Whispers of Stone

Too often I think we see ourselves as superior to societies of old, an arrogance of luck and birth. By being born in a different era we naturally look down upon those before us. My perspective was forged from books and television, never having left my young home country, the United States. I wanted to see the monuments of humans past, the remnants of antiquity, the structures we built in search of power, stability and purpose. I desired to understand ourselves, marvel at man-made wonders and grab a Guinness on the way. 

With the well-wishes of my family and some reluctance from my father I stepped foot onto the plane in Mid-February. 18 hours later I stepped off the plane to journey towards medieval wonders of man. Forgive my nerdiness, but the first thought I had echoed Samwise Gamgee, “If I take one more step it will be the farthest away from home I’ve ever been.” And I took that step on the pavement of Berlin, my first adventure I could call my own. At the brink of night, I nervously bought a train ticket from a very patient German staffer and silently mulled over my decision to take that step. 

I completely underestimated the scope of ending my travel virginity. The first night I wandered the streets of Berlin convincing myself this was the right decision, to venture outside my comfort zone and outside my realm. With all the excitement and anticipation before the trip, I didn’t think I would feel isolation upon landing. I thought, “This is normal right? This happens. It has to?” I slowly huddled back to my hostel hoping to sleep off the doubt. To that end I was unsuccessful, for my bunkmate in his dark corner snored as loud as a dragon breathing flame. Unable to slay the beast I lay motionless for the break of dawn, for any relief. 

The sun burst through our wide, dusted windows and I’ve never gotten ready more quickly than that morning. First stop, Berlin Cathedral. I hopped off the train, bought a viewing ticket, silently hoping no ethereal power would smite me upon entering and walked in. Under the immense ornate green dome all my doubt shed away under the beauty of something I have only  read or seen through a digital screen. Here I was standing under something older than anything in my home country, standing under living history, a monument of might and majesty for the first time of my young life. I admit I felt small and insignificant but almost in an uplifting way. I was flooded with thoughts of how man could build such wonders with rock and stone? How could we paint such gorgeous images? Every corner under the dome was decorated with handcrafted statues or holy images embroidered into the walls.

Once again I think it is important to note that America is only around 250 years old and my hometown of St. Louis even younger. I have only  read or glimpsed these artifacts from pixels aligned on a screen. I was teleported to a different time. I happily entered the crypts, hoping to search for hidden clues or a secret entrance to a long forgotten chamber thinking I was Mikey or Indiana. Alas, no luck. I only found row upon row of tombs of royals, priests and people of previous importance, squinting to read their names in the encompassing dark, a story below the Cathedral., aAll while wondering who were these piles of decrepit bones, what lives did they lead? Was walking under this cathedral a normal experience as opposed to extraordinary for me? You can imagine my disappointment. But I could see why people felt and still feel so connected with something of pure awe, something grand, a sense of hierarchy. I’m not religious or even pious for that matter, but there seemed an undescribed purpose. I was re-energized and ready to see as much as I could. 

I witnessed the Cathedral, the seat of holy power, now I wanted to see the seat of royal power. My next destination was Sanssouci, King Fredrick of Prussia’s summer palace in the mid-1700’s in Potsdam, just outside of Berlin. Now I am guilty of loving old European royalty and aristocracy. I romanticize it blindly. The splendor, the sovereign, I find it all fascinating. I was ecstatic to go to a real palace, the Versailles of Germany. I plugged in my headphones, put on my movie scores playlist and wandered the gardens for what seemed hours. After every corner imagining a count and countess flirting frivolously under moonlight, the king himself walking solemnly thinking over matters of great consequence. I was a child again. You are all going to hate me for this one, but it started to softly snow, the lightest snowflakes guiding me on my journey. My imagination soared to the sound of The Chronicles of Narnia (The Door in the Air) and the score to The Da Vinci Code all the way down the narrow final path to the Grand Palace awaiting my arrival to sounds of “May I present the Duke of St. Louis, his royal majesty, Matthew Modesitt.”

All fantasies end, I sobered up and in the courtyard I began to step outside the dream. What is the meaning of this place? Why was so much money invested in a personal home? The arrogance of man to think themselves at a higher station than all others. But I still loved it. Hell I would probably do the same thing in that position at that time. I wanted to be that king even knowing the mistakes and folly of the aristocracy. It was a reminder of power. These gorgeous gardens are a symbol of not only beauty but of status. Power shifts and power changes but have we really changed that much?

Pretending to be a Duke was over and it was time to pretend to be a medieval soldier. Next stop was Prague Castle in Prague, Czech Republic. To preface I met with an old collegiate friend the night before (after meeting 3 generous Brits during the Liverpool game) so the morning was hazy and slow and the Castle of course was on top of the highest western hill. I started the climb. Two stoic and unwavering guards clad in mid-century uniform and weapons greeted my ascent to the top, such an inviting welcome I dare not refuse. I entered and all fogginess left my earthly body the moment I walked into Prague Castle, the perfect hangover cure. I thought Berlin Cathedral and Sanssouci

were old, this parapet of stone was from the 9^th century, more than 1000 years ago. Once again you guys are going to hate me for this, but the moment I breached the gates, a ballerina with toes dancing on ancient stone was the first thing I observed. In front of the might of the castle was a picture of grace and beauty. Surely, this had to be a fantasy. The castle walls tucked into the hill and I atop it. I felt stable. Safe. The walls protecting me from outside threats. It reminded me strangely of home, how physical walls can build mental stability. I wish I could have set up a bunk and stayed. 

I searched for wonder and while I certainly found that I came away with more questions. I suppose that is a measure of a good trip, a lasting effect that stays with you and a desire to see more. These ancient seats of power, purpose and stability I visited as monuments, but monuments are unchanging and resolute, the questions they presented less so. The trip to Central Europe, my first outside the country, has strengthened my resolve to continue to explore humanity's past, our differing perspectives, our similarities and our teachings.