EUROTRIP: What I did on my summer vacation
After bumming frequent flier miles off my parents, crashing on a handful of international friends’ spare beds while avoiding most European sit-down restaurants, I afforded a jaunt through Europe worthy of documenting. I no longer have to imagine what the breeze feels like from atop the Eiffel Tower or long to absorb the historical magnificence of Venetian architecture. Many have said, “You’re so lucky! I wish I were you.” What I didn’t expect was to hear this same phrase when telling Europeans that I was American.
My trek began in the small Bavarian village, Andechs–a place where milk comes in glass bottles and everyone is happier in the evening. This is, of course, because they have just enjoyed three pints of the local brew at the town biergarten. I found myself swallowing a forkful of saurkraut while scanning a never-ending landscape of green with domed churches protruding from the tops of trees and tidy wood piles scattered throughout fields littered with cows. It was a moment that had me puzzled. How did I get here?
When I had my fill of cheesy spaetzle, men wearing lederhosen and had stood under the balcony where Hitler delivered one of his famous speeches, I made my way to Salzberg and Vienna, Austria. I awed as I viewed strands of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s hair while standing in the very room he was conceived. I imagined his small fingers playing sonatas on his childhood violin that resided in a perfect glass case. The wide-eyed faces of marionettes gave me the willies as much as a centuries-old torture chamber. It was only fitting to reenact a scene from the Sound of Music while gallivanting through the same garden where the Von Trapp children sang “Do a deer.”
Before becoming too frustrated with the pronunciation of German words I was on the road again, but this time to Italy. Thankfully, my trusty tour guide revealed a detour through Slovenia–a country that I forgot existed. Let me assure you it is impossible I will ever forget it now. Passing through the tollbooth porthole that divided Austria and Slovenia was like plunging into the coral reef. Instantly, white-capped mountains so large they appeared within walking distance were all around me smothered in daisies, bumblebee orchids and summer snowflakes. A waterfall fell from a crack in the Alps and into the stream that divided a small village. The views were those printed onto jigsaw puzzles that I didn’t believe existed.
Italy’s Roman ruins were waiting, so when my eyes were stale from gaping at the castle-dotted Alps I somehow tore myself away and began meditating on 100 flavors of gelato. I must admit I’m not a fan of the cracker-thin pizza crusts served in every Italian pizzeria or the pasta served with nothing but olive oil and basil. In Venice I felt like as though I were wandering through an ant farm threaded with putrid waterways. It was the only city I visited that had so many tourists I started to think Venetians sustained their culture simply to keep their visitors happy. I was not amused, though the window flower boxes and Italian flags hanging over alley ways made for a quaint photo opt.
I was, for the most part, alone in Paris. When your mother warns you about the pick-pockets that hang in the shadows of the Parisian subways, be afraid. Keep in mind that most of the time these pick-pockets come in the form of a pregnant woman with four children trailing behind her like ducklings. To save money I bought a baguette every morning as well as meat and cheese from small shops on my hostel’s street. Though the week I spent in Paris had unreal views supplemented by the elegance of the French language, I could not help but notice how ignorant the people were compared to those in Cache Valley.
Excited to move on to my next destinations in Chester and London, England, I left the friends I had made in Paris to see an old friend who is now a school teacher. The more time I spent in the United Kingdom, the more my voice fluctuations subconsciously altered. I ate fish and chips near the London Bridge, played pretend within the walls of a crumbling English castle and hoped to catch Queen Elizabeth at Buckingham Palace. All the while I was anticipating my final destination: Scotland.
Scotland is everything I pictured it to be–clouds hanging heavy over green fields outlined with short stone walls containing herds of sheep, and towns full of pubs rather than fast food restaurants. Looking over Ediburgh–a city where J.K. Rowling is said to have concocted the magical world of Harry Potter–was Arthur’s Peak. Running on a few minutes of sleep, I began my ascent to the top. A few miles later with trembling knees I stood at the top and looked out a city suitable for dragons and sorcery. I couldn’t believe where I was and that I had executed a desire that began years ago while many only hoped they could one day make it beyond the Eastern border of the U.S. I felt peace and the stresses from the previous year were hardly remembered.
Driving into Cache Valley after my one-month adventure did not bring the disappointment I anticipated. I let out a sight when I remembered in the U.S. I’m not required to pay a woman in an apron one pound to let me use the girls’ room. Behold, there were water fountains and parking lots, and everything was half-price. Looking around I remembered how eager I was to leave when the semester ended, but the canyons, rivers and poppies in full bloom, reminded me why I was so eager to attend school here in the first place. Compared to the Louvre, Roman amphitheaters and Munich’s Gothic buildings, our valley lacks a deep history and culture, however, this truth does not take away from the fact that where we live is nothing short of breathtaking.