I find the Italian language to be truly beautiful; it has a very lyrical, almost sing-song rythm. It's easy to imagine that the first opera composition was simply an overheard playful argument between two young lovers basking in moonlight by the sea. I hope to speak it fluently someday.
Italian drivers are completely insane and traffic laws are merely loose suggestions. From the hotel balcony on my first night in Napoli, I witnessed a car smashing in the bumpers on the cars in front and behind him in a desperate attempt to enlarge the tiny parking spot he so desperately wanted to fit into. Often, instead of attempting parallel parking, a driver will just split the difference and jump the curb, which can be quite unnerving to this foreigner who is simply trying to enjoy his Cafe Americano from a little table on the sidewalk. To drive here is madness. To stroll is sublime.
Italian mosquitoes are assholes. More transparent in their bloodlust than their American cousins, they are relentless and lightning fast, but with better haircuts and a lot more style.
Italian coffee is the best I've ever had. How can we fuck this up so badly in America? Here, ground beans and hot water become a ballet, an opera, two lovers holding hands. Coffee is a willful act of love here, unfettered by capitalism.
If a sapphire and an emerald somehow met, fell in love and had babies, their offspring would still pale in clarity, color and cut to the sparkly gem that is the Ionian Sea.
The experiment is working. Thank you to my amazing caregivers Sam and Martha for the encouraging advice. It may still be possible to extend and improve my time left on this planet. I feel twenty years younger. The beacon of hope has been relit.
Life is short. Buy the fucking cannoli.
Southern Italy is a heady perfume of citrus blossoms and sea, sprinkled with equal parts of hope and woe.
My color palette is forever changed from this visit; I'm not sure if it's the proximity to the African sands or the vibrant frequencies of nearby Portugal, Spain and Greece but the spectrum is perceivably different here. The closest visual parallels I've perceived in America were during my pilgrimages to Santa Fe and Taos, NM. It's glorious. Breathtaking. I'm looking forward to getting back to my easel with fresh eyes.
If I had a band we would be called Digitale Fumar; it translates to ‘electric smoke’ and for some reason it makes me giggle like an idiot every time I see it written somewhere.
I miss my family, the Bartholomews. I recognize that I'm emotionally healthy and aware enough to know that it's not a codependence but rather a sense of actually belonging somewhere, perhaps for the first time in my life. It took me over five and a half decades of Sisyphean effort to finally find my people and I hope to never spend this much time away from them ever again. La mia famiglia. I finally understand what that means. I love you guys.
No matter how far you travel, you can never escape from your self. Physically, I pack light and usually only have a very small carry on suitcase. Emotionally, I still have an awful lot of baggage in tow that I've spent my entire adult life trying to jettison. Even in the middle of the most beautiful place in the world my anxiety creeps up, the thief of joy. I'm working on it.
The American food chain is broken and I'm not smart enough to know what it will take to fix it. There are no GMO'S allowed in Italy. No bleached white flour. Only the barest minimum of preservatives. AND NO FUCKING HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP! The same amount of groceries from the Food Lion back home, which would cost over $100, I can purchase here for less than $20 (and yes, that's adjusted for conversion rate from dollar to euro). Please help me to understand.
Tipping for service is very frowned upon here as servers are paid a living wage. A tip is often seen as an insult to their professionalism and dedication to the job.
Sitting in The White Cafe on my last full day in Gallipoli I can't help but to reflect on my time spent here. I'll miss the beautiful people the most, especially those I've been fortunate enough to befriend. The visual siren song of the Ionian Sea, constant only in its ability to shapeshift to meet the mood of the sky. Music was surely created to fill the void when words alone fell short and the opera that is Southern Italy fills my heart. My soul is full. Thank you Italy. I'll see you again soon.
