“Discover a sound you haven’t noticed before. Listen to it. Let it affect your feet. Walk with the rhythm.”
I stared down at the card, deciding that this would be easy enough to accomplish.
Prior to leaving for my trip, I purchased a deck of “Anywhere Travel Guide” cards. They gave generic prompts for what to do while traveling to get you to do… something, anything.
The museums of Milan were beautiful, but now I am seeking other ways to pass the time in the mornings. The sun was shining for a second day in a row. I walked out of my apartment and wandered in the direction I never go.
I paid attention to the cacophony of noises enveloping me. Motorcycles and Vespas whizzing around, zipping past purring cars and rumbling trucks like little fish swimming around a whale. The tram cutting down the middle of the street, rattling and clattering alongside traffic. A woman’s heels click-clack along the pavement in a steady cadence. Horns honk as traffic clogs an intersection. Brakes screech to a halt. A squeaky bike stumbles past me on the sidewalk. A howling ambulance wails in the distance.
Overwhelming, but familiar. No discoveries yet.
I pass by a building that looks like a palace, but it is not. It is the entrance of the Cimitero Monumentale (Monumental Cemetery), a massive display of wealthy, artistic tombs in Neo-Gothic, Art Nouveau, and Neoclassical styles. The cemetery seems to extend forever, home to thousands of statues and tombs and corpses.
I am early. No one else is here yet. It is quiet.
The first sound I notice is silence, followed by a chorus of singing birds. A crow caws with confidence. A dove coos quietly. Little birds that I do not know the name of tweet and chirp and call to one another. Gravel crunches underfoot as I meander along the winding paths of the cemetery. The hushed voices of a young couple enters my atmosphere, I’m no longer alone. Water gurgles and splashes in a small fountain. An airplane whirs like pink noise from far above.
How peaceful it is here, a stark contrast to the chaos of the street. Yet once again, these sounds are all familiar to me.
“Discover a sound you haven’t noticed before,” I repeat to myself. To complete this challenge, I would need a little imagination.
I start to listen to the voices of the dead.
With each tomb and statue that I pass, I envision what they would say to me. Some are happy, some are sad. Some are desperate for attention, others would rather be left alone. But by and large, their message is the same: do what you can before you join us.
I pay my respects and let the voices guide me to the exit.
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“Discover a sound you haven’t noticed before. Listen to it. Let it affect your feet. Walk with the rhythm.”
I stared down at the card, deciding that this would be easy enough to accomplish.
Prior to leaving for my trip, I purchased a deck of “Anywhere Travel Guide” cards. They gave generic prompts for what to do while traveling to get you to do… something, anything.
The museums of Milan were beautiful, but now I am seeking other ways to pass the time in the mornings. The sun was shining for a second day in a row. I walked out of my apartment and wandered in the direction I never go.
I paid attention to the cacophony of noises enveloping me. Motorcycles and Vespas whizzing around, zipping past purring cars and rumbling trucks like little fish swimming around a whale. The tram cutting down the middle of the street, rattling and clattering alongside traffic. A woman’s heels click-clack along the pavement in a steady cadence. Horns honk as traffic clogs an intersection. Brakes screech to a halt. A squeaky bike stumbles past me on the sidewalk. A howling ambulance wails in the distance.
Overwhelming, but familiar. No discoveries yet.
I pass by a building that looks like a palace, but it is not. It is the entrance of the Cimitero Monumentale (Monumental Cemetery), a massive display of wealthy, artistic tombs in Neo-Gothic, Art Nouveau, and Neoclassical styles. The cemetery seems to extend forever, home to thousands of statues and tombs and corpses.
I am early. No one else is here yet. It is quiet.
The first sound I notice is silence, followed by a chorus of singing birds. A crow caws with confidence. A dove coos quietly. Little birds that I do not know the name of tweet and chirp and call to one another. Gravel crunches underfoot as I meander along the winding paths of the cemetery. The hushed voices of a young couple enters my atmosphere, I’m no longer alone. Water gurgles and splashes in a small fountain. An airplane whirs like pink noise from far above.
How peaceful it is here, a stark contrast to the chaos of the street. Yet once again, these sounds are all familiar to me.
“Discover a sound you haven’t noticed before,” I repeat to myself. To complete this challenge, I would need a little imagination.
I start to listen to the voices of the dead.
With each tomb and statue that I pass, I envision what they would say to me. Some are happy, some are sad. Some are desperate for attention, others would rather be left alone. But by and large, their message is the same: do what you can before you join us.
I pay my respects and let the voices guide me to the exit.
