“The longest journey a man must take is the eighteen inches from his head to his heart.”

Six months ago, I casually mentioned to a childhood friend that we should travel to Europe after graduation. This was one of many instances in my life in which conceiving an idea was significantly easier than implementing it. What followed was months of anticipation, planning, and drawbacks. At the toughest times, I found myself reevaluating my desire to proceed with the trip in the first place, followed by immediate shame for being unappreciative of the privilege.

As we waited to board our flight to Madrid from the Philadelphia airport, my friend commented, "I can't believe we're actually on our way." The months leading up to the trip had taken a toll on us and we were ready to finally let our hair down. And though, figuratively, we did (the heat made it unfitting in the literal sense), the necessity for us to be on our toes (literally and figuratively) continued until the moment I was back in my home three weeks later.

Traveling is not just about sightseeing. It's about understanding histories, experiencing cultures, relating lifestyles, opening your mind, being flexible, and most importantly, putting life into perspective. Though traveling inherently distances you from the people and places you know, it also gives you a sense of belonging in a grander sense. I thoroughly enjoyed walking alongside the Colosseum, watching the sunset over Florence (never looking directly at the sun, of course), and taking in the view from Sacre Coeur, but I realize I am neither the first nor last to do so. Still, it meant something special to me, a solely unique feeling that differed even from the person standing right next to me.

This is your only shot. Make it count.

On multiple occasions, we were forced to put the fun on hold to run errands such as making train reservations. In adherence to the theme of unity and shared experiences, there were usually at least one hundred travelers in ahead of us in ticket lines. Unfortunately, a large part of traveling involves waiting in lines. In Italy, two college-aged sisters were within earshot, recounting tales of their travels to a garrulous mother-type behind them. The girls explained that their father had essentially bought them backpacks and put them on a plane. This is your only chance to do something like this he had told them. The girls commenced their travels with a now or never all or nothing mindset. As did we. But we quickly realized that it would be impossible for us to see "everything" in each city, especially given our limited time. Attempting to do so would have only burned us out. Instead we created a manageable itinerary with ample time to wander aimlessly and meet locals and appreciate their lifestyles.

As we continued to meet other travelers, I became convinced that the "sole chance" the girls' father had preached was nonexistent. I have experienced enough family vacations to know that taking time to travel, to explore the world, is feasible, even when you are working, even when you have a family. While standing in line to enter the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, we met a couple from Sydney. They were doing a hop-on, hop-off bus tour of Western Europe. America. That's the next one we are saving up for the wife said to me.

During breakfast on my first morning in Milan, I met an elderly couple who had been traveling for four months and had three more to go. Thailand, Vietnam, London, Southern France, Italy...We're just filling in the gaps said the husband as the wife sipped her cappuccino. Having traveled extensively with their children during their younger years, the now retired couple was spending some time visiting nooks of the world that they had yet to visit.

Mature travelers know the importance of adopting a half-full philosophy. For everything you don't see or do, there are uncountable experiences you do have. As we went along, my friend and I embraced the childish yet hopeful phrase I need to come back here to see... For me, this list includes the Roman catacombs and the Palace of Versailles.

What is everyone waiting for?

After spending a day walking through Rome under the sweltering sun, we joined hundreds of other people, tourists and locals alike, in sitting on the Spanish steps (gelato was obviously involved). Seeing all these people on the steps, a tourist stopped and asked Is there a show that's about to start? What is everyone waiting for? An Italian native responded. No. Everyone is just sitting. The tourist was puzzled and taken aback. Just "hanging out?" She asked disparagingly. The native nodded. The tourist walked away in a huff, clearly shocked and appalled at the sheer number of people who had taken to doing, in her mind, absolutely nothing.

Europeans know how to relax, a quality that many Americans (including myself, with the exception of this summer) lack. In Florence, we made friends with a group of locals in their young thirties. They were spending the evening sharing a bottle of wine on the church steps, just, enjoying the summer. Yes, these thirty-something year olds were enjoying summer vacation. As a recent college graduate, I am reminded almost daily that this is the last summer vacation I will ever experience or enjoy. That is, unless I move to Europe, apparently.

While standing in yet another train line, a lady lamented her move from Spain to the east coast suburbs during her late twenties. There's nowhere to go out for someone my age she complained. My dad is seventy and lives in Spain. He still goes out dancing and has a good time.

It took us a week, but shop closures stopped surprising us. August is the time for vacation our Florentine concierge explained. Boutiques close for the month and owners embrace R&R. Simple as that.

Vous avez le bluetooth?

The social nature of locals is another striking and equally welcoming aspect of European culture. On our train ride from Milan to Nice, my friend and I were seated in a cabin with four other people. When we boarded, a girl already in the cabin was playing music from her phone. Out loud. No headphones. I sat down in my seat next to her and she looked at me. Do you have bluetooth? She asked me in French. Tell me which songs you like and I will send them to you. Not once during my thirty flights to or from Philadelphia did a fellow passenger offer to send me his or her songs. To be fair, I do not share my iTunes on local networks. As Americans we enjoy a more individualist culture.

A couple stops later, a quirky but entertaining Moroccan boarded. She bought a box of cookies from the refreshment cart and passed it around to us, the cabin of strangers.

By the end of the train ride, this random group of strangers was exchanging phone numbers and hugging good bye. The series of events was novel to my friend and me, but was nothing out of the ordinary to our counterparts.

Better to be safe than sorry.

As our trip proceeded, we became lazy. Not lazy in the couch-potato sense, but lazy in the practical sense. We failed to realize that despite being experienced as travelers in general, each city was still a new and different region. As time went on, we stopped confirming train schedules, carrying a map, and in one unfortunate scenario, filling out paperwork. While a fine of 50 Euro on Trenitalia served as a warning, missing an overnight train to Bordeaux and the subsequent twenty-two hours of travel was the tipping point. With a week left in our trip, our mid-day Passport checks and double-checking of train timings was reinstated. It is so easy to become comfortable and overconfident that sometimes it takes monetary and temporal consequences to keep you grounded.

A couple weeks before I left, my former boss, a woman in her mid-forties, took me to lunch. As we were driving back to HP's campus, she was musing about her post-college trip to Europe as if she had returned just the day before.

It hasn't even been a month since we departed and yet the individual sights seem like a whirlwind, not to mention, years ago. I am hazy on some of the names of famous piazzas and famous artists. Those are the facts you can Google, anyway. What will resonate with me for years to come are the people we met, the spontaneous moments we enjoyed, and the lessons we learned. I have no doubt that years from now, I'll be the one telling the stories as I drive my intern home from lunch.

This post is an entry for the Language Learning Blog Contest being hosted by Pimsleur Approach.