Hundreds of options were open to me, but how do I choose where to visit? After all, I only had six precious days of freedom before I had to head back to the London Center for work study; I wanted to make sure that I didn't pick a country that was a dud. I figured out that since I had six days to work with, I could visit three different cities. Madrid was the first city I selected, because I had a native friend who wanted to show me around. She invited me to visit for the last two days of my break, but the first four days were still questionable. How was I going to choose two cities out of at least a thousand choices? Then I remembered Marilyn.
Marilyn was my (much) older second cousin. She was a corporate executive for Mobil/Exxon, and became quite the world traveler with the company. Marilyn had always told me that her favorite country was Italy. She loved the food, she loved the wine, she loved the locals, she loved their attitude and most of all she loved the scenery.
The last time my dad and I went to visit her, before the cancer made her too weak to entertain guests, he brought her a book on Italy. She spent a good hour or two flipping through the pages, pointing at the pictures of places she'd been, and telling us stories. She told me that when I went to study in London, I had to make a trip to Italy.
Now, I knew where to go those first four days. I found two of my friends that were also going to Italy, and decided to tag along with them to Venice for the first two days. But when they said they were going to Rome next, I took my leave, because even though I wanted to see Rome, I knew that I couldn't go to Italy without visiting Marilyn's favorite city.
So after spending two days in Venice, with the festivities of Carnivale still echoing in my ears, I brushed the confetti off my head and boarded a train to Florence. Four hours later, I stepped out of the train station and headed down the street to my hostel. I couldn't see much of the city that night, but I decided to just wander the back streets a little bit, before I called it a night. Of course I proceeded to get lost and walk half a mile in the opposite direction of my hostel, but hey, that's part of the experience.
The next morning I woke up fairly early, determined to get the most out of Florence. I got some information about a bus and walking tour, but that didn't start until the afternoon, so the morning activities were up to me. I left the hostel and started to wander around again, but this time with a better sense of direction. While on my morning excursion, I found an open area with some benches, a non-operating fountain, and a lot of pigeons. At one end of this square was the Basilica of St. Maria Novella. I decided to pay the entrance fee and go inside.
This basilica was beyond words. I had never been an architecture enthusiast, but I was suddenly marveling at the intricacy and details in every corner of this place. I took my time looking at all the paintings and stained glass, and I am still amazed when I see such
exquisite paintings on the ceilings of a building. Even though I didn't know the stories that were told in the paintings, I still admired the talent that went into painting them.
I was almost ready to leave, when I noticed a small roped-off section by the exit. It was where people went to light a candle, and say a prayer. I wanted to light a candle, but didn't know if people would take offense to that or not, since this was not my religion. But then I decided that I'd just light one anyway. No one knew that I was Jewish, and besides, a candle is still a candle and a prayer is still a prayer, whether you happen to be standing in a basilica or a synagogue or a supermarket.
So I walked behind the rope and took a candle. The lighter I had bought off a deaf/mute in the Charles de Gaulle airport a month ago, suddenly came in handy, and I smiled, thinking that it had to be a strange sort of fate. I lit the small, generic candle with my
lighter, stood back and stared at the candle, thinking of Marilyn. I wished that she could be there with me, and I knew that she'd be proud of all the experiences I was getting abroad. I just wished that when I went back to America, she'd be there so I could tell her all the cool stories I had gained overseas.
The small flame suddenly started to diminish, despite the fact that there wasn't a breeze inside the basilica. All the other candles burned steadily, and my candle for Marilyn was about to go out. I glared hard at that candle, about to get seriously pissed off. I thought to myself, don't you dare go out. A moment later, the flame that had been seconds away from being extinguished, steadied itself and rose back to its original height. In fact, the flame now seemed to burn brighter and taller than all the other candles.
As sappy as it may seem, in that instant I knew that Marilyn was watching. I knew that it was a small way of her saying she was looking out for me and thinking of me, the same way I was thinking of her. I quickly left the basilica, because I didn't want anyone to see me cry. I walked back into the square and sat on a bench amid the pigeons. It was a while before I felt calm enough to head back to my hostel.
That afternoon I would go on the bus tour and get a glimpse of Florence's amazing hills. That night I would manage to find an extraordinarily bad Italian meal. The next day I would fly to Madrid to meet my friend, and we would get drunk in a New Orleans Mardi Gras style bar. The day after that I would take myself on a walking tour of Madrid, and get sick from too much rum and not enough food. And finally the day after that, I would come back to London.
So, Spring Break now has a new meaning for me. Spring Break no longer means bikinis and beaches, airports and alcohol, Cancun or the Bahamas. (well…maybe it does still mean alcohol) I know other college students will disagree, but Spring Break isn't about excessive partying. It's about gaining new experiences, trying something different and finding a piece of yourself you never knew you didn't have. I know I'll always look back on my first real Spring Break in Italy with fondness. And I'll always think of the St. Maria Basilica in Florence.
And I'll always remember my candle for Marilyn.