Predictions

After somewhat of a night’s sleep over the Atlantic, I know I will be tired. We’ll all be drowsy – I can just picture us mumbling, jet lagged and leaning on each other with weary arms. But there is another prevailing feeling that will take up my other half – the kind of excitement that knots in your stomach and makes your feet bounce ever so slightly when you walk. I will be taking in new sights of a familiar city under the brim of a large hat, feeling fresh in my converse despite the beginnings of Italian summer heat, my camera never leaving my shoulder and extra batteries clacking together in the pockets of my dress.

The anxiety of travel is over, the airport behind, and all our voices mingle when we walk. Tastes of conversations litter the air around us, none other than jokes, laughter, and eyes about for the classically handsome Italian men. I may be quiet, or I may be talkative, but I certainly won’t miss the first joke about Paolo. Maybe it’s Alissa, spotting him around a corner, outside a cafe standing alongside a retro colored Vespa. There is pointing and giggling, but he hops on his vehicle to leave. There’s this sudden, palpable tension, like the feeling half of our group wanting to shout out “Paolo!” down the street as if it was his name, just to catch his attention. Dan scolds us lightly as we walk, as we are the vestal virgins, jokingly.

The strap of my purse leaves a red impression on my shoulder, and I fight off sunburn, but I could walk forever if I wanted to. The soles of my feet are ok, and the nostalgia of returning replaces any complaint. I snap candid shots of local strangers and storefronts mixed with ruins and old buildings, the camera clicking in one ear while I hear arising arguments out the other. As Dan and Jackie lead the group through the streets, their words and gestures are spilt over nonsensical details.

Jordy wants to know where the shopping is, and I can almost hear her money wiggling in its confines, eager to exchange hands. During the walk there’s enthusiastic talk of dinner and genuine Italian food, and for someone who doesn’t even like food that much, I’m excited too – after all, I only live on pasta. I resist the urge to flip through my memory card, and chitchat with others, walking along to our next site.