Maine and Oregon Bound

It was on a park bench in Avila, Spain, surrounded by old men, that I discovered a gem.

I was traveling through Spain with 20 co-workers on a pilgrimage of sorts. We were visiting the hotspots of St. Ignatius, a saint who grew up in the Basque country and inspired our company. The trip’s packed schedule of group lunches and dinners, church tours, city tours, and four-hour bus rides left no free time—until the bus dropped us off in Avila, a sleepy little town 70 miles northwest of Madrid. The walled-in city, best known for yemas, or egg yolk cookies, and St. Teresa of Avila, was bustling in medieval times, but now feels like a place to rest. Shops close for siesta at 2 p.m., and the hushed cobblestone streets see few cars or iPhone-snapping tourists.

I had one afternoon alone in the city, and was nervous what to do. I had no phone, no map, no list of 10 Things to Do in Avila. Just my feet and my whim. So I wandered. Through the quiet streets after the lunchtime rush, out the fortress gate, along a dusty path overlooking a valley. I found a park bench and sat. The sun warmed my arms, and a lazy breeze swept up the trees in front of me. Below me dipped red-rusted roofs, a bell tower, and never-ending green hills. It was magnificent.

But the locals didn’t bat an eye. On almost every park bench, with their backs to the view, sat old men. Caps on, canes swinging, they talked to each other when they felt like it, shuffled to another bench when they felt like it, talked to me when they felt like. But mostly they sat. Passing time. It was the most beautiful boredom I’ve ever seen.

I sat for two hours. Nothing really happened. But I was slowly filled with a sense of peace, that in this moment, I could gulp up the present, experiencing life alongside octogenarians. I felt lucky; I felt alive.

It was different from how I usually vacation—researching the hell out of the best oyster dive or hidden beach view and following other people’s cues to sift them out. All this itinerary-izing left little time for my own discoveries, for time to sit with no place to go and nobody to see.

Later, I walked around the city’s walls, through deserted streets, into a bar, and sat some more. I can’t tell you the names of places I saw or people I met, but I can tell you this: wander. Lose yourself in a city and marvel. Follow your feet. They’ll lead you to the best gem you can find—like a bunch of bored old men who showed me how to enjoy an afternoon.