Couch Surf Number Two Vespa Style

What a lovely time. Certainly different than the first. The kind gentleman met me on the corner of a Piazza. Of course I was standing on the wrong corner and he's on lunch break from work. He knew I would be pronto because I am an American. He was right; I was 20 minutes early. Finally, I spotted the blue helmet and blue and black Vespa. Off we went. FAST. I am no stranger to adventure but I did use my knuckles and fingernails to grip the leather seat. It's the lean lean lean...

Out to lunch at a typical Italian restaurant. Cheese and Prosciutto is delicious in mini warm buns. Not use to the fat strips tho. I don't normally eat turkey bacon and this was only the appetizer. After lunch, we zipped up a steep narrow cobblestone street to top our time with view and gelato. He dropped me at another Piazza to walk even further up, telling me what bus to catch to return to the hostel; the time was perfect though I was a bit shaky at the backend of a graveyard when they were digging and I only heard male voices. The street seemed to be only me. I was in Fiesole, a small community with two convents five miles outside Florence in the hills. Would the Dominicans have protected...

Coincidences. He is a mining engineer and spent some time studying in Colorado. He of course knew and had been to Climax Molybdenum Mine where I worked in the early 70s for a summer season. He was quite shocked I actually worked in the mine and blasted with dynamite. It was a real world bonding moment and I saw his respect increase. He probably met people I have met in Summit County.

He was so gracious with his time and information, giving me tips and suggestions for Slovenia and Croatia about National Parks. 

In the early morning, I walked up 463 steps to the top of the Duomo. It was another Room with a View. American women, with their husbands, look at me curiously. Are you traveling alone... I give them the outline. I was married for 30 years. Then divorced. Been single for five years. I traded in love for adventure and in the adventure, you find love...

Their follow up question is do you work...

I was a librarian but when I became single again, I mixed it all up. I work seasonal positions in National Parks, travel to see my daughters and sisters, then work some more at what comes up...

KISS 

Keep it simple stupid. I finally learned.

High high Low low

High high

A day of sharing with a woman from Florence. We met through Couch-surfing. We walked, talked, drank cappucino, went to her brother's house; then her father's land in the Tuscany Hills of olive trees, fig trees, and grape vineyards. 

I met another brother who 15 years ago met a beautiful young woman from Japan. They married and she is now fluent in Italian; she came to study Italian in Florence and stayed. They drove us to the Tuscany fields where I met ten more of the family: children to grandfather and a second older gentleman in red suspenders, no shirt, and pasta-belly. He completed a stereotype and I loved it. There was no TV or music, no background but the wind; cooked red and green peppers in bowls, bottles of olive oil pressed from his own orchard; the porch and house were one and were open to the Tuscany breeze and view of Florence and The Duomo. The children played simply and easily. 

It looked like an Italian Cooking Show with Patrice and I ate homemade Italian pizza and spaghetti. I laid in a hammock, drank wine, and ate figs off the tree. I brought home two containers of fresh figs to the hostel.

Low low

After nine hours with this lovely Italian family, I opened the door to my hostel room. The two Aussie girls who were not scheduled to leave for several more days were packing. Within five minutes, they would have been gone. Because the center of Florence is closed to cars, it is near impossible to drive anyone home. It was a gracious and random act of kindness for the family to drive me and the figs to the door. Had they not, I would have missed the two young women from Australia. They were called home on emergency. One of the girls received word that her mother died in a car accident. Today. 

Just like that... The father and sister were present.

Both recent college graduates, they had been on the road 3.5 months and were scheduled to return in two weeks out. With tears and sorrow...

The Sculpted Form

My island is when I stand on it with other English speakers. 


I have a lean toward death. I like tombs. Michlangelo, Machiavelli, Rossini-Barber of Seville, Dante, Marconi-radio, and Galileo in Santa Croce Church in Florence. The famed nave was hidden by scaffolding from top to bottom so focus was directed toward sarcophagi; 275 people buried in the floor. Another striking piece of history was a piece of St Francis of Assisi's tunic and braided rope belt. He lived 1182 to1226; a rebel of his day challenging authority and materialism. We may look upon him as eccentric but the thread of his foundation offers spiritual support and common sense. The same seeds we try to sow today.


I like the stories of the artists' lives. Filippo Lippi 1406 to1469. He was an orphan raised as a monk. Later lived with a nun and had children. Pretty girls were known to pass through his studio... Oh the tortured souls who concentrated paint on Madonna and Child...


Giambologna can sculpt a butt that can vibrate and pulse. The Oceano in the Palazzo Vecchio courtyard and the Rape of the Sabines under magnificent arches outside.


Last evening, the Arno River for lights, sky, and music with a friend from Japan. Asians like my more conservative self. She isn't here for hoopla and drink.

Finally, David

Finally, Michelangelo's David...

I took an art history class in the early 70's at Los Altos Community College near Palo Alto. I sat in the dark and absorbed slides; each class expanded who I was. The professor was a man of passion and travels. Each slide was gourmet. Today I savored the glory of the class at the Accademia Galleria.

Lightbulb moment. One of my roommates is from Japan. We walked together this morning before our different museum reservations. Without any suggestion from me, she offered that traveling alone gets lonely. Yes, lonely! Did I not say that and blame it on my older person status? Cosmic jokes are slapstick silly... We are all so much alike. We truly enjoyed one another's company and she asked what I was doing later. Love it!

Under the Dome

Each step is a step forward.


I may shuffle backwards and stand dumbfounded under a duomo, but the general motion propels forward. There are moments when traveling alone at 61 is tough, lonely, trying. It's like bouncing a tennis ball off the wall vs playing opposite a partner. I had one Italian woman put her hand to my face, as in don't speak to me, when I asked if Castel San Angelo was nearby. It is her perogative to shut a tourist out. There are lots of us and it is hot. Part of me doesn't caste blame; my customer service side shoots darts.

The opposite frame twirls its flip -- today on a train from Rome to Florence, a young man answered my question with dignity as a two way street. He even watched that I went the right direction out of the train station.  Humanity glimpsed and saved once again...

The first week at a youth hostel in Rome, I met seven girls from six countries. China, Korea, two from Seattle, Australia, Germany, and Turkey. There are four females in a hostel dorm room. Each girl was traveling alone except the two students from Seattle. 

It is lonely and stimulating doing it at this age, always a square peg in a round hole, but out of the round hole emerges some kind of round whole. One brave girl from Australia commented that she hadn't seen anyone over 35 at a youth hostel in Europe. She simply and respectfully wanted to hear my story. It was a beneficial exchange and honesty breeds friendship.

Sunday and Monday I have two couch surfing dates. A woman whose father owns an orchard in the country; they produce olive oil. Followed on Monday by a gentleman who is meeting me at one of the Piazzas on his motorbike. My daughter has traveled in Europe and introduced me to couch surfing. It is not a dating site and my dates are day appointments.

By the way, I did NOT see Mr. Free Spirit Bacchus again, though in his words, he wanted to hang out. He was a random meet on a park bench in the Villa Borghese.

The Keats-Shelley Museum was a refuge at the base of the noisy Spanish Steps and surely one of my favorite stops. It was a place of quiet repose and heavy solemnity cloaked with poetry. Dead at 25 of TB, John Keats wrote:

...the poetical character has no self. it is every thing and nothing. it has no character. it enjoys light and shade ...what shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.  ...a poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence, because he has no identity. he is continually in for and filling some other body. the sun, the moon, the sea, and men and women who are creatures of impulse are poetical and have about them an unchangeable attribute. the poet has none; no identity. he is certainly the most unpoetical of all Gods creature. 

I AM BLOWN AWAY BY THE DUOMO IN FLORENCE AND I HAVE ONLY WALKED THE EXTERIOR. I am taking it in doses.

One Thousand

One thousand faces.
A thousand places.
A thousand antiquities.
Emperors and cobblestones.
Anciently alive.


There are many consequence of divorce. Many privileges of the single-again life, especially earned by age. It's worn in the freedom and adventure, the privilege of joining a clan of adventurers and travelers, especially the young. Where else could I do this? Only two places I've found: parks and travel...

It is not forever but it is for now.

I manuveured nine hours with two college girls - one from Seoul, Korea, an architectural student, and the other from California, a student at UC San Diego. Her parents came from Vietnam in 1993. Where else to be so accepted and welcome as part of an adventuring day? It wouldn't happen as part of a couple or if I traveled anything but alone...

In Rome

At the end of my second full day in Rome...

I'm at a youth hostel which is quite hilarious since I'm far from youth. The next oldest is a young man 34 tops. We talked a couple times before realizing we both were from NC. He's from Sanford, only a hop skip and jump from little old New Hill; he attended NC State as well. It's always a small world.

Adaptability and flexibility are key in a hostel. JUDGE NOT helps also. I was on the top bunk for two nights. I was grumpy for a split second but know what? I liked it so much I almost opted to stay put for the next four nites. But didn't. Tonite I sleep in the lowlands with only the high frescoed ceiling above. What a city of plaster artists!

Today included the Sistine Chapel. It is magnificent to see because I waited decades to see it. Though behind plexiglass, the Pieta was wonderful with Mary's face younger than the son she holds.

Yesterday's favorite was Bernini's sculpture The Rape of Persephone at the Galleria Borghese. The agony in her face. The press of his fingers into her feminine flesh is captured in the hardness of marble, her dimpled skin soft against the force of his muscular capture and intention. It reeks with pain and fear.

I sat down on a park bench for 20 minutes. A handsome Italian man rides up on his bike, white gauze shirt blowing in the breeze. A necklace and one earring. His hair is free and curled. We talk until my ticketed time at the museum and agree to meet after. I could not make this up! He is an expert in Rome history and culture and loves Americans. His WWII father taught him to love America because after the war, the United States gave money to rebuild Italy and other countries. Thus, we connected since my father was a WWII vet also. As an aside, he's also into aromatherapy and massage. I could have had a full spa treatment. I chose not.

He gave a walking tour of the Popolo Piazza with historical and cultural information a private tour guide would deliver. Also, Angelo gave a tour of Rome in his car. No, I did not go home with him which was down the Appian Way. I was dropped off at the Colliseum and walked home. I can navigate with a map and pair of glasses, even in the dark.

I laugh at myself, what/how I choose to do things. I'm in a room with three 20-something girls and it works. I don't play a role. I let them be.

I don't know how to get pics on blog from my Droid. Rome without pictures is bland. I am sorry.

I made three bloopers today. I woke up late because sleep was off and on, mostly off. I had a scheduled time of 10:30am at the Necropolis, the crypts under the Basilica, including St. Peters. I made it but had to take a taxi. I was charged two times too much. Then, the absolute worst, I have already lost one pair of reading glasses. I cannot read the maps without them! The quality of my day depends on 1.50 magnifiers from The Dollar Store. For the whole trip, I have only brought three. In three days, I am down to two.

Two gelatos already. I am eating terrible because NO GREENS. I am skimping on restaurant food to keep cost down. One Euro is about $1.50 so a £3 gelato would be $4.50. I look for £2 gelatos.

I've been walking everywhere but today took my first bus ride home from the Vatican. Squishy and hot and I could have been fined because I didn't validate the bus ticket. I entered through the wrong door Rick Steves. I can't remember a thing I read!!

Ready to leave

I'm ready to board the plane for Rome; it's anxiety-building in the getting-ready-to-leave mode. Worry takes over. I've tips from family and friends (including Tips from Teddy and Flatricksteves). I colored my hair today and will shave my legs the evening before departure. Women, you KNOW we do this...

I'm as safeguarded as can be against pickpockets and theft in Rome. Shall I duct tape my passport to my thigh? Pin pockets in the bra? (two pockets for equal protection and lift)

I have addresses, directions, and vouchers for Rome's Vatican Museum (Sistine Chapel), the Necropolis under the Basilica, Borghese Galleria, and Uffizi in Florence. I have Couch Surfing contacts. I'll stay in hostels but will hopefully meet up with locals from Couch Surfing. I plugged in age 45 and up. Everyone responded. They had fascinating profiles -- extremely well-traveled and adventurous. Three men and three women, ages 48 to 64. Sweet!! If I meet one from each city, it will add to the adventure and experience.

I have my ticket from Florence to Edinburgh to rendezvous with Phyllis from Yellowstone on August 31. We have three weeks of hostel reservations in Edinburgh, Melrose, Glasgow, and Isle of Arran.

Once again, I have thoroughly enjoyed my time in Colorado, working, hiking, visiting with friends. For some reason, this stay, I feel much more at home. There's a new freedom and welcome at my sister and brother-in-law's house... freedom within me and welcome from them. Family has been good. Both daughters and their guy friends, niece and nephew... it was full.

House-sitting for two weeks, I'm remembering the sterile stillness of living alone. The stillness coupled with TV. I watch TV much more when alone. I don't like it but do it. I discovered Bravo and The Millionaire Matchmaker. mmmhhh, would life be easier?

Traveling Alone Over 50

The world-traveler daughter sent me a list of travel tips. These are my top ten favorites and excellent for women traveling alone, especially those of us over 50 who haven't done this in a long time or never.

1. Go to the bathroom on the plane about 30 minutes before landing since that's usually when the seatbelt light will go off. This will allow you to follow the crowd without having to pee in order to find customs and baggage claim.
2. The flight will be long - you will be tired and wired at the same time when you land at the airport.
3. It will be overwhelming but take time to look around. Stop for however long you need to get oriented - no one is rushing you.
4. You WILL get lost. Remember that Europe is very similar to the US... People will help you; you just have to ask and most of the time, you can take a taxi to a familiar place. You will eventually get back. It will be OK. It might just take longer, but who's counting the minutes anyway?
5. Sometimes you will take the wrong train or bus. It's an oops moment. Turn around and catch the opposite direction. I've missed buses and gone the wrong way so many times. You just accept it at some point.
6. In case of rain, make sure you have a ziplock bag for the phone. Have a map and the address of where you are staying written down.
7. You do not look European no matter what you wear. You look American.
8. Go with your gut. it serves you well.
9. Take pictures. Even awkward ones of yourself. ASK people to take your picture, but only those who are ALSO tourists.
10. RELAX.

She knows me. She cares.

Not playing careful

Aspens: what is it about them? the paper-thin whiteness of their skin or the skyward ascension of their poles?

I'm house-sitting on the Blue River for two weeks. From the deck, I hear the river, watch a regal-blue Kingfisher, and observe doe and fawn. Ruby-throated hummers shoot through the landscape like bullets. Crystallized in the sun, their gleam is brighter than any rubied Crown Jewels. I see two mountain ranges, one to the north, one to the south, and hike up a third to the east behind where I sit.

_______________________________________________________________________


Nature hurls me to earth.

My bones will lie hidden as bones from bygone millenium.

_______________________________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________

I leave for Europe in 10 days for 10 weeks, traveling most of the time alone, I am scared and nervous. I wonder at myself: why I choose to increase anxiety alongside age, why I am going at all, and why I am spending money I shouldn't -- house money from a house sold when the market plummeted alongside the marriage. Not everyone would make the same choices. Somehow, I feel less safe when playing careful; backward thinking has made sense from childhood on; is it the understanding of paradox? I take risk and challenge. And it has always worked out...

Italy, Scotland, and ????:  here I come.

I begin again... ...and again.

My favorite time of day is when the sun crests over the 13,000' peaks. There is clarity to first light; it is momentary. Yellow-pink edges the sky to the East and to the West the peaks burst brilliant with the day's new beginning . This year it is green above timberline where the slimmest of soil hosts the thinnest of seed. It is the first dawning...

I deleted glacierblog after five years.

But I must write.

The past year, I fell in love, came to love, and was loved. It was not to be. I pick myself up and go on. The hurt, sadness, and disappointment lead me out of the country again. I have loved four times in my adult life. After each, I check the expiration date on my passport, loosely outline an adventure, then face the fear as details present themselves. I become a traveller, hostel-style. After four times, it becomes recognizable as a life pattern. I strip bare to get strong.

There is also a new stage unfolding.


The road-warrior desires home. She has a heart-home within and a home-base without, but not her home. I'm still on the road, still living temporary, still assuming different job roles, yet stirrings begin of developing a new mission, settling in with one people, one community, one place, one gathering-hole.


What did I learn by the fourth foray into love?


I learned I can be adored.

 It is always worth the risk... I live to grow...