Dandelion Wishes

I take my aviators off and stick them on top of my head, combing my fingers through my bangs in an attempt to correct the tangled mess the wind has created. I am sitting on a metal bench in Lucca, a city know mainly for it's fully intact Renaissance-era city walls upon which my bench is posted. After rave reviews and a train ticket priced at only 2,40, we decided to stop in Lucca on our way home from Pisa. My roommates are off exploring but I have a blister, my legs hurt from walking, and my stomach is not happy with the carbonation in the water I didn't realize was frizzante (sparkling water) when I pulled it out of the fridge at the gelato shop. So although I am technically sitting on this bench until the wave of nausea passes, I am also sitting on this bench pouting just a little bit.

Lucca wasn't on my list. Until this morning I had never even heard of Lucca and were I not here right now, I would probably have lived out the rest of my life without ever knowing it existed. City walls. BIG DEAL. From where I'm sitting the only thing remotely exciting about Lucca is the fact that there are dandelions everywhere. Although I am aware that the general population considers the dandelion to be a weed in need of removal, I have a certain soft spot for them. I'd even go so far as to say that I love dandelions. Maybe it's partially because I love making wishes and watching them fly into the wind, believing in their power to come true. Or maybe it's because they belong to a category of things that are by definition ugly (weeds) and yet there is a kind of beauty to them. Maybe it's something else entirely. Whatever the reason I am a devotee of dandelions, and am clutching one in my hand considering what to wish. That the pizza and gelato from earlier remains in my stomach? That I remember how to ask for the bathroom in Italian since as usual I have to pee? That the Italian guy sitting on the wall five feet away creeping me out quits staring soon?

I don't know this then but in about 15 minutes when my stomach settles, I will finally make my way down into the old town and wander around for a bit. I will find the Duomo di San Martino, a kind English speaking kebab place owner with a free bathroom, and my roommates haggling in the open air markets. I will find that while yes, there is no leaning tower in Lucca and really nothing in general that people back home will be particularly interested in hearing about, there is a certain feeling. It's calmer and cleaner then Florence. The city has retained it's history, like it's walls, while still managing to expand and modernize around it.

While I am good about marveling as I take in the sites that I have always dreamed to see, I find I need to remember to appreciate the Lucca's of Europe. Just because the Duomo di San Martino is a church that I have never heard of (and so had no specific desire to see) and is less impressive then the Duomo I see daily in Florence, does not diminish it's beauty. I smile just as much at the site of a dandelion here as I do back at my best friends parents house in Arizona. It does not lose anything because I have seen it before and can see it again every day for the rest of my life.

I consider as I sit on my bench that although the beautiful scene in front of me is not so different from one that I will see again in Italy and is not something to cross off my bucket list, I am no less lucky for having it in front of me. I am lucky to get to experience and appreciate the city of Lucca even if no picture or description afterward will seem that interesting. I hold the dandelion up to my mouth. I wish to be present and enjoy every moment ahead of me in Europe and not to take it for granted again. I close my eyes and blow.


*Image found on stumble