Penny Post #38: European Stairs

An unreliable North Face backpack conquers new heights in Europe.

I’ve had the same backpack since my freshman year of high school. It is a sturdy, well-pocketed, grey blob of a thing that has loyally rested on my shoulders for years. In its early days, it held folders and textbooks. In its teenage years, it held heavier folders and heavier textbooks. The hunch of my shoulders deepened. In its adult years (age more and more evident) I took my loyal North Face abroad. Instead of folders and textbooks, my backpack now held euros and Rick Stevens and my insurmountable anxiety. I trusted that it carried all I needed; my shoulders bearing the brunt of this misplaced trust.

Most of the time I didn’t trust it enough to bring just it. I heaved it on my shoulders while clutching my rickety carry-on luggage down many an Italian stair. 

There was one time when leaving from Mallorca, Spain that I lugged both bags across an entire beach at 3 am trailing dangerously behind my courageous travel buddies. We had a bus to make and if I didn’t make this particular bus I wouldn’t make it to the airport in time to make it onto my flight to make it to Italy. Spoiler alert: I made it.

There was one time (I think on the same day ^) that my travel buddies and I were half-asleep chatting when we suddenly realized that the airport staff had just issued the LAST CALL for all passengers traveling to Naples. No, we were not at the gate. No, we were not within any reasonable distance to the gate. We were in fact slumped over on a table with one or two stranded french fries AT LEAST a 15 minute walk from our gate. It was every man (and woman) for themselves. Once again, I fell dangerously behind my travel buddies who sprinted much faster than I managed lugging an unreliable backpack and a carry-on in a Spanish airport. Thankfully, the fastest of us managed to convince the flight attendant to hold the plane for some embarrassingly slow Americans (it's me, I’m the problem it's me), only for my once-reliable North Face to miraculously unzip itself as I’m semi-sprinting, semi-limping down the airport concourse to catch up. All of the contents of my bag fall out, spreading beyond my immediate reach and in the way of all other travelers who did not bother to hide their disdain for my American panic. 

I speedily shoved my hairbrush, ~delicates~, and a mysterious white envelope in my bag, not caring to cast a second glance. I virtually crawled onto the plane dripping in sweat and mumbling apologies.

More relieved than ever before for an airplane seat, I buckled and breathed a deep sigh of relief. I wrote my first ever gratitude entry sitting on that Easy Jet flight to Naples, Italy:

I made it! To the airport by metro not spending a whole lot and with time to spare (really, Kiera?). The security guard let me through with cream! I unexpectedly met Mel, Kayla and Lucia on the metro, who were nice travel companions. The stranger that waved to me on the metro (I wonder who I reminded him of?). The heaviness of my eyelids. The potential of a bookstore. The extra space in this plane and the fact that it was pulled up to the gate. The fact that my suitcase fit overhead. How empowered I am traveling! Wow! So much to be grateful for. Unselfish, nonjudgmental company. A beautiful sunset, some nostalgic and transportive music, IBBY allyship, my own voice, sun-kissed, my humor, my spontaneity without sacrificing my needs.

There was one time (again, the same day ^) that I clutched that North Face so tightly in my lap, crushed together in fear in the backseat of the most erratic Neapolitan taxi driver who - after several near-fatal events - sorely informed us that some relative of his was unexpectedly dying right that second and that he would, indeed, be dropping us off on the side of some unnamed Italian road after he had 100 euros in his hand. I’ve never seen someone speed off so quickly. We trekked our way to a nearby bus station, somehow hopeful and unharmed.

Over the next few weeks and months, I spent much time lugging this determinedly untrustworthy North Face around Europe. Over the next few weeks and months, my once-loyal North Face emptied all of its contents onto random European streets, begrudging my adventure.

Up & down & up these: 

and these: 

and these: 

and these:

and these: 

Regardless, my shoulders hunched and my legs ached and my heart feared that although I was dutifully proud of my role as our group’s caboose, I would one day be left behind because of or in spite of this godforsaken backpack.

I held onto it, though, as I had once promised myself it held all I needed. One night safely back at my homestay in Toledo, I emptied the contents looking for my charger. Instead I stumbled upon the mysterious white envelope I had stuffed in my backpack several weeks prior. My father, who is not exactly known for his subtlety nor tact, had slipped in a note long before I had left for abroad. It wrote:

Hiya, 

Wanted you to know how proud mom and I are of you for making this journey. Takes some courage to leave the comfort of South Bend and the United States to travel abroad for a term. Especially to a country where English isn’t the predominant language. 

There will be a couple of bouts of homesickness I am sure, especially early. But once you get the lay of the land you will get totally into it. Enjoy it is the most important thing. You are only 21 once. We will miss you greatly here but mid-May will come soon enough. 

Let your mother know once in a while that you are alive and well. As for me? You know you will be deep in my heart.

Love

Dad

Never again did my backpack come unzipped.

Deep in his heart,

Kiera