To feel at home, I have concluded that one needs to have both a secure form of shelter and friends who allow you to be yourself, thus meeting both your physical and emotional needs. Lately, I have had neither. Yes, the hostel is a place to sleep, but hardly a place to settle, and while I have met friendly people, I simply do not know them well enough. I suppose there is a spiritual element to all of this as well; to feel at home is to be at peace with God. But lately, God and I have grown apart, mainly due to my increasing worry, and failing trust, as to where I will be sleeping in the next months.
I knew God was reassuring me when shortly after finishing the last blog, the four PhD students from the
Saturday morning they were kind enough to invite me with them, since I was unable to go to the mission, and we traveled to a few sites in
After a fabulous baguette and warm conversation, I departed while they went to the catacombs. I wanted to go too, but had a housing appointment across town. I should have gone with them. The room, which was in an Italian bed and breakfast, was overpriced and without use of a kitchen or internet. Also, amidst all of the Italian, I picked out the word “mafia” a few times, and determined it was in my best interest to decline the offer. Leaving in a hurry, I quickly revisited the hostel, moving my luggage into a different room, the only one open when I booked it the day before. Then with haste, I made way over to the Pantheon again to make my 7pm appointment with my anticipated potential room. I wanted to hurry especially because my
The room, however, I do not plan to revisit. I just had a bad vibe the entire time I was searching. First, the Italian lady seemed a bit batty and was very particular about where I could go in the house, and at what times. Second, the room was very small and the view was awful. Third, she wanted me to lay down a 1500 Euro deposit (yeah, right), and lastly, the crowds that surrounded the entire area annoyed me greatly. I left with a heavy heart and an empty stomach, bummed that the room I had hoped for was far from such.
After grabbing a quick bite to eat, I got lost, again, and knew I was not going to make it the pick-up point at 9:30pm. I had almost reached my breaking point in frustration, upset that I lacked a room, internet and a phone and tormented by the fact that my only hope to let it all go was departing for their tour as I arrived at the hostel, exhausted from an utterly pointless day of searching for a room. With my heavy bag digging into my shoulder, I reached the first floor of the hostel and went to my separate room, doubting I would see them at all. If this sounds overly melodramatic, I only write that way to illustrate how much my self-pity and pessimism had warped me into depression.
Then once again, God reached out to me. Just before I went into my room, I saw Eleanor and Catherine coming out of there own. “Oh, I’m so glat ya didn’t make it. We’re so tired, we decited not to go. We’re aboot to have tea if you’d like to join us?” I could hardly believe it. After washing up a bit, I met them upstairs in the lounge. Turns out that “tea” is really Scottish for “dinner”; there was no actual tea at all, but I did not mind.
We eventually decided that we were not tired after all, and went out is search of a pub. They fully respected my decision not to drink, after I promised them that I could be quite crazy on the dance floor without it. We had a lot of fun, and I was assured that I just wasn’t some awkward, clingy fifth wheel. Throughout the night, I learned some new dances as well, including the Scottish Kaelie dance and some crazy German song where everyone slaps the floor. The Germans there could tell we were new at it, and we could tell that they had no problem putting their hands on the floor. We dubbed the disco room in the basement of the pub “The Catacombs” because it was incredibly hot and sweaty. We frequented the out-of-doors and shared many laughs. But we also shared some serious conversation too, about the future, purpose and where Jen could get a canolli. Though we returned to the hostel late, I had not felt that awake all day. However, I still forgot to set my alarm clock into the “on” position.
I woke up at 10:15am, missing breakfast and potentially missing the
So I am happy to report that I write this from my new room and the eve of my first day or work. Just as everyone warned me, trying to find a place in
1 comment:
hehe..watch the children frolic in the streets?
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