Читать книгу unDIAGNOSED - Randy Beal - Страница 11

Even though the two trips I had taken to Mexico and Africa weren’t the smoothest of trips for me, I still wanted to travel. The appeal of visiting new places and having new experiences far outweighed the negatives I had endured on previous trips. My friend Carmen had been living in Germany for a year or so when my buddy Bob and I planned a trip to visit her. The three of us had previously travelled to the Salt Lake Olympics together and had wanted to do a more ambitious trip.

This trip would be great for me mentally. I could leave behind the increasing frustrations of my health problems and brooding over the approaching anniversary of my dad’s death, and just relax for a change. This was no mission trip, but a real vacation, and I drooled in anticipation at all the new experiences awaiting.

Bob and I booked a flight with a connection in Philadelphia. We continued on to Munich, Germany, and I took some comfort in how travel-savvy I was becoming. Flying over the ocean this time? No big deal.

As we elbowed our way out past customs, Carmen welcomed us with open arms, beaming, so happy to see familiar faces from the states. We were equally pleased to see her. She offered us the option to relax in Germany for the day or to hit the ground running. We opted to hit the road, destination--Italy. We headed for Vicenza, grateful that Carm had shipped her trusty sedan over from the states and was more than comfortable driving on the Autobahn. Since Carmen worked on contract for the United States military, we took advantage of her military discount by staying on bases along the way. We grabbed some dinner at a local eatery, which was fabulous, probably more so since we were in friggin’ Italy.

For breakfast, oddly enough, we made our way to an on-base American staple fast food joint and downed our sandwiches, fortified for our train ride into Venice. Along the way, we met some American soldiers and our lively conversations with them made the time pass much more quickly.

Ah, Venice. What a site! An entire city on water, so much to take in. I'll never forget San Marco’s square, home to the largest dance floor in the world and what must be the world’s greatest concentration of pigeons. They were everywhere, lounging about, socializing, running their little pigeon errands, jaded to the taunting of children. Like paparazzi, tourists young and old were busily snapping pictures, in awe of their sheer numbers. Bob was quick to discover that they were tame or dumb enough to perch on his arm and insisted we make the most of this golden photo opp. Carmen and I were less enthusiastic about this invasion of our personal space, but we eventually relented. Bob snapped a picture of me looking rather skittish at the “rat with wings” crawling up my arm.

After that adventure, we boarded a water taxi to the island of Murano where the famous Murano glass is made. We got a tour of the facility and a glass blowing demonstration and left laden with glass souvenirs.

No account of our Tour d’Italy is complete without a nod to gelato. Now I love good homemade ice cream, but I got my first taste of gelato in Venice. What a creamy delight--so smooth, so many flavors, so many gelato shops, so little time. It seemed like we stopped at every gelato establishment we came to, not that I’m complaining. We couldn’t get enough of the stuff.

As sunset approached that first day, we found ourselves at a place where the city appeared to end abruptly, just some steps leading down directly into the sea. We sat there, watching the sun go down and recounting the events of the day. Somehow, our conversation meandered to events of my life over the last couple of years. I will never forget what we talked about next. Over the last few years, I had been afraid to get too close to anyone and consider them a friend. I'm not really sure if that was my fear of getting close to someone and then losing them as I had my father or what. But this night was different and I realized that friendships are a wonderful thing. To have people you can count on and that are there for you no matter what is nothing short of amazing. I’ve never felt that more keenly than on those steps at the end of the world. To this day, I still get a little emotional thinking about that night. I'm glad I opened myself up to care for people and to be cared for.

Part of me--probably the get-to-the-point, bottom-line business side of my brain--wants to skip relating details of the visit to Europe. I also realize that there are life lessons to be learned at all points of the journey, even in the detours. That which changes our course is also a chance to take a ‘scenic route’ and discover new things.

Detours are a part of life, whether by choice or chance. Since we're here, we might as well relax and open ourselves up. Open our eyes to see the beauty around us. Open our ears to hear what the world is saying. Open our hearts to be truly moved.

It was difficult to say good bye to Venice. Cinque Terre helped soften the blow, five little villages which are built into the rocks of the coastline, nestled picturesquely between the beach and gently terraced hills and vineyards of Tuscany.

Although it had just been a couple of days away, I found myself missing friends, family and the simple conveniences of home. When we first arrived in Cinque Terre, I carved out some alone time just to call home to hear some familiar voices. Amazingly, this simple time-out helped me get over my momentary home-sickness. It reminds me of one of my voice recordings from 2006:

I was just thinking about missing the little things, like being able to stand up to take a shower. Being able to stand in front of a mirror and do my hair or put in contacts. Being able to stand up and pick my clothes and get dressed. Putting on a belt or kneeling down to tie my shoes. Being able to stand up and cook dinner. There are a lot of things I can do from a wheelchair. I get excited when I can manage to cook something from the chair. A part of me wants to cry for the loss of these things. Being able to jump into my car and drive somewhere, crank the music and just go. No matter where: work, church, to grab a soda, anywhere. In missing these small things I’ve realized that each step of the process has brought something new or different. Having to deal with many set-backs and work-arounds has truly given me an appreciation for the little things, often so simple and seemingly inconsequential, but just what the doctor ordered.

Cinque Terre is best reached by boat, and what a beautiful day that was for a boat ride. We soon shimmied up to the docking area. I use the term “docking area” loosely. It was more like, “let’s find a random spot to tie the boat off, lower the plank, and dump out the passengers onto the rocks below.” I know it sounds like pirates were involved, but maybe that’s just me. Since the five villages are situated in the cliffs, we had to climb up seemingly endless stone steps to get to the first village. But what a cool payoff. The village was San Francisco-like with its streets, uphill one way and downhill the other. Quaint shops and eateries comingled cozily with the residential cottages.

In between the villages, lurked a narrow, sloping pathway to the next town. My vertigo kicked in big time at first glance of this. The path overlooked the sea and jagged rocks below. My knees trembled; my stomach churned; my brain refused to relay messages to my feet to proceed forward. We were forced to find an alternate route for me and discovered, to my relief, a small rail service also provided passage between towns. Ever the adventurous ones, Bob and Carmen left me to wait for the train and hiked up the connecting path. I guess in a way I felt adventurous, too: on my own in a foreign country, taking the train myself. Such a big boy. At least that was my way of looking at it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a lady approaching me.

“Great,” I thought. “I’m going to have to use the little bit of Spanish I know (it’s as close to Italian as I can get) to tell her I don’t speak Italian.”

To my amazement, a distinctly Bostonian-accented voice asked if I knew the time. We struck up a conversation that continued on the train ride. God always knows just what we need when we need it. That lady helped put me at ease after the stress of not being able to conquer my fear of heights and being on my own in the CT.

I soon reunited with my friends and we explored the towns for awhile until dinner. We found a delightful outdoor restaurant with a gorgeous view. Wow, breathtaking! I’m not sure if it was the view that made our dinner taste so good, but that was definitely the best pesto I’ve ever had.

The theme song for the next segment of the trip was the B-52's hit, Roam. I think I looked most forward to visiting Rome than any other place. Just to see the Coliseum would be enough for me, but I discovered that Rome had much more to offer. Getting there in one piece was another story.

Romans are among the scariest drivers I’ve ever seen. Racing down Chicago’s expressways was nothing new to me, but in Rome, I feared for my life. Thankfully, no accidents occurred and we arrived safely.

On our way to see the Coliseum, we got sidetracked by a venue near the ruins of the Roman Senate that looked decked out to host a concert of some sort. Carmen, the member of our trio most susceptible to wanderlust, noticed a gap in the fenced off area and egged us on to sneak in. Bob hesitantly followed, but being the resident wuss of the group, I stayed back. They trespassed toward the tower of an ancient ruin shrouded in scaffolding. Before I knew it, Carmen was scaling the scaffolding while Bob tried in vain to talk her down off that ledge. Eventually, she relented and came down.

Once they squeezed back through the gate, though, an angry Italian woman lay in wait. Boy did she let them have it. I had naturally shied away and tried to blend in with some other tourists, but even from that distance I could tell the woman was furious. At the conclusion of her tirade, which distinctly included the word ‘polizia’ several times, Carmen and Bob shrugged ignorantly, and said, “English?” I doubt if this helped their cause. We high-tailed it out of there when the agitated matron stopped to catch her breath.

We forged ahead to the Coliseum but not before ducking into a bistro across the street. What a beautiful backdrop for a quick bite. We arrived a bit too late for the daily inside tours of the Coliseum, but I really didn't care. I was only too thrilled to be in such a historical place.

We also checked out the Trevi fountain, the Spanish Steps and other typical tourist sites. As the day came to a close, we made our way to the subway. Big mistake, at least as far as I was concerned. The way out to street level involved a trek up the tallest, steepest escalator I have ever seen. Talk about facing my fear. When I looked up, I could barely make out where the end was. Too late to turn back, I swallowed hard, held my breath, lowered my head down and held on for dear life. I made it fine, but I definitely wouldn't take the subway again.

The next day’s plan included a trip to the Vatican. While figuring out our next steps, we inadvertently latched in to a tour with a guide named Anna. The tour was free, at least for the first hour. She took us through St. Peter's Basilica pointing out and explaining all of the statues and such.

The second part of the tour, which included the Sistine Chapel, required a hefty fee, but we gladly paid and Anna’s professionalism and expertise were well worth it. Also since I shamelessly flirted with Anna the whole time, she made me stand behind a headless statue so the whole group could take funny pictures. We were close that way. The tour ended at the Sistine Chapel. We were continuously shushed by the guards and couldn't take pictures, but the artwork was truly awe-inspiring.

That evening, Bob and Carmen wanted to check out a few more sites and had their eyes set on a certain restaurant. I decided to head back to the hotel since my legs were starting to give out. We had walked around a ton and the fatigue really hit me harder than normal. Back at the hotel I hunkered down for the evening with some DVDs, only venturing out to a local panini shop when my stomach serenaded me with an ode to hunger. Florence awaited us the next day.

Soon, like Willie Nelson, we were “on the road again.” We made a bee-line for the Galleria dell’Accademia to ogle the Statue of David. I was surprised at how big it was. (I'm talking about the entire statue, of course.) Overall, Florence struck me as quite an artist’s haven, with plenty of great architecture and history to explore.

We got somewhat carried away in Florence and realized as we arrived at our military base lodging that we had forgotten to eat (besides some gelato earlier in the day of course). We drove around looking for a repast, but to no avail. Back at the barracks, we were greeted by a beacon of light calling to us: two vending machines shining brightly in the darkness. Mountain Dew and Cheetos sufficed as the dinner of choice for three weary travelers that night.

The next day, we planned on a day of fun in the sun at the “American Beach,” so named because the military types frequented it. Luckily for us, we pretty much had the entire beach to ourselves. We set up on the beach and ordered silly drinks. Boy, what a way to spend the day after being on the go non-stop since we stepped off the plane in Germany. And a gorgeous day it was! The glistening water lovingly whispered our names, and unable to resist her siren call, we plunged in for a dip. Ahhh, refreshing! How nice it was to be swimming in the Mediterranean Sea in friggin’ Italy.

We spent the full day there, lounging in the sun. In hindsight, maybe that wasn't such a great idea without sunscreen. Carmen had slathered herself with it, but Bob and I were too macho to bother with that (and would pay for it later). That night we found a nice little rustic Italian restaurant for dinner. The dessert course was quite memorable and Carmen’s was the most interesting; it came to the table flaming. The flames were so high that putting the fire out was a challenge that took the efforts and ingenuity of all three of us. We finally doused it, only to discover that the wad of gelato underneath was totally melted. I mean, who came up with the idea of flaming gelato? What a waste!

Tomorrow's journey would bring us to Pisa, so we settled down early. I tossed and turned all night. I'd like to say it was due to the excitement of getting to see the Leaning Tower the next day, but the truth is that my over-cooked and crispy skin kept me up. Showering and dressing were quite painful. Bob was in the same predicament and we each spent the next few days trying to inflict stealthy back slaps on each other just to rub it in, so to speak.

It was pretty cool being on location in front of the famed and oft-photographed Leaning Tower of Pisa, but I have to say it was pretty much in the middle of nowhere. That gelato stand across the street had my name on it, though. Naturally we had to identify ourselves as American tourists and do the classic “holding-up-the-Tower” pose. This was our last stop before heading back to Germany.

This part of the journey was a bit too roller coaster-like for my comfort: up into and down from the seemingly endless mountains. At one point, I had to close my eyes and crank up my MP3 player. A few words with the “Man upstairs” sure helped, too.

In Germany once again, Carmen and Bob decided to take a detour to hike up to this famous old castle. Of course, being polite, they asked if I wanted to hike with them. No way was I going to hike up there. I just stayed back in the car watching my DVDs on my laptop.

Darkness was settling in as we pulled in to Amberg, Germany, where Carmen lived. Carmen asked us if we wanted to go to Prague the next day. It was a tempting offer, but we opted out. A nice relaxing day at Carmen's house was just what we needed for our last day before returning to the States.

Waking up on our last full day on vacation was bittersweet. It would be nice to get back home; at the same time it had been wonderful to hang with Carmen and to get away from all the day-to-days. We planned on a back-porch barbeque that afternoon, so Carmen escorted us to the town square to get some baked goodies for breakfast and farmer’s market food for the grill. While munching on our authentic Bavarian pretzels, I was shocked to see how many of the Ambergers were drinking beer at 10 o’clock in the morning.

We recounted our adventures while grilling out. It had been such a fantastic time and we were sad to see it coming to an end. Although I was ready for the comforts of home, I wasn’t quite ready to deal with my health issues again.