She was in town speaking this past Monday. A good friend landed tickets, so I was able to go for free. I am already winning the night, right? Anyway, since I haven’t read any of her books, I wanted to get a feel for her story and what she’d be speaking about. An interview with Ms. Fuller appeared in our local newspaper. The full interview can be seen here, But, I was very intrigued by this question and answer. For clarity’s sake, the context was the civil war going in the country (and her memory of it), during her childhood years.
So it’s not really blurred by the fog of war, it’s actually sharpened.
“This is very true of most of the people I grew up with. They have phenomenally vivid recollections of their childhood. I tell you what’s blurry for me, was the first decade of being in the States, with this kind of comfortable luxury. You could barely distinguish between seasons, because you’ve got air-conditioning and heat. You have ways to control your climate. Whereas, in my childhood every October is seared in my brain. ‘Oh, God, that was the October that X happened.’ Because it’s so uncomfortable.
You can’t forget it. You can’t forget the rainy season. You remember the first rains of every season. You remember where you were when that rain came; you’d been waiting for it for four months. But you don’t really have that kind of urgency here, to remember where you were for the first rains of the season. You might remember hurricanes or you might remember another event that knocks out your electricity for two weeks. But when you don’t have electricity, when that cushion isn’t there anyway, you feel the world in a different way. I think we can get numb and unconscious here quite easily.”
(Me again)
This answer has done my head in the last few days. I think we all agree with the notion that we forget the mundane, redundant, tasks we do each day. However, I thought about that paragraph even further. I tried to think of times where I was doing something that should be memorable (and I was comfortable) and wanted to test my memory on those occasions. My thoughts brought me to past vacations and I’m almost sad to say that I remember the uncomfortable times (within the same vacations) more vividly. The time since the vacations have occurred don’t seem to matter. No matter the example, I remember the uncomfortable part of the trip in a more detailed way. The comfortable parts (sitting on a beach, good dinners, etc) are incredibly foggy for me. That might seem natural to some, but it shook me up that I couldn’t remember the happiest moments more effectively. I can’t even separate specific days, of the trips, in my head. And, these were actually good times! I will give you a few examples.
I mentioned in past posts that my wife is a German citizen. Her folks are still in the Germany, so I end up there regularly. So, many of my stories about this topic will be Euro-centric. Today, I’ll go down a fuzzy, Roman memory lane.
Rome:
In either 2005 or 2006 (see I’m not even positive of the year), we were able to spend 4 nights in Rome. It’s a good amount of time in the town. Perfect for seeing all the sites without having to rush around. We saw all the usual suspects up close: the Colosseum, Vatican City, Pantheon, etc.
Logic would dictate that the memory of one of those experiences would trump most other things from the trip. In all honesty, I can tell you this is not the case. If I try to think back about that trip, my mind first goes to 2 incidents where I (or we) were most uncomfortable. Our first night in Rome, we stayed out a little late. We didn’t know what time the trains back to our section of town stopped. Because of this, we had to take a bus back to our hotel (we refuse to drive in towns we don’t know). I think this was a Friday night (again not sure). But, it felt like there were a good amount of club-goers out that night. All I remember is the heinous smell that was inside the bus. I don’t know if was from people out dancing all night or their own beliefs or customs caused them to not wear deodorant. But, the smell is still with me today. It was this rampant, mutant B.O. (body odor) that you can’t forget. It pains me to say that this is a stark memory from my time in the “Eternal City.” You say “Rome” to me today, and I want to cover my nose. Good times!
Example 2, also in Rome: While there we visited Vatican City and climbed to the
top of St. Peter’s Basilica. You’d think this experience would also
really stick in my head. Maybe I’d be moved by the church, maybe I would
find faith, who knows really? But, when you say “Vatican” to me, my
first thought is that I forgot to hit the ATM before going into Vatican
City. And, Vatican City is technically a country, it has a post office, a special/elite police force, a radio station, and are an “observer” at the United Nations (similar to a non-voting UN member). You’d think they have an ATM. But, I digress. Can’t you tell I’m still pissed?
So, the Missus and I were cash-less. Turns out, it costs 8 Euros to
take an elevator half-way up the cupola of St. Peters Basilica. It is a
climb of 800 steps (no joke). There is health and safety warnings before
you start the climb (again not a joke). If I had the 8 Euros, we could
have taken an elevator half-way up. There is 1 place where you can exit
the stairway, and get outside for air and water. There are little
windows along the way for ventilation and where you can sneak a peek of
Rome. Once we got to take a break at the one outdoor stop, my wife
literally headbutted me, Hulk Hogan style, as payback for forgetting the
cash. She’s violent. What can I say? Thinking back, I might have been
able to have Vatican police take her in for domestic violence.Looking at that picture of the cupola (above) may not do it justice. As you get higher and higher, the stairway gets more narrow. There were points where my shoulders touched each side of the walls simultaneously. A little claustrophobia sets in. Unfortunately, I didn’t think I would be writing 5 or 6 years later, so I don’t have a video of this. But, thanks to YouTube, you can see inside the stairway yourself. Enjoy!
And, you have to exit in the same fashion. Exiting is easier of course, but the size of the stairways are the same going down.
Hopefully, I proved my point about memory/comfort even in a happy times. It is, admittedly, digging a little deeper on Ms. Fuller’s point. But, when I think back to this particular trip, these are the sharpest memories I have. We had a great time and saw some of the most storied buildings in the world. And, it stays with you. But, it seems those clearest memories are reserved for when things are the roughest for you. Even when it is within a happy and/or comfortable situation on the whole.
I’d love to know if you agree with this. Feel free to comment on the Hub. If you’ve read my old blog from its beginning back in October, you know that it’s 1/3 educating friends/family, 1/3 making you laugh, and 1/3 trying to figure out if I’m crazy or not. So, try to think back to your own memories and compare the good and bad ones. See which are most lucid. You may be unpleasantly surprised. I know I was. I flew all the way to Rome and I remember smelly people, a stair climb, and a headbutt. Just watch travel shows folks.
I may also make this a regular section of the blog. I have instances from other trips, that were just horrible, things I remember like it was yesterday. They include a road trip from hell (16 years ago), a horrible mix-up with the Metric System for a trip to London, and thinking I was going to die in the Canary Islands. Stay tuned for those, and you guessed it, I recall all the horrible stuf best.
See you soon,
James
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