Not That I Loved Granada Less, But That I Loved Rome More

            Recalling the glory days of my high school track career, I remember that the final stretch of any race is the most exciting. In the 400, the measure of success was the last 100 meters, not the first. Success for me meant only that my 245 pound self would cross the finish line…even if those last 100 meters consisted of my smiling and waving to the crowds in the stands while the timers had to trade in their watches for calendars! Well here I am—less than one month left in my four-month journey abroad. At times, I’ve sprinted ahead, never wanting to look back. At other times, I’ve fallen behind, feeling overwhelmed by new cultures, tired from traveling, or disappointed in missed-opportunities. By May 29^th, though, whether I’m in front, at the back, or somewhere in the middle, I only hope that my face will be smiling and my hand waving.

             After five days of crepes, baguettes, and funny hats in Paris and then five more of shamrocks, cliffs, and potatoes in Ireland, I returned back to Granada—a little more cultured and a little less fluent in Spanish—for four days of classes, before departing on yet another adventure. This time, it would be to the land of gladiators, Olive Gardens, and amore: Rome. This past Saturday night, we (a group of three) arrived in Rome. Our first stop: an easy-to-miss pizzeria. Second stop: bed. Sunday, I made my way to the Vatican at 6:30 A.M. to witness the beatification of Pope John Paul II only to find that 1,000,000 others had beat me there. Shoulder to shoulder with others in the crowd, I occupied my place in the back. Afterwards, I would learn my way around Rome—the buses were not running, so I enjoyed an hour-long walk back to the hostel. Walking was the theme to our Sunday in Rome. We walked to the Pantheon, the Spanish steps, the twin churches, almost the entire area of the city.

            On Monday, we spent the majority of the morning and afternoon in the ruins of the Forum and then the Coliseum. Seeing Caesar’s grave, excavations from before Christ, a stadium used for more than 1,000 years, was a lot to digest even for somebody with an appetite as large as mine for history. So, to help, I thought pizza might be the answer. Over the course of these four days, pizza, pasta, and gelato became my diet, and something that I could have gotten very used to! As the rain pounded down, we finished our night eating gelato protected by the roof of the Pantheon.

            Tuesday started out with a mini Viola reunion. I met my cousin Silvia for breakfast and learned a little more about my family. I am already counting down the days until the next trip to Rome to meet even more cousins! Afterwards, it was back to the Vatican: to tour St. Peter’s Basilica and the Sistine Chapel. Still on a siesta schedule, we took our nap during the mid-afternoon before heading to dinner. Dinner was delicious, but left too little time to spend with our other friends in Rome later that night—to celebrate a birthday! Amid the celebration, I realized that this was probably the last time I would see these friends, which put a damper on my spirit, a foreboding of things to come at the end of this month when I will have to relive that experience.

            On Wednesday, after attending mass with Pope Benedict XVI, our time in Rome, as quickly as it started, was already over. Now, back in Granada, I think about the remaining three weeks I have. Three weeks of meals with Kitty; three weeks of Spanish; three weeks of watching PasaPalabra. Three weeks really isn’t that long. In my last post, I mentioned wanting to find a pause button. Over the past day, I thought now the search should focus on finding rewind—to relive the disproportionate amount of happy moments while redoing those times that haven’t worked out as I had hoped. Now, though, I am content with play. I’m ready to face what’s left; to accept that worrying too much about the future just takes time away from the present; that if something is meant to be, then it will find a way of happening; that what’s important is not being stuck in the past or fixated on a specific moment, but rather, growing personally as a result of the good and the bad to make a better tomorrow. In these last three weeks, it’s not the three months that have passed that will be the focus, but each of the 22 days I still have to go. After all, it’s the end of the race that I need to be focusing on; how I finish is what matters now.

Until next time, may you grow only healthier and happier in your life.