European Culture
- By: sea_of_memories
- Created on: 06/18/2007
- Rated By 5 Users
- Comments: 1
The in-flight movies had ended and the television screens were showing a map of the Atlantic Ocean and small airplane that was supposed to represent the jet I was sitting in. Trying to tell myself that small decal was me and below me was an ocean that I had only traced on a globe was near to impossible. It wasn't that I was not a seasoned traveler.
At the age of seven I had left my California home and flown to Chicago. At eleven I had gone to Nova Scotia and at thirteen I had traveled to Vancouver, but I had never crossed an ocean. The thought of arriving in five European cities over the span of three weeks made my stomach do cartwheels.
I had spent many sleepless nights dreaming of what it would be like to walk down those twisted streets. Sitting on that plane and watching that decal, moving slower than a snail across the sidewalk, left me feeling more elated than a child on Christmas morning. Little did I know that after fifteen hours of traveling, the wait was not even close to over.
I had been invited on this trip by my eighth grade English teacher along with forty-nine other students. Being in that large of a group led to lines every five steps and that meant that I was left to frantically look around me for a window to get my first glimpse of Italy. After another hour of standing in line with a group of Russian school children to get through customs, I saw it.
Across the crowded hallway was a window, a glorious Italian window. As I drank in the sight of Italy with my eyes, I was suddenly hit with a revelation. Europe, this place I had dreamt of since I was old enough to read, looked just like California.
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