On the Road Again (part 1)

My last few days in Sicily were accompanied by the arrival of autumn. The sun became shy and the rain took its place. The wind shifted and  I had no choice but to succumb to the direction that it blew. I was carried North to where summer was still shinning and to where new friends were waiting my arrival.  


In a small village near Cinque Terre, I met Stefania (maybe you remember her from the dive shop?) and her two friends Marta and Bram. Marta and Bram are a pair of earthly lovers who operate and maintain a Bed and Breakfast/Organic Farm and Garden. The GIARDINO DEGLI ANGELI  has been hosting guests for the better part of a decade, and it receives many regular visitors who go to enjoy a weekend close to nature. The farm, on the other hand, has not been greeted with the same generous accommodations. Twelve hundred square meters of olive trees had been abandoned before Marta and Bram arrived. Countless plots of what would be oil producing plants are overgrown with all kinds of unwanted vegetation.  However, in the four months that our sustainability seeking couple has been working the land, they have transformed a section of the olive jungle into a beautifuly manicured field. Rock walls and gardens give a hint to what the entire property will look like when time has allowed their effort to show. 

The BnB from one of the unfinished gardens 

This town rests above the sea. It is a village that has its own dialect and a square spongy pasta that you can not find in other regions. It is a hidden gem with a simple tradition that is alive and evident as you walk down the paths and through the streets.  

Marta's passion for green life is apparent as she leads a nature walk

This region of Italy is far different from the dusty hills of Sicily 

When I used to think of Italy I did not think of the wilderness, that has changed

 I hope my interest did not bother her, but her scarf was so colorful

 Bram imagines him and his friends inhabiting the homes in this small piazza, I can see it now Belgium beer and chickens everywhere!

Almost, a familiar pair of green eyes

...Over a year ago Jennifer painted for me a beautiful blue dragonfly. Soon after the dragonfly entered my life I flew to Nicaragua to visit my cousin, MJ. It was there I found, in every stream, pond, and river, many metallic blue dragonflies that were the same kind as the one in Jennifer's painting. Sitting on the bank of a rainy season raging river the air moved swiftly over the water and I felt that I was exactly where the universe wanted me to be. 

It turns out, dragonflies are most flexible with their travel plans. With thin delicate wings, dragonflies are in constant danger of damaging their means of transportation. When even the smallest breeze passes by, they must not resist the direction of the wind. If they do not let the moving air take them where it is going their wings will tear from opposition and they will die. 

This metaphor has been inspiration for my travels. My itinerary is with the wind, and it is taking me to places I had no initial intention to go. 

To Be Continued...

The Sea by Day, Castle by Night, A day in the life...

"The sun's warm glow mingles with the salty breeze that carries the smell of the sea, and the life it fosters, to my nose. Boisterous voices exchange passionate conversations in the street and a familiar voice sings, "Nicky" off the sea-foam-green balcony. It is Dani, my sister. I must be in Sicily!"   

It has been six weeks since my arrival in Sicily, and yes I have been indulging. "Real" pizza has been a meal many times. Bathing in the Mediterranean happens in intervals of 24-hours or less. Oh, and creamy gelato has melted on my tongue and slide down my throat regularly. I have taken it from a cone, from a spoon, through a straw and smeared in the middle of sweet bread, a brioche. Although I can taste the roast in the hazelnut gelato and the pistachio flavor is sweet and salty, the dive season is coming to a close and I feel as though this island and I have shared enough, for now.    


It is rare that travel is routine, but at the dive shop I have had a daily schedule. A day in the life.... 

Each morning begins inside the "Dive Flag Tower." It is 3 levels. Stefania sleeps on the top floor and acts as my alarm as she passes the second floor to start the day.

Task 1 of the day: Prepare Tanks

When all is ready we leave land behind...

We do the work, our guests enjoy the ride

Whenever this life seems like I dream all I need to do is look to Antonio's (the Diveleader in training) arm to remind me where I am

Giovanni, my host and Divemaster, briefs the group on the dive site

"me"

After the dive and after a pasta lunch, it is time to find some shade around the shop

  

The sun falls from its peak and late afternoon arrives.  A soft sensation wakes me from a nap. I give my attention to hear the call of the plants on the hillside garden. They are asking for water.  This place is not an official WWOOF, but it surely is a Barnstorming. 

This terrace style garden is home to a grove of young trees

The fruit love the view

Maybe it's the environment, but some of the plants look like they could be found swimming in the Sea

Night creeps over the tower as blue skies fade to purple. A typical night out is a walk for gelato... 

On the way we see...

Fishing boats eager for morning's catch

Stefania as a shadow model in front of the Castle

The Castle that gives the town its name, Castellammare

On this night a music festival! 

 A lone guitarist wails overhead, in an archway 

 He belongs with this five piece group (if you include the pooch) playing, a funk like trance set, on the steps

 A fire show too...

His name is Bunda and he is from The Czech Republic

Almost forgot the point of the walk...At last

Moon light illuminates the old port town, but when the sun fills the streets I will start it all again

That is until Wednesday when I say goodbye to Sicily...

Mighty Oregon

Part of travel is noticing the differences between your 'normal' life and life on the road. As September progresses my internal clock indicates that it is time to make preparations for the old life it is used to. In my 'past-life' at this time of year I would be readying myself for University of Oregon academics and Ducks football. In honor of my Alma Mater, instead of covering myself in yellow and green, I share with you one of my first memories at Oregon. 

The chief stressful assignment for any U of O student is to navigate through the task of getting a ticket to the first football game. Although the era of camping out has come to rest, the treasure of admission into the sea of yellow is now much more complicated than a few easy clicks. Nonetheless, soaking slumber parties in the EMU lawn or the furious fasten to your laptop, the reward roars identically. No magnitude of watts can measure the voltage that is incased by Autzen Stadium. Without effort I can revisit the start of my evolution of becoming a Duck to the day of my first football game.

It was, as always, the most anticipated party of the weekend. Only the invited were in attendance; the ticket-less hidden in their dorms rooms with shame. Christmas morning cannot compare, unless you have fifty-nine thousand brothers and sisters racing to the tree. The feeling of game day is distinct.

As Dave, my LLC dorm roommate, and I trickled down our hall we merged with a larger stream of ducklings. As we marched past Carson and along side Hamilton the small sources grew into a babbling, barking brook of tenderfoot Duck fans.

By the time we reached the Willamette River the flow of yellow poured across the footbridge. Inconspicuous as a rookie, the flock took me over the river and through the woods. With each step I became more deeply embedded with the path, the people, and the present. Suddenly, I turned a bend and the unifying force caught my eye. Through the earth colored silhouette of trees the “O” made its first appearance. 

The sight of Autzen overwhelmed my soul. Joy, exuberance, fanaticism, and love penetrated my life. At that moment I knew I was a Duck.    

As a Duck your duty is to roar and rampage; to channel your vibrations into each game. I was quick to learn my role in the exotic Graceland north of the river. I wonder if kick-off reaches the same amplitude without me...

Azzurro

Update: I have been volunteering at the SCUBA-dive shop Centro Sub Atlantis in Castellamare, Sicily. Position: tank caddy. Duties: moving equipment, filling tanks, overseeing dives, and maintaining up-keep around the shop. Pay: boat-rides, lunch, diving, and starting tomorrow a place to sleep. Please come with me into this journey...


I never remember my last breath of natural air once I am submerge under a body of water. My focus is always on the current breath, which comes from a cast-iron tank attached to my back. As long as my lungs are not deprived, my sight stays heavily absorbed with shades of blue. 


I enter the shimmering sea knowing a WWII shipwreck is soon to be explored, but now in the shallows there is only empty blue underneath. However, distance begins to separate me from the surface. With each meter that adds to the gap I discover light at a depth undetectable from above, but the bottoms is still not visible. Cautious of the possibility that I will drop endlessly into nothing like an anxious dream, I look up to gain comfort from the boat floating overhead. Now a shady figure creates a disturbance in the endless spectrum of blue. Getting closer reveals a body with tremendous size. It is not until I hover over her bow that the ship's whole form is unveiled. 


Viewing the ship from this position I only sense the death of the 1943 sailors, the feeling is morbid, yet calm. She lies to rest 115ft below the waves she used to sit atop of. Death always feels silent, but there is no silence equivelent to the one within the mass of the sea. 


Although it is quiet, the world I am intruding into does not stay hidden for long. Fish swarm and circle with no fear, sea plants and sea fans wave gracefully as I glide by. An Amore Eel snakes out from under a piece of shipwreck. From above I can observe this creature without being detected and without being intimidated. Its dark purple skin ripples gently and the yellow specks along its sides flutter like dandy-lions in the breeze. I feel drawn to this eel, but under water I cannot spend all day. Moving on, in and out of cabins of the ship, through the engine room to the top deck, I stop and look down into a portal showing only blackness. Captured by the mystery of what may be below I stare, and as if it could feel my attention something stirrers. Moment by moment a long thin fish slowly creeps its way out of the hole. The fish is grey, absent of color, like a gost. Its head flat, its eyes white like something without a soul, but I know it sees me. We are looking at each other straight in the eyes. The fish's stair overpowers me. I lose my calm. Slowly, I back away, watching the fish do the same. Respect for the fish also feels like fear. I am an intruder. 

Carlos, a Brazilian man, took these photos on our latest dive (no ship, sorry)

Back on land having been inspired, I write this poem... 


Blue means more than just the sea. Rich and empty, calm and cruel, if you look you can see worlds within worlds. Which do you resist, to which do you flee? 


Enter this blue its layers, its currents. Free yourself of the mystery and drought of the surface, the waves torment all but those who enter. So, enter and sink to where the light from the sun reaches you barely, but its warmth is lost in the molecules above. 
View yourself as the ocean, having a bottom to be discovered. Spend life straining to reach your own deepest parts, and all you will find is blue. This blue, the blues. 


Under the sea I see life. Life among life among death among life. Above I see blue too, with no point of completion far to wide to ponder an end. Whispering possibility with silence, never pulling you apart. View yourself as you view this blue, view yourself as the sky. 

Me (left) going to help another diver who is having trouble near the rocks 

Follow the fish into the abyss