Rinse and Repeat
I used to fret before traveling to a new place. Where will I get off the bus? how will I manage with my laptop, backpack and bag? Apparently the night before starting a new school year I’d fret if I’d find the classroom. And what if I was late because I got lost? Maybe a genetic disposition —my father was the same—but that gene has mutated in me over the years. I don’t know if it’s frequency of travel or my age —which seems to have reached an apex of not giving a shit combined with a yen for risk and adventure which, of course, is the same thing as not giving a shit— but I am now perfectly content not knowing where I am (with the exception of maybe being shipwrecked on a dark deserted island which, on second thought, actually sounds ok. The point is, I’m content to wander aimlessly. Meaning, I don’t download anything on my phone. I don’t even get data. Instead, I walk in the general direction of my destination, wending my way through and around and then, like the OG traveler (code for senior citizen) when I feel like I might be close, I look for a ledge or a bench and unfold my large paper map which may as well be a sextant given the the looks I get. If I’m close I gloat to myself. If I’m not so close, I do that very old school thing (code for annoying) that people with cell phones don’t do: I ask someone for directions. Sometimes multiple someones. And Romans definitely present the OG traveler (code for very annoying) with the greatest challenge because they are overwhelmed by people like me. Meaning, invaders. I am therefore obligated to crack a joke because they are Italian and won’t stay annoyed for long. An Italian joke. Like ask them why Sicily won the Nobel peace prize? (Note: anyone north of anyone south in this country is encouraged to exercise a sense of superiority). I provide the punchline too: because it is the only Arab country not to go to war with Israel. And before I know it, I’m invited to join in the coffee or wine. Directions later.
Compass, sextant and large paper maps aside, I have become more adept at digitizing my way through self check-ins and train schedules and anything booking.com might offer too. And being an OG traveler (also code for technologically inept) there’s a sense of gratification in that. But not enough to burn my map, get data on my phone, or stop talking to people. Truth be told, when you travel to a place that’s two thousand plus years old, like Rome, not a lot changes. My 24 year old memory—which was the age the rest of me was when I lived here—can pretty much navigate my 62 year old body through the entire city because, unlike California (or anywhere in the western US) not much has changed. And so phone, sextant or North Star aside Rome is just…old. You wind your way from one end to other like water or wind. Elements that have prevailed traffic signals and one way streets. You wind and wend, the Tevere and greenery of Villa Borghese as your bearing, and you arrive at your destination just like the Romans did hundreds of years before you and your google maps.
And then, the day comes when you return home.
Maybe even feeling ready to go back to work. Or a routine. Maybe even with thoughts that your wanderlust might have finally waned. Time to stay put, find adventure in the places so close to home but where you never for some reason go. Until, one day you wake up and find yourself fading at the familiarity of it all. Of home. Of what you already know, who you already know, who already knows you and you rinse. And repeat.
