Return to Roma

After being away from Rome for over a year, and constantly dreaming of returning, I expected that my arrival back in this, my other city, would be nothing less than magical and perfetto. Knowing Rome like I do, I don’t know why I would even entertain such a ludicrous thought. I mean, I know that Rome is Rome is Rome…and Rome is a difficult city. It is inherently difficult to navigate, and more often than not, things just don’t go according to plan. Rome requires that you roll with the punches, be flexible, be adaptable, just be, and not attempt to force your way on Rome. It’s a futile task; Rome always wins. That’s what I grew to love about this city in the first place; living here taught me to be all those things—flexible, adaptable, open to change. Rome taught me how to live without all my usual comforts, to have different life expectations, and to live and experience the moments as they happen—both pleasurable and painful moments, that is.

I am now recalling, with a visceral fervor, the familiar feelings of frustration and angst that I experienced upon arrival in Rome last time. It is hard to adjust to Rome, after being away for over a year. I wasn’t expecting this re-integration period, but I accept it as part of the process. And of course it goes without saying that I “love” process! I’m only here for one day for now, as I head to Milano before coming back. The real test will be spending a week here, and seeing how I like it…or don’t…

Feast on this!

It sounds so cliché, but it’s undeniably true: Italy is a literal feast for the senses. It is visually stunning, for me mostly because it is so full of texture. It is aged, and it has aged well—cracks, crevices, crumbling stucco, cobblestones, colors that compliment the earth and the landscape within which they reside—it’s sometimes too much for the eyes to take.

And the smells—the sea, the food—mamma mia the food!! Espresso, cappuccino, pane, salumi, cornetti alla crema (this one in particular will make you want to pass out from pleasure), pasta, formaggi, granita limone, the best olives on earth, fresh produce and fresh seafood…I want it all!!

On top of all that, there’s the general visceral experience—it’s MFing hot and MFing humid. It’s a nonstop sweat-fest—no getting around it. As uncomfortable as it can be, there’s something about it that adds to the experience for me. It just can’t be that comfortable or I wouldn’t be happy.

Of all the sensory experiences, for me it is most about the noise. God, I love the sound of this place. This noise I’m referring to…some might call it traffic—I call it life. This is not your run of the mill freeway-hum traffic noise. It is the honk, beep-d-beep-beep, hooooooonk, beep, beep, honk; it is the waxing and waning of engines of all kinds—scooters, motorcycles, cars, buses—and they’re not just moving at a steady pace. They are moving with the flow of life, which isn’t constant. This sound is music to my ears. It is activity, movement, change, people living—not just existing.

I’ve been in Italy barely 24 hours as I write this, and already my perspective is coming back. That beautiful perspective on life I had a year ago. That one I lost after being home too long. It’s coming back. This place is magical for me, for some reason. Today I amused myself watching the terrified tourists walking precariously through the streets of the Amalfi Coast, scared for their lives…while I walked along confident that no one would run me over. Then I thought, maybe I just don’t care. This place literally makes me so happy that I don’t care if I die here. If I do, please know that it ended on a very good note!

Ciao, ciao for now…I’m gonna go eat and drink some more!

Ashamed in Amsterdam

I was truly a tourist in Amsterdam. I mean, truly. I’m so embarrassed to admit it, but I got on one of those canal cruise tours…with a bunch of old people. The excuse goes something like this: I was only in Amsterdam for a layover, awaiting my flight to Rome. I had six hours, and had heard that it is amazingly easy and quick to get into the heart of the city within that amount of time. This is definitely true. Within an hour of landing, I had gone through customs, stored my luggage in a locker, got on a train, and was at Amsterdam Centraal station. I got off the train, walked around for a bit, and then decided what the hell, I’ll get on the boat. Since I only had a couple hours, I figured a one-hour boat ride was probably my best bet to see the city. That it was…but…god I felt like such an ass! It’s a funny thing to say, but I was embarrassed to be on the boat, even though the only people who knew I was on the boat were those with me…on the boat.

Here’s my deal when traveling: I love traveling, but I hate being a tourist. Rarely do I even visit the “must see” places anywhere I go. I enjoy much more just being in a place, wandering around, seeing what I find. I do not want to travel with a checklist of things to do and see. Whatever happens is what happens, and that’s how I like it.

So during this canal cruise—which, by the way, was narrated by a recorded audio message telling my fellow cruisers and me what we were seeing—I found myself wishing I had earplugs. The city was absolutely beautiful. I mean, beautiful—so vibrant with color, really quiet, bicycles everywhere. But I really wanted the narrator to shut the hell up, because I didn’t really care what kind of roof I was seeing, or which government official lived in that house, or whatever else was said that I tried to tune out. I also wished I could say, “Stop, wait, can we stop here!?!?” several times. I move slowly when I travel, because I really look at things. I ponder colors, textures, buildings, people, activity…and I like to take photographs. I found myself crying inside as I passed by many things while in the boat, thinking, “Arghhhhh!!! I want to look at that more! I want to photograph it!” And not, “I want to snap a quick photo from the boat,” which I did because it’s all I could do.

All in all, I’m still glad I got on the boat. And I’m glad I bothered to go into the city at all. I debated whether it would be worth the trouble, thinking maybe I should just wait it out in the airport. But I decided to go for it, and am happy I did. The boat allowed me to see more than I would have seen otherwise, but I can’t help thinking that maybe if I’d just spent two hours walking around (hopefully not getting lost), I would have had a more authentically Audrey experience. Oh well…c’est la vie…lesson learned! Or rather, confirmed.

Here's to new and different!

Sometimes in life, the anticipation of something is better than the actual something. I hope that’s not going to be the case, but I can definitely say the anticipation of what’s to come feels pretty good. For many reasons, it is a really perfect time for me to exit regular life for a bit—experience a bit of escapism, a bit of a different reality, and hopefully gain a little bit of clarity. Traveling usually does that for me, and I am wishing for nothing less.

Going back to a place that was the catalyst for my entire life to change is a bit scary. And exciting. I don’t know what to expect. Everything is different this time around. I don’t even know if I’m the same person.

But one thing is clear: I’m so happy and feel so fortunate to be going back to Italy for a visit. It’s unusual for me to want to visit the same place again; usually I’m all for new and different. But I have a feeling that even though I’ve been before, this will still be new and different…

It's a Fake World After All...

Tonight I was having food and drinks with some friends—two of the three I had just met. As is typical when I am in the company of more than, say, one person other than myself, I was the quiet one. The one who sits nearly silently (somewhat uncomfortably so) as she watches the world whiz by, trying (albeit briefly) to contribute to a conversation that is likely about some topic to which she simply cannot relate. Every time I’m in the company of a group of people, I realize that the things I think about and care to talk about are just not those things most people talk about. At least not in groups.

Always, always, always, there is some mention of movies or television shows or video games (I hope that’s the proper term?) and again, I sit blindly staring, wondering what the hell these people are even saying. Everyone is laughing gaily as someone refers to David Bowie’s tight pants and genitals and something about puppets; and here I am getting the sympathetic look from the one person at the table who knows me…because she is well aware that I have no idea what’s going on. Then she brings it up: “Audrey doesn’t watch movies.” To which one of the newcomers replies, “Oh, did you grow up with parents who didn’t allow it or something?” Me: “Ummm, no, I just don’t like movies.”

The conversation continues along its (painfully and monotonously) typical pop-culture path, eventually making it to (what I later learn to be) the video game portion. [You see, they just start talking about these games and movies as if everyone already knows what they are. Oh yeah, because they do!] Well, apparently there is a “game” called Second Life, that essentially allows people to pretend to have whatever life they dream or desire, and it is so mind-altering and hypnotic that real life becomes extremely confusing and crazy-making when you stop playing. As in, people actually go nuts over this shit. Like, they lose their shit because they don’t know how to function in their actual lives. Are you kidding me?!?! I’m pretty sure that I don’t have the words to properly convey how disturbing this is to me.

I’ve been doing a lot of pondering recently, considering what I see as rampant fakery everywhere...

Someone mentioned to me today that 30 percent of the cost of a tire is due to its advertising budget. Then I think, wow, advertising. Hmmm…there’s this whole business, this whole industry, where people go to work every day, millions of them, and they make advertising for things, things that may or may not be things we need, but regardless they are things we will buy, and then we pay more for these things, just because they are advertised, which means by buying these things we are paying for the salaries of these advertising people, and are essentially using our money to create an industry that only exists so that we can pay more for the things we buy. Woah. It’s all fake. I mean, it’s so fake.

And then I learn of this Second Life game, this game of fake life. And I sit among a group of people who are using all these fake things—movies, television, games—to relate to real, actual life. And again, I think, woah, it’s all fake.

We live in a fake world.

Why don’t we actually talk about and experience the life that is right before our very eyes, instead of talking about all this fakery?

It’s madness. Madness I tell you!

Moral of the story: I don’t know. The world is fake.

Result of the story: It’s always the same. I am weird. I am awkward. I feel more alone with a group of people than I do when I am actually alone.