.

In the two weeks that have passed, I’ve had the opportunity to explore Paris as well. I’ve yet to see all of the major tourist sites, but as soon as our school break is over, most of my time will be spent in the city itself, enjoying and relaxing and exploring and knowing. Even with two months, I don’t think I have the time.

Now, I’m off to Vienna and Prague, for the first time travelling by myself, which should be an experience unto itself. Truthfully, I’m scared to be by myself. I have yet to travel without a companion, and even if in the past I lost him for the day, I at least found myself with somebody to get dinner with in the evening. No doubt, another growing experience, I’ll finally be forced to take care of myself, to solve the problems without support, and to entertain my mind with only its own thoughts. However, if there was one place besides Paris I would like to be without others, it would be in Prague. My family is Czech, and I was raised with many Czech cultural ideals, so I’m looking forward to finding my heritage, and more importantly, meeting my Czech relatives. I’ll be able to compare my grandma’s Czech cooking with the cooking of Prague, and even though I know that Prague stands no chance, it will be nice to have a flavor of home, and a taste of what is to come at Christmas when I finally return to the U.S.