100 Naked Words — Day 12
One Trip I Took and One I Didn’t
Reflections, Ripples and Ramblings of a Restless Mind
When I wrote about my middle years, I talked about the way the exchanges I went on coaxed me out of my shell — admittedly I didn’t need much coaxing — and that got me to thinking about how to give you an insight into the next couple of years of my life, the pre-u years. The end of my (mostly) happy, (mostly) productive, (mostly) memorable school years.
One of the constants in my life has been travel, places I’ve visited, wanted to go to and experiences I’ve lived vicariously through others. I was brought up to find wonder in places I had never been or seen, in the people, cultures and histories I encountered.
The couple of years before I went to university were, for the most part, spent gaining entrance to my alma mater, but there were two trips that gave me such profound experiences, incredible camaraderie, and freedom, that they really are all I need to talk about here.
The first was one of those trips that still stirs incredible feelings and evokes supernal memories and imagery that I can only attempt to do justice to with my lowly words.
There were a dozen or so of us, late teens and a few of our teachers. We were a mixed bag of scholars, actors, cool kids and more. My Italian teacher would, every year, take a group on a walking trip through Tuscany. A hundred or more miles, from Sienna to Rome.
The trip started in the humblest of monasteries about a 2 hour gentle walk outside of Sienna and would end eleven days later with us striding into St Peter’s Square and the Vatican in all its majesty.
We followed the Vecchia Via Romana (Old Roman Road) along its winding dusty path, through villages and countryside that seemed to have remained untouched for centuries.
Sprawling fields with the buzz of heat in the air, stone, dust and silence. That is what I recall.
I remember small pensione, rustic bread and red wine. Cool sheets as we let the ache in our legs dissipate, sleep instant and consuming. I remember the heat, pervasive and numbing, the ice cold kiss of the spring water from the fontane as we hungrily quenched our thirst. I remember succulent watermelon bought from a cart on the side of the road, a sit in the shade to catch our breath and savour the ripe, crisp flesh. The pungent waft of petrol as the Zippo’s fuse caught and the first drag on the roll up. A moment’s rest, then onward. I remember friendship. I remember trailing a mile behind and a mile ahead, lost in thought or lost in talk. I remember entering the Vatican and feeling like I would never accomplish something so incredible again. So fulfilling. So personal.
But because of it, I knew I could accomplish anything.
The second trip was one I didn’t go on. My parents in their infinite wisdom decided to take six weeks off and nip down to South America for a once in a lifetime (at least then) tour of that astonishing continent — and the Antarctic — leaving me to fend for myself.
Fend for myself that is, in London with a house, a car, a mobile phone and some cash.
Not to disappoint you, dear reader, but this is one of those times where I think words might detract from the story.
Needless to say I grew, learned, experienced and enjoyed every moment that passed during those years. Not one event that passed did not shape who I am today.
Travel is still part of what makes me who I am, it influences and informs me, teaches me and changes me. It has always found a way to make me better.
About me: Citizen of the World. I love writing, photography, travelling, reading, learning and growing. Medium is another journey in my life, let’s see what sights we may see.
