My Shoes Tell My Story

This week, as I prepare to pack, I am getting rid of a few things near and dear to my heart because they are just too run down to take home.

The first, of which I am struggling with most, is a pair of shoes. I threw out my shoes today, and it was if I was throwing out a bit of my time here in Europe. These shoes were, in fact, the way I made one of my best friends here, as she came up to me at orientation and said “I like your shoes”, from there we started talking, and we have been enjoying Spain together ever since. These shoes were also worn the first day I met my Señora, in my desperate attempt to look a bit more European. They have carried me through the labyrinth-like streets of Sevilla as I struggled to become familiar with my city. They carried me through the ancient halls of the Alhambra in Granada and the Alcazar in Sevilla and through countless cathedrals. They have carried me up the stairs of the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, and the Notre Dame. They carried me through the Roman ruins just outside of Sevilla in Italica, through the hills of Austria, through the hedge maze and sands of the Mediterranean Sea in Barcelona. They have carried me through the packed streets of Madrid, through airport terminals, metro stations, bus stations, and train stations (usually at a very fast pace). They have carried me over the “Puente de Triana” (bridge) and into the center of the city, managing to dodge the dog feces that litter the city, while carrying me to class every day and finally, back up the stairs of my apartment after a long day. In a lot of ways, I grew up in these shoes. The scuffs on the toes, the worn soles, and the smell, tell the story of my adventures in Europe.

The other thing I parted with today, but in a less dramatic matter, was my day-travel bag, which has been with me on all my trips thus far outside of Sevilla. It served me extremely well carrying my camera, Rick Steves travel books, metro maps, water, etc., that is, until the strap pulled out in Paris. I found a makeshift way to use it on the rest of the trips, using Velcro, and this worked well enough (aside from it often pulling off) until the day it pulled out and hit me in the face. At that moment I put my foot down and decided I must get rid of my loyal Target purchase. I could have brought it home and have it fixed, but since space in my suitcases is limited, I had to leave it behind. When I was explaining this all to my Señora, she said, “Don’t throw it away, I will take it to a zapatero (a shoe-fixer guy) and I will keep it as a memory of you”. So aside from accompanying me on all my travels through Spain and the rest of Europe, it will now accompany my Señora through the streets of Sevilla, quite an appropriate “resting place”.

I never thought I would be so sentimental about a pair of shoes and a cheap fake-leather bag, but then again I never thought that I would be so sad to go. I guess Studying Abroad really does change a person.