Senza Compagnia

When I arrived in Syracusa my head felt like it was filled with
rocks.  I was tired and all of me was weighed down by the waiting for others for rides, for dinner, for naps, for shopping, for waking, for sleeping.  All of this an inherant part of living with others without a real place of your own and without a means of transportation besides what your body can do.  My politeness was baring down on me like a drill into wood because at times it was the complete opposite of what my real impulses were.  I was ready to have some time of eating when I wanted, going when i wanted, where I wanted for as long as I wanted,  talking when I wanted and not talking when I wanted.  I wanted meat three times a day and also cheese.   I was ready to be without company.  At home I have a life style keenly developed to accomodate my every need and want.  It is an independant and complete existance free of conferences with others on the lagistics of who, what, when and where.  I have not needed to be so dependant on others for so many basic things for decades.  Some moments I was amazed by my ablility to adapt.  My independence has been developed for better or for worse from years of living alone and knowing if something had to be done i was the only one to do it.  It is an instinct now that is deeply embedded.  This is my strength and my weakness.  This part of me has been challenged tremendously here.  There are moments with cravings that cannot be satisfied.  I would sit still and pretend that the idea is a blown Bubble that I could pop and make disappear.  I knew that being less dependent would be a challenge for me and it is part of the reason that I wanted to put myself in this situation.  I needed to learn how to play better with others.  I needed to learn how to reconcile the difference between what I wanted and what I could not have.  I wanted to morph the "Hell Yeah Hell No" approach to life into "well perhaps could you tell me a little more".  I think some people call it moderation.  I  was trying to learn to live life with a parachute.  The idea of gradual, piano, piano (slowly, slowly) was a new and over due idea.

By the time I had arrived at the hostel with Christina I was at my end with patience and conformity.  I was weary from talking myself off the edge of instantaneous.  I smiled and wrestled my luggage out of the car, with a resentful "humph" I put my new man sweater in the crook of my arm and pleaded to be left where I was.  It sounded like this. "oh my you have done so much already for me I hate to see you waste any more of your

day." What I meant was,  "Oh for Christ sake, leave me alone I just want to drink a bottle of wine in my room in my underwear with the lights out and fall asleep."  She insisted.  I handed her my scratchy man sweater squinting my eyes a little to try to stop myself from rolling them.   I managed the ton of luggage on my own.  I packed it and I was going to be traveling with it, I was going to carry it and lug it.  She was certain of my conviction and acceded.   I could tell by her face that she thought I was being ridiculous.   I invited her to walk in front with a polite bow and a wave of my arm because I did not want a witness to my struggle.  The hostel was only three blocks away but when I arrived I was winded and sweaty. 

We were buzzed in and greeted by the owner of the hostel, Max.  Christina took the reigns of my arrival there.  She spoke italian to the man, asking for a room.  Telling him what she thought I might need, like a mother would when she dropped her kid off at camp.  I smiled at this, thinking letting her do it was good practice for me and my parachute approach to life.  He answered her in perfect English.  this made me chuckle a bit.  I pat her on the back, thanked her and assured her that all was well.  It seemed like she was satisfied and ready to go.

I left my things in the hostel.  I walked Christina to her car, kissed her once on each cheek, took my man sweater from her and watched her drive away.  I was relieved and ready for the next adventure.  When I returned to the hostel, Max was waiting  for me with a map and a pen.  We did the usual registration lagistics, then proceeded to help me make a plan for my visit.  I asked if he thought I could do it all in two and a half days.  He said yes if I was ambitious.  I assured him I was indeed.  He circled some places to eat, some of his favorite place to see and where to buy groceries and good wine.  I asked him to circle where the Carravaggio was and he quickly complied.  Pleased that I like his work we spoke for another half hour about other painting by him.  He explained that there was no lock out that I was free to come and go as I pleased.  He gave me the keys and helped me to my room.  He insisted on carrying a bag.  It was impossible to convince him not too.  I watched him take the one with wheels, he raised his brows with surprise by the heft of it, tilting his head down, cocked a little with the wonder of what the hell was in there.  He spoke with me as we walked up the two flights of stairs, but was winded from the climb with my half ton.  I thought  "Silly silly man I told you." 

Well I was only kidding when I said that I wanted to drink a bottle of wine in the dark in my underwear.  I dropped my things, took a shower and went downstairs.  I sat in the lounge, wrote some e mails, planned my next two days, celebrating by consuming meat and glorious stinky, creamy cheese.