The places built upon that which matters most

From left: Elizabeth, Julia, myself, Eric, Jackie, Jason, and Christianna. The Cuatro Estaciones (Four Seasons) Restaurant. Tuesday, July 26th, 2011. It's only fitting that I'm tucked away in the corner. I am defined by my relationships with others, and on that night, I don't think I could have picked a finer bunch to be defined by. It's been only a little over 24 hours since this photo was taken, but I already miss you all more than I can compose with words. One day, we'll all go back. One day.

This entry will not be about a place. You see, despite my past six weeks in Spain, my brief and beautiful weekend in Italy, and my current status of nursing a cold with Fanta and take-out Chinese in gloriously grey Dublin, today those places bear only marginal personal import. In addition, there’s a strong chance that if you dig well enough through this blog, you’ll find several other entries about the same-ish adventures in the same-ish places scattered about the continent. So instead, I’ll write what most likely has been thought and felt by my fellow Scholars but only mentioned at times.

Today was rough.

It was the last day of my program with the Fundación Ortega y Gasset in Toledo, Spain. I was the only UTD student as part of a small contingent of other solo students with Arcadia University. The rest were large groups from Ohio State, Notre Dame, and The University of Minnesota. I lived within Fundación itself: the convent San Juan de la Penitencia reconverted into a dormitory/classroom building. Living and learning within “The Fúnd” (pronounced “foond”) gave me a taste of dorm life I never had at UTD. And within there and through other students who lived with host families, I developed friendships that are infinitely more valuable than any gilded locale of antiquity.

It’s pretty obvious, but what makes any place a home, regardless of the language spoken, are the people there. You see, Toledo is a beautiful city. It really is. It sits on a high rocky hill surrounded on three sides by the Tagus River and is postcard worthy from any angle at any time of the day. The perilously narrow and steep cobblestone streets challenge tourists and taxis alike, and even with the canopies and cleverly designed curving streets, the Spanish sun can still make it feel as if one never left Richardson. There’s lots of culture, art, and history. El Greco, swords, and marzipan are big deals here. But in all honesty, Toledo merits a long weekend trip from Madrid at most. It became surprisingly predictable after a week or two.

However, Toledo merits a special place in my heart because of the people I met there. I’m not particularly religious, but I can’t help but feel that some (non-Tarantino) divine intervention was at work during my time there. I expected to make friends and have a good time, but I didn’t expect just how close some of us would become. It worked counter to all my other friendships built upon time much longer and experiences more difficult. It happened in just six weeks. But it worked. And I can’t help but feel indescribably blessed by the people – not the places, food, nor tours – I have been given. Indeed it is my experiences with those people that are the most important part of my time in Spain.

It was by having breakfast early on that first Saturday that I went on my first run with Jackie. It was a chance encounter that would help me find a new running partner, but by the end of our last run, help me find a true friend when I needed one most. It was through playing cards the second afternoon that I met Jason, a young man who served as more than just a font of free laundry supplies but also as a measure of how far I’ve come in three years and how much I still have to go. It was by playing ninja in the lobby that I met Christianna, a young lady wise well beyond her years, with whom I shared precious conversations on her balcony about life, love, swing dance, and God. It was through buying a pesky red wristband and touring too many Toledan churches that I met Julia, our unofficial “líder” whose mind is as sharp as the sword she’s bringing home, and Elizabeth, the tall gentle beauty (who’s not actually 25 and from Australia) with whom I shared a passion for art and tasty food in Italy. It was through something random that I met Dickson, a manic of a man who rivals some of the people I know at UTD in bluntness and hilarity. It was through random musing about Onomatopoeia and flash mobs that I met Viktoria. It was through just sitting down at lunch with two new dudes that I met Lonnie and Sarvesh, two glorious gentlemen that taught me how to plank, made me speak Spanish during mealtimes, and gave a weekend in Italy to remember forever.

Indeed it was chance encounters with the above and so many other wonderful people that makes me feel even more blessed when I reflect upon how strong of friendships we have cultivated in so short a time. If there’s anything to be learned from this it’s that the scenery of a study abroad location is just that: scenery. The cast is the focus and should be. It is the lifelong friendships I’ve made here that inspire me to write as tangentially and cheesily as I have. Places like the Alhambra and Venice will be around for a while, hundreds or even thousands of years in some cases. People won’t. It’s precisely why they’re that much more precious, more deserving of space on this blog than whatever shiny old thing I saw in some overpriced city.

Today was rough. We had to leave at 5:30 for the Madrid airport and this did not allow for the most ideal of goodbyes. Viktoria and I learned the hard way that one cannot travel between terminals, even after check-in, even if it’s just to see dear friends off. I then had to go by myself to here in Dublin, where the grey skies reflect my sense of melancholy after departing sunny Spain and the friends I had there. I already really miss them, even though some are still within transit in the US.

But I know that one shouldn’t be sad that something is over and instead be happy that it actually happened. I think Dr. Seuss said that. I feel nostalgia in the most bittersweet and painful sense, and when I finally return home to the United States, it’ll hit me harder than today that I’m not quite sure if and when I’ll see mis queridos amigos de Toledo. It’ll hit hard when I actually stop procrastinating and upload all the photos I’ve taken in the past month.

But for now, I’ll upload the one that graces the bottom of this entry. It’s of several of us on our last night, having a nice last supper as former strangers, now lifelong friends. I have no idea when we’ll ever take that photo ever again. But I have faith it will. Somehow. Some way. Some day. For now, as much as I look forward to my planned trips through Ireland, London, and Scotland, I’m even looking even more forward to the days when I can travel to Columbus, Ohio; Notre Dame, Indiana; and Minneapolis, Minnesota. And of course, I look forward to returning to Fort Worth and Richardson. These aren’t places built upon cobblestone and gold, nor grand history and culture. These are places that are built upon that which matters most. These are places that are built upon friendship and upon love.