Memoirous

  Foligno, Italy 2004 As anyone who has ever traveled abroad knows, all it takes is a few days of rain to turn the mood, flip the trip into an endeavor of survival. In 2004 the family went to Italy right after the November election. The first greeting at passport control after landing was: Your country has just re-elected George Bush. My husband apologized. Stamp. Out into the chaotic public transportation system that is the Rome airport. The weather was perfect, as was our spirits the first couple days. We had energy for the ruins, the underlit dim churches, for the long lines to see David. We ate pizza on the steps. We ate Nutella-filled pastries called cornetto because they resembled little horns. We ate cheap, saving our euros for the price of admission, the next experience, the funicular. In retrospect, we were slightly on the verge of protein deficiency, always a bit hungry. In a foreign land, it is sometimes hard to interpret what one is feeling. There is always this min...

Once Upon a Time: Siena, Italy We had just arrived in Siena and spent the day checking out the candy-cane striped cathedral, duomo, in the historic city center. As evening settled a light rain began to fall. We passed restaurants and read the chalkboard signs out front. We observed diners cozy and warm in their familiar setting, talking and laughing in their native language, while outside, we felt outside. Strangers wanting nothing more than to be inside somewhere, part of this wonderful place. Which seemed impossible. Around us residents hurried carrying groceries, crusty bread, wine for their dinner. We were like a rock in a stream as they flowed by. The drizzle added to the incongruity we felt, blurring street lamps, creating glowing arcs that radiated out to us. Then out of the darkness came a little old lady in a trim-fitting coat navigating the steep cobbled streets. We ran over to her. I extended an arm for her to lean on while my husband lifted an umbrella ove...

Once Upon a Time: Tranås, Sweden I blindly followed Lotta. We were on a bike ride around Lake Sommen. The roads reminded me of driveways, tiny little lanes, some dirt-packed. I couldn’t imagine cars navigating these narrow byways. At some point even Lotta was lost; she stopped to consult with a farmer. Of course I didn’t know what they were saying. Sometimes when traveling I’d often feel an out-of-body experience, as if I was observing myself reacting. This is just one example of how travel transports us out of comfort zones; everything is new and slightly off-kilter. We continued on, pumping up a sudden, steep rise where we entered an emerald forest. Earth and sky were this amazing mossy green. Spongy moss carpeted the forest floor while the tree canopy sheltered us, Only patches of blue sky showed through. Even the tinkling stream nearby gleamed green. Eerily dark, fecund, musky—all my senses were attuned. Lotta explained to me that we were in a mushroom forest and that th...

Once Upon a Time: Goreme, Turkey One time we took a night bus from Selçuk to Goreme, better known as Cappadocia. Just like nomads traveling by night we’d come upon an oasis in the darkness where a squadron of attendants ran out to gas and wash down the exterior of the bus before we moved on into a vacuum. Eventually we arrived in town before sun up. We still didn’t know exactly where we were. That’s how it is with travel—especially in places with little doodley hooks on their letters; I was continually lost, unsure how to pronounce words, what to order to eat, afraid I wouldn’t see the right stuff. Somehow we managed to make it to our hostel . It was early; not a thing was stirring except a cat lounging on a cushion in the unlocked reception office. There was a computer there and I checked my email—though once again I was flummoxed by the foreign keyboard. Nothing was where it should be. I wandered outside. The sky was beginning to lighten, stars were growing dim. Slowly I ...

Tintern Abbey By Wordsworth A poem of memory, longing, nostalgia I am in a phase/place, where looking back, I am revisiting my trip Miss it, the days where I simply woke up and pedaled, all that was required of me was to keep going, see new things, follow the map/Google lady Survive the weather, the hills, ride, ride, ride inexorable rhythm, breath Wye Valley Once again do I behold—this is certainly a question Age, time, mortality And connect the landscape with the quiet of the sky Soft hum of the A(466) what has changed, absolutely quiet, uncrowded, empty parking lot But oft, in lonely rooms, and ‘mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration: Emptying an entire clip at the corner, a few days after returning I go back in my mind, in memory to those ruins That feeling Of aspect more su...

People have asked me: How was it? My recent bicycle tour, JOGLE, John o’Groats to Land’s End, top of the UK to the bottom, 1,100 miles over 19 days. Stiff, upper-lip Brits were high-fiving me at the airport, the check-in lady shook my hand, the guy at TSA was impressed—how was it?—he asked. I realized I sounded sort of pissy when saying, HARD. It wasn’t one thing, it was a hundred. Mostly it changed me. Comfort zone. Just by leaving home we are challenged, exchanging certainty, security, the known for round-abouts, metric, showers with extra knobs, electrical outlets with unwieldy prongs, brown sauce (?). Immediately I am thrown off-balance. And this was in England, where people speak English. Yet stopping to ask for directions I am aware that I am only able to take in half of what they are saying—hoping the second half will kick in when I need it, when I get to that part. Suddenly, the most common place experience sets my stomach into panic. ATM (cash machine), ordering a t...