One of the joys of travel is the people that you meet. The kind stranger who gives you directions. The waitress that brings a free dessert just because you tried ordering from the Greek language side of the menu. The person on the bus who helps you get off at the correct stop.
Our very first trip to Europe, my husband and I encountered a couple that left a much more significant impact on our lives. We don’t know their names, or even if they’re still alive. But we think about them maybe once a week, and they changed our lives forever.
We had about 24 hours in Verona, Italy. We had walked all over the city – to the tourist-kitschy but still cute Juliet’s Garden, and to the beautiful gardens of Giardino Giusti (photos of which were why I was attracted to book a night there in the first place). We had walked through the still-intact Roman coliseum, which was putting up the set for a production of Aida. We had found the theatre that was going to be putting on Shakespeare’s Two Gentlemen of Verona – and debated going back that night to see Verona in Verona. We were saving the very intriguing bridge and fortress for the following day.
Our legs finally demanded a break, and we found a restaurant with plenty of al fresco seating and the most fantastic gnocci on the menu.
The Parisians aren’t the only people who understand the joys of sitting at an outside table watching the world go by. The Italians are very good at outdoor tables, as well.
Our attention was drawn to a group at the next table. They were obviously Americans, the accent Midwestern. We were guessing it was grandparents traveling with their two grandchildren. The kids were around 10-12 years old, and would flit away to explore, then come back, and run off again, while the adults enjoyed their wine, and the sunset, and the gorgeous Italian evening.
Finally, we struck up a conversation. We found out they weren’t just fellow Midwesterners; they lived in the same suburb of Milwaukee where my husband and I got married. They were, indeed, grandparents sharing the joys of Europe with their grandchildren. They were seasoned travelers, loved Italy, loved Verona in particular and were curious how we’d decided to come to this delicious little town. It isn’t necessarily a big tourist destination.
“The pictures,” I answered. “The place looked too fabulous to miss!”
I don’t remember how it came about, but these two veteran travelers from Milwaukee ended up giving us advice that will be with us til our dying day. I remember they even said that there are two important things to remember about traveling.
1 -There’s no such thing as jet lag. When your plane lands, you hit the ground running. Whatever time it was back home, that’s irrelevant. There are things to do, places to see.
This elderly couple was obviously a couple of kindred spirits. My husband subscribes to the “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” philosophy of living, while I simply have more energy than any other two people. Up for two days straight? Sure, I’ll happily sleep when it’s bedtime and I have to stop doing things and seeing places.
2 – Always remember to look up.
This second bit of advice went well beyond the practical into the truly profound. Not that it isn’t very practical advice, as well. Those words came back several times over the course of that trip. We could be standing in the grungiest, crowded little train station, jostled, hot, and my husband would nudge me. “Always remember to look up.” And there on the ceiling of this dirty little building would be the most amazing fresco. Since then we have been to Rome, to Paris, to Prague, to Japan, to Amsterdam, to Greece, to London – it never ceases to be true. American architecture is often sadly lacking in detail by comparison. Older civilizations did not suffer from such a lack of beauty in their daily lives. Even if it is not a frescoed ceiling to contemplate, there are things of beauty, of whimsy, of fascination to be discovered in much of the world above eye level.
This leads me to the truly profound nature of this advice. It’s not merely a good idea when in Europe. It’s a philosophy of living. Always remember to look up. The stars are out. It’s a full moon. It’s a new moon. The trees are turning color. Or, they’re just leafing out. Or the people on the fourth floor of the apartment building down the street have put up pretty little white lights for the holidays. Even in unremarkable Dayton, Ohio where I live, the brown brick building on the corner of First and Main has these funny Humpty Dumpty statues on the second story.
It is a shame we didn’t exchange names and addresses with the couple from Milwaukee. I have no way to contact them, to thank them for the impact they had on our lives. We think of them often – every time we remember to look up.
