I'm starting this post from Massi's terrifyingly white apartment. An apartment I've lived in for nearly three weeks, during which time I've inflicted a startlingly small amount of damage on the unforgiving walls and furniture (but Massi might have something different to say about this).
I prepared a meal with turmeric in it for lunch today. And spent the entire three hours of cooking frightened that I'd somehow smear turmeric on my shorts and then transfer this inerasable yellow spice to the white couch.
WHY DOES IT ALL HAVE TO BE WHITE?
Ugh. I get so much anxiety from this.
Massi is at work until after five, so I have the rest of the afternoon to write, study Italian, and maybe start a mermaid painting for a friend.
I'm so glad I have all these things to keep me busy. Things I ENJOY doing that keep me busy.
During the last three weeks, I've really only left the apartment with Massi. Which means I spend the majority of my days puttering around my new home, cooking, yoga-ing, painting, studying, writing, and trying not to make anything that was white not white.
And I'm never bored. Ever. And there's always something more to be done. Like play Teal Cecile or knit a hat or write a play or --
I am the lady of infinite "ors" .
After work and on the weekends, we have adventures (even if I still have things I could be doing around the white apartment). On Friday afternoon, Massi's sister drove me to Carona, a small town of about a thousand people. With absolutely spectacular views of Lago di Lugano.
Massi and Elli's grandfather is one of the scant thousand residents of Carona, and he owns a typical restaurant with a perfect view of the lake. So we stopped by briefly for a drink and a chat.
After which we were asked to take Roy (the grandfather's fluffy Bernese Mountain dog) and Luna (Elli's obstreperous pug) for a walk in the park near the restaurant.
Because Elli had driven me in her car, I'd worn flip-flops (I have flip-flops now. It's crazy), and since Massi was picking me up from Carona on his motorcycle, I asked if he'd bring a pair of my shoes with him.
"Oh no," I frowned to Elli. "He's going to bring the orange ones."
"The orange ones?"
"Yes. The orange ones that you gave me because you didn't like the color. I don't like the color either, but I don't have any running shoes, and I figured I could use them. But just for running. Only for running. And Massi keeps trying to get me to wear them for other things. As a style choice. And I keep resisting. But now he's going to bring them because I won't have a option but to wear them."
Sure enough, my dear boyfriend brought me my orange shoes. My blindingly orange shoes. My shoes that make me feel as if I'm wearing solar flares on my feet.
"Be careful, there's construction on the road below," Massi's grandfather warned me. "If they see you with shoes that color --"
"They will probably hand me a shovel," I groused.
I need to find a hiding place for these garish catastrophes. Where Massi can NEVER FIND THEM.
Elli and Massi played with Roy and Luna, and I kept myself occupied with snapping some photos and pointedly avoiding looking at my feet.
We met some of Massi's friends in Luino (an Italian town just across the border) for drinks and pizza that night. And around the drinks table, Massi's friends engaged in an intense, lengthy discussion about which hike we would go on the next day.
I've never seen people make a hike so complicated. I mean. It's a hike. It's something you do in less than a day. It's not like they're planning a two week vacation to Madagascar.
We finally agreed on a moderately challenging hike and on the whens and wheres of our meeting place the next day. So Massi and I drove back to Cadempino and stumbled into bed. For a whopping six hours.
Which is... not a lot of hours.
We left the white apartment a bit after eight on Saturday morning. And if you're feeling a bit groggy, there's nothing that will wake you up quite like sitting backseat on a massive motorcycle as you careen down the highway.
I can't believe this is me now. That I'm slowly, slowly getting used to hopping on a motorcycle to get from a to b. And I even have the proper gear. Helmet, motorcycle jacket, back brace, special padded jeans, motorcycle boots, and leather gloves that look like freaking weapons.
I was living at a yoga retreat in the mountains of Guatemala about three months ago.
...
My life has changed so much. So consistently and rapidly and on such grand scales.
I really hope the change slows down now. I really hope I don't have to say goodbye to this life like all the others. I hope that now is the time my life of paragraphs and verses turns into one of chapters and entire stories.
As we wound our way up a narrow mountain road, Massi patiently showed me how to be a better backseat motorcyclist. He explained to me how my weight (and where I put it) affected the bike. How to look in the direction of the turn. And, you know, how to not slam my body against his when he braked.
We reached our hiking destination at around 10:30 --
-- and rather than hike, promptly hopped on a chairlift which floated us up the first portion of the mountain.
This. Is my happy place, I thought, looking around me and taking in the jagged mountains, the fresh air, the vibrant, cheerful wildflowers, the dozens of bubbling brooks cascading down the grassy mountain slopes.
It took me a while to even notice that we weren't on any particular trail.
Hmm, I mused to myself. I remember the trails being better marked last time I went hiking in Switzerland. Maybe it's because this is Italian Switzerland, and that was German Switzerland. Maybe people just can't be bothered to mark trails here.
Massi had some manner of app on his phone (of course he did) that let him know where the trail ought to be. So we set off in that general direction.
Although any general direction would have been absolutely fine by me.
I blissfully scampered up the mountain, pausing every now and then to catch my breath, enjoy the view, and capture a snippet of the beauty around me.
Massi and his two friends seemed to be doing just fine making their way up the mountain, but the girlfriends of the two friends struggled with the constant UP. Which is normal, when one is not used to constant UP.
I'm just grateful I'm actually doing a hike without a sinus infection. This is fucking amazing. I can breathe. And smell the flowers. And enjoy the clean air without having to fight my way through gobs of snot.
After a quick sandwich break, we continued our journey towards the trail.
Which we finally found, about forty-five minutes after starting our hike (which is less time than it took these blokes to decide which hike to go on).
In all fairness... they have an abundance of spectacular hikes available to them. I guess it makes sense that it took them so long to pick which magical mountain to explore.
This feels more like it, I thought, as I recognized the familiar red and white stripes marking the way.
I wish we didn't have to go down tonight. It would be amazing to camp up here. To watch a sunset and a sunrise. To see how the mountain wakes up in the morning.
One day.
This is so depressing to me. That my knee injury is something I just have to live with now. That life leaves us with these physical scars, emotional scars, mental scars, that we just have to accept, understand, learn to make the best of. To try not to feel bitter about.
...
Bourget. Really. Regardless of how much your leg hurts right now and how unfair and frustrating that feels, you still have a body that carried you here.
And that. Is something worth being thankful for.
I found it easier to run down the mountain than walk, to give in to gravity and scamper down the slope, skittering from stone to stone like a klutzy mountain goat.
I was so knackered by the time we reached the parking lot, that I actually struggled to stay awake on the motorcycle as we sped back towards Luino.
These are the days I live for. Days spent wandering around in breathtaking nature, surrounded by good people, challenging my body in a way that makes me feel incredibly alive.
I didn't feel incredibly alive for long. Massi and I went to his mother's home in Luino, where her housemate was throwing a party. Which I graciously participated in by voraciously consuming cheese and then falling asleep on the couch.
As I do.
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