I can’t help but stare at the crooked cobblestones below me, worn with time and speckled with rain. A drop lands on my nose and I look up. The sky is blanketed with clouds, but the sun breaks through in patches, illuminating the rusty rooftops above.
Colored buildings—blue, pink, yellow—with dark wooden beams, round doors, and shuttered windows line the streets. I’m standing in a quiet alley in Eguisheim, France. The scene is so picturesque, with the kind of small town charm movies are made of.
Truly, what movies are made of. The first building we saw when we arrived with our guide, Didier, was tall and narrow, with stairs leading to a small door and shuttered window. “The movie producers came here and took some pictures,” Didier said in his French accent, “Then they rebuilt this building for the opening scene of Beauty and the Beast.”
I run my fingers along a pink stone wall. I wonder who used to live in this house. What was their story? Didier explained that a house’s appearance said a lot about the residents. For instance, open shutters with a small heart meant that a young woman of marrying age lived there. “Now we look at our phones and see if we have a match, but you used to look at the house. Here is the beginning of Tinder,” Didier joked. “If I lived then with my daughters, I would close the windows and say ‘Nothing to see here!’”
The house color also signaled a resident’s trade—blue for fishermen, for example—since many couldn’t read. People now can renovate the inside of these homes, but never the exteriors to preserve the town’s history.
“Imagine this place in summer,” Mom whispered. I followed her gaze to the windows, imagining them overflowing with geraniums. I imagined adults haggling at the market, children weaving through the crowds and the air filled with the scent of freshly baked bread.
I hadn’t expected a single place to affect me so deeply. Earlier on our trip I’d marveled at the Eiffel Tower and Arch de Triumph in Paris, amazed by their grandeur. But this small, quiet town had stirred something inside me.
A carving above a door catches my eye- a signature from the original builder. I think of my house in the U.S.- comfortable and modern- but lacking stories like this one. This house has seen centuries of life. It whispers, “I have secrets you’ll never know.”
I hear Didier’s voice up ahead and realize I’ve fallen behind my family. My dad pauses and looks back at me. “Hey kid, you coming?”
“Yeah,” I smile. “I was just… listening to the rain.”
That moment taught me something no textbook ever could: the world is full of stories, and traveling allows you to live them. That’s why I want to keep exploring—not just to check countries off my bucket list, but to experience history and step into the lives of those who came before me.
Written by McKenzie Hansen for the World Is A Classroom Essay Contest, which is currently accepting applications. Hansen, 17, is a junior at Homer High School in Homer, AK.
