This evening I walked past a packed little
concert hall minutes before a Fado performance. Fado, is kind of a staple
around these parts. It's a unique style of traditional Portuguese music
originating from nighttime serenades from university students on the cobbled
streets of Coimbra; the city I now find myself in.
Nobody knows exactly where it came from. Some
believe it was the students from Brazil who came to Portugal to attend
university around the 1860s. Others credit their fellow countrymen, the ones
who moseyed up north from Lisbon. But like anything that defines a place
it matters much less whose idea it was than its ability to unite a
group of people.
Coimbra is a magical place full of young
people with lofty dreams. There's a buoyancy in their step among the fallen
leaves and heavy bags replete with books. The university rests atop a hill
overlooking houses, cafes, storefronts, and 11th century basilicas.
I took a stroll through the Cathedral of
Coimbra which dates back to the Visigothic period. The cloister one story above
offered some peace, mostly quiet, and a moment to daydream about those who
ambled the same path some 900 years earlier. Hard to do, but a great deal of
fun to try.
Not long after I found myself in the Botanic
Garden of the University of Coimbra, created in 1772. It's 13 hectares and
collection of living plants that once assisted in teaching medical sciences
were good enough to land it a spot on the UNESCO World Heritage List.
What about Central Park?
I wondered how many college kids from the
school a stone's throw away discovered themselves in this place while
weaving in and around the carefully groomed dirt paths after a rough test
score, a breakup, or wrestling with an uncertain future. How many found a
fleeting moment of solace as Emerson might have near a pond or against a
tree with nothing more than their thoughts and a notebook.
Of course, I reflected on my own college days
and how much I'd changed, and of course, how much I hadn't. Each analysis
surprised me in unique ways.
Obviously I'm older now, more self-aware, and
I like to think wiser. The only of those three that is guaranteed is the most
former so I do take some pride in the work I've put into becoming a better
human being.
What hasn't changed though is my passion for
being alive, the romantic relationship I still have with the world (for better
or worse), my propensity towards introspection, which may have deepened to a
fault, and finally, the same melancholy that follows me from continent to continent
like a shadow long after the sun as set.
It's a wistfulness I've been told can be
seen in my eyes. It's not something I deem categorically bad by any
stretch. In fact, I think melancholy is a wiser, more informed, and optimistic
type of sadness that isn't even all together sad. It just is. It can even lead
to greater consciousness and a heightened sense of compassion for others and
the world if you allow it to.
I'll savor my last day here in Coimbra.
I'll rise early, walk far, and discover much about this city, and hopefully, a
little more about myself along the way.
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