as i neared the summit, glancing up now and again to see a group of men sitting there eyeing me with curiosity, i just managed to overhear a muttered
"e gesù"
it always makes me smile when that happens.
a man i had met on the ridge described it as a zen place.
first of all i wondered what that actually meant then i liked the description, the feeling of being in a zen place.
natural elements predominate over human elements. there are so many trees, so much sparkling sea, seen from this rocky ridge - Monte Circe, 100km south of rome.
a young man was helping me with train station destinations and at one point questioned: so what do you think of the this part of italy?
so many warm sunny impressions and lively street scenes came to mind, but what i said was:
it has surprised me here how important physical appearance seems to be for everyone. not just in napoli but in the whole of italy: the woman have to present themselves beautifully, and the men also have to present themselves carefully, in their manly ways.
i don't think i have ever been so conscious of being so gazed at as here, by - sometimes it seems - everybody who i pass on the street. their gazes are full of surprise, as if they were not expecting to see somebody like me. it seems that suspicion of the stranger is rife; at least in the first instant before any contact has been made (yes, once words are exchanged then much friendliness can flow). there must be a reason for such suspiciousness i tell myself. past experiences which inform their present behaviour. hitchhiking is a no-go. i tried hitchhiking along the coast road when i first left rome - zilch, nulla, niente, nada, rien, nichts,
not actually nothing because in the end, after long afternoon hours of road-walking and looks of surprise from passing motorists, two kindly young souls stopped saying "let us take you to the bus station; nobody hitchhikes here, and nobody pays for buses anyway, certainly not foreigners"
and so i have begun to travel solely by bus and train
or by foot.
a woman was on the platform and i admired her insouciance in talking away to her very young child - babbling away - just the way to learn that child that language. then she said: non correre, non correre, and it became repetitive, strident, do not run. i wanted to ask her why not, but then i remembered that first i would have to have entered into a friendly dialogue before i sprung that question, "so why, exactly, do you not want your child to run?" in some ways one can sympathise with her parental concern: my child has not yet learned to run smoothly - he may fall and hurt himself - one can be sympathetic, but at the same time all those prohibitive authoritative reprimands grated; a child finds that he has legs and feet for the first time and wants, precisely, to run.
i have found a genial spot to sleep and cook over a fire at night - beneath a solitary pine tree, halfway up the hill with the old temple overlooking Terracina and the coast, 100 km south of rome. i decided to linger in terracina when andrea recommended me a pizzeria in the town. a pizzeria recommendation by an italian is a good thing. it is good to lay down my rucksack for some days and not only think about covering distance.
who said man i feel like a woman?
man it is good to be a man, to have muscular strength, to be able to drag these logs and snap these little branches!
wouldn't women also like to be as strong as men?
i pitted my strength against Molare - a brooding block of rock which tips the crest of Monte Faico, even though it is tucked away in the middle of the peninsula south of the bay beneath napoli. not even "il molare", just Molare, brusque, unintroduced, molar tooth, designed to crush. it was such an inviting ascent of the white rock, in my hair the warm breeze from the surrounding vast and sparkling sea, exhilarating to be in such contact with the rock - to depend on the rock for my security - to say to the rock "will you let me climb you?" the rock says "you must also be strong" i feel exhilarated, i love the strong rock, but there is a point where i have to use all my own strength to pull myself up a dangling rope. i know that if my strength were to fail my bones would be crushed after such a fall. nobody knows that i am here, i may have been strong but i decline to take the risk. thank you rock, i loved to encounter you nonetheless.
i prize being alive all the more, running through the rustling leaves beneath the beech trees, only just beginning to bud at this 1,000m altitude.
the quality of the contact of the people that one meets play a big role in one's emotional experience. especially when travelling alone. one asks for bus advise and is given only a mumbled non-response. later on i wave a ciao wave to the arab-looking youngster from the correct bus which was indicated to me by him, and it feels good to have encountered even that little pizzico of friendliness in my day.
the group of excursionists from Rome were so interested in my plans to cycle towards india. some of the older ones said, with a hint of wistfulness in their voice, i wish i had done something like that when i was younger. there was no question of wasting my time by not pursuing some greater life goal, or giving back to society, criticism which can be levelled. it was an unexpected encounter at the top of the hill, but it also seemed so natural for us to sit up there in the sun and share food and share conversation for an hour or two. upon parting i could not find the words: thank you all for your... one of them helped me out: "good vibrations" one of them then said: "send us some good energy vibrations when you are in india", and i thought it a good way to say goodbye. akin to: be strong. be happy. pray for us. some encounters are brief but all encounters leave their mark and contribute to the global experience of the present moment.
how does anybody know what jesus looked like anyway? he probably had dark hair and an olive complexion because he was from that part of the world. he must have had muscular strength as well, to have worked with the wood.
"e gesù"
it always makes me smile when that happens.
a man i had met on the ridge described it as a zen place.
first of all i wondered what that actually meant then i liked the description, the feeling of being in a zen place.
natural elements predominate over human elements. there are so many trees, so much sparkling sea, seen from this rocky ridge - Monte Circe, 100km south of rome.
a young man was helping me with train station destinations and at one point questioned: so what do you think of the this part of italy?
so many warm sunny impressions and lively street scenes came to mind, but what i said was:
it has surprised me here how important physical appearance seems to be for everyone. not just in napoli but in the whole of italy: the woman have to present themselves beautifully, and the men also have to present themselves carefully, in their manly ways.
i don't think i have ever been so conscious of being so gazed at as here, by - sometimes it seems - everybody who i pass on the street. their gazes are full of surprise, as if they were not expecting to see somebody like me. it seems that suspicion of the stranger is rife; at least in the first instant before any contact has been made (yes, once words are exchanged then much friendliness can flow). there must be a reason for such suspiciousness i tell myself. past experiences which inform their present behaviour. hitchhiking is a no-go. i tried hitchhiking along the coast road when i first left rome - zilch, nulla, niente, nada, rien, nichts,
not actually nothing because in the end, after long afternoon hours of road-walking and looks of surprise from passing motorists, two kindly young souls stopped saying "let us take you to the bus station; nobody hitchhikes here, and nobody pays for buses anyway, certainly not foreigners"
and so i have begun to travel solely by bus and train
or by foot.
a woman was on the platform and i admired her insouciance in talking away to her very young child - babbling away - just the way to learn that child that language. then she said: non correre, non correre, and it became repetitive, strident, do not run. i wanted to ask her why not, but then i remembered that first i would have to have entered into a friendly dialogue before i sprung that question, "so why, exactly, do you not want your child to run?" in some ways one can sympathise with her parental concern: my child has not yet learned to run smoothly - he may fall and hurt himself - one can be sympathetic, but at the same time all those prohibitive authoritative reprimands grated; a child finds that he has legs and feet for the first time and wants, precisely, to run.
i have found a genial spot to sleep and cook over a fire at night - beneath a solitary pine tree, halfway up the hill with the old temple overlooking Terracina and the coast, 100 km south of rome. i decided to linger in terracina when andrea recommended me a pizzeria in the town. a pizzeria recommendation by an italian is a good thing. it is good to lay down my rucksack for some days and not only think about covering distance.
who said man i feel like a woman?
man it is good to be a man, to have muscular strength, to be able to drag these logs and snap these little branches!
wouldn't women also like to be as strong as men?
i pitted my strength against Molare - a brooding block of rock which tips the crest of Monte Faico, even though it is tucked away in the middle of the peninsula south of the bay beneath napoli. not even "il molare", just Molare, brusque, unintroduced, molar tooth, designed to crush. it was such an inviting ascent of the white rock, in my hair the warm breeze from the surrounding vast and sparkling sea, exhilarating to be in such contact with the rock - to depend on the rock for my security - to say to the rock "will you let me climb you?" the rock says "you must also be strong" i feel exhilarated, i love the strong rock, but there is a point where i have to use all my own strength to pull myself up a dangling rope. i know that if my strength were to fail my bones would be crushed after such a fall. nobody knows that i am here, i may have been strong but i decline to take the risk. thank you rock, i loved to encounter you nonetheless.
i prize being alive all the more, running through the rustling leaves beneath the beech trees, only just beginning to bud at this 1,000m altitude.
the quality of the contact of the people that one meets play a big role in one's emotional experience. especially when travelling alone. one asks for bus advise and is given only a mumbled non-response. later on i wave a ciao wave to the arab-looking youngster from the correct bus which was indicated to me by him, and it feels good to have encountered even that little pizzico of friendliness in my day.
the group of excursionists from Rome were so interested in my plans to cycle towards india. some of the older ones said, with a hint of wistfulness in their voice, i wish i had done something like that when i was younger. there was no question of wasting my time by not pursuing some greater life goal, or giving back to society, criticism which can be levelled. it was an unexpected encounter at the top of the hill, but it also seemed so natural for us to sit up there in the sun and share food and share conversation for an hour or two. upon parting i could not find the words: thank you all for your... one of them helped me out: "good vibrations" one of them then said: "send us some good energy vibrations when you are in india", and i thought it a good way to say goodbye. akin to: be strong. be happy. pray for us. some encounters are brief but all encounters leave their mark and contribute to the global experience of the present moment.
how does anybody know what jesus looked like anyway? he probably had dark hair and an olive complexion because he was from that part of the world. he must have had muscular strength as well, to have worked with the wood.
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