Friday, August 14, 2009

48 bipolar hours

I went to Genoa on purpose to buy a new camera. I ended up spending an entire monthly wage in a new one. Not that that the new camera is that exceptional…I simply don’t earn that much (I know my director sometimes visits this blog, and to be honest, I’ve never been known as subtle guy…)

I arrived Cinque Terre too late to find an accommodation and I ended up begging to stay in the last place I was planning to sleep - Camping. The idea of me sleeping on the beach and waking up in the middle of the night being kicked by some Carabinieri didn’t particularly seduce me and In the end I was still able (in spite of my low moral) to capitalize the little charm I still had to convince the receptionist of campsite to let me sleep in the open air.

There’s no use to try to denying it… travel alone is really amusing but when things go really wrong you have simply two choices: or spend half an hour of roaming with your best friend, or risk a major vulnerability. Sleeping in the open air in the middle of families in tents and caravans, with the new machine inside my sleeping bag which closure I had just discovered it was broken was not exactly the picture I had for my vacations.

The next morning I know a Finnish guy. The empathy is immediate and that social boundary has suddenly effect on my moral. He goes to Rome but I decide to go to Florence. I look for a place to dine outside the tourist area and I manage to find a beautiful terrace full of Italians. This is where am I writing you. A group of Florentine people invite me to make a toast with them and I recall that in Italy, beautiful women notice me more than in any other country (cast the first stone who never found comfort in the care of strangers) but that, instead increasing my libido, brings me to the memory only what I really need to cheer me up: when you travel alone, you’re just by yourself when you really want to be by yourself. I look back to my last 48 hours and with a ridiculous smile on my face I recall that famous phrase from the mother of Forrest Gump: “Life's a box of chocolates, Forrest. You never know what you're gonna get

1 comment:

Ash Fox said...

you are a trooper. i guess this is part of the excitement and uncertainty that comes with traveling solo.