Bahá'í & the Bigot

After a particularly grueling day traversing across Rome on foot, in an outfit one could only very kindly describe as foolish (I had to look good for Rome, come on!) trekking from the Colosseum to the Vatican, and it having taken FAR longer than anticipated (where're those smokin' hot Italian tour guides when you need 'em?!), I happily relieved my sore limbs and blistered feet face first on a cot in one of the smallest, dingiest hostels in all the ancient land.

After a short reprive from the heat and my feet, I was soon joined by a fellow, similarly schvitzy suite mate. Being the curious conversationalist that I am, we fell into a polite, light-hearted discussion, him starring at his patch of ceiling, me at mine.

To have borrowed my senses, you would've had the courtesy of introduction to the stench produced by a 6'5, 300 lb. traveler from the southern French countryside- a city called Grenoble. My judgement was immediate, and shamefully unkind. This man was large, smelly, and spoke in harsh, botched English. Needless to say I didn't see us becoming fast friends.

I was wrong.

We began a conversation which has been burned in my brain forever since. He handed me a card- on it, a word I hadn't seen before. On the back, a description I wanted answers to.

Bahá'í was the word, and a synopsis of its doctrine embellished the card's backside. Over the course of the evening, language barrier becoming a source of both amusement and frustration, he spoke of his beliefs, his desire for spiritual unity for mankind, of a collective evolution and the need for a gradual establishment of peace, justice and unity on a global scale. He answered my questions with patience and opened my eyes to a core set of values I now both respected and understood.

The next morning he was gone. His case replaced with a small blue backpack, in his bed a blonde, handsome young thing I decided was much more suitable a friend.

I was wrong.

After an accepted invitation on his part to a bistro near the Trevi, which I was dying to see at night, we dined. During our meal I found myself heavy-handedly filling my wine glass, with varied expressions of disbelief and boredom. This boy was a bigot at best, his homophobic, racist perspective made clear well before the bread arrived.

After a miraculous survival of the next hour and another 2 bottles bought, I found myself dreamily aching for the night before- where my eyes and mind were poked and prodded by this somehow less stinky, more sexy stranger.

I had the better time suffocating in Rome's smallest hostel with a stinky man I'd learned and grown from than dining with a view of the world's most spectacular fountain, with a handsome boy I found utterly replusive.

Oh how wrong our judgments can often be. I thank them both, for the lesson of their difference.