“Mountains of Change”
Mariel Ramos
[ Mariel is 17-years-old and in the 11th grade. Her essay first appeared in 826CHI’s The Noise Felt Human. The views expressed below are strictly those of the writer.]
I had whipped around from Austria to Germany, from city to city, and from tour guide to tour guide. Now I was just full of anticipation, not knowing what to expect when I step off the train and enter a whole new country. Are the people the same as in Chicago? Do I have enough money for whatever I need? What’s the weather like? Do they speak English? I can't even find the bathroom around these parts of the world; WC replaced the original universal sign for restroom. How will I get around? The street names literally look like "stetchzerlaniutxzduoewas." These questions and thousands more swarmed my head the closer our train got to our destination. I began to feel uneasy; a mixture of nervousness and excitement overwhelmed me, starting at my feet and not stopping until it reached the tips of my flyaway hairs on the top of my head. Clinching my cousin’s hand while stepping off the train into an unknown land, I did not know Switzerland would be the country I love to be in.
Besides the fact that I could not understand a word anyone was saying and food was way different here than in the States, the landscape was beyond amazing. Mountains stood at every corner, exploding behind all the buildings. Gold, teal, and cream colors popped out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head, and statues were all over the place, telling a story from every angle you look at it. I couldn’t believe all the art around this part of world; details are specifically put into the painting, statues, and even graffiti that is all over the walls. Europe keeps their graffiti up, as a sign of art, unlike here in the US where an artist is lucky to have her piece up for day.
People were everywhere. Shopping, walking, eating, simply enjoying the day, or all that at once. Everyone was outside doing things. The business in Switzerland reminded me of life in Chicago, but it is still not the same. Nothing here was the same—not even the burgers at McDonald's were the same. Neither were the hotels. It actually turned out that our hotel was like a big house with several rooms that could be bought out for multiple nights. While it was nice being in an actual home, it made me miss my own.
Sitting in an adorable room with my cousin and a couple of my classmates, we suddenly had the urge to have a picnic. Luckily, across the street there was a mini grocery store. We got European chips—with every bite taken, one can clearly hear the crunch of a single chew—fruit, drinks, German gummy bears, other candies, and to make it extremely fancy, we got a bottle of sparkling juice, sort of like the one we got during New Year’s except in a nicer bottle. When we returned to the hotel, we were running late for dinner so we ran up the stairs trying not to drop our groceries and hid them so no one would ask us questions on our whereabouts. We hid the food under our covers and pillows. Once all the evidence was gone, we ran to the dinner table full of anxiety because no one knew of our agenda that night.
Dinner at the house was served family style: everyone passed the food around and had conversation between each other. We, on the other hand, were scheming over our picnic adventures, deliberating on where we would set up camp. Then, at a single comment, our plans seemed impossible. The owner announced that he locked the doors at 8:00 p.m., which meant we couldn’t go on our adventure.
Disappointment filled the air—until I looked out the window and noticed a fire escape. Light bulbs went flashing everywhere; the idea of sneaking began to stir. A new scheme for our picnic began to sprout. We would leave right before the sunset. After dinner we had approximately one hour to figure out how the fire escape worked and practice going in and out on it.
Once we felt like pros, we rounded up our stuff and waited. Everyone used the time to change into more suitable attire: black. We looked like ninjas on a mission, climbing out the window and sliding on the windowsill to reach the ladder and climb down. One by one my cousin, my classmates, and I continued to complete the mission. I’m not going to lie: it was nerve-wracking. Sweat dripped from the side of my face. One little mistake and I could become a pancake. I looked up and down and finally squeezed my eyes as tightly as possible, not knowing what my outcome would be. When I finally opened my eyes, I noticed my feet were nicely planted on the ground. I felt all over me to make sure all my body parts were intact, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to feel solid ground as I was in that instance. We had made it down from the fourth floor window. We all succeeded and headed to our picnic spot. Incidentally, our picnic spot was only about a block and a half away.
Blankets were spread out upon the bright green grass, the food displayed like a fancy outdoor dinner party. We all sat down, looking off the top of the hill where we set up camp. Everything seemed surreal, the natural beauty of the mountains, the sun laying perfectly above it, and the water having precise ripples and waves made this look like a backdrop from a movie. I think I blinked a couple times to make sure what I was looking at was even real. Something so amazing could not have been simply sitting on the other side of the world from me.
The sun had set, exploding orange, pink, yellow, and even purple from behind the mountains in which it hid. The city within the mountains turned their own city lights on, and that was just as beautiful as when the sun was out. As I sat there, my brain exploded within, like all the little “me” working in my head went into chaos. I couldn’t understand what was happening, and I couldn’t tell the others I was freaking out over nothing. So I continued to sit there with the most puzzled look on my face trying to put my brain into order. Around ten minutes had passed while I was in a coma of confusion, and then in single second it all made sense. I was not a kid anymore. I was sitting on top of a hill, at midnight, in a foreign country, with NO adults. I was the adult—well, at least the closest thing to it. My brain seemed to have been reprogrammed during my “coma” to a totally different setting, like Adult Mode. When I returned home, I knew I would soon be pressured with the concepts of the ACT, college, and living without my parents. All of this used to frighten me a little, but now I couldn’t wait to get out there. I felt ready to take on the world, to take on any challenges coming my way, and accomplish great things. I probably won’t be the first woman president, but I will do some pretty extraordinary things, and spending half my summer in Europe is the top thing on my list.
