I just returned from three weeks of roaming the streets of Italy. In truth I meandered in the past: relived the danger, power, and pain of the gladiators at the Coliseum. I felt for the first time the weight and influence of Vatican City, a world filled with spiritualism and influence. I visited the museums, but unfortunately, I didn’t see the Pope. Rome with its infamous Trevi Fountain, collects millions of Euros as visitors toss coins over their shoulders into the fountain, sealing their fate to return. I only scratched the service of sights to see. After four days I no longer got lost.
In Pompeii I imagined the individuals when the Vesuvian Volcano erupted in 79AD—an entire commercial city was buried in ashes. With recent excavations restaurants, markets, public bathes, apartments, a sense of the town emerged. The explosion left little time for escape or of survival. Although a ghost town, I found sprigs of life—plants growing in old gardens.
The town of Sorrento brought more hope as I visited a lemon orchard, downsized and modernized. The owner, a gentleman in his seventies with soft blue eyes and a hearty laugh maintained the old ways of five generations, allowing his daughter to promote on the internet, and create a B&B with a place for weddings. I could move there easily.
I loved Florence, seeing Michealangelo’s David Sculptor. Tears trickled down my cheeks, a physical reaction to the beauty of this piece. I was awestruck by the detail in the hands, veins, face, and felt something inexplainable.
I felt most at home in the small town of Salerno with its palm tree-lined boulevard and step cobblestone roads that meandered up the rocky mountain backdrop. Even during tourist season, most people don’t visit here. I found tradesman making ceramics, hats, and limoncello.
Arriving back home, part of me was stuck somewhat in the past. I realize that I’m a sponge and take on the stresses of those who lived a harder life centuries ago. Maybe it’s a good thing as it stimulates the imagination. The danger lies as some of those fears trickle into my own life. I find myself more vulnerable, leery, and emotional.
The cure of course it to read more of history, to engage less in worry, and more in connecting. Roam at home.
I’m back roaming the streets of my home town, exploring, and absorbing. I’d love to hear your thoughts. You can contact me through my website at http://www.abberolnick.com
