Again, to Genova

27/2/11

On a big jet plane (and by “jet plane” I mean “traghett” – compliments to Raimondo for that little jewel – aka “ferry”), somewhere between Palermo and Genova

Still kicking myself for not getting four of these

Allow me to start by saying I do not know when I will be able to post this. I am about to embark on a very different type of journey that will leave little time for searching for the internet. If I find it, yahoo!; if not, yaboo. But I have an hour still until the ferry arrives, and there are many things on my mind, having no one here with whom to talk, so I thought I would capture this moment in time by creating a blog post. (Now allow me to thank the heavens for the relative ease of internet access in the north of Italia! Such a fine library, too.)

Today's lesson, boys and f'males, concerns the differences between travel under one's own power and travel with the aid of trains, planes, and traghetti. I find myself in a particular situation at the moment. No, I am not referring to having thrown overboard dozens of schoolchildren and thus being wanted by the international police force known as the French Foreign Legion.

The delicious, nutritious, and ubiquitous pesce spada (swordfish)


Rather, floating here on the Mediterranean with nothing to do but think has forced me to think about the next few days. Essentially, I am heading to Paris to begin the next leg of the journey.

Let me step back a moment. As you probably recall, the first leg of the journey had four legs: two from me, and two from Sean, though we would occasionally pick up some more at the open-air body-part markets found only in Luxembourg Ave., Luxembourg City, Luxembourg (don't ever ask me to speak of this again). Come Christmas, I began the slow but inevitable transition to the second leg of the trip, where I first joined my loving cousins and various beurs in Navan, Co. Meath, Ireland, before returning to life on a bike on my lonesome in Italia.

Cathedral of Monreale; the entire length of the walls and the beams of the ceiling are covered in golden mosaics depicting scenes from the Bible

I had a marvelous time seeing the Italian countryside, sampling its many foods, learning a bit of the language (poco poco, pero posso parlare!), and – of course – reveling in the hospitality and friendliness of Southern Italia. And then came Sicilia, where everything was magnified and I made friends that I know I will see again, both later on the bicycle and afterward in America. But nothing gold can stay, or all good things must end, or entropy is always increasing, and so the second portion ends as the third one begins. On Thursday, in Paris, I will again be fortunate enough to have a partner in crime join me for what should turn out to be a grand tour of Greece.

It is a strange sensation, to say the least, being on my own and trying to enjoy the solitary life, with its unavoidable hardships, while at the same time anxiously awaiting a reunion with Laura, my girlfriend, in Paris.

I am already sad to be leaving these friends; on the right is Roberto, who housed me for three days in Palermo, while in the left corner stands Sabrina, who put up with me and my antics and poor pronunciation of o's for just as long

There were times when I felt more there than here, when my mind was elsewhere as I slept alone in my tent in a campsite that was technically closed for the winter, listening to dogs bark not far enough away and staring at the moonlight spilling onto my sleeping bag. There were times when I lost focus and motivation as the weather turned sour and I desperately wished for some of those Wayne's World do-do-do powers of time warping and/or teleportation. But then I would snap back to the present, pull myself together, and have the time of my life.

Posing with the stigoli man, who is cooking the intestines of pig in a most delicious way; as Roberto said, I will never forget that aroma.

But the third stage is not yet here, and the second has not drawn its last breath. Indeed, the next few days will present an unfamiliar and thus ugly sort of challenge that will not test my physical strength or endurance but rather my mental fortitude and patience. When I disembark in Genova, I will have three days to get to Paris. How exactly that will happen, I do not know, but the fact that it will happen, I have no doubt. Because of the extreme difficulty and relatively high cost of traveling with my bicycle but not by means of my bicycle -- ie by bus, train, or plane -- I am not looking forward to the process of reaching Paris, which runs counter to my preference of the journey over the destination.


Ciao Ciao Sicilia, mia amore x sempre


When the next update will come, I know not; but expect news then from the other side of the boundary.