Life Lessons in Traveling Part 3: What I Learned in Europe
Lynne Fukuda
Instructor of Anthropology
Central Texas College
E-mail: lfukuda@hawaii.edu
My mother, who is a model traveler and adventuress, taught me early on that the world was a classroom. Shunning traditional education, it was my mum who took me out of the classroom to the great outdoor classroom that was the world. It was the heyday of the jet age, when astronauts landed on the moon and later the Apollo-Soyuz was floating about, and great jets roared into the great blue yonder, transporting eager passengers to the ends of the Earth.
I saw my first Concorde, although I was never rich or privileged enough to merit a ride on such a creation. It was said to soar through the sky at great speed after emitting a terrible, earth-shaking sonic boom that was also said to shatter windows and such. It was a delectable, luxurious, and extravagant plane that symbolized the jet age of my childhood and growing up years.
The last Concorde landed recently, forever forsaking the skies. “It was far too expensive and too impractical,” mum explained when I questioned why it was gone.
“But it crossed the Atlantic from New York to London or Paris in a matter of hours, something most of our modern planes should be able to do by now in our 21st century,” I said in a disappointed tone of voice.
My mum nodded. “With all the modern conveniences, advances and technology, and all the wonders of the computer age, I do wonder why there are no other planes that can soar through the air with such speed and accommodate many passengers.”
I knew that there were military planes that seemed to travel at the speed of light, and yet, they carried only one or two passengers and were used for combat missions. No lowly traveler were privileged enough to travel so far and so fast. I sighed, feeling that we had been robbed of a possibility.
Living in Hawaii most of our lives, in one of the remotest areas of the Pacific, my family and I are all so isolated from the rest of America. It is an advantage at times, and yet, it is also a curse. Imagine having to shell out hundreds of dollars just to go to other islands for a small business trip or to see relatives on the US mainland and having to pay thousands of dollars to travel abroad. It is not only the financial strain but also the strain of long-distance travel that bogs us down and makes most of us decide to stay put, reasoning that we already live in a paradise, and we are at arms length from world-class resorts and beaches.
Yet, for my folks, who were airline folks of the jet age, travel abroad was never a dream or a distant thought. It was at times a yearly or biannual event. I cannot forget their dreams and their visions, their feelings of adventure and wonder as people who recovered from the ravages of World War II and welcomed a new, more prosperous, more modern era when the world began to shrink and meeting those in distant places became a reality.
When I am delayed or awaiting a flight, I always gravitate towards the window where I can view the planes landing and taking off. There is nothing as beautiful as a plane coming in or taking off to the heights of heaven. The planes remind me of melancholy migratory birds, taking off or coming into a lake. I wonder where they will go and about their fate. After all, every flight is an act of defiance of the gods, soaring into the skies where they do not truly belong.
The most beautiful parts that I love are also the most dangerous parts. Most accidents and fatalities occur during take-off and landing. Numerous fires coming from engines or from the cargo, engines failing, and wings coming a part prevent planes from taking off. Landings are also perilous, often landing wheels do not emerge so the plane literally lands on its belly, skidding on the landing strip.
I watch for signs of malfunction at times, seated over the wings, when it takes off and lands. I listen for the wheels to roll themselves up with a screech and thump and for them to emerge with the same amount of noise. Ever the faithful aircraft mechanic’s daughter, I judge the plane’s condition. With the same amount of watchfulness I observe the take off and landing skills of the pilot. Many, many times the bumpy landing is the one most remembered, but it is the silent, smooth, almost imperceptible landing that is oftentimes not acknowledged yet is just as important as the rest of the pilot’s skill.
Even until this day I do not lose my sense of wonder and my appreciation of the beauty of planes. In all the engineered machines, in all the creations humans have designed, I have decided that the aeroplane or the airplane is one of the most perfect and most beautiful of all. Streamlined to fight against the forces of winds and the atmosphere, formed to soar through the air, the airplane is the marriage of a person’s dream with the reality of high technology.
It is this dream that airline and airplane folks and my own family have for flight and air travel and everything involved. In the sad, impoverished era after World War II, in the times when the war itself brought many people of many nations closer together, the dream of once again seeing those places, of visiting people one read about, and being in the places with names one saw in newspapers and over the radio, was the start of the new jet age.
It is certain that not everyone was privileged enough or rich enough to travel by air at first. Most traveled locally by train or by car and others by the much slower boat that once rivaled air travel. Airplanes at the beginning of the jet age were for the “jet set”, the group of privileged men and women who could afford to travel in those restaurants, those entertaining places, those trains in the air. The first flight attendants of that era were attractive women and men, who were almost as glamorous as models and actresses. Dressed to the hilt with uniforms that mimicked that of the military, complete with head gear, gloves, badges or wings, and colors that seemed almost military-like in dove-grey and blues, the stewardesses and stewards of old were much admired by the old and young.
Young women aspired to be stewardesses. Those who were stewardesses were almost celebrities. Seeing the clamor and admiration Leonardo diCaprio brought on dressed in his borrowed pilot’s uniform in “Catch Me If You Can” with equally glamorous young women dressed as stewardess, I was reminded of this era. Stewardesses, with much less labor to do in the air than the harried flight attendants of the 21st century, were virtual models. With full-makeup, longer and manicured nails, they dressed in their uniforms and exhibited the manners of well brought up young ladies.
I too was an admirer, promising that I would grow up to be a stewardess when I was a young woman. I tried much in vain in my grownup up days, failing the interview and resigning myself to a career on the ground in education instead. I felt that I lacked the glamour, the femininity, and the class of a stewardess. I also lacked the perfect eyesight, the height, and the athletic ability, and robust health that the airlines required of their employees.
I did, however, have a pair of small dolls dressed as stewardesses. One was a stewardess from Pan Am and another from TWA. Dressed in miniature uniforms that closely resembled their human counterparts, they came in a fake, plastic travel case along with their small suitcase and hairbrushes to fashion their glamorous hairdos.
The stewardess doll no longer exists and Pan Am is no longer an airline. TWA is a mere shadow of its former self and the great golden era of airlines is also falling into disrepair from mishaps, accidents, hijacking, terrorist threats, international security concerns, and even 9/11. High competition from formerly unknown airlines and changes in passenger makeup, demand, and other factors also brought down the great giants. No longer the cruise liners in the air with its crew of glamorous men and women, the airlines began to emerge as replacements for train travel and ship travel. As America began to usher in a newer type of passenger, the commuters, families, businessmen, bargain-hunters, and frequent fliers, the exclusiveness of air travel began to fade.
I am not sad that air travel is available to all, for it has become a great necessity for families to be reunited across the country at special occasions when, in former times, families lived closer together or resigned themselves never to see one another except for at funerals and weddings. Families, with their children in tow, can easily travel thousands of miles to see loved ones instead of riding countless hours or perhaps days in trains across the country. With this also came the demise of the great era of train travel. Once exciting places until the war, train stations became forgotten places. Trains too became mere shells so that Amtrak was no longer the great necessity of former times. I have visited the great railroad exchange of the old days in Buffalo, New York, where in its heyday thousands of travelers crossed the country and into Canada and back. I imagine that being in New York the rush to go to the city was also the reason why the old station in Buffalo was so large. Seeing the abandoned site, gathering dust, and old train cars turning to rust, I felt the sadness of the passing era. “It used to be a hopping place,” my godmother explained to me, showing me the tracks.
Commuters who live hundreds of miles away from their work places can safely and easily travel via airplane to their homes. Even Hawaiians do this, traveling on weekends to be with their families while working on other islands for the rest of the week. With so many airlines in the air, the competition also began to push out the older, more famous airlines. I remember how cheerful and kind the crew of Western Airlines were, chatting and busy working. The crew was close and often friends, flying over the Pacific to Hawaii and back to the West Coast. The commercial that always said, “Western Airlines, the ooonly way to go,” with an animated figure of an eagle catching a ride near the tail of the plane and snoozing away instead of flying was a comical and yet appropriate figure. When we traveled on Western we always felt that western hospitality and were draped in comfort with an abundance of pillows with crisp, starched pillowcases, and warm, woolen blankets with the Western Airline logo printed on them.
Because we were airline folk, and we often caught rides on one another’s airlines to travel afar, often given first class seating or business class seating, we all respected and welcomed employees from other airlines. We were a special class of people, bound by a common love of airplanes and air travel. It was often easy to spot flight crew and even ground crew by their ready smiles and friendly manners. Flight crew was also picked for their friendliness, outgoing personality, physical beauty, quick thinking and intelligence, height and weight, and glowing health. There was also an air of adventure about them as they traveled the world, unafraid and with ease, because they went wherever the plane took them. Like sailors of old, traveling with their beloved ships, the flight crew circumnavigated the globe in their lifetimes, by working or by pleasure, with their eyes wide to the wonders that the world presented to them.
Working through the air and meeting passengers, walking through strange cities and drinking in the adventure on ground, traveling the miles rewarded to them in their retirement years or in their vacation months, these airline people would become the ambassadors of the air, socializing with people of many nations, making friends in their travels, the airline folk were the first tourists to reach many places that regular tourists had not ventured.
The aircraft itself was also a great source of glamour. Carrying humans through the sky, like Pegasus, the winged horse-god, or like silver birds, the jets were works of wonder from construction to flight. The world wars had ushered the airplane into remote parts of the world, often for combat purposes and carrying only one or two passengers, but the jets were the airplanes of the times of peace, when people with goodwill and the love of the earth began to spread out to seek out the beauty and the hidden treasures of the world that the gods made.
The people who arrived in the airports were not enemy peoples. They were gentle folk laden with heavy suitcases, money to purchases their basic needs and souvenirs, and cameras and other devices to record happy memories of their travels. The planes brought in groups of these folk--the tourists, and the air travelers, the foreigners--to expose people to a closer contact of once distant peoples of different cultures.
I also had models of airplanes because my father was an aircraft mechanic, a trade he gained on his GI Bill after the war. He attended Embry-Riddle when it was still considered a vocational/trade school and not a university. Many servicemen who serviced during the war were trained for the airline industry, becoming important CEOs and key people in the development of this new and booming enterprise.
There was a particular wartime friend of my father’s who went home to Texas after the war and worked for Lockheed Industries. He remained a loyal friend, sending my parents their famous fruitcake for Christmas (which we did not eat but displayed) and in return, received a box of chocolate covered macadamia nuts or dry roasted macadamia nuts (which we hope he ate) each year for many decades until he passed on.
Because the airplanes were mobile, so was its crew. Those on board traveled around the world, and those on the ground used their benefits to also travel around the world. My family, with all of us combined, has used our benefits to the maximum, enjoying the travels to take us to far off places that were mere dreams to my neighbors and friends in the islands.
In the boom of the airline era, pay was also great. It was often more than double of similar jobs in the non-airline sector. With greater pay (similar in situation to those in the computer industry) and with flying privileges, we became the “working jet set”, given the privilege of traveling with the rich and famous to places where only the richest or most important people were allowed.
Because being in the airlines was considered so glamorous, although most of us were middle-class and of such origin and many did not have college educations, we were treated with utmost respect everywhere we went. Like the stewardesses and stewards, the pilots and co-pilots, and other flight crew, we were almost celebrities. “You are very lucky that you work for the airlines,” was the constant comment we heard. In the 21st century, with cutbacks on pay and the disappearance of the decades old pension plans, and layoffs and firings of people, the airline folk are not as privileged.
We were allowed to travel the world on standby, although like cargo, and yet, treated like precious parcels and guests. With our brand-new travel gear and our young, shiny eager faces, my family and I sped through the world, seeing it recover from the decades after the war, meeting warm-hearted people, and seeing the world change and grow smaller as air travel became more frequent and more affordable to the masses.
It was into this era that we often traveled through Europe, the land of my mother’s ancestors. It was a strange irony that my mother was born in secret in the months before the start of World War II in a German-speaking part of Europe and whisked away by ship back to the land of her father, Japan, where she lived an isolated life until her young adult years. Europe called to her, the place of her birth and the place of her mother’s people, and it called to all of us, ravaged by war, and yet, ever optimistic in the time of the reconstruction. It was the many lessons of their people that taught me to be what I am today as my mum, my sister, and I traveled throughout the different countries of Europe for months at a time.
One of the lessons I learned from the Europeans, especially from the Italians, was the admiration of children. Because my sister and I were very young, my sister being an infant and later a toddler, and I as a preschooler and later a grade-schooler as we traveled, was the abundance of admirers who chatted and played with us. Because we were so different and yet, so adorable to them, there was never a shortage of admirers. To the Europeans, who did not have very many children in the decades after the war, children were precious commodities, and their origin mattered little; they were creatures to be admired and amused. There was never a lack of playmates, candy, and smiles.
Stewardesses and stewards gave us toys to play with and played many games with us, having more time to socialize with their passengers in those days. Trips to the cockpit were a common occurrence. Taken by hand by a stewardess with my mother’s permission, I was often invited to sit in the cockpit and keep the flight crew company, sat on their laps or received tidbits of food or candies and chocolate. Being Italian, the flight crew of their airlines never missed an opportunity to play with a small child.
Even fellow passengers were kind and chatted with us in their unintelligible Italian. I only knew a few words of their language, and yet, they felt free to chat with us, showing us pictures and drawing things with our crayons or showing us little childhood games. Everywhere we went my sister and I were never without babysitters so that my mother could catch a few winks.
When we landed, my mother, laden with suitcases and also with a stroller, never had her hands full. Gentlemen of all nationalities appeared in threes or four to offer assistance simply because she was a lady in need of assistance. The heavy stroller was lifted easily, and the heavy suitcases made of solid, hard materials with metal parts and locks traveled down the long flights of steps to my mother’s intended destination. My mother simply carried my baby sister and held me by my hand and walked in her heels, dressed in her beautiful travel outfit complete with a hat, gloves, and cosmetic case.
It was the same when we traveled by train, kindly fellow passengers and conductors coming to offer lady assistance. My mother, living in a time when women were treated with chivalry, having the privilege of her sex did not lift a hand to do anything. She simply nodded and smiled and said her thank-yous. The gentlemen beamed with joy, receiving her gratitude and went away satisfied that they had done a good deed for a beautiful lady and her two small children.
Since my father was often busy fixing planes or supervising others as ground crew at the airport, he was not with us on our longer travels. My mother, with the helplessness of the members of her sex was able to travel the world, dodging the dangers, the terrors, and the inconveniences of travels abroad without having to cope with the hardships that modern traveler face in the 21st century.
Children as air travelers were rare in those days, since most “jet set” people left their children at home and many women with small children simply did not find it convenient to travel at all when they were raising such young children. My mum, however, was a fearless traveler, worrying little about the basics of food, shelter, clothing, transport, and other things that constantly worry most travelers. If I were a young mother, I would not travel with my small children at all, except for necessary trips such as trips to my parents at Christmas and during summer. I would be overcome by paranoid thoughts of my children suddenly falling ill and dying in a foreign land, receiving injuries during travel, being unable to find healthy, clean food for my infant, or being hindered by luggage and strollers.
Yet, it was the kindness and respect of the European people that enabled my mother to have a virtually worry-free journey abroad. There was always a place to buy baby formula, clean bottled water, someone to warm up the water, and people to accommodate the needs of very young children. Almost like a celebrity or even royalty, my mum, being of a rare breed and having equally exotic children, was watched, admired, and helped by a crowd of curious and friendly people.
In restaurants that had a set menu, a child’s menu would suddenly appear, serving the commonly loved foods such as spaghetti. In places where only adult drinks were served, milk in glass bottles would emerge along with sweets. In places with no entry to restrooms, a helpful employee would appear to guide us to a clean toilet.
Another lesson was making the most of what one has. In the decades following the war, people in Europe were still poor and struggling, and yet, they had optimism. Dressed in out-dated clothes or homemade dresses, they appeared very stylish and beautiful. Walls that were otherwise ugly and worn down or had chipping paint or plaster were decorated by potted plants. Floors that were damaged and old were covered by clean rugs. There was no waste here, not even waste paper on the streets. From them, I learned the merit of frugality. I hated to see the waste of paper, water, materials, clothing, electricity, and other things that Americans often take for granted.
What might have been shabby or ugly was also beautified by attitude. A cheerful smile, a gentle song on a person’s lips, and a single blossom in a room created beauty in a place that would have otherwise been stark and cheerless. A kind word or a kind deed also made life bearable for everyone and united by the desire to rebuild their once great nations, the Europeans looked out for one another in the decades following the second world war.
I suppose after the war everyone was grateful to have survived and have found work and gotten food to eat. Everyone shopped thoughtfully and ate with gusto. Simple things such as cold cuts and bread, single pieces of fruit and small hunks of cheese all combined with some cheap table wine to make a grand meal for a lucky European. Eating at regular cafes and eateries, I learned the art of eating for less, and enjoying the simple but healthy meals of that era. I learned the value of giving thanks for what one had.
Another lesson related to making the most of what one had was the appreciation for the fleeting moments, for the pleasures that are limited, and for the brief period of joy one experiences in life. For a pessimist, most of life consists of human suffering, hardship, deprivation, and torment. And yet, for a few shining moments, for a brief period of one’s day, life, or week, there is a spot of sunshine for all.
The symbol of that fleeting time of joy is the music box. It is not the music box that goes on indefinitely until the batteries run out, banging out annoying computerized music from a microchip that many are familiar with today, but the hand-wound, music box that is still an all-time favorite of many Europeans. Given on special occasions for loved ones, music box shops, or gift shops that sell such items dot the towns even in the foothills of the Alps.
When I open a music box and the music begins to play, I feel the whiff of Christmas joy that I felt as a child on Christmas day, eager to open my presents. I also feel the Christmas season when trees are decorated, beautiful things are displayed, and there is much goodwill and cheer all around. The music starts rapidly at first and louder as the hand-cranked machine is tight in the beginning, then the music begins to slow, becoming beautiful, mellow, and softer. Then finally, to the slight disappointment of the listener, the music slows and fades away, the music box falling silent.
It is this joy, of having limited joys in life, to be all the more cherished that makes life in Europe so special. Limited goods and resources, limited finances and space, smaller families and smaller moments of true and giddy times are celebrated by every heart. A stolen kiss while watching the River Seine in Paris, a smile shared among friends as they meet briefly at a café, a small indulgence of an ice cream cone on a Sunday outing after church, a small gift from a loved one to bring brightness into a small child’s eyes all are the limited bits of joy that are so cherished.
It is the same with the celebration of the seasons. The summer months are all too brief; the hours of sunlight grow smaller as autumn approaches. Yet the people of Europe wait for another summer next year. And in order to pass the winter months happily, they celebrate their Christmases and their festivities that can be traced back to pre-Christian times.
It is with the same spirit that my family and I have cherished our brief friendships with people abroad, knowing that we would perhaps never see one another again, and yet, feeling a fondness so deeply as if finding long-lost old relatives. Our shared meals, our moments at the cafés, our brief and confusing conversations all dotted with humor and much laughter echoes in our minds as we recall our past guides, our foreign friends, and wonder how they are.
But like the anticipated joy of winding up the music box for another round of pleasure, my mum and I pack up once again and prepare for our trips to Europe. We wonder if we will find friends in the far-off places, see beautiful things and experience wonderful moments. Like unopened Christmas presents, our thoughts are full of mystery and expectations. We cherish our journey because we know they will not last forever, we remember people and places more favorably because we know that we have been blessed briefly for these spurts of happiness. We thank God for this privilege, the joys of travelers because we know that not all of us can afford to go across two oceans and experience such things as we have. We share our photos and memories; distribute our souvenirs and foods to family and friends who could not go. It is our way to share the fleeting happiness that we had, visiting our beloved Europe.
Another lesson was diplomacy. The Europeans take great pains to think before speaking. Coming from various countries and speaking many languages, it is easy to offend one another with the wrong remark, gesture, or attitude. Appearing less than friendly at times, and less talkative, the Europeans I met valued privacy and the privacy of others, and yet found many things to talk about. Curiosity, interest, and politeness, like a beautifully set tea party, were coordinated to bring out many memorable conversations and meetings with virtual strangers.
Long rides were a reason why strangers spoke to one another. At first, there was a slow smile. Then, there was an item to share such as food or a magazine. Then the conversation began in whatever language appropriate for chatting. It mattered little that more than seventy-five percent of the conversation was unintelligible. Through smiles, polite gestures, and a form of sign language, we always managed to find out bits and pieces of each others lives and travels. It created something to talk about when we went our separate ways and went back to family and friends.
Many things that would be considered offensive were never discussed, such as our jobs, social status, political views, or stereotyped ideas about others. Instead, a simple chat about food, the weather, flowers, and places to visit emerged. We learned more things from these chats than from our travel books and looked forward to ideas and advice when traveling in the places of their origin. My mum and I too, when I was grown, offered advice on travel in the United States, especially in Hawaii, and proudly gave out information about our favorite places to visit and things to do.
Another lesson was the reverence for the old. It was the respect and admiration for all things old including elderly folk. The elderly in Europe are respected and loved by all. When an older woman or man travels in Europe or just goes out for an errand or a short train ride, there is always an abundance of courteous young men or women to assist them as they get on and get off the train, purchase their tickets, stand in line, or walk about. There is always a seat available for them on the bus or in the subway train. There is always a safe spot for them to stand or walk everywhere. Elderly folk in Europe behave and dress elegantly. They walk with confidence and are greeted by smiles. Everyone always anticipates what they need, and if they even need assistance.
This same respect for the old goes for places and things. Old things that Americans would have thrown out such as furniture, baskets, bags, and other material belongings are used lovingly by Europeans. Perhaps this is an effect of the war, when things were not available, and yet, I suspect Europeans, being frugal and conservative from old times had always been this way. Old bags made of leather were polished highly and treated lovingly. Baskets that seemed centuries old were used over and over to carry goods or to display things in the home. Things that young housewives would have thrown out because they were less convenient were still being used. Real irons with hot coals in them still ironed clothing and sheets when I was a child. Old radios and black and white television sets lived out their lifespan as their owners saw them to their graves with love.
It is the same for old places. Buildings, some bombed from the war, were lovingly rebuilt, brick by brick, following old blueprints or old methods with the care and time they required. Patiently, the Europeans rebuilt their buildings, their cities, their homes, and their lives in this way, loving their old places so that preservation and care of such places took precedence over development. I saw workers sweeping the streets, not with machines or leaf blowers, but with old-fashioned brooms made of materials that remained the same for hundreds of years. The swish-swish sounds in the early mornings resounding on the cobblestones reminded me that the people wished to clean their streets lovingly. Old wooden floors were also swept and mopped carefully. There was never any lack of time to preserve such old and beloved treasures. There was never any lack of care to watch over such precious things.
The lessons I learned in Europe were simply that people are kind in many places. If you look for such people, they are there. My mum taught me that if you believe in the best of people, they would behave as best as they can. Of course, with women’s lib so strong and a little less chivalrous men about, perhaps I will never be treated with such reverence, but in my mother’s day, part of her travels involved finding good people and interacting with them. Even until this day she has never lost her faith in the goodness of people, and when she travels not on foot but in a wheelchair, I am certain that she will find an abundance of admirers and kind helpers who will rush to give her assistance with only the reward of her smile and thanks.
We are all rushed, travelers and flight crew alike, but even in my recent travels to Europe I found an abundance of kindness all around. The flight crew is not glamorous as in the heyday of air travel, but to my eyes, they are still the stars of the plane. I cannot help but catch my breath to see the pilot emerge out of the cockpit after hearing his or her voice over the speakers. I still glance enviously at the sharply tailored uniforms of flight attendance on their way in or out of the plane and feel the rush of adventure as they walk past me in the crowded aisles, offering their assistance with the finesse of experts of their trade.
I see the tiredness in their eyes and sometimes see the unsteadiness in their gait, but I know that a career in the air is still a source of glamour for many young men and women fighting for a chance at such a job. I am still in love with air travel, although the delays, hassles of checking in, and going through security gates, and the long journeys over the Pacific and the Atlantic rob me of needed rest and energy. When the plane arrives, the engine with its keening sound vibrating at the gates, and lets passengers off, I breathe in a sense of adventure. When I am seated securely in my own seat and feel the tires retract and the plane lift off into the air, my heart expands, feeling it travel into the heavens with dreams, thoughts, and visions of places far away.
Even with the threat of terrorists hiding out in Europe, even with the tube being blown up in London and trains derailed by blasts, I still venture out to my beloved Europe. It is not the danger, the discomfort, nor fear that can ever drive me away. When tragedies occur in Europe we all cry because we feel close to these people, who are our people, especially on my mother’s side. It matter little that we may be Germans or Austrians, Polish or Czech, or even Russian. It makes very little difference that we speak Spanish or Italian, English or French. Europeans, even before the EEC, were one people. Caring for one another, tolerating the natural defenses one has in ones countries, and yet reaching out to understand one another, old enemies and new friends, the Europeans are finally united after two wars divided them and estranged them. Yet easy travel between the countries via train and ship and later by plane made their countries readily accessible to all. Even with their distinct differences in language, culture, and behavior, all Europeans began to carry the pride of being European people and began to unite.
When terrorism emerged, like a dark demon from the depths of hatred, fanaticism, fundamentalism, and other causes, the Europeans united. When tragedy occurred, they all mourned together and prayed together, searching for answers, looking for comforting words for one another.
If Europe remains mostly as the Europe I know and love, with its gentle people, the kindness, curiosity, and optimism of the land I love, I shall always feel the pull to visit that place as long as I live. Europe also taught me about dreams, and in those dreams, I will always be able to visit the places I love and not fear that they are no longer there. I will be able to meet the descendants of the people I loved who are also as kind and wonderful as their predecessors. With such reverence for things of old, with a tradition of politeness and kindness to others, and the love of meeting people of other places, my European friends old and new will always be a part of my dream when I travel the world.
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