I really wanted to post some photos tonight from my already-half-over vacation, but I can't figure out how to upload them in typepad!
So let me describe instead.
Right now I'm sitting on the floor in my hotel room in a town near Florence. Right outside the bathroom (which is beautiful, by the way: a big bathtub with a window right next to it, and not just any window, but one with wooden, painted shutters that open out onto a courtyard where, when I take a bath after I post this, I really hope no one is sitting), in fact, as it's the only way to stay connected to the wireless.
I keep writing about it in my travel journal, and using words like “amazing" and “incredible" and even “ridiculously beautiful around every corner" but none of them quite say what I feel, which is that feeling when you stand somewhere old and think about all of the people who have stood in the same exact place except in a different time, and you can almost push aside the layers in time and ask them their story.
But also, here in Italy, it has this strangeness as real people and real lives--- cell phones and cigarettes and stories happening right now. Like this story is happening right now, right NOW: I am in Italy.
I wept in front of Michelangelo's Pieta in St. Peter's basilica.
I walked on the rim of the Pantheon.
I touched Medieval castles and stood in awe at the corners of churches and I did the silly hold-up-the-tower-of-Pisa pose.
Tomorrow I'm going to see the David statue.
And then I'll be home and this will feel only like a story.
So I'm going to take my bath and I'm not going to be afraid to open the window. I'm going to see a famous statue. And ride a gondola in Venice.
Because really, that is this trip's destination: the reminder that I am here and breathing and alive.
(Plus: gelato! )