Reliving the Past

                Twelve years ago, I walked with my eleven classmates toward the altar of St. Mark’s Catholic Church to receive my First Holy Communion.  I had spent the prior year memorizing catechism, taking what I thought to be very difficult and stressful tests, and preparing my eight-year old mind to receive Christ’s body, blood, soul and divinity.  Certainly, I was excited as it meant I was maturing and growing up, but I was also ecstatic at the gifts that I would be receiving from Tita, mom and dad.  Having been a nun in the Vatican for many years, my aunt Tita always gave her nieces and nephews a rosary blessed by the Pope, and I grew impatient as I waited for mom to give me the anticipated gift during the party.  I finally did receive it, as well as a gold crucifix from my parents.  As an eight year old, these were the most overwhelming presents.  Gold, such a luxury for a person at any age, and a rosary that was literally prayed over by Pope John Paul II; I couldn’t believe it!  Twelve years later, I held onto those two precious gifts while I walked into San Juan de Dios Basilica in Granada. 
                From the exterior, San Juan de Dios in an impressive mastery of Baroque Art.  Situated in between a book store, coffee shops, and bakeries it was hard to imagine the intricate work that went into the statues and impressive winding pillars.  I strained my neck as I tried to get a glimpse of the towering roof while I listened to Alfonso, my culture teacher, explain the history surrounding its construction.  Somewhere in between the chatter, pictures, and strolling through the outdoor garden, we made our way toward the inside of the church.  The images of towering pillars and immense spiraling columns sputtered through my mind as I couldn’t fathom a church that was more impressive than the Cathedral I visited last week.  As I followed my classmates through the door and into the front of the church, I turned around only to be overwhelmed by the sheer volume of gold that decorated the altar.  After admiring the facade with its unbelievable icons, statues, and gold walls, I looked and noticed the circular roof filled with intricate Biblical paintings.  There was not a square inch of the church that was not beautifully decorated in some way.

                We later made our way to a room situated above the altar which contained the remains of San John of God as well as the relics of over 190 saints!  Having grown up in the Catholic faith, I could not believe the historical and religious importance of looking at the sacred remains of saints who died for their faith during the Roman Empire thousands of years ago.  Walking through that room shot me back through history and I felt as though I was winding through a time machine.  It was a truly remarkable experience.  Eventually, we made our way down a nondescript stairwell as we walked toward the front entrance.  As I hopped down the stairs, I glanced and saw Pope John Paul II’s crucifix and a piece of his Papal attire.  Here we were among the most incredible Catholic relics I had ever seen, and the pope’s personal clothing was hanging on a blank wall in a back stairwell.  It spoke volumes as to what an unbelievable experience this truly was. 

                The whole tour lasted only thirty minutes, but while I walked out of the past and into the bustling streets of Granada, I remembered how special my gold necklace and rosary were.  It was then that I realized the magnitude and beauty of San Juan de Dios, and I held onto my blessed gifts as though I was taking of piece of the Basilica with me.  Seconds later, I caught up with Alfonso who gave me a holy card as a memento.  Immediately, I imagined sitting in Miss Sanchez’s second grade classroom while she handed me a holy card to add to my extensive collection.  Twelve years later while standing on a narrow walkway in Spain, I was re-experiencing second grade, just on a bit of a larger scale.   

The Canary Islands

Africa, with some of the world’s most unbelievable history, has always been the continent on the map that I have only dreamed of visiting.  I learned about it in school, heard stories about Dad living there during his childhood and read books set on the vast continent, but I have always considered it a distant, almost unreachable destination.  While it remains a continent that I have never set foot on, the Canary Islands were not only one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen, but they also brought me within 100 kilometers of the ever-distant Africa.  With every passing day, destinations, dreams and goals that once rested on a distant pedestal now sit in the palm of my hand. 

We boarded the plane at 9:20 pm with nothing more than a backpack, a bathing suit, and the stunning Google Images of Tenerife on the forefront of our anticipatory minds.  Twelve hours later, the six of us were admiring the surf and crunching our bare feet on the miles of fine sand.  We did not have an itinerary for the next two days, so some adventured to pursue renting a car while others took pictures on the jutting rock faces.  We would spend the next afternoon strolling on the boardwalk, flipping down sand dunes and swimming in the calm waters.  Having come from Granada where my host mom worries every time I go out without at least a warm scarf and a heavy jacket, the pleasant sun complemented by calm winds was a perfect way to spend my day.  It was such an ideal, picturesque setting that I could barely go twenty minutes without blurting out, as though nobody had figured it out already, that we were cruising along an island off the west coast of Africa, worlds away from our suburban homes in California, Oregon, and Colorado.

After a well-spent afternoon on the local beach the day before, we set Saturday aside for our big adventure.  We were lucky enough to rent a car, and after our hostel receptionist starred a few destinations on a simple map, we hopped into our “derpy” station wagon with the knowledge that, as long as we didn’t fall off the island, we should theoretically find our way back to the low-key hostel by the end of the night.  For ten hours, we drove on narrow, windy roads meticulously carved out of unbelievable cliff sides with sights of the majestic Atlantic Ocean resting hundreds of feet below.  While softball-sized rocks blew off the cliffs and smashed into our rental car, we leaned out the window in awe of the absolute beauty that was Tenerife.  Countless times, we pulled off the road to snap ridiculous photos that are sure to impress even National Geographic.  The highlight of my day, however, was finding the beach hidden on the northwest tip of the island.  Surrounded by volcanic rock, we marched along a narrow wooden bridge that led to a platform nestled three feet above the clear blue waters.  We sat for an hour admiring the crabs crawling along the rock faces and the captivating whirlpools.  We eventually made it home later that night, but not without some of the best memories and images that I will cherish for a lifetime.

Every trip, every excursion, every experience yields more appreciation for the opportunities that lie before me, and I continue to realize that there is little that stands between me and my passion to learn and explore.  Tenerife was undoubtedly one of the most amazing destinations thus far and, who knows, maybe I will be riding a camel through the Sahara sometime in the near future; what stands in my way?