In the Air of Elsewhere

Traveling and the art of learning how to breathe

I think I have finally found a cure for depression—the big sad, the nope zone. Obviously, this cannot be a catch-all. It is not foolproof, but it is something I have never truly appreciated before. 

Good air.

I grew up in Lewiston—home of the sweet, pungent smell of the paper mill. It’s even worse in the summer when the fires start circling around us. The Lewis-Clark Valley is an inverted dome. When we catch a spark, the smoke seals us in—separates us from the rest of the world. We have become accustomed to breathing in bad air. So much so, that those who grew up here probably wouldn’t know anything better unless they had the privilege to be able to leave. 

The first thing I noticed upon our arrival in Europe is that people do not smile a lot here. It’s a tell-tale sign to the locals that you are an American. You are a visitor. Another tell-tale sign is ordering an iced coffee or a cappuccino after 10 a.m.

That is weird. Do not do it. 

“Europe is stained with a colorful history, to say the least, but my moment alone looking out at the night sky told me a new story.”

My grandma and I picked up our luggage and met my uncle at the airport. For the next seven hours or so, we wavered in and out of sleep on our way to the Italian Dolomites. We spent two nights at a small bed and breakfast in the middle of the mountains. During the first night, I made a comment to my family about how the setting reminded me of a fantasy book series I had been reading. After a quick search, I realized that the landscape of the fictional ‘city of stars’ in these stories was actually based on the appearance of the Alps.

It was enchanting.

I sat on our balcony and looked out at the sky. My body had yet to acclimate to our new sleeping schedule. Everyone else was tired from our journey, but my mind was focused on the castles we had passed to get here, the glacial blue water, and the beautiful dark forests. This land was a fairy tale rebuilding itself. A place that had fallen apart and over thousands of years—was growing into something new. Europe is stained with a colorful history, to say the least, but my moment alone looking out at the night sky told me a new story. It was titled—

How to Breathe.

Dolomite Mountains, Northeast Italy

On our second day, we explored the dolomites. Grandma took photos of the pygmy goats trying to steal our Prosecco, our family draped against the home of yetis, giants, snow elves, and any other creature I had become attached to during Thursday night D&D sessions. She snapped shots of everything. 

We traversed back through the rolling green hills of Austria, stopping only to experience shopping in a local grocery store and snacking at a small café—where I was reminded again that in the afternoon, macchiatos are the way to go. Germany was another four hours away. When we arrived, we rested a night before hopping on a train in Kaiserslautern headed to Paris.

It was different from what I had imagined.

Of course, I knew it was big, but I do not think that my brain had fully comprehended just how huge and intricate the buildings would be. I felt like a small bean standing next to the Eiffel Tower. Hundreds of tourists sat on blankets with little metal trinkets to remind them of the day they were able to sit and see the most distinctive symbol of the city. 

We wandered around the streets, stumbling upon the world’s tastiest macarons at Ladurée. I bought three boxes. Others say this is a self-control issue, I say, when in Paree. We perused the Shakespeare and Company Bookstore, my own personal heaven. I spent over an hour gliding into room after room filled up to the ceiling with books. At the end of it, I had a stack of maybe a dozen stories piled in my hands—and they stamped each one of them for me at checkout.

On our second day in Paris, we found ourselves at the entrance of the Musée d’Orsay. My aunt and grandma told me to stand by them as we moved through the exhibits, but I found it easy to lose myself in the building. What can I say? I am a really good wanderer. We had these headphones and media devices that let us type in the number of certain images in the museum to hear about their history. I think I played the recording for Dante and Virgil half a dozen times before they found me. For those unfamiliar, this is an 1850 painting done by William-Adolphe Bouguereau, depicting the divine comedy of Dante journeying his way through hell. It was my favorite one in the entire building, and I found it interesting that my second favorite—which was in an entirely separate section of the museum, was also partially inspired by this story. L’Enigme, or, The Riddle, by Gustave Doré.

William Adolphe Bouguereau, Dante and Virgil (1850)

My grandma preferred the lighter, more scenic paintings. The ones less focused on making a statement about history and more arranged to strike their viewers with simple beauty. On the upper floors, we witnessed a herd of cattle-like people sticking arms out in front of each other to capture a personal photograph of the Monets and the Van Goghs.

It was harder to breathe again. I spent maybe six seconds in front of The Starry Night before needing to ply myself away from the crowd and into a nice corner with hardly any others. The older I get, the harder it is for me to be in loud places. 

Last year, my body hosted a bilateral ear infection. For months after the rupture of my right ear, I could barely hear anything. I notified all my professors, who were kind enough to either let me sit obnoxiously close to the front or graciously turned on the closed captioning for me to read during lectures. Half the time I felt like I was underwater.

“What can I say? I am a really good wanderer.”

I have always had issues with my ears. In my lifetime, I have had over four sets of tubes, at least a dozen ear infections, and ruptures. My friends and I make jokes about my hearing loss, it comes and it goes based on how frequently I have been swimming or traveling. Any change in air pressure is a risk. I sometimes can’t even touch the bottom of a pool without falling apart. 

This has had an impact on most if not all of my traveling experiences. It is now a routine to buy a pack of mint gum, non-drowsy flavored Dramamine (the original instantly makes me sick, don’t ask me why; I do not know), and earbuds before hopping on any flight. Similarly, being around large groups of people has this nauseating effect. Of course, it is for different reasons.

Where were we? Ah yes, the Monets and the Van Goghs. They were exquisite, but that is contingent on if you are a connoisseur of the arts. If you do not have a lot of love in your heart for paintings, sculptures, architecture, and the like—Paris might not be for you. It is a place infected by romance even in design—the very railings of each building are curled with care and invite warm intentions.

Paris, France

When we boarded the train to reach our home base in Germany, I told myself I would return again one day. Maybe after the apocalypse ensues and there are fewer people to run into. 

I am mostly kidding.

We arrived at my aunt and uncle’s house in Queidersbach, a small village encased by lush greenery. It was my cousin’s homecoming week—and her dress was beautiful. A long viridian gown dotted with small sparkles; a human-fashioned dark forest. 

I got the opportunity to meet her date and his family at the school football game, and I was reminded how much I hate watching football unless I am on the field with a camera. My uncle and aunt are very active in the booster club at the school—so grandma and I braved the cold for a bit on the bleachers before retreating to the inside of a pickup at halftime. 

A tip for when you travel, you will likely not have access to your phone data if you are from the United States. I recommend you become an avid book reader or download things accordingly.

Earlier in the week, my family set up a chance for me to talk with the staff at Kaiserslautern High School. I was able to speak with a wonderful AP English teacher, the principal, and the vice. KHS is a DoDEA school. This program (DoDEA) employs some of the best educators to work with military families across the globe. Needless to say, I was nervous about talking with these people. It is one of the dream placements for someone who loves education. Kelly, the English teacher I spoke with—graciously allowed me to watch part of her class while visiting. She introduced me to thematic study, which, funny enough, we are covering currently in my Secondary English Methods class at the University of Idaho. She gave me insight into her journey to becoming a DoDEA teacher, and some valuable advice to consider for my next steps after graduation. 

“Find the place where it is easier to breathe.”

If you have anxiety, you know that without a plan—life occasionally feels daunting. I am not a good vacationist. Most of my time in high school and college has been scheduled away into any activity other than free time. I have always felt that without a plan, a goal, or a purpose, there is no need for myself or others. 

Free time has been the enemy, always.

If you could imagine, think of a small bedroom rising with smoke. As each moment passes without a plan of action, a resolution, a conclusion, or some semblance of a solution it gets harder and harder to breathe. Living in a town where smoke is ever-present both metaphorically and physically affects you in ways nobody imagines until they are older.

I am learning to love vacations. 

After returning from Europe—I quit one of my jobs and scaled back on activities significantly. I have decided that I need to devote more time to myself. Maybe read a little bit more for fun, not have to choose between sleep and homework, and get back to the basics. I think I have conditioned myself to need a high-stress environment and frankly, that’s not good for anyone. I, fortunately, could afford a break for myself because I worked so much over the past few years. If you are not in the same position, look at the other areas of your life you might be able to fall back from, even if only for a moment.

So please if you take anything away from this story let it be this—

Find your place of peace—whether it is in your own backyard or somewhere in the alps. Maybe it’s floating down the Snake River or exploring the Spokane Valley Mall. It could look like a spa day or a rock concert. 

Find the place where it is easier to breathe.

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