ITALY
April, 1973
The first trip I took abroad was in 1973. I was 17 years
old, a senior in high school. My
classmates and I went to Italy with the nuns during spring break. We traveled through Rome, Venice, Florence, Assisi,
Pisa, Bologna, and Milan. I loved every minute of this trip and it was the
event in my life that infected me with a wanderlust that is now becoming
pathological for me. I loved every
aspect of this trip. As my grandmother
told me repeatedly, “That trip brought you out of your shell.”
I recently found my journal and when I read it now, I
cringe. It is filled with high school
girl gossip and certainly does not reflect what a transformational moment this
was in my life. Truthfully, my insights
were boring, immature and a silly reflection on me.
April 16- “We visited
the Fountain of Trevi. Just after I
threw my coin over my shoulder, some guy came up and pinched me. I was so shocked that I pinched him in the
arm. He was so surprised that he pinched me again. I was so embarrassed. Everyone was laughing.”
April 17- “We went to
the Sistine Chapel. We had seen so many ceilings before this that the Sistine
Chapel wasn’t as great as we thought it to be. We went back to the hotel for
lunch and had the afternoon for leisure.”
April 18- “Enroute, we
stopped at Assisi. We saw another church which looked the same as every other
church we had already seen.”
April 19- “The statue of
David was so beautiful. He must have
been at least 12 feet high. I could have stayed and looked at him all day. He
was slim with a very strong build and very handsome, youthful face and curly
hair. Everyone was taking pictures of
him right and left. He is the symbol of
Florence. Just like David, Florence, a small region, conquered all the larger
regions surrounding her.”
The full journal is probably 20 pages and the above quotes
are the only reference to the beauty of Italy.
The rest of the journal details every boring attempt made to find beer,
wine, boys, discos and other options to engage in juvenile behavior. I must say, it appears as if I was successful
in that pursuit. Forty-five years later, this journal is a dull read.
or bkmemoirs.wordpress.com
