“You are still too small and you will not remember”
Growing up, I got this answer every time I would manifest my curiosity by trespassing the Italian border. I was very interested in seeing what was beyond Italy and what another country would look like. I didn’t put my feet over the border until I was fourteen. But every time I got this answer from my parents.
Now I know that travelling is more than just remembering places and things; travelling is a way of shaping your soul.
My niece Adele, along with her parents, visited myself and my partner Maggie in Ireland in May 2022.It wasn’t her first time abroad, but it was her first flight. I got a picture from her mother of her sitting on the plane before the departure, and her big blue eyes were a mix of fear and excitement. There was a whole universe in those eyes. She came over to Ireland with only five years of life under her belt, and she heard a different language. She had great fun looking at new things and drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows (that are a real rarity in Italy). She also did a poo on a cliff while looking at the Atlantic Ocean, surely a very new experience. I am pretty sure that when shes twenty, she won’t remember the name of the cliff; she might even forget about the amazingly beautiful playground she cried to leave. But while she was here, she was happy and excited; her soul was joyful.
I am sure she will remember the feeling of that first time on the plane, although she won’t have many visual memories of it, and I am pretty sure she will remember the feeling of sadness when leaving to go back to Italy, while crying for the whole duration of the return flight (saying "I really don’t want to leave Ireland", between sobs).
She won’t remember Summer Cove, but maybe she will remember the feeling of holding Maggie’s hand while walking up the hill to reach the panoramic view she really wanted to check out.
That wonder that mixes into your flesh during a trip stays with you, no matter how old you are.
I have always had an amazing memory, especially while travelling.
As if my parent’s words had generated in me the idea that the aim of travelling is to remember. I have always remembered the names of places, restaurants, menus, local craft beers, available services in campervan areas, hostel prices, the quality of sea water at specific beaches, and the name and direction of those beaches.
Coming back from my travels, I have always catalogued all the photos in separate folders, each titled with the name of the place and the dates of arrival and departure. I used to keep a travel journal in which I would write down short functional sentences, such as:
I awoke at 7.30 a.m., the camping shower was adequate, but the token did not last long enough.
Breakfast at Spar, across the corner from the hostel
bus from Girona to Barcelona, around 1 hour
guided tour of park Güell, guide was sexy
Spanish beer is very good.
I never noted down expenses. Maybe because my anxious relationship with money was born with me, together with dyscalculia that never allowed me to deal with numbers (and that is the cause of anxiety around money as well).
Then there was the trip to New York, and everything changed.
I was travelling with a friend of mine and my ex-girlfriend, who was already gone; the company by itself should have suggested the travel wouldn’t have been the easiest, but I didn’t want to let go of the possibility of visiting the Big Apple. For the first time, though, I forgot nearly everything about that trip. Everything except the feelings. The folder titled "New York 2010" got lost forever in the smell of burnt rubber that came out of my external memory disc during a winter afternoon. I didn’t have a copy of that folder; it existed only there. I hadn’t kept a travel journal either, as my broken heart only allowed me to move my feet one in front of the other to keep going. I don’t remember what I saw, and I have only a faded memory of famous places.
From that moment on, I unlearned compulsive memory. I would have preferred to unlearn it with time and the right tools for such a thunderstorm of my soul, but instead it happened because of a broken heart and a burned hard disc.
Or maybe it was a burned heart and a broken hard disc. But this is another story, and I am not sure I remember it well.
Travelling shapes you in so many ways, subconsciously too, no matter what age! It’s our privilege to move freely and speak new languages, to respect other cultures and to learn all we can in the process. Sounds like you gave little Adele a wonderful time she’s sure to treasure for life ♥️