Traveling teaches me that nations, like people, have personalities. Italy and Spain are warm and hospitable. In both if you even attempt to speak (slaughter) the language, it’s enough—they smile appreciatively. Other countries, like France and Austria, can seem less friendly and appear to feel put upon. Even our well-meaning but fast-paced goal-oriented nation can fail to convey care and friendliness. Seeing polite manners in much of Europe gives me more understanding of (and dislike for) the word “brash.”
Most of us avoid unexpected encounters or delays. But people watching for insights and character development is lost if things go smoothly and fast. Señor Fernandez, the older owner of a small family hotel off a major square in Madrid has a face so old-school fine and interesting, it should be sculpted. I took his photo, though he complained he was not dressed for the occasion. But it was his noble face I wanted. He also stored my large suitcase free five days while we visited Italy with the one small bag allowed on cheap airlines. (The nearby central train station asked five euros per day.) I picture Señor Fernandez in a toga ruling ancient Rome’s Spanish province wisely when integrity, gravitas, veritas, and dignitas, meant everything.
I also see the face of the middle-aged woman we met in Bologna, Italy, whose picture I didn’t get, but her soft speech revealed she was from America’s Southwest. She was a fellow tourist waiting for a Sunday bus that didn’t come, wearing a Sherlock Holmes type hat that hid too much of her face, telling us about Santa Lucia, lovely 14th century cathedral on Bologna’s highest hill. Since we didn’t have time to go there, she promised it would be visible from our airplane. And it was. She was amazed we knew and had visited her hometown, Lubbock, Texas. I doubt Lubbock produces many native daughter specialists on 14th-century Italian cathedrals. Hers was a story I would have liked to get. Why was she there, alone? Where did she go next? I imagine answers and wish her well.
In recent years, I increasingly love these lines from Alfred Lord Tennyson’s Ullyses:
“I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades…
Forever and forever when I move.
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”
What about you? What faces or scenes do you pass but still see?
What do you glean? What do you still wonder?
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