"like a book elegantly bound, but in a language that you can't read..."

March 7^th, 2009

An uphill trek had led us there; the top of Cortona. I stood in awe at the beauty of the surrounding Tuscan countryside. It was a wonder to me that people live in such a place. From my personal experience with seeking out diversion, it seems to me now that should I ever live in such a place I would become jaded in very little time. It has already begun to happen in regards to my current city of residence, Firenze, after having resided there for only one short month.

I have often remarked, when observing photos of where I have been, that there is no possible way to capture the perfection of each moment; the brilliance emanating all at once from the people, buildings, nature, smells, sights, tastes, touches…of the places to which I have traveled. This holds true for Firenze, yes, but the rapidity with which my mind has allowed my conscious hours to be spent staring straight ahead as opposed to at the splendor around me is all at once alarming…and fantastic.

It is no wonder that I have the urge to travel as often as I do. Perhaps, deep within my psyche, there is a knowing of when it is time to leave so as to not become exhausted of a place. As my family often repeated to my dear younger cousin who suffered from a severe separation anxiety, no doubt the result of being around five or six years of age, “If you don’t leave, then you can’t come back!”

These silly words of wisdom did not penetrate the thick skull of the young girl who was clinging to the door-jam with her hands – feet being pulled by my aunt and uncle – crying and screaming that she just did not, “wanna leave!!” In hindsight, the words that were meant to trick my cousin mean more than I realized.

Maybe I want to leave the places so that one day I can come back to them refreshed and with the naïve happiness that so often permeates the memories of my childhood; my mind winds backwards to a younger version of myself at Disney’s Epcot. Maybe, as my body becomes more acclimated to a place – more comfortable and familiar with the idea of being foreign – my mind begins to wander into thoughts of other places the likes of which I have never seen before…or maybe I am just a hopeless romantic.

It seems to me, though, that there is always something missing to a place…no matter how beautiful. Perhaps it is possible that we, as humans, become bored with a place because it does not have what we need – whether consciously or subconsciously. This would explain the multitude of people who never leave their hometowns: their home-life and family are right there with them…and perhaps even their partner in life as well. I have my family…but still the need to leave tugs at me constantly when I am in Lemont…one thing is for certain: I have yet to find my place.

I stared out over the Tuscan valley, watching the sun slowly descend; a weary traveler laying down his head. The scene itself was breathtaking. The warm transient light of the sunset washed its colors over the vast landscape, bathing small stucco houses and lines of olive trees in its blanket of orange, red, and pink hues. Like snakes, the roads wound through fields of green and over the grey streams that feed their color and tiny cars, containing – from this vantage point – tiny passengers, raced for their own independent destinations…completely unaware of my existence.

Walking the steep path down to the town I admired the simplicity with which Cortona was planned. There were no skyscrapers here; no buildings that would fit into American standards of cityscape. The slope on which I walked was once a finely laid stone path, that much I could tell. But time had ravaged its face and now it laid out beneath me like a ruined masterpiece, threatening with every step to send me tumbling down the precipice in some sort of bitter resentment for its timeworn appearance. What an oddly vain path this was. Along it stood tall, proud Cypress trees, reaching up toward the darkening sky and keeping my weary feet from straying. As I reached the town, the scent of dinner filled my hungry nose and brought me back to my body. I prepared to delight in the gastronomic specialties of the people under the Tuscan sun.