Police accompany

 I head towards my house which is a 25 minute walk when I am not wearing high heels My house is quite far from the city center where I work. I live in a beautiful flat with marble floors and a wrap around balcony, but my neighborhood is like the “bronxs” of Bari. Many of the foreigners live in the area and it is not the nicest part of town, but I like it here. My street is filled with rubbish, stray cats and tons of motorcycles. Men of all ages hang out fixing their motorcycles, talking, joking and drinking coffee. At first they would blow kisses at me, yell out “bambola” “bambolina” (which is a small doll, or Barbie) “bella” among other things in dialect and try to talk to me, I ignore them all. I am used to the attention I receive here, and do not pay much attention. Aftersome  time and the “boys” realizing that I live  and work here and word of mouth travels fast in Southern Italy, they start giving me respect and saying “buongiorno insegnante” (good morning teacher) They started protecting me, and talking to me always asking where I am going and what I am doing. I have fell in love with my "hood."
I walk out of school on a Monday night at 10:00 p.m. I teach an individual student who owns a boutique and the only time he can come to English lessons are late at night. It does not bother me and many of the other teachers finish late. Usually the teachers and some students go out to an amazingly delicious pasta restaurant after a day of classes; we talk, laugh, eat and drink wine. This night was different; I walked out alone because my student and I were talking for a half an hour after class. It was dark, it gets dark in the winter around 4 p.m. and every store and restaurant closes at 8:00 p.m. There are a few restaurants open late, but few and far between and they are in the “old city”. I notice a man behind me and did not think much of it, but I was aware and was paying attention. I had a gut feeling to walk faster and cross the street. The man turned right down another street and I felt relived. I stayed on the same street and two minutes later he was in front of me. He had gone around a building to cut me off. I almost ran across the street, he followed.  Then I cut across and was walking in the middle of the dimly lit street that is usually bustling with people during normal hours. My heart was beating in my chest, and my instincts kicked in full gear. I stopped near a group of people and pretended to be waiting for someone while I phoned another teacher. He stopped and was staring at me. I saw a young man and asked him if he spoke English. I grabbed his hand and explained what was happening, he held my hand and walked me home.

  The next Monday was my birthday, and the teachers, some of our students and the man I am dating went out to dinner. It was a beautiful celebration filled with pasta, pizza and lots of vino. We laughed and talked about our day and about “us” become a large Italian family who screams and talks at each other all at the same time. Dinner was filled with love and laughs. I have been sharing every moment with the other teachers and know that the reason I am in Bari is to be with all of them. I have never been so close to a group of people so fast. I am in love with all of them equally. I have a family I never expected to have; it has been the best surprise. By this time I had forgotten about my “follower” and was consumed with Cello’s visit, my friends, vino and my new man.

The following Monday the teachers decided to go home after work, and the miss independent woman I am declined the offer my “big brother” made to walk me home. My day was filled with love and gratitude and I thought of all the things I loved while singing “Santa baby and jingle bell rock” out loud as I skipped home. “Santa baby I have been an awful good girl Santa cutie”….I wave and a man that owns a shop and another that owns the coffee bar I go to every day. I was just about to belt “think of all the fellas I haven’t kissed” when a funny feeling tickled my tummy and stretched into my heart. This wasn’t just the ordinary feeling when I am thinking of the boys I haven’t kissed yet…but someone behind me, watching my every off beat dance move. I turned around and the drum in my chest intensified, as I came face to face with the man who was following me two weeks ago. In a quick lightning speed panic I raced into a pizza shop on my street. Yes, he followed me all the way to my house and we were face to face where I live. There was no one in the small pizza shop but I heard the sound of a woman in the kitchen pots and pans clinging together, the shop is a take out place with a solo table and a cashier stand. The man peeked his head into the shop and was staring at me. I took my chances and headed toward the kitchen in a panic of adrenaline and tears. The woman knew who I was and I explained what was happening in Italian. Who is following you? She asked as she poked her head around the corner, which man the one who is smoking? Yes, si si. She told me to stay with her and have a seat. She closed and locked the restaurant and made me a coffee. We sat chatting in Italian as she stroked my shaking hand; I instantly fell in love with her. She has the softness of a mother but fiery temper that would scare any stalking man. She told me to wait here for a bit and her husband would walk me home when he returned from delivering a pizza. When he arrived he took my arm and walked me back to my house, I thanked him and thanked him. I got to my house and he made sure I was safe inside before leaving. I turned the key to my dark house and everyone was sleeping. I went into my room and was thinking what had happened. I could not sleep that night and was afraid of the dark, I kept my blinds half opened and locked the door to my room. I could not help but wonder in the dim light of dawn if I had attracted this stalker into my life. He is on the same frequency as me, and I have been thinking about men that follow me and call out to me in the streets. It is tiring and it happens daily. It is not the first time I have been followed but the first where it is the same man. What can I do about this? How can I be safe and not attract attention. As I contemplate shaving my head, I make coffee with my flat mates and explain what happened the night before.

  I sat in the office at my school waiting to talk to my boss. They devised a plan where this Monday the police would follow me from a distance and hopefully scare this stalker man. I am trying to bring positive energy into my life, and not worry about what is going to happen today and tonight. I am thankful I am loved by all the people that surround me.

Un dolce festa, best birthday wishes

The difference between 24 and 25 is everything. At 24 years old I was engaged and living a life I never really wanted. I tried to trick or make myself believe I wanted the house, car, wedding dress and “roots”. I say roots, because they are grounded, they stay in one place. When really I wanted to be a turtle with my home on my back, free flowing where ever the wind wanted to blow me. As I shook myself free, I had no one or nothing to blame except myself. Do not misunderstand I am not blaming myself or beating myself up over a failed relationship. But, I am the person who let it happen. I never said no, stop this is not what I want. How can you make another person happy or be happy yourself if you never wanted something in the first place?

 I am only full of love and happiness at 25 years old. I live in Italy with my friends who have become my family. I have a wonderful job and I love my students. I am grateful everyday for what GOD has brought into my life. I stand in my kitchen I share with 3 other girls, talking to my boyfriend that is visiting for the weekend eating cake and making coffee. At 24 I did not have a piece of my own birthday cake, this year I had an entire party of “dolce” sweets and pastries. My best friends in Italy surrounded me with love, sweets, wine and music. It was the best birthday gift in the world, everyone helped in some way. The boys “my big brothers” brought me candles and a huge birthday cake and chocolate. The girls brought wine, homemade goodies, pastries and helped me clean everything. A good friend painted me a beautiful picture of the city we live in and another hid an India hymn book in my locker. I am exploding with love…it surrounds me and is inhaled with every breath I take.

Cello and I spent another amazing weekend together. He met all my friends, we danced, ate pizza, drank bottles of wine outside of an amazing restaurant, walked around the old city, drank more wine and an Italian liquor, made coffee and love, smoked cigarettes, got drunk in a jazz bar with my friends, talked to my mom at 4:00am, walked or stumbled home with a full tummy and giggles at 6 am chatting in Italian. The next morning I woke up to his voice whispering I love you, love…in Italian and then English. I smiled and said I love you too, but please get me an Advil J

I have everything I have ever asked for even a little more. Simple things, I am so grateful.

Guadagno only thing I have lost is a button

Guadagno

Gaining or guadagno in Italian by definition is a merit or craft that is achieved. “What is negative about that definition?” The answer is simply “absolutely nothing”. This positive verb “gain” can be used in multiple contexts such as to manage or achieve, to gain weight, to increase something, or my personal favorite to obtain through effort and hard work. 

            What I have gained from living in Italy for six months - is my life! The life, in which for a short period I lost myself; and now I am gaining all back in small dolce (a sweet or pastry) size pieces. My decision to go to Italy and live in Sicily with a typical family to learn the language of love, cook, and gain weight that had been lost in an engagement/ wedding gone wrong. It was time for me to stand on my own feet even if I did not recognize myself when I looked down.  However, I do not like to think that I ran away from a bad engagement but I ran towards something greater.  Some times in life things do not work out the way they are planned, if you follow your heart and the pasta primavera it could be better than what you dreamt.

I boarded another plane, this time not to Asia but to Sicily with a backpack and suitcase that weighted more than I did, stepping on a scale the morning before my plane took off it blinked back at me at 99 pounds. A born gymnast at the age of 4 and then a professional cheerleader it was ingrained in my mind that smaller is better. My career path was a nutritionist and health educator; but I was the size of a 14 year old girl not a 24 year old woman, the question on deck to myself was “How can I help anyone before I can help myself?”

Sitting on my terrace in Southern Italy as a slight breeze blows my hair and the smell of the sea and olive trees heighten my senses and thirst for life, it has been almost seven months since the plane ride from Washington D.C to Italy. I question myself now, “what have I gained?”  I have gained my appetite for the balance of life. We need food to survive, thrive; we need adventure to feel alive; friends to keep us in line and smiling when we fall. I have simply gained all of these things.

One aspect of gaining has been more difficult then the others, gaining weight. The word gives me a similar physical reaction to the sound of someone’s nails on a chalkboard. What I must come to terms with and realize is that it is okay, living and being happy and healthy in your own skin is one of the greatest gifts of life. My adolescent mentality that has taken over my life of “smaller is better” and I must never dare to indulge in the “forbidden” food group, oil, fat and chocolate seems quite juvenile to me now. I sit on the terrace and promise to never let anything take over my “being” again nor my hunger for life and adventure be suppressed.

So I gained, and told my story to friends on a warm November afternoon; now sitting on my terrace drinking wine and eating homemade pasta with spinach cream filling and freshly grated cheese that I prepared with my Italian friends in my new apartment facing the sea. As I share my story, one friend looks at me as we are enjoying the pleasures of life and says “I understand…but sometimes you just have to get over yourself and enjoy everything you are supposed to feel, we have five senses to touch, see, smell, hear and taste for a reason. So, have another plate of warm pasta, salad from your garden, olives and cheese and get over yourself”. We were in hysterics due to her passionate outburst and love for her friend despite her quiet and calm nature. I took my good friend’s advice, and started gaining.

            In every positive obtainable, tangible object or goal that I have gained in my life, gaining weight has been the most challenging. However, I live in Italy, as they say “when in Rome do as the Romans do.” I am spending time with my new friends drinking the best wine, talking and eating and eating. It is life style and culture here, and I think everyone has a bit to learn about how to live, fresh pizza at 11:00 at night for dinner is normal, Italians know how to live.

My phone rings as I am cleaning the kitchen from my lunch party; it is an emergency call from a good friend and in an exasperated tone she instructs me to come over straight away. I rush over to her flat in a panic and ask if she is alright. She is lying on the bed trying to wiggle into her pants and can not button them. I jump to her rescue and hunched over her with a hanger hooked into the zipper trying to pull the zipper closed we both tumble off the bed in laughter and giggles. The button flies off of her pants and hits the wall with a bang, trying to catch my breath we are both pulling her pants for dear life, gulping for air I breathless tell her to “change into some tights, they stretch, and I hope you are hungry because if we don’t hurry we will be late for the midnight dinner.”  We laugh and link arms singing down the cobble stone path; in tights.

 Life is a balancing act, everything in moderation and proportion will create a happy, thriving, beautiful life.

            As I look at pictures of me then and now, I am a healthy smiling woman; my skin and hair shines from the fresh oil and Mediterranean diet, my scale blinks a healthy 112 pounds for my petite frame, but most importantly I radiate and glow from the inside out because of the peace I feel in my own skin.  

 I have gained everything and lost nothing, except for a button.

Dolce Vita (Sweet life)

This wonderful charming city of Bari has illuminated my thoughts. Something about living on the Mediterranean has gotten into my blood, my every pore. It has changed me, changed my “appetite” for life. For living, and just being me. I do not see myself leaving any time soon, only for a short visit in December. I am thinking of staying and taking a course called DELTA which the school offers for free to become a highly certified teacher. Meaning I can go anywhere in the world and teach, but it is a two year program. So, what have I been doing in this Southern town? Everything….

The teachers are an amazing group of young people from all over mother tongue English speaking countries. We have been going out, traveling, eating fresh pizza and gelato and just hanging out. It has been an incredible, fun, journey. I can not help but start each day with a smile and feel thankful for the sea, people and culture that surrounds me.

The first weekend I arrived everyone went out to the “old city”. A charming historic part of the city recently developed into bars for the yuppies. We went from bar to     drinking, eating and talking. I didn’t get home until the birds were singing and the sun was rising over the sea. This has been the regular weekend since. The morning birds sing me to sleep while I dose into a wine drenched slumber, only to wake up and meet everyone for espresso and pizza. Then do it all over again. Italians know how to seek pleasure, so that is what I must do it identify with this vibrant culture. Ohhh my life is tough J

This weekend is a long holiday weekend….and I have been a slight crush on a man that works with me. He is tall, Italian and has been living here for living here for five years. It started with a classic long night out, filled with philosophy discussions, wine, cocktails and sitting out side on a warm October night. We talked, laughed and drank. He asked me to hang out the next day. So, I did…

            I took the lovely train from Bari to a town thirty minutes away, where he lives. The scenic route was filled with olive trees and the sea in the horizon. The scent of coffee lingered in the air. He was waiting for me when I stepped off the train. We jumped in his car and headed south. First, we stopped at a sea side town sitting on a hill. Had a great laugh when he lost his money in the gas machine at the gas station and then drove away while the pump was still in the gas tank. Had a paritiva at a local bar, which is a cocktail and an array of fresh local appetizers. Then we proceeded south listening to music, singing, talking and taking in the beautiful view. We stopped to walk on a deserted beach; the wind was warm and fresh. We picked out seashells and sea glass and he attempted to teach me how to skip stones. The water was rhythmic and soothing.

We hopped in the car and continued the “excursion” or adventure. He took me to a completely white city. It is protected under law that every bar, building and house is white. It was incredible and took my breath away. It is situated high on a hill and is filled with churches and alleys. We walked in back alleys and took pictures; local’s laundry hung out of windows and the scent of home made pasta filled the air.  We shared a dolce or sweet and had cappuccino. The town was filled with art shops and local food; we stopped for what Americans would call a calzone and beer.

  We spent a terrific day seeing a few other towns, drinking beer and standing on balconies over looking the sea. One town had natural caves and cliffs and we hung out with fisher men and locals staring at the sea over 100 meters below. We finished the day by meeting friends at a teachers Halloween house party. Surrounded by the people I have fallen in love with, dancing with the girls to American and Italian hip hop in the hallway and drinking more wine. It is a great start to who knows what.

 I am so in love with all of them all ready and it has only been two weeks, and I will be here for another eight or nine months. Then in the summer I will travel Europe and teach camps with the other teachers, then come back to Italy in the fall. I can not help but feel lucky and love my life here. It doesn’t mean it is not difficult to be away from the people I love, but Italy has seeped into my heart and soul…Perhaps I have met my true love…pizza margarita and the Mediterranean.

Thank you Italy

Where the heck are you Krys? Rome? Sicily? No and No… I have found myself in the Southern town of Bari. I have been here for a week and a half, and already have started to make it “home”.  I have a new home, new friends and a new job. Life is going just the way I didn’t plan it. It is even better. Everyday is my gift and I have so much to look forward to.

I moved into an apartment with two Italian girls and a chick from Albania, I am hoping to improve my Italian and learn from these three talented, intelligent ladies. But, it isn’t easy. Cultural differences, language barriers and ONE yes ONE scary bathroom make it loads of fun and lots to learn. These girls are very clean, when I say very clean I mean we have a cleaning schedule and must follow the “rules”. Shoot, I am not very good at following anything. They are the “good girls”, and I just may be the "bad seed" in the house. What’s new? I told them a story of me getting lost walking home from work every day; I stopped a fine man on the street for directions and ended up in his car because I was quite far from my house. The next day I was lost again, yes I got lost the entire first week, he picked me up on a motorcycle. I happened to be wearing a dress, so natural I hopped on the back and told him to go as fast as he could by the sea shore.  My house is located near the sea side and port.  We ended up drinking wine and talking for a while…p.s he speaks NO ENGLISH. Nothing at all, so we communicate in piegon.  I just love saying I am learning Italian. The girls that I am living with were laughing and horrified. I think they may have a little something to learn from me, if they take anything from me living with them for the next year I hope they shake out their long dark hair and let it lose, because they can be or do anything they want too.

   Everything works it self out and I was always suppose to be here, even though I cried on the plane and hated to leave my Roman man.

So, I am spending the next year in Bari. Teaching English to an amazing group of adults and children. I am keeping busy and working a lot, also taking an Italian course and spending my two hour lunch break in cafes with my new friends. Here is where I pick up my pen and continue being the author of my story. Instead of you are welcome Italy….Thank you for everything you have shared with me.

Here she goes again

So, I am packing up my things again and getting ready to hit the road! I have a boyfriend in Rome waiting for me with open arms, apartments to look at (minus the lover), and two interviews. I am ready to go! I want to teach and I miss the classroom. But, I am getting scared due to the fact I do not have a set job yet. I must make some choices fast, take the job in Southern Italy or stay in Rome and look for a job. I pray that one out of the two interviews come through. We will see what happens next, I leave in less than a week. Adventure calls my name! I am a runner, I know when my time is finished. When you are not happy, make a change. I ran along the beach of Sicily, I say my goodbyes to everything that has helped me heal. So, I go...

One piece, Two piece, No Bikini

 Everything I chose to leave behind is cluttered on the floor now, clothes and items fill the big empty closets, the halls echo from and emptiness. I kick an empty wine bottle and look at a picture of my fiancé and I. Flowers that were once alive and bright turned into crispy dull brown, little traces of life where scattered thought the house, a card sat on our night stand. I look at my 3 karat diamond glittering in the morning sun it sparkling brilliantly, it sits high on my left finger, I gently remove it and place it in my pocket. I pick up an old journal that sat on the floor and open to a page that states    “I’m bored, restless, a relentless urge takes over my body, and my heart beat races and adrenalin pumps through my veins like morphine. Numbing. I can not decide, struggle between what society and culture says I should be doing and my own destiny. I am fighting a holly war with myself. Why am I staying in this, why does it never seize fire. I am plagued with what lies beyond the horizon. Visions of the Mediterranean and villas are in my dreams”  I laugh out loud with happiness, but still a deep hurt remains. I am about to board a plane in a few days, I will be along the Mediterranean Sea in Sicily. He takes my hand and my baggage and leads me to the door. I take one last look at what my life would have been. I look at the empty cream colored walls, I breathe deeply and remember designing ever corner, hanging every picture that was taken down in my home, in our home only the nails remain. All that is left is memories and a hole in the wall, he screamed, and I shrank, I stopped eating and become smaller each day. The only thing that I could control.  I glance back for the last time and quietly close the door behind me. “Are you okay?”, he asks “I am better now” I smile back and continue on with out wanting to return. A woman must know when it is time to leave and when she must go.  

I wake up hoping that it was a bad dream, that nothing that I had dreamt had been true. I sink closer to my reality, my dreams. I woke up with visions of the Mediterranean fresh on my skin like dew from the rain. It is real now, I am no longer dreaming. I have been living in Sicily for one month, what I dreamt came true. Perhaps I never wanted to finish my adventure, never wanted to be something I was never met to be.  

I sit on the beach soaking in amber sun, looking around I had imagined being here before, maybe in another life, another time or in dreams filled with colors. I am  sipping wine and I bite into an apricot grow from the Sicilian sun, filled with fresh strawberry jam, the apricot is bitter and fresh and the jam is sweet and home made. I get goose bumps even though it is not cold. I feel alive, my skin tingles with the simple pleasures of life. It is the first time in a long cold winter that I feel inspired, pure and in love with just me fills my heart and soul and keeping me alive.

 Time and space escapes. I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I can be cured; I can heal because I am made to live. With any luck I can learn a lesson from the beautiful curvy women that pass before me on the powdery sand; they are comfortable in their own skin, or so it seems. What a gift; what pleasure to love yourself for what you are.  Despite their flaws, size or age, all of the women wear toddler size bathing suits and run around on the beach chasing after small children or a lover. I watch in awe, my heart has grown with nothing but love for me and pride for them. Proud to be a woman, and content to live.   

The women in my “adopted family” sit on beach chairs forming a semi-circle, whispering and talking about the people passing by. Turning to face me, I get the feeling I am the topic of discussion. Ida translates for me and apparently there has been an agrement that I need to wear a smaller bikini, teasing me they say my bathing suit is like a grandma for my small frame. No, no I answer. I could never, I don’t have the body for that! Lesson number one in Sicily, there is no arguing with a Sicilian woman.  In a loving way one woman says “you have a fit, young body and wear a “big” bikini, wear a thong Krysta” they laugh and agree. You need to eat something girl, I could break you in two; like a chicken bone, snap! she purses her lips, here have some of this, passing me an ice cream cone. No, thanks I reply. We need to fatten you up a little says the grandmother. She stands up from here chair and comes over to me picking me up in one clean swoop rocking me like one of the children on the beach. I think she could bench press me if she tried. Her plump curves are flying in every direction as she laughs a beautiful toothless smile, I can not help but start laughing freely.

 The next night the Ida comes home from a day of shopping, she is carrying about twenty different bags. “Hello, everyone” she sings. We are sitting at the table talking and eating dinner, the evening news plays in the background, as I try to pick out the few familiar words. “I have presents” she calls. She hands me a small but chic bag. It is black with silver writing and tied with a small bow. I look at her slightly confused as she smiles back at me. “Open it” she reads my expression. I pull the bow and the bag opens, reaching into the bag I pull out an exquisite bathing suit in the style of a thong. It is an extra small and looks like it could fit a six year old. I tilt my head back a laugh with genuine delight. “Thank you” I whisper “Now you are one of the girls” she says.  She tells me to never hold back, just live, and it was my time to shine. “oh and Krysta, she adds , tomorrow is yours go to the beach and meet a nice boy in that bathing suit, enjoy” she winks. It is just me in a designer thong.

I am here to learn, to quest, to treasure, and to be me in a thong bikini.

Huh? Where am I?

Twilight zone that's the hell where

I’m officially in a twilight or hot zone. The family I am living with is dealing with many problems, This is so strange. I am stuck in the middle. I hear the shouting, and yelling constantly. Yes, yes I am in Italy but I am freaking deaf and my ears are ringing. I am thinking of consulting my physician in America, the only thing is I can’t hear a damn thing. I am being dramatic because yes, it’s Italy. But for Christ sake, everything is such a huge deal. I about lost it a few times. I was boiling the kid an egg and almost got into it with the mom, I mean who the hell cares it is a freaking boiled egg not a wedding cake. I told her “Scientifically, this water is boiling”. She didn’t understand, so I smiled and walked away. Who knew I would leave a big A-hole only to be replaced by a small A-hole. I am ready to go, really ready to go. I ran away from yelling and screaming only to hear other people yell and scream, at least I am quiet and tranquil here. If I see them beat the kid with a wooden spoon, shoe or other house hold objects again I may just jump out my window…Okay dramatic again because my window is a door that leads to a garden but shoot. Who does that? And what is normal in family life? My mother never chased me around with a wooden kitchen spoon.  On the bright side medal is never involved. Who am I to say what normal is, I am not. I do not judge, I do not have the right. I am open to all life styles. But, damn I am ready to run…it’s time for me to do the scaddale out of this twilight zone. I need to pack up my jet pack and jump of this whack and wild planet. What the shit? Ohh yeah your welcome Italy for breaking a boiled egg.

Breaking all the rules

I’m smoking cigarettes there is nothing left I guess

I broke all the rules both of my moms every set for me. Sitting in an Aeroporto that I have been multiple times for various reasons getting ready to go to Roma by myself.
I am ready for a trip that calls out to me. I feel the energy of the art and history in my bones. I drive my Italian car to the airport about 45 minutes from my home in Italy. Why they let me drive in Italy is beyond me but I go with the opportunity to roll down the windows, listen to Italian hip hop and  be completely free

I have been in Rome approximately ten minutes and have succeded to break the rules, many of them. I find myself in a black VW and my luggage stuffed into the back. In the front two handsome Italian me are trying to talk to me in English and me with them in Italian, I am sitting in the back seat with the windows down. It all started in a small airport in Sicily when my flight to Rome was delayed for an hour. I walk to the bar to get a coffee and sit down; I get out my journal and phone and try to translate an Italian text message into English from a man in Sicily. He is looking at me from across the airport, handsome and tall. He is young and dressed in boat shoes and a polo, I could not tell if he was from Italy or some where else. I look down at my notes then up at him through my eyelashes and blink twice just for good measure.

.

   A sure signal for him to say I may be interested. Looking back and forth now, my heart races in anticipation for what is about to follow. He walks over; I pretend that I do not see him. I look up and he is speaking rapid Italian. He asks if I want a coffee, I say no thank you. “A cocktail? A water?”  “No thank you” I respond. I say I do not speak Italian. He asks me if it is possible if he sits down, naturally I say of course. 

   I stare deep into his eyes and slightly get lost. I love the airport, it is a place for possibility, you never know what or who you may meet. I love waiting for the anticipating who I am going to sit next to, or meet or what you will find. I have learnt my lesson of buying expensive things in an airport, tempting as it may seem.

“I looking at you and you looking at me, can kiss” he says? In the back of a plane…I laugh.

  He asks if the seats are at your leisure. Lucky for me you sit where you find a place and we find a place in the very back like the bad kids at school. We spend the flight trying to talk and staring at each other. He asks me if he can take me to my hotel….of course I say. We wait an hour for our beaten up luggage and walk out side to the city of Rome. His handsome friend dressed in designer clothes and white sunglasses is waiting outside. He looks at me and we both laugh. “Look mom I picked up an Americana girl.” He opens the door and takes my luggage I climb in and not a second thought crosses my mind. I wonder what my mother would think if she saw me, and if this is consider hitch hiking.

    We speak in broken English through the city of Rome. We get lost and can not find my hotel, his hand reaches back to touch me, it fills me with electricity. Finally, after an hour and a half in the car with them we find my hotel in a back alley and they drop me off. He takes my baggage to the front desk and kisses me on the cheek while I wait for his move. He doesn’t make one, so I walk away with his number in my Italian phone and scent of him on my skin…

I am starving. I arrive at my hotel at 8 o’clock and have not eaten since breakfast. I take a quick shower talk to the front desk about places to visit and head out the door. I walk down desolate streets to find a restaurant and bar. Everyone in Rome is on holiday and it is very quiet. But, you can still its heart beating rapidly. I find a café, pizzaera and order delicious food from the waiter. We have a connection; and I ask him in Italian if he has family or a background from the Middle East. He says yes, and we can’t stop talking. I eat pizza fresh from a brick oven paired with a bottle of wine, two guys from the next table ask if they can join me.  We listen to music on the street and chat about everything, after the second round of lemoncello it is best to call it a night. My head is spining with wine and new friends, the two men pick up my bill and I head back to my hotel, stopping a young man for a cigarette and lighter. Why has happened to me?

Rules broken:

 1. Do not travel alone  2. Don’t talk to strangers.  3. Do not sit with men in the back of airplanes.  4. Never get in a car with someone you don’t know.  5. Don’t ever get in a car or spend time with someone in a foreign county you don’t know.  6. Don’t drink too much.  7. Don’t smoke.  8. Don’t wonder around in alleys at night  9. Don’t ask for a light from strangers late at night.  10. Don’t eat dinner after ten o’clock.  11. No espresso after 5 pm.  12. Don’t lie.

Ex Wedding Day

Ex wedding Day

July 10, 2010

“Are you sure?” she asks as she seals the envelopes to my save the dates. “Ummm, I am not sure about anything, but I think so.”  “Krysta you Have to be sure” says my mom. “Okay, mom I am sure.”  Fifteen minutes after I leave the house where I grew up I call her from the car, I am driving back to the house where my fiancé and I live. “Is everything okay honey” mom asks. Well, I was thinking maybe you should hold on to the save the dates just a few more days. Written on the bright colored magnets with our picture was the date July 10, 2010. I already bought my dress and picked out the intimate details of the romantic castle wedding. The combination of wedding stress and the extreme problems my fiancé and I were having, so I lost weight or rather I stopped eating.

  Then it got bad, it was great before but now it turned ugly, bitter like a sour candy that makes your lips curl but you just can’t spit it out. Finally I spit it out, I packed my backpack, the one that has traveled around the world with me in the middle of the night and a month and a half from that night, I find myself living with a family in Southern Italy.

            I decided to wake up at 6:00am on my Ex wedding day. I plan to walk to the beach before everyone rose for the day and swim and do yoga. I secretly hoped it would rain but the air was warm with a cool breeze that blow into my window. Perfect I murmured to myself. I head out the door of my flat and walk the cobble stone path to the white sand.

            I find two handsome young men next to me; we are alone on a deserted beach at 6:00am. I thought it would be awesome to strip down to nothing and swim freely like a desperate mermaid. Instead I come to my senses and realize this may not be the best idea in my state of tears and after thoughts on this day, maybe tomorrow I will strip. So I run. I run and run until my lungs can’t hold air, panting I stop when the beach and the ocean reach the mountains. I feel free and alive. I pick up a pretty seashell and head to the waters edge, I pick up another shell just for good measure, just incase I need extra help. I ask Buddha to embrace me now on this day, on this journey. I hear him say “its okay Krysta take your time, when your ready let go and you shall find your way” He smiles at me as he disappears into my imagination and meditation. I stand there for a long time staring at the ocean, on the shell that is in my hand I ask for forgiveness, hope, the power to learn, heal and move forward in my life. I can not let the past dictate my life. I throw the shell into the blue shining sea. I put all of my emotions of healing and forgiveness into it. I stand tall now, a little lighter, like the mountains next to me on either side.It seem the mountains are embracing me, holding my hands. I close my eyes and listen to the oceans soft breath, I pray to find the characteristics of the earth. On the next shell I ask to be released from all negative emotions, hurt, blame, anger, hate and any negative emotion I have ever felt. Emptiness, sadness, deprivation and the tears that I have cried during my past relationship that could fill the valleys beneath the mountains that surround me and flow into the sea. This time I crank my arm back as far as it will allow and give a forceful throw, kirpunk…the ripples grow around my sinking shell. I turn around and ran away. I am not sure to what, but I know I am running to myself this time and not to anyone else. I keep running and try not to think about this day or the relationship I was in because I tossed the emotions I felt back into the earth and the sea is keeping my feelings safe for me. I will over come anything and today is the start of a positive healing practice. I may cry, I may not. But I know I can’t hold negative feelings in my heart any longer because they are not apart of me, it’s a part of something bigger than I will ever understand. I am grateful, thank you. Life makes twists and turns and instead of me walking down the isle into a bad relationship, I’m running down the shore line in Southern Italy, with a purple horizon, this earth is embracing me.  The world is made for me to love and see. Maybe that’s my big love, maybe I just haven’t learnt yet. My hair curls blonde and golden blowing past me as my arms are spread wide and I take giant leaps in the sand. I was always supposed to be here on this day in this moment, even though I don’t have a plan for anything there is a plan for me. And it’s amazingly beautiful and it’s only mine. No one can take it away from me, nor can anyone try to stop me from my destiny. I promise myself I will never let anyone take my self from me again, I am who I am, I am that. I write my own story and I will choose what I want “that” to be. I pick up the imaginary pen to my novel of life and head back to find a little boy waiting for me and a family making breakfast, I am home.

Just pray for the best

So I went….

Italy I say to my family and friends. Hmmm.. Eyebrows raised in knowing admiration, jealously or confusion. “Really, Krys you are going again? You just got back, we just got you back.” We aren’t going to have another going away party are we? Asks my mom.  I tilt my head back and laugh no, no it’s only for six months. I have to spread my winds and follow my heart because for a split second I stopped doing that and became a woman I didn’t recognize naked in the mirror. I quietly vowed never to stop following my dreams nor let one person effect my being ever again. I packed my suitcase fast; I had already been here before. It feels familiar. My friends come over to say goodbyes again, I make my famous sangria and fold colored scarf’s and put them in my suitcase. We giggle, cry and make more sangria. All of my best friends come to see me off on my last night in America, even the Americao is there.

“His” name comes up and everyone agrees that I look healthier and happier. I hate goodbyes but I know the future holds a learning experience that I truly am uncertain of.

I am going to live with a family in Italy. I will teach them English and be an au pair figure to their one child. I have not met them and have only spoken to the mother online and through emails. They live in southern Italy, close to the capital city of Palermo in Sicily. That is all of the information I had.

My flight is a red eye to London. I wake up that morning nervous, excited and wondering if this is the right decision for me. I question everything in my life thus far; I was born under the sign of the Sagittarius and am very good at asking the question “why.” I am true to my sign and ponder if my traveling itch will ever end or if I will just keep going. I decide I can’t conform to society’s expectations of what I should or shouldn’t be doing.

I put on my backpack and get into the car, dejavu one more time only this time it’s different. I am single and this is Italy, not Korea. A friendship ring on my left ring finger replaces the large carat diamond engagement ring. I hold that finger and move forward, and exhale deeply.

I arrive at the airport and my travel instincts kick in immediately. Passport, check, money hidden, aware of the people around you, butterflies in my tummy and yes of course a smile on my face.

I greet with my first great lover, the airport.

I arrive in London a few hours later and am surprised how charmed I am by the people. I feel like myself again. It’s just me now, and it feels good. I

Eight hours later I am sitting in Rome, tired and slightly lost. I have been traveling for 30 hours and have about four to five more hours to go. I need a shower and a coffee in that order. I sit and wait for the final plane. I think of the family that is about to meet me. Will they all be there? Will she have a sign? What color is the sign?

 It’s late and a handsome young man sits next to me. He has been living in my college town of Towson University for the last year. I think of University and all my friends, I think about “him”, then shake him out of my mind quick and fast, like pulling off a band aid it only hurts for a second. Then I look deep into this hot Italians eyes and decided maybe men should not be entering my brain right now, and a tooth brush should be.

Finally, I land in Palermo’s small airport. It’s 10”30 at night and cute boy helps me find my way and helps me retrieve my bags. The airport is desolate and immigration is no where to be found, I slip into the country unseen and unstamped by foreign affairs…Welcome to Sicily.

We wait and wait for the bags to come around the big black turn belt, I am told that baggage takes forever and things are run differently in the South. My bag arrives and I catch a glimpse of the woman waiting for me through sliding glass doors.  Say "see you later" to cute boy, I am moving on.

I am greeted by a friendly, lovely woman that takes my luggage and puts it into a Benz. We drive and talk and I am astonished at her English ability and she is astonished at my petite size. I like her instantly. The beach house is 30 minutes from the airport, she clicks open a gate from the car, then another private gate on top of the hill. This is one of their many house I am told.

We drive up an open, airy home with a gazebo filled with toys. I see white linen furniture and most of the house is outside. I step out of the car and land in the middle of MTV cribs. Its so beautiful my breath escapees me.  I have dreamt of this place. She shows me to my room, art deco paintings of women line the walls. It’s chic and gorgeous. See you tomorrow and sleep well. I fall asleep almost instantly, to the sound of the ocean and party music in the distance.

 I am awaken by a child’s laugh, that’s him the child I will be teaching English to for the next six months. I then smile to myself, grateful for everything that surrounds me. The postcard landscape, mountains on either side of me, turquoise blue sea, the pictures of naked women on the wall and most importantly my new family and new beginnings. I pop out of bed, my nose toward the sun and stretch, I am full of love and hopefulness.

Its time to move ahead in my relationships and my life. It is time to find a better version of myself. I knew I was always supposed to be here, I dreamt of the ocean and their villa. It is my destiny to spend time with them and for us to fall in love just a little bit.

Not always rainbows and butterflies, but she chooses to FLY

“How did I end up on a plane again?” I ask myself. The airport has become another great lover of mine; the world and airports. Maybe just maybe that is why was never meant to work out, because I was already in love with someone else, or something else. He once said “I feel like I am in a constant competition with the world, to have you”…he lost. Mother Nature always wins.  Everything was not always rainbows and sunshine, like in every great story it never is.

I arrived at the house I grew up in a little after 2:00am. I called my mother “let me in” I said in a monotone voice, that I didn’t recognize nor did she. I was straight faced with my gaze to the ground when she opened the door. I stopped looking in her eyes a few weeks earlier; perhaps I thought she could see the truth of what was happening or the shame, guilt and utter exhaustion of my relationship. She asked me if I was on drugs and I shook my head slowly “No”.  My usual witty, outgoing demeanor changed into a quiet, withdrawn girl who didn’t recognize herself in the mirror. I thought it was adjusting back to life in America, but it had been eight months, my wedding invitations were sitting on the table and were about to be sent out to family and friends. My email in box was filled with dress payments, flower and menu proposals and registries. I was overwhelmed and anxiety flooded my mind. My best friend said I looked horrible “I lost my Krysta glow”. I hadn’t eaten in months, I wasn’t hungry. I stepped on the scale at my mothers home that night and 99 pounds blinked on the scale.

My mom hand fed me soup but I refused to eat it, I hadn’t finished a meal in weeks. “I left him, I left him for good” I said, but I was to exhausted to speak.  I fell into a dark restless sleep that was my reality.

When the morning sun painted colors on my face, a chill ran through my body. I was not in my apartment I shared with my fiancé, and previous night’s events ran through my mind, I felt the urge to vomit with nausea. I knew in my heart that I was never going back, this was it the last straw. It was the last of many wars fought between my ex fiancé and this time was different. I was strong in my decision and the previous night he dared to become physical and threaten me, our apartment security guard knocked on the door. In a drunken stupor he locked me in our bedroom with power tools to dissemble the lock, I backed my things in my backpack (the one that went around the world with me) I calmly figured a way out and stepped out of the apartment not looking back while he shouted profanities at me.

I can not say that I was perfect nor did I do everything right in the relationship, because then I would be lying to your face and it’s only our second date J

 I made plenty of mistakes that I can only learn from. What is done is done I have heard. I was not in a relationship where he beat me or physically abused me; I was too strong to let it become that. But, there was baggage that was never checked at the door. We spent a year apart while I lived out my dream to travel, while he wanted to get married and buy a house for me and our future. I was never ready to come home, and play housewife. I was horrible at it and once while doing our laundry all of the white clothes turned hot pink. I cried, he laughed, then I laughed, and we made love on the floor because we had no furniture. It wasn’t all bad, but neither of us was ready to tell the truth or face the reality that this was not meant to be.

I was safe now, in my childhood home with my family. Within a few weeks I began to heal, each day I found a piece of myself that went missing like when you find a missing sock that the dryer happened to eat again. I enjoyed life; I ate meals with my family, started painting again and spent my time with people who love me. I healed fast and felt a huge relief. I didn’t cry, I don’t miss him…perhaps I miss what could have been but I never looked back. I relish in the idea of what we were or what I was suppose to be doing as a twenty four year old woman. He made it easy, I did not have to work and he had the money for us to live comfortably. I paid for nothing. People in my life thought I would be a reck, a human disaster my own worst enemy, I was just the opposite. I think I was finally free and started to feel like myself again, it got to a point where I knew it was over a long time ago.

One afternoon I came home from my D.C teaching job and he had to carry me home from the metro, I was to weak to walk to easy four minute treck, before I was an avid runner with a strong muscular body made to move. Now, my hip bones protruded from my body and I could not sit for long because my tail bone would become numb. I fell asleep that day, with the snack he made me untouched and he woke me up for dinner I could not move. Enough was Enough, I was shaken awake by an angel or my inner voice that said “this is not right, you were made for greatness, heal yourself and move on”.     And I did.

Time heals all things however, I did not need the hands on the clock…I healed; and some may even say that my healing clock consisted in short hours. I sang, danced, drank and met new people. The worst part was walking on the thin balance beam far from land wondering what the right choice for my life was. Finally, I arrived safely from the clouds on land while my family and friends lent me their parachutes just in case I wavered on any decisions. But, I still wasn’t cured of my eating problems, I was deathly afraid of getting fat.

I dated. I met two men and dated them both for different reasons. One was stable and solid and one was young and inexperienced. They both told me they loved me within two months. I think I loved them both a little bit.

One man or boy/man is 20 years old and attends the school where I worked in D.C. I taught ESL in an intensive adult program, dating between students and teacher is like a wild fire. He is from a small country south of Russia and very different from any other man I have ever met. He speaks three languages with English being his third, he is interesting and I actually would talk about him to my ex fiancé.  His culture is similar to Arabic culture, where the men come first and the women are submissive, what he said was expected to go. I knew he was all wrong from the start wrong in the best kind of way, he was considered my student even though he was in the class next to mine. He used to come into my classroom in the morning and just talk to me. I remember the first time we saw each other, he looked at me and I was preparing for the day’s lesson…my heart raced as he looked at me and came into my room and sat down.

 “Hey, you are a new teacher, and I am in your class” he said. I said “well, I am happy to have you here, I’m Mrs. Moore or you can call me Krysta.” “I am not in your class, but I wanted to talk to you I wish I was in your class…Bonnie, how do I get in this class?” He asks my supervisor and she says all the boys are asking how they get into my class we laugh and she compliments my six inch high heel purple boots.

 He is fit and tall, a natural protector his cultural standards are the men must be strong. He has light brown hair cut short and his eyes are speckled with green and gold. I was engaged at the time and knew he was young but I enjoyed our conversations immensely. We talked about what life is like in a foreign country, his culture, his life in America and the war going on at his home. He is a dentist in his country and now he is studying English and waiting tables illegally.

After he heard my relationship was over he asked me for my phone number and to go out for coffee, I immediately said yes. I could not help but get hot and heavy for his golden eyes and protective nature. We spent days after school in the warm May sun sitting in the park and drinking coffee staring at each other. He took me to his house and we drank wine on the floor of his bedroom.

We made love for the first time within minutes of walking into his apartment. In two months we spent every weekday together and spent nights in a cheap hotel across from where I lived with my fiancé. We smoked hookah and drank wine and made love for hours, in the morning he helped me get ready for school and got me coffee at Starbucks. My friends and I nick named him “Russia” even though he isn’t Russian he is Chechen. I told my girlfriends about him almost immediately. “Girls I think I have a lovveerrr, and he is Chechen and his name is Alexander.

“She is back!! Ohhh I missed you” said my best friend

The next man was American a new bred for me. We met in a bar through a friend, my ex fiancé’s opposite. “Americano” as we will call him is tall, blonde and calm as a lake in September. He thinks the world of me, and tells me how special I am everyday. We would work out in the long term if I would let him and I stayed in one place for longer than six months. But, I am not sure that he gets my electrons dancing like fireflies. Except, he does in a different way I would be his everything and it is a concept I can almost get behind. He fell for me hard and fast as we ventured out on weekends together. I dragged him to art festivals and tasted wine from different parts of the world and a late night part after my friends wedding. Where we spent the night together in a hotel room while I was suppose to be having a girl’s night and sleeping in the girl’s room. Always one to break the rules, it was and is my time to live.

They both fell for me and I was making love to both of them, spending time with Russian on the weekdays and Americano on the weekends; until I decided I have to leave. The Russian was strong and fast, but passionate and rough but loving at the same time. While the American was completely dedicated to me and my body, he never wanted me to leave. And I knew that was all that I could give him is me leaving him. He clung to every breath and beat I gave him.

Then there was me, clinging to both of them but neither of them at the same time. My heart raced and ached for another adventure. My next thrill and no I am not speaking of the daily orgasms I was receiving. I dreamt of the mountains, foreign lands and languages; of the greenish blue sea that sparkles and shines.

So I went….

Hello lover, meet your biggest fan...

Chasing dreams in Airports

Just your average girl that has come to terms with my one Big love, the world. Looking for something, running towards greatness, feeling free and alive.

While I meet friends and life continues I find myself laughing at what foreigners do, and saying “why the hell did I think that was a good idea?” I have explored, eaten food that is unrecognizable, met people and lovers from all walks of life, travel with strangers, hitch hiked once or twice, studied yoga with a master guru in a fishing village, sailed the Mediterranean on a sail boat with three families and I am no where close to being finished.

Traveling is like an itch that I urn to scratch, despite the challenges and adversities its like a lover that gives you problems but you keep going back because it’s trilling and fun. The love of the chase. Some people ask me “what are you running from?” It is not what I am running from it is what I am running to become, the great unknown. I am not sure where I am going but I know exactly where I have been and this is my tale of a journey of a quest to love, explore, heal, know myself, become independent and find my way to my biggest hopes and dreams. The world is my lover, and I run to it with open arms. It reciprocates my love equally giving me true wonders in culture, nature and people.

“I’m bored, restless, a relentless urge takes over my body, and my heart beat races and adrenalin pumps through my veins like morphine. Numbing. I can not decide, struggle between what society and culture says I should be doing and my own destiny. I am fighting a holly war with myself. Why am I staying in this, why does it never seize fire. I am plagued with what lies beyond the horizon. Visions of the Mediterranean and villas are in my dreams”

I write this in my journal a few months earlier

Gang of grandpas

Ciao ciao gang of grandpa's

Excuse me mad hatter but could you brew up a poison to make these grandpa's young again?

Yes gentleman, there’s a new gal in town
As we unpack our boxes and start putting things where they belong at the huge castle like house in Alcamo, I wonder what this town is made of. It is a small village in Sicily, where everyone knows one another; people get married early and end up living here their entire lives. It is historical, quiet and quaint with cobble stone streets, back alleys filled with rows of houses with laundry hanging on the line. I feel I am almost in a time machine but the people are in modern clothes. I decide to test the waters and wonder around the streets. I put on tennis shoes for a run and hope I do not get lost; I take my camera so I can take pictures of the street signs to get home.
Here I am, the only foreigner at least woman foreigner in sight. The town is full of old men! It must be a prerequisite to be at least 80 years old to buy a home here. I look around and there are groups of old men everywhere, hanging out talking on the steps, playing cards, drinking café, eating pastries, more talking and walking around. Every alley, every street there is a new group of grandpa’s sitting on the benches just watching life pass by. They are like small gangs or clicks that do not mingle with one another. I say hello to everyone. I can almost hear people’s necks cracking from staring at me. People in cars stop me to ask where I am from; the old men watch me and smile to each other saying “Who is that”, Luckily now I understand a small amount of Italian, so I know what they are saying about me. It is amusing and I laugh. More old men, and some younger men all of which have rings on their fingers say hello to me. The younger gentlemen attempt a conversation and a date but I decline saying they are married, no thanks in Italian and your wife might be mad. I have to find ways to amuse myself because no one speaks English. I need to learn fast if I want to make it. Sink or swim I say, but this could get fun….
The next man that attempts to talk to me I start saying ridiculous things to him in English. I tell him my uterus really hurts bad today, and I may have a bad case of gas as I smile, He smiles and shakes his head “Si Si uterus, uterus” he replies and asks me if "I want a drink". The next old man that approaches me I decide to ask him if he wants to jump off a bridge with me, go skydiving and get married in all in one day, and if it is possible can borrow his wallet, I tell him I will return it when I am finished. He says yes, of course in Italian and then proceeds to give me a puzzled expressing when I try to reach into his back pocket for his Gucci wallet. “What? You said I could have it, no?” “Okay then, bye bye”
The staring and whispering never seem to end, but I smile and say "hello". I am use to being an outsider now. Many emotions come to life when you are different. We fight and strive most of our lives to some how fit in to a group, find our nitch. And I have deliberately elected to throw myself into the outsider category, where I fit in nowhere. Except maybe with the orange faced women with a scary attempt to be a blonde that raided her kindergartner’s closet, she looks like a sluty umpa lumpa from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which I am totally into. It is as if you are standing around naked and everyone is in full jackets, mittens and ear muffs staring at you, wondering where the hell are her ear muffs? It is quite similar to what I suppose animals at the zoo feel like. “Ohhh look at the blonde curly haired one with blue eyes, she looks hungry should we feed it?” I wear a heavy skin, and do not let anything bother me. Most of all it is just curious gentleman trying to have a conversation or date. But, I seem to be quite popular with the gentleman. Where are all the women in this town? None of the old men are sporting around a grandma, what are they doing?
Where are the young Italian people?  Instead  of moving to Italy to find a romance I found pop-pop wonderland. I must be Alice and I am looking for the drink that will make these older fellas young again. It never hurts to dream.
So, until the next adventure I accept my faith and surround myself with a group of grandpa’s, workers and men and sit down to a hot, strong espresso….

The Devil Wears D&G

The Devil Wears D&G

"Mi scusi signore" I say in a loud voice. (Excuse me Sir) (Apparently, I talk to soft for Italians) “Si?”  (Yes)  replies the old Middle Eastern man. “Ma, have you seen my dignity, pride or ummm telecomander? I mumbled (But, have you seen my dignity, pride or telecomander, which is the Italian word for electric key, mine just so happens to operate the two gates to my house) “Huh?”  Middle Eastern man says as he cocks his head sideways and lifts his upper lip showing a toothless mouth. “la mia chiave Signore. (My key Sir) I reply desperately. “AHHHHH Si, si la tua chiave!,   Ieri or Oggi?” (Yes, yes your key was it yesterday or today) one tooth says. “Errrhhh Ieri, Si Ieri notte (yesterday, yes yesterday night) “No no Signora” as he explains in Italian that they sweep the road in the early morning. “Grazie” (thanks) I say in my American accent. “Prego” (welcome) one tooth says. I run off along the beach pathway searching for my telecommander….

    It all started Ieri, he said “Let’s meet, I need to get ready and I’ll pick you up in about twenty minutes”.  “Okay, Okay” I met him a week ago on the beach, he speaks English and I liked his red Ray Ban’s.

                                                                                               

   Heels on, make up and a cute outfit ready to go.  I have been out with the family I am living with and this is the first time I am going out with a new friend, butterflies flutter in my tummy. I’m off and the sound of click click on the cobble stone echoes through the outside of the house and down the street and into the small village. I walk to our meeting spot and wait in front of the bar/beach club where he works. The moon has started to show its face and the mountains that surround the sea turn from purple to dark blue. I wait for a few minutes and I wish I smoked cigarettes so I would have something to do with my hands; I fidget for a few more minutes until I hear someone call my name.

       He is on a black motorcycle and the engine blares, he is well dressed, fo hawk, cute, in all black and designer, my type and slightly artistic. I tilt my head and glare at him as an “Uh-Oh” goes through my mind. What will we talk about? Okay breath. He jumps off the moto and kisses me in the traditional Italian fashion. “Take my hand” he says and “let’s drink”.  “What do you want amore?” “How about a shot of vodka?” as he opens the door to the bar which is closed for the night; we are the only people around and I hear the waves crashing into the soft sand. “Well okay but, buon notte or goodnight” I say as I laugh. Cheers, Cin Cin, Salute! We cheers in both languages to a new friendship.

     “Shall we go?” he whispers softly in my ear and kisses me gently and unexpectedly on the lips, he tastes like lemon vodka and smells like Dove soap. “Your trouble”, I whisper back and put a hand to my mouth. “Trouble? Trouble what is this word trouble? I don’t know this” he states and has a wrinkled brow expression. “It's you” I tell him as he slips his hand in mine.

      We go outside and he straps a matching black helmet on me and tells me to hold on tight. I smile and think this is going to be fun. We go to a bar over looking the sea and mountains, it is situated on the side of the mountain and the furniture is under an Indian looking tent as people hold drinks and talk. Every restaurant and house has a large outside patio where people relax and take life slow in this small sea side village. He explains that this is my night and we can do what ever I want, Welcome to Italy!

      We have a seat after he salutes or says hello to multiple tables and he orders a bottle of white wine and a fresh fruit plate with honey and almonds. A cool breeze blows my hair across my face as we talk about what we want in the future as well as the past. He talks about studying at University in geology and working at the beach every day. He tells me how busy his life has been lately and this feels good. Philosophy my favorite topic to debate and understand weaves in and out of easy and light hearted conversation. He says he doesn’t believe in any thing he can not touch, and I state I only believe in things that I can not touch. I can image life as I desire, I believe in everything spiritual. He doesn’t. I am starting to think we are opposites but the same in so many ways. He may be the male version of me, as he tells me he only travels alone and loves an adventure.

     He asks me if I believe in love, it is a question that catches me off guard from such a prestigious man. “Well, I stammer and hesitate. Maybe.  He declares this as a “yes or no question” Yes, I do but not today I answer and hope he does not pry. I am not looking for that now, my past love is a little tricky and I feel slight exposed and open to a stranger. It is interesting how a simple question can bring out feelings to some one you hardly know. He tells me to explain and not worry about the language barrier he will do his best to understand, even though his English is fantastic and is not an issue. Well I would be married in exactly 4 days if I was in America I explain as he feeds me fresh fruit and pours me a new glass of wine. The fruit is so sweet and fresh, and mostly likely had been cut from the tree that morning or yesterday at the latest. The country side is filled with vineyards and orchards of fruit. The fruit and food is so good it makes me laugh out loud as he stares at me inquisitively. I think I am going to like it here, I think out loud.

       “Let’s go get Mojtos” he says we have already finished a bottle of wine and my body is tingling with simple pleasures. Ohhh lord, I may be a little drunk but why not I tell him as he holds my hand and leads me to the motorcycle which we parked in no particular parking space. He knows everyone around but it is a very small town of less than 3,000 inhabitants and he is a bartender, he is a devil in disguise for me. Nothing but trouble I think and say to his face again, he still doesn’t understand the word. As the drinks flow he starts talking about the many women that like him.

     Apparently he is a very eligible bachelor and a party organizer for the beach. He reminds me of an arrogant version of a friend in America. Wonderful I think to myself a play boy in Italy, just what I need.  He drinks his fresh Sicilian mojto with his pinky facing the stars while we sit under a white umbrella at a chic new bar. I gaze upward wondering about the constellations and what else is out there as he stares at me. The night sky shines a dark black blue with large diamonds twinkling above our heads, it is hard to tell where the sky line begins and the sea ends. The mountain side is full of villas and houses with their lights on and it resembles an ocean side version of a porcelain Christmas set. The sand replaces the snow. My head is cloudy now, and it is difficult to determine where my legs and arms start and his began.      

 He asks me if I like chocolate, of course I like chocolate I respond I like everything here. I no longer have a 100 pound frame and I am starting to get my appetite back. We ride on the motorcycle as he swerves in and out of back alleys at 2:00 am , I giggle. We forget our helmets and it doesn’t seem to matter. I don’t have a care in the world, my long blonde hair flying in the wind, wild and free. I think of a horse running wild in a field and how I resemble this animal; for a second I think we are airborne.

    

We stop at a small shop with no sign or indication of a name, it has no door but I smell the sweet scent of fresh baked bread. He tells me to stay on the bike as he jumps off and heads inside. He comes out five minutes later with two bags, "Chocolate croissants", he says, "the best in Sicily."  Good God, I think he is trouble and I would have never eaten a chocolate croissant before Italy. We do not have anything like the pastries in America.

We start swerving in and out of cars and alleys again while I giggle and swing my hair from side to side and put my hands in the air. He winks at me in the mirror; I smile and wrap my hands tighter around his small but muscular frame.

     We pull up to the beach front where we started hours earlier, and he asks me if I have his telecomander and keys. Huh? I say No, I do not have your keys, as he tells me he loses his keys all the time and he is digging deep in his pockets and turning his D&G jeans inside out. I start laughing because I can never find my keys either, we both start cracking up laughing and finally he finds them.

    

          We get back on the devilcycle, he knows exactly where I live. Thanks Italian mamma and papa: they are always looking out for me, if not literally at the time in the way of being a wealthy family. He drops me off and hands me my chocolate treat, he kisses my hand as he helps me off the bike. He asks me if I want to go to the end of the street to make out, I don’t think he gets it. I am never going out with you again runs through my mind. You’re a charming devil in D&G from toe to manbag.

     He speeds off and I am left at the front gate. I rummage through my purse looking for my damn telecomander to open the two private gates to my family (when I say my family I am referring to the family I am living with in Italy not my actual family) “Shit, I murmur…shiiittt; ohhh what is that?”  I spot the chocolate croissant at the bottom of my bag. I bite into it while kneeling on the ground with the contents of my bag spread on the sand filled driveway. Shiitt, but ummmm Oh Mio Dio, that’s the best freaking think I have ever had I say out loud to myself.

     Chocolate oozes out and it is still warm from the oven, flakes from the croissant are all over my lip gloss on the ground and chocolate is on my hands. Oh shit again, I am going to have to jump this gate and fence in skinny jeans and six inch heels. Here goes nothing, I pray no one sees me and the family is sleeping.

    

I say a silent prayer in Sanskrit. I hold the chocolate goodness in my hand as I put a foot on the gate and start to climb the enormous medal gate with iron spikes at the top for decoration. I stop mid way to take another bite and wonder if they have cameras, I wave and say ciao just in case…blop and safe perfect ten landing as I jump down. I take a pretend bow and give a gymnastic hand raise with one pastry filled hand and say thank you thank you to my pretend audience

     I take another bite, holly cow that is good. Your welcome Italy I say to the camera and give a chocolaty toothy grin. For a second I think about going back to look for the telecommander, no way and I head to the kitchen instead. Feeling like a guilty teenager taking a sip of mom’s booze. Guilty as charged. I wish they had one of those huge pastry machines in their kitchen, they look like they could catapult a small human from. I stand in the kitchen wondering how they could catapult a croissant to me from the shop to the house.

     I settle for a cookie and go back outside to the guest house tip toeing like a child. Shhhh,  I loose track of reality and time. And think of a lie of what happened to my telecomander… Well you see, what happen was, I was going for a run and it must have slipped out of my sports bar. Yes, of course and then a car hit it, that damn bastard was going way to fast.

      I pass out and wake up to my phone beeping the next morning. It’s the Devil in D&G he wants to see me again, “come to my beach today” “Va Bene, okay okay. I am not going I’ll make him sweat it out a little first. Prego Italia!