Thursday, 5 July 2007
In essence, downloading my life
In every woman, a beast slumbers. Usually, it’s sedated by gentility, and hampered by good upbringing. We all know the beast, the one that strains at its leash, wanting to snap and rend and tear if and when its provoked. The beast can be roused due to varied stimulants: a man, a love rival or being wronged by a tutor giving you a really, really bad grade.
My inner beast comes out whilst travelling, it seems. I’ve just spent the past five days in Italy: two of those precious days in Rome, and found myself swearing and spitting like a mofo. I sounded like a cross between Jules of Pulp Fiction and Katt Williams, a potty mouthed comedian.
Various scenarios and the reactions of yours truly were as follows:
*stepping on the zebra/pedestrian crossing only for the car not stopping, and having to jump backwards onto the curb*
“The road guide mother%!”*&^%! Do you read it?”
“You’re stepping out on the road, jigga! On the road! Where there are no traffic lights, pedestrian crossings and me going at 70 km an hour! What are you *(&^%$! Get off the road!”
And so on and so forth.
Most aggravating, really.
Apart from those two days in Rome, it was fine. The trip was a goodbye of sorts. My friend has met a Spanish girl, and it is True Love.
Because True Love demands sacrifice, noble gestures and vivid flourishes, he’s upping sticks and relocating with her to Northern Spain. She is settled there- in every way- and does not see herself anywhere else. He does not see himself anywhere without her, so he goes.
But not before giving her Italy, however (it seems those were the magic words. “Come with me,” he said to her, “and I will give you Rome”).
I wish them the best.
So, what are my views of Italy, you ask? All roads led to Rome at one point, and you can see why. The Romans were Colossuses (Colossusi?), leaving imprints of themselves in this world, and even after millennia, they are still there. The bold sculptures and structures are their own kind of magic.
Really, it was too hot to knit in Italy. But I actually found a yarn shop being manned by this old lady. I could not resist the addition to my stash, and bought six balls of dk yarn in a purple. It’s 50/50 wool and acrylic. Very plush and very soft. If it were up to me, I’d have stayed in the shop for an hour longer, but I was with company, and my friend wanted to offer his love the sights of Rome, and I was loath to disrupt the mood, and keen to see the centre of Rome. So we went.