so far

Florence:
Getting around alone is easy. Firstly, traveling alone is cool because I can read as much as I want, whenever I want. I can take as long as I want to do anything, and make decisions last minute because I’m the only one who deals with the consequence of last-minute action, which has so far been only time—waiting. Waiting I don’t mind at all, it’s just time to slide on my shades and people watch, soak up my surroundings. Staying calm, cool, and collected is key when traveling alone, and not hard once you realize there are signs everywhere—people, maps, what have you—that’ll really help you out. Think about keeping your energy good, open, and calm and I believe you’ll attract it (might sound hokey, I’m aware, but ever since this one visit to Santa Cruz I’ve been thinking in terms of “vibes”). I was looking at a map in a metro station, for example, trying to figure out trains, when this man in traditional African dress of some sort came up to me, holding a water bottle. “Here, you dropped this,” he communicated as he handed it back to me, smiling. I hadn’t even noticed it had slipped out of my backpack. Later, we enjoyed cappuccinos together and exchanged pleasantries, even though he spoke only French and I mostly only English. Language wasn’t a barrier at all.
I called T a couple times once my train got into Florence, but no answer. I rifled through my bag and found the printed out Facebook message of information she sent me. Next to her number, I realized then, was an “…I think.” I had her address though, so no worries. I snagged a map from outside the station, found her street on it, and set out. I could have found it on my own but I had help on every corner: “You’re lost. I see it. I know it.” With a poorly packed, lumpy backpack poking out over my head and one of those gigantic newspaper-sized maps under my nose, I stopped and received direction from most every person who called out to me—partly because they could be right, there might be some tricks or secret passage ways I wasn’t aware of, and also because I wanted to talk to them. What characters people are! And they’re all around, very entertaining. And helpful, really. They might as well have had orange glowing lights in their hands, the whole town, pointing me right to T’s apartment building.
I have a couple blisters on my hips from my backpack, but what are blisters when you’re alive and in Italy? I don’t know how long exactly I’ll be staying, but I’m pleased to let you know my friend and I already stumbled upon live music. We gravitate towards it. On a stroll two nights ago we heard Paul Simon coming from Piazza__ and found a man with a pony tail, guitar, and rich vocals playing music into the night. T saw a friend from class and we all sat on the stairs of __ facing him. He played mostly covers—covers of the best songs from the best bands, like the Beatles. Sitting there on the stairs, picking at T’s gelato and taking swigs from our little community wine bottle, I listened to this man sing so effortlessly, so beautifully. I traced a heart with the ember on my wand-like cigarette, thought about how simple it can be, and blew my smoke to the stars.

Onward,
C