Rome- the Eternal City

Well, we rolled into Rome about seven this morning after a pretty sweet tour of the Mediterranean coast and the French countryside. The train system in Spain forced us to do a little switcheroo with our itinerary, which caused Sarah Miller a bit of consternation. She likes for everything that is on paper to fall into place, but the train system between France and Spain is beyond the control of two little American travelers, and to be perfectly honest with you, I’m glad our itinerary got switched up (don’t tell Sarah). We got to see an awesome Cubism exhibit, then explore the biggest park in Madrid. Oh and you can’t go to Madrid without El Museo de Jamon. It seemed to be the local gathering place, everyone just threw their napkins on the floor when you were done. The whole thing was pretty much just a butcher shop, very tastefully decorated unless you happen to be a pig. So an extra day in Spain? "…in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

I’ve had more interesting discussions over the past two weeks than the entire past year combined. Let’s see if I can give you a peek into life in a hostel. First, there was Kent. A wrinkled, slightly older man staying in a youth hostel, this is that guy. You know… THAT guy. The one who wears his grubby green button-up shirt un-tucked so that he can wipe his mouth on it when he brushes his teeth, plugs in expletives in EVERY conversation in an awkward manner, with the vowels all streeeeeeeeetched out so that you can tell he only curses to fit in with a younger crowd, the one with all the ridiculous claims like that "Israel was trying to take over the Western world by infiltrating the system with foreigners to gain the majority" and "Britain was never really involved in World War II", anything to stir something up. Kent was THAT guy. Then there was Mille from Argentina, an architecture student in Buenos Aires who I adored, who taught me about Catholic tradition, Argentinean life, architecture, acceptance and judgment, and sang American pop songs with me. (PS- A flight to Europe is like going back ten years, at least in the context of Top 40 radio. It’s like I’m back in primary school again- ‘Truly Madly Deeply’, Pearl Jam, ‘Killing me Softly’… you get the drift.) Anyways, back to the main jist- every breakfast is an adventure, not food-wise- that’s always corn-flakes, bread with butter, and tea or instant coffee. But over the last few mornings, I’ve discussed life in the Congo, surfing in Hawaii, Israeli politics, the worldwide affects of WWII, educational philosophy, you name it. The most amazing things is, everyone’s opinions are considered and valid. Everyone, from Mille to Kent, is loved and accepted… every question is authentic, about music or politics, economics or emotions. But most importantly, every person is a book to be opened. It’s truly amazing, when you are loved and not judged.

[Fair Warning: I get a little overly philosophical in this next paragraph. If that stuff bores you, skip to the next paragraph, it’s got the dirt about Rome.]
For the last few years, I’ve had a fascination with the –ology words, you know like ‘the study of’. I suppose this fascination comes from an addiction to books, a habit passed down from the women in my family as both my mother and grandmother have been employed as librarians in some capacity. This summer I read a book by one of my favorite authors, Madeleine L’Engle, in which she talked of a particular word that I really liked, one that I think describes this trip well, "ontology".
<>
I’ve always believed all art is ontological, but never had I thought of all of life in that context, that life is a study of being. So often we go through life self-addicted, concerned only with the happenings in our own little little microscopic bubble, as if life is a movie and we play the leading characters. Doing so, we miss the point. Over the last few weeks, I’ve realized that my ‘bleeding heart’ theology, my aesthetic philosophy, what little attention I pay to science, government, and mathmatics… all study winds up in this science of simply ‘being’, ontology.

Enough rambling, On to the topic at hand, Rome. Rome is eternally rainy (at least for today) and marvelously touristy. Sarah and I practiced our limited Italian, all day we used ‘no me moleste’ (the men are VERY forward, the sterotype of Italian men is pretty accurate) and ‘gratzi’ in our best Sopranos accent. Rome is interesting, around every corner there is some new wonder. We kept walking down narrow streets and all of a sudden, Bam! There are some mossy ruins left from ancient civilization, just chilling there. It’s wild! Well, somewhere between spending 36+ hours on trains, cold rain soaking through my LL Bean waterproof jacket and boots (slowly transforming my warm wool socks into a marsh inside my boots), and frustration with the throngs of men chasing us crying "Umbrelliiiii, buy umbrelliiii!", Sarah and I decided to return to our accommodations on the outskirts of Rome, where we have a warm heated bungalow to ourselves, and spend a rainy late afternoon how it should be spent- listening to music, laughing, talking, napping, reading, and ahem, doing art.

All on a rainy afternoon in Italy. Where’s a porch, a hammock, and a blanket when you need one?
Ciao,
sarah.hope