Blowing Sand, etc.

Hey everyone...I'm back from the beach! I don't know what it is about going to the beach, but I am always utterly exhausted when I get back. Isn't that kind of a reversal of the way it's supposed to be? I mean, isn't the beach supposed to be one of those places where you relax and unwind and recharge? I think maybe it's just being out in the sun so long, or something. I used to get headaches almost daily from sun exposure when I first got here; and while I don't get them anymore, I still don't have the typical Mediterranean's love affair with the sun. He makes me tired. But anyway, we did the beach today. Because of the approaching storms, the sea was very choppy, and the lifeguards were trying to watch the swimmers very closely and keep them in a fairly small area. It was comical to watch, because Italians famously have a complete disregard for authority, and apparently that includes high-school age lifeguards. It seemed like no amount of whistling and waving made any impression on the swimmers whatsoever, although in the end most of the people ended up within a fairly close distance of where the lifeguard was pointing. Perhaps they just didn't want to look like they were paying any attention...it was funny. I also enjoyed watching the two silly girls who persisted in standing next to said lifeguard and flirting with him despite his obvious preoccupation with the rebellious swimmers. Teenage drama...some things don't change no matter what country you're in. Other than the amusement provided by the lifeguard, though, I must admit that it wasn't the best beach visit ever. We knew the storms would be coming this evening, but we weren't counting on the blowing sand this afternoon. I, of course, was better prepared to deal with it than Claudia was ("it'll be alright girl, just close your mouth to keep the sand out of your teeth..."), but it wasn't as pleasant as it could have been. We only stayed for about an hour and a half, and Claudia has decided that she got no sun whatsoever. Oh well.

My boredom yesterday ended up being quite wonderful. The Italians have a phrase that means "the sweetness of doing nothing" (I don't remember the Italian off the top of my head) that they enjoy putting into practice. I find that slowing down and joining them can result in the most rewarding moments of this trip. Those moments, like last night, will always be the ones I recall the most clearly. Picture this:

I'm sitting on a bench, in the shade of ancient trees, with Hadrian's ancient mausoleum quietly looming only a few yards away; buried in a novel, yet at the same time taking in the sounds of the wind rustling the leaves overhead, the pit-pat-pat of a fat pidgeon's feet as he searches for food beneath my bench, and the prickley feeling of a tiny caterpillar crawling across my hand. I just sit and enjoy being alone. But the beauty of Rome is that one is never really alone. The crinkle of the newspaper coming from the other end of the bench as the plump Italian lady with impossibly red hair and garish sequined pink heels works the crossword...the musical cadence of the voices of the couple on the next bench as they cheerily converse about their day...the coos and giggles of the little two-year-old boy who is enjoying an early evening stroll with his young father...this are ever-present reminders that, in Rome, while one can be profoundly alone in thoughts or purpose, one never has to suffer the boredom and emotional discomfort of being actually, physically alone. No matter how much I groan about hating crowds or hating people (as I am apt to do occasionally), I need to see human faces around me while at the same time I need space to just be by myself. Rome is perhaps the best place for that...I'm surrounded by beautiful faces all the time, yet completely liberated in my anonymity.

I'm pretty sure I was going somewhere with that, but now I've just drawn a blank...and I'm running out of time. Ah well. Maybe I ought to go write that novel now.

Lol!