northampton, ma

The heat is really messing with my head. Just a few minutes ago I put my flip flops on the wrong feet and then sprayed shaving cream into my armpit thinking it was deodorant. I didn't realize the flip flops were on opposite feet until I started to walk to the bathroom to scoop out the gel from under my arm, and almost tripped and fell on my face. Good times. Then again, I read that back at home it's been a lovely 105 degrees for about a week straight. But at least there it's a dry heat, right?

Mornings are hard for me. I'm not a morning person, so when I wake up sweaty and flushed and slightly hung over, the last thing I want to do is be around people. So I wake up, stretch, feel miserable, and then I remember, shit, I'm staying in a hostel and if I want breakfast that means I gotta brave the masses at the breakfast table. That means people will probably try talking to me and ask me questions and I'll have to try and be nice when in reality I want to snap at them to leave me the hell alone for at least two to three hours. Mornings are definitely my least favorite time to be in a hostel.

100 degree heat with 85% humidity is simply wonderful when you haven't got air conditioning! What a wonderful heat wave these last few days. At least yesterday we had a very nice lightning storm complete with big wind to kick out some of the humidity. And I'm not sure what it is about Italians, but they seem to be the least sweaty people on earth. They will go out on the hottest of days dressed in slacks and a polo shirt and not have a single bead of sweat on their foreheads. It's like they have built in A/C, either that or the Italians have invented some sort of shampoo with anti-persperant and kept it their little secret. It does help, I imagine, that Italians are probably the slowest walking people you'll ever see. One day in Orvieto, Dad and I noticed how fast we were walking in comparison to the rest of the passeggiata crowd and decided we would slow down to their pace. The lazy person I am, I quickly adapted. Dad on the other hand couldn't, remarking with a laugh, "this is absolutely impossible." I'd love to take a group of 20 Italians, plunk them down somewhere in lower Manhattan right at the close of the business day, tell 'em to go for a stroll, and see how many New Yorkers they'd piss off.

So I went off to Lucca for a few days. There I managed to lose my passport for the second time on my trip. This time I left it at Borgo a Mozzano next to their famous bridge. It fell out of my pocket, and I didn't realize it until I had walked all the way back to the train station. I sprint-walked (you know what I mean right? When you need to get somewhere in a hurry but you are way too cool to run, so you do this crazy walk where you're trying to move your feet as quickly as possible but do it in a very inconspicuous don't notice me manner) back to the bridge, luckily someone had found it and turned it into the restaurant there. Relief. I then sprint walked back to the station, through of course a wedding with people dressed to the nines. I was sweaty as hell and walking like an idiot, I'm sure they noticed me and thought to themselves, "Look at that American, just like all the rest, always in a hurry." Anyway, I caught my train with literally 0 seconds to spare, so my sprint-walk paid dividends. Also in Lucca I left my gum on top of a ticket machine at the train station, and my deodorant mysteriously disappeared. In addition, I left my phone charger at the hostel in Certaldo. So to sum that up, that's one passport, gum, deodorant, and phone charger all in a span of four days. Impressive feat.

Also impressive are the number of mosquito bites I have managed to accrue. I imagine the count currently stands around 30. Mosquitos in Italy are absolutely fucking vicious. Here they have the lovely tiger mosquito, which happens to be a super aggressive brand of mosquito from Asia. They leave larger bumps on you than your typical bite, and absolutely will not leave you alone. In a burst of inspriration, a few cities here in Tuscany are implementing "bat-boxes" or mini-habitats for bats in order to control the bloodsucker population. Apparently they can eat a few thousand insects a night, so in theory a good idea.

The more you travel, the more it becomes a part of your life rather than as a means to get away from your life (speaking mainly of those who travel to take a break from the stress of home and work). When travel becomes a way of life it naturally leads to more time spent thinking about how your life is going, what is waiting for you at home, and even if travel is contributing to growth in your life or if it's an attempt to dodge reality. Or put another way, travelling makes one introspective, especially when travelling by oneself. I think it's absolutely a healthy process. You learn more about yourself and you grow at a faster pace than you normally would just doing the regular daily routine at home. It's accelerated maturation, and you achieve new levels of understanding. Of course, self-understanding doesn't translate automatically into happiness. Being very comfortable with one's thoughts and feelings isn't the same as being happy with them. Maybe it gives you the key to unlocking inner tranquility, but the road there isn't necessarily without bumps. This introspection can make you realize what you are missing. It can make you melancholic as it makes you more self aware. In the end, however, having to deal with these thought processes and feelings is a positive. It leads you in a direction. Without reflection you swim without getting anywhere.

I bring this up mainly because I have spent a lot of time on myself during this trip [note, I do not mean I have spent a lot of time by myself, actually I have been constantly with other people, perhaps moreso than any other of my trips, and to the point that I have to make a conscious decision to set off on my own on some days]. The slower pace of this trip has really lent itself to time to spent in contemplation. This contemplation happens on every trip, but especially so on this one. It was unsettling at first, even at times leaving me somewhat unhappy, but I am becoming more comfortable with it. Once in awhile you have to tell yourself to snap out of it, and enjoy the present. Writing is cathartic and helps this process. It isn't unfortunately a switch that can be simply turned off and on, but I'm getting a bit better at shifting gears. So I'll shift gears now, and do a bit of trip recounting...

Just by happenstance (what a sweet word) I ended back up in Certaldo again, due to being turned down by places in Sermoneta and Pitigliano for lack of room. In a case of bad luck turning good, I ended up here for the second time on my trip, only this time the town is having its annual street festival, Mercantia. Basically in a span of 9 days I caught the Palio in Siena, Umbria Jazz in Perugia, and now Mercantia in Certaldo [not to mention the street party in Rome on the night of Italy's win]. So it's been a great week and a half and a welcome diversion from typical tourist stuff ie. churches, museums, etc. And, in my opinion, Mercantia blows Umbria Jazz away. The festival is held in Certaldo Alto, the tiny old medieval part of Certaldo up on the hill. It's a natural made stage for street performances, with many nooks and crannies and little gardens and piazzettas. And the performances - excellent. Black angels walking down the street with bagpipes, white angels posing in windowsills, belly dancers from Argentina, knife juggling on a unicycle, an insane street band from New York City, bluegrass and the blues, and all sorts of other various performances. A very unique and enjoyable festival. Umbria Jazz was nice, but I expected such a large town as Perugia to be full of little stages and groups performing all over. Instead there were just two public stages and the rest of the groups were all hidden away in theatres where you had to pay to hear. I suppose that's fair enough, but I was looking more for a street festival.

I've spent most of my time in the last week just relaxing and recapturing the travelling mood/spirit that tends to fade away after you hit the trail hard for a protracted length of time. The two weeks with Dad were great, and I saw a ton, but after he left I was interested only in going somewhere and relaxing. So that's more or less what I have done here in Certaldo, and now after what's been essentially a week, I'm ready to move on and get back on the trail. I have done a bit here, seeing Volterra, San Gimignano again (this time just for the gelato), San Miniato and Pisa. San Miniato was probably my favorite of the daytrips, a lovely little town stretched out on a ridge with beautiful views all around it. The first time I came into Certaldo, aboard the train and gazing out the window, I noticed what appeared to be a town off in the distance with a big ruined tower on top. The view of this tower piqued my interest and I eventually figured out the name of the place, San Miniato, and even more eventually I got off my lazy ass and decided to go visit it. Twas a good decision. This is the beauty of travelling slow: you have the opportunity to go to places just off a whim, just because you saw it out the train window and it looked interesting.

I think tomorrow I'm heading off north to a little town near Stazzema, up in the Apuan Alps, to do some hiking. I decided yesterday that I either need mountains or beach, and the mountains just happen to be a lot nicer around here than the beaches. Plus, from up there I can go to the Gulf of Poets and get my Talented Mr. Ripley on, and Carrara, where you find the marble quarries. These mountains of marble look to be snow covered from the distance, but in reality are the source for centuries of Italian sculpture, ie. Michelangelo's David.

Lastly, in a pinnacle of travelling slowly, I have spent 30 of my 52 days thus far in three places: Rome, Certaldo, and Ischia. The Rome and Ischia stays were broken up into two parts, but nevertheless this is the slowest I have travelled yet. I think my last month (30 days to go now) will pick up the pace a bit, as I want to get to Pitigliano, Bologna, the Marches, and Abruzzo, with Sermoneta, Sperlonga, and Gaeta also on the list.

In the category of Super Fucking Amazing, Italy won the World Cup last night and the entire city went insane. I was with some friends I had met in Ischia, we watched the game in a giant classroom at their university. Talk about passion. Imagine a room with two hundred 20-something Italians .. shouts, tears, cries, joy, everything. Afterwards we joined in on the madness in the streets and ended up in two of the city fountains, the one in the middle of piazza della Repubblica, and of course the grandest of them all, the Trevi. I put Anita Ekberg to shame by clambering up the fountain, with one hand (had to carry my beer with me, right?), up up up, up all the way until I was sitting on top of Neptune's head. I think unforgettable experience is defined by you sitting on top of a Roman god's head in the most famous fountain in the world, while hundreds of people are below you packing out the fountain and the piazza going insane. Talk about a view and a feeling. We had waterfights, girls in various forms of undress (and unfortunately way too many dudes in their undies), chanting, singing, hugging .. it was beautiful.

The game itself was pretty good, with of course the Zidane shocker. Italy clearly tired at the end and was fortunate to go into penalty kicks, where unheralded guys like De Rossi, Materazzi, and Grosso sealed the victory. Buffon and Cannavaro were incredible again and Italy absolutely deserved the victory.

My poor father missed out on all the action. He flew out of Fiumicino roughly 6 hours before the game began, talk about bad timing. Sorry Dad. Love ya.

And here I'll finish some backstory and recount my week in Umbria with Dad. Brigolante, our agriturismo, was really serene and peaceful. Rebecca was great, even if not much of a singer. In one week we managed to see Assisi, Perugia, Spello, Montefalco, Bevagna, Todi, the piano grande and Castellucio, the Valnerina (including Arrone and Scheggino and Papigno), Civita di Bagnoregio, and Orvieto. Dad almost got convinced into buying a house in Civita, but apparently there aren't any single young females in the town's population of 15 so he decided to pass on the idea. I really enjoyed each place, with the exception of Montefalco. Sounds like a very busy week, and it was, but really I didn't feel like we were rushing and our energy levels stayed good and we stayed happy. But luckily I have nothing to do now except relax (and figure out where I am going today, damn hotel in Pitigliano isn't answering their phone.. maybe hungover from last night still?).

Dad proved to be an able driver, with one exception of a very tight corner in Orvieto that left a nice rash on the side of our Lancia. Ironic that it would happen in our last town and not at the beginning. Either way, he did well for not having driven a stickshift in 15 years. He proved to be somewhat less able at pronouncing Italian words, although by the end he was making progress. I lost track how many times I said, ''the letter C [insert Brian Regan here] never, ever ever ever, ever ever ever makes an S sound in Italian'' but I was patient with him and he did pretty well. It was hilarious though how he would mutter Italian words under his breath, over and over, trying to get the pronounciation right ... sometimes it sounded like he had Tourette's. We'd be driving down the road and all of a sudden I would hear him muttering something, usually a word he saw on a sign or something, and he'd go at the word for like two straight minutes. I didn't let myself get annoyed by it, since I remember when I first went to Munich and spent an entire day trying to pronounce München properly .. I'm sure that annoyed the hell out of my friend, and so as to avoid hypocrisy I didn't ask him to quit.

On a food note for Mom, we had some really incredible meals. Highlights were brie on top of potatoes and pancetta; roasted pork with a Sagrantino wine sauce; umbrechelli (a type of pasta) with black truffle sauce; steak with black truffle sauce; a carpaccio of bresaola with strawberries, rucola, parmesan, and a balsamic vinegar-carmelized red wine sauce; gnocchi with asparagus and burrata; tagiatelli with a wild boar ragù; and one particularly delicious dessert, passion fruit ice cream with actual passion fruit on top. It was like I died and was back in Peru.

It's been awhile, mostly due to the fact that I have been with my father for the last week, who came over to travel around with me for 12 days. We've had a very busy week so far, consisting of three days in Rome, two in Siena, and two in Assisi at Brigolante. There's a lot to write about, hopefully I'll remember all of it.

First I must backtrack back to Ischia, and the amazing entrance of two girls from New York. If you ever wanted to witness the pinnacle of Fast Travel, you would do well by meeting these girls and hearing their story. They had only been in Europe for 5 days and their travels went like this: day one, fly into Paris and night train to Milan. Day two, Cinque Terre. Day three - Florence; day four - Rome, day five - Ischia. I met them on their fifth day, wherein they told me of their future itinerary: day 6 - ferry from Ischia to Naples, train from Naples to Bari, overnight ferry from Bari to Corfu, Greece. One night there and then a ferry and train to Athens. Athens for a day and then a flight to Copenhagen. The rest of their trip they didn't get into, but essentially the plan they were executing was Paris to Athens to Copenhagen in 8 days. I have to hand it to them, they were ambitious, but good god I'd rather stay home then do that kind of trip.

I didn't really want to leave Ischia, although I knew it was time. If it weren't for my father's arrival into Rome I would perhaps have succumbed to the temptation, but surely would have ended up in a traveller's rut (where you get too comfortable in one place, ending up staying there but also riding a very fine balance between relaxation and boredom, tending to boredom). Besides, I had to eventually leave because I left my passport in Naples and was pushing 10 days on Ischia and running the risk that the (very nice) hostel workers in Naples would get tired of seeing my passport in their drawer and would hawk it to someone on the street. So I left, picked up my father in the Rome airport, and began another new phase of my trip: travelling with Dad.

Travelling with someone is an entirely different experience than travelling by oneself, both good and bad. At least when you travel with someone you know as well as a parent you know your limitations with the other person, and that generally leads to less arguing and general bad times. Him and I had travelled for three weeks together in 2003 when I was studying in Bologna, so I knew that it would be (and it is) a good time and not really that stressful. I use the word stress because as anyone who has travelled both solo and with a partner/group, the latter has a lot more opportunity for stress than the former. At least, if you are the type who is ''independent-alpha'' and enjoys one's own company. I suppose some would find travelling solo to be more stressful than having someone with them, those who don't share this A-type personality trait. Anyway, last time we had travelled together we only saw Milan, Bologna, and Venice in Italy, so this time I wanted to show him the central region of Italy. It helped that I won a free week at Brigolante, an agriturismo outside of Assisi (and in reality, this free week is probably what convinced him to come in the first place, he can't resist a bargain).

One interesting thing that travelling with a partner does is that it makes you more active. By myself I tend to be sedentiary and lazy about sightseeing, but when you are with another person (especially one new to the area of travel) you are always going to be more active. And so it went in Rome. We had a busy three days of seeing the sights, with me finally going into the Colusseum and Sistene Chapel. It's not that I didn't want to go to these places on my prior adventures in Rome. To borrow a brilliant phrase from the British, I simply couldn't be bothered. The Colusseum was actually a lot more cool than I thought it would be (I had imagined it would be flooded with tourists when in fact it wasn't so bad). The Sistene Chapel was the exact opposite ... pretty and interesting, but not worth the torturous walk through narrow Vatican Museum corridors smashed with a million other tourists and a suffocating lack of air. In fact, the wait to get into the museum was peanuts compared to the horribly slow going from the entrance to the Chapel. We did have some good times otherwise in Rome, enjoying a night out at the Trevi Fountain, good eats at Da Baffetto and Da Francesco, sightseeing the very fashionable Rome women, and a fun guided tour of ''off beaten track'' Rome with Tony of 3 Millenia Tours (another freeby thanks to Slowtrav.com). Tony and the two of us shared very similar interests, so we had some good banter. Our only request to Tony was that he put us at a good place to watch the Italy-Ukraine match, which he did to perfection. Italy won 3-0 and a crazy party erupted in piazza Venezia and the roads branching off it. Italy at its finest.

(sidenote: I'm in Rebecca's office here at Brigolante, listening to her sing to her kids about cappucino and vino. Apparently one of them enjoys vino, based off his shouted reply of VINOOO.)

We escaped sweltering Rome to Siena, where we stayed with a brilliant lady named Beatrice and enjoyed the festivities and craze of the Palio.

[another sidenote, to those not familiar with the Palio: it's a centuries old tradition of Siena, happening twice a year. At its most simple, it's a horse race around their main town square. There are 18 neighborhoods of Siena, called 'contradas' and ten of them get to race each time. There's a lot of intrigue and history here, with some contradas being arch-enemies and some being friends. The jockeys backstab each other and try to make sure certain enemies lose and get paid a whole lot of money for doing so. The whole event is one big party and full of festivities and processions and whatnot, but it can also involve violence if one contrada doesn't like the outcome and goes looking for trouble. I'd guesstimate that around 100,000 people come to Siena for the event.]

We met up with Cristina and watched the race at the society house of her contrada, Selva. It was an excellent time, up until the horse from the Pantera contrada passed up its enemy L'Aquila on the very last corner and won the Palio. It was an incredible finish, a last second pass for victory. Everyone then skipped out of the party and neighborhood to avoid any potential brawl between the two warring contradas, who happened to be located just next door to where we were watching the race. The Palio is taken extremely seriously by the people of Siena, to the point that they will get in big fights over the outcome. Cristina told me a story of two years ago, the same two contradas got into a brawl that sent four policemen into the hospital. She too was freaked out by the result and was the first one out the door. We took a more relaxed approach and left maybe an hour later, after enjoying some beers on their beautiful terrace. We didn't see any fights, but instead had a great time afterwards with beer and slow meandering and hanging out in the plaza people watching and shooting the shit.

Yesterday we arrived here at Brigolante, Rebecca and Stefano's family farm and guesthouse. It's absolutely serene and beautiful here, of which I'll write more later. Ci vediamo!

[one last sidenote, starring Rebecca and her son:

Son: Mom you gave me too many peas! Rebecca: How about thanking your mother for giving you peas, I think that's what you wanted to say. Son: Thank you Mom for giving me too many peas.

Priceless.]