What we leave behind

My mother always used to emphasise how much more enjoyable travelling becomes when you have an understanding of history. I think this played an important role in nurturing my fascination for information on times long (and not so long) past.

Whilst the UK has been an excellent historical experience, Rome was the first true eye-opener for me. Never before had I been confronted in such a way with relics of another age. Even living almost in the shadow of an 800 year old castle in Edinburgh could do nothing to prepare me for the deeper, longer and more thoroughly impressive shadows cast by 2000 year old cities lying in ruins before me.

'It is true that the Romans stole a lot from the Greeks - especially in philosophy and culture. But this is not to say that they produced cheap imitations of Greek social institutions; the Romans often took Greek ideas and built on them until the result was Roman perfection. This is never more evident than in Roman architecture.'

This is a paraphrased (and Anglicised) version of the opening blurb given by our Italian tour guide whilst we sheltered under one of the many archways of the Colosseum. It was pouring rain, and tourists were busy dodging shady-looking Bengali men chasing them with 'Cheap umbrellas! I give you good deal!'

All that I could think about was the history that lay literally beneath my feet. How many people had sheltered themselves beneath this colossus in the middle of an ancient city? If I could have travelled back in time over 1800 years, who would I have found standing in exactly the same position as I was then? What would they have looked like, what would they have been thinking? Would they have been as awe-struck by this amazing feat of human ingenuity? Would they have known that I would be standing in their place in 1800 years time? Would they have known to be proud of this structural feat?

'Romans tended to appreciate the Greek architecture, but did not appreciate the limitations that it presented. As the Greek structures were limited to square shapes, their height was also severely limited - there is only so much weight that the top of a square can bear. So the Romans invented the arch. The archway distributes the weight far more evenly, and allows for structures as tall and magnificent as this one - still standing proudly in the middle of a city that has changed endlessly around it; still striking awe and wonder in the eyes and minds of each and every person who sees it for the first time.'

After spending five days completely immersed in the enduring beauty left by a civilisation that perished over a thousand years ago, I was left with two thoughts predominating:
After so much time with my mouth gaping, would I still remember how to keep my bottom jaw from dragging along the ground?
After a thousand years, what would be left for our civilisation to be proud of? What have we produced that would last ages beyond us and give future generations as much as what previous civilisations have left for us?

Back in London for Christmas, I began searching for some sort of a sign that our epoch in history would provide an equally enduring mark as the Roman era did. Circling the Gherkin whilst looking for Spitalfield Markets on the East side of the city was as about as inspiring as staring across Circular Quay at the Toaster in Sydney. I was gradually resigning myself to the fact that there won't be much left behind when our time here ends and the next great period in the history of the world begins.

And the more that I thought about it, the less I liked this. I wanted to be a part of an era that I could be proud of. I wanted someone to be standing in my footsteps in 2000 years and wondering who I was, what I was thinking, what I looked like. (Me, me, ME!)

Somehow I doubted that a building like the Montparnasse Tower (which I wish I hadn't seen whilst) in Paris would last a few measly centuries, let alone making it through multiple millennia.

As all hope was about to disolve into complete despondency, I made my first visit to the city of Barcelona and saw my first Gaudi.

Antoni Gaudi's architecture is beyond words.

Only Gaudi managed to assuage my growing fears that my peers would leave nothing behind.

Gaudi was an architect who would push all engineering boundaries in order to live out the inspirations that he saw in nature. His designs not only paid tribute to the natural world in their style, but also attempted to incorporate a philosophy of natural living in their functionality.

For example, sitting under the branching pillars of the Sagrada Familia (Gaudi's unfinished masterpiece - an enormous Gothic cathedral which is still under construction), you get the same feeling of peace and tranquility as you would from sitting under the protective canopy of an ancient forest. I was sitting, effectively, in the middle of a construction site, yet I still found myself wanting to open my eyes wider, sink deeper into the floor, speak in whispers and ingest the very essence of the room. It was truly inspirational.

It is an intense experience.

Not even pictures can do it justice. The only way anyone could possibly come to appreciate one of his designs is to go and stand right in the middle of it and try not to forget to breathe.

Without dwelling too much more on the experience which is (apparently) beyond description (so why do I keep trying to describe it?), I just wanted to briefly return to my mother. The same mother that told me to learn history so that I may better appreciate the nature of the world around me.

For that lesson, I am eternally grateful Mother Dearest. It is because of you that I undertook a quest not just to enjoy the world, but to see it in a light that improved my understanding of it, in a light that showed me not just the ways to enjoy, but also why it is something to be enjoyed.

What I couldn't quite figure out is why it was so important to me that we leave behind buildings or constructions for the history books - why were the places important? Aren't the stories about who we are enough?

By chance I picked up a book along my travels from an amazing bookstore in downtown Seattle. Originally a gift for another, I found it in my suitcase on my return to Edinburgh and, having nothing else to read, decided that I would flick through the first few pages: The Architecture of Happiness by Alain de Botton. In it, I found my answer...

"Belief in the significance of architecture is premised on the notion that we are, for better or for worse, different people in different places - and on the conviction that it is architecture's task to render vivid to us who we might ideally be."

We will be defined in history not just by the stories that we leave behind, but rather by the physical context in which those narratives can be found.

I hope that my story is found in a thousand years buried deep inside a building designed by a genius like Antoni Gaudi.