Short, Sweet Finito

Leaving Chiavari is hard. We didn’t get the opportunity to do many of the things on the list that live in my mind, and it is time to leave, as planned. But, an ocean away our lives are waiting to be picked up. The steady march of footsteps one day into another becomes a journey, only coursing in one direction, and never folding in upon itself to be chosen, like the click of Amazon, to prime delivery of a redux. So, we leave. I watched through the restaurant below my window last evening as they put it together, then hours later, they tore it all down, leaving – I heard the footsteps following the final lock on the door click like a shot, echoes bouncing off of the walls and stone walkways. Nothing here is quiet when surrounded by all that stone.

This morning, we walked to the train station, caught our train, and began. The Genova Principe train station connects us to airport buses to catch at Christoforo Columbo Airport. Its pretty easy to get around – good public transport. Can’t you imagine the rail cars stuffed to the gills with soldiers during their war,( mid 1800s) both sides on board different trains, and going in opposite directions, cursing each other through the windows for what enemies must those dastards be — scurrilous, irrational, ignorant and misguided. Of course.

I’d heard much about Ryanair and since it was the only flight we could get to London that day, we were on it. But after a lot of hand-wringing about the airplane’s purported difficulty with customer service – we had – Alora – no problem at all. They were quite helpful, and no one seemed to be ugly. Easy. London here we come.

London. First of all Stansted airport is a long way from where we were going in main London. – two hours by commercial bus – and it is only one of six airports – Gatwick, Heathrow, Gatwick the most common. I forget how huge this city is., and how many people of all countries and languages surround us. Grandson Sam flew in to join his mama and they will go on to Scotland, and appreciate the cool and damp quite a lot when it comes from old castles.

Last thought on people: How do I really make the observation that people walk differently in London than in, say, Florence or Chiavari Italy? How do we walk as Americans in a group maybe strolling around some market? I noticed that the English – again – from all over the world, rather push and shove, and you don’t want to get in their way. They all seem very determined, goal-oriented get-where-we-are-going folks. Italians stop and chat, begin and stop, and mostly don’t seem to be going anyplace specific much of the time. What do you think we Americans do? I’ve never thought of it before.

Children that we are, we are going to see Harry Potter tomorrow. We’re beginning to desire our own beds, our own friends, and our own families. The youngs are no doubt yearning for special someones they have a tendress for.

Eretz Italy! Next year in Italy! Maybe someday soon, in Italy. For now, thanks for the companionship along the way. Our trip is nearly finito!

Judy