Field Trips!

Shhhh...listen, it's silence. Today we went on a field trip to the outer villages of Reus to see some breath taking sites of the country and churches and castles built centuries ago, perched on rich red rocks that have been standing since time began. Silence was exactly what you heard. Notice the date above...1230, even if we closed our eyes and tried to imagine what exactly the year 1230 held, it would be nearly impossible. All I could describe it as is silence, a distant memory of what existed before any of us were even a speck of creation.


The rocks themselves are porous and with time they have turned into sand, leaving behind holes, caves and shapes that are nature's art. The ermita itself sits perched on top of remnants of rock and as you stand inside, you wonder if this will be the time when it finally releases its grasp on the mountain. It is both exhilarating and humbling. It doesn't help that the older I get the more vertigo seems to take over and heights are more threatening to me.
Even so, Carles challenges me to sit on the outer edge of a boulder dangling from life and I fight my own fears, smiling, not looking down. It silences me, it holds me tight, this urge to want to fly. The view is absolutely spectacular, the lands and crops tended to by generations of farmers, olive groves, apples rotting on the ground, "This," I claim to Carles "is Europe." He laughs and I fall silent. This is what I dreamt of ages ago, lost in the fields, in the mountains, qualsevol lloc.



I think even Chet felt humble at the sight of the height we were at. We decided to take him on his first field trip, his first outing and he precariously walked around, shaking when we put him up on rocks to model for us, unsure of the distance, trembling with a fear that ran through my own blood. He currently sits at my feet, exhausted, asleep and dreaming of all the rocks he jumped since every so often his back legs twitch and I can only imagine the images flashing through his memory.After visiting the ermita we went to a castle a top another mountain, made out of the same rock. Another majestic site, with a trail decorated with fallen rocks that had fallen into place, creating shadows and art, ivy, and large trees that softened the sun. The air was clean, the noises were whisked away by nature and I felt so at peace. We were like children, all three of us, Chet, Carles and I, exploring hidden paths, doorways halfway open that lead you to other trails and dead pathways, windows that led to nowhere.



Yesterday, as we rode around on a bright blue Vespa through tiny villages, looking for an adventure and a place to eat lunch, zipping through tiny streets centuries old, I felt like a real European. This is just what I came here to look for. Carles called me the Hemingway of Catalunya, "You will bring all the Americans to Reus, to discover the undiscovered and the beauty that these villages with their sun scorched wrinkled smiling faces have to give." And I fell silent...