I have always loved swimming. Growing up in South Africa I would spend all day in the swimming pool; when we came to Canada that changed to lakes and rivers. In the summer, I'd jump at any chance to go with my friends to their family cottages in Muskoka and spend all day either swimming in the lake, lying on the rocks or dock by the water, or going out in the boat. I am rarely so at peace as when I'm lying on my back with the dark sky above me, the water lapping against the rocks and the loons calling hauntingly from their nests. I like to count the stars as they come out until they start appearing too quickly for me to keep track of anymore. I can even (almost) ignore the mosquitos on nights like that. The whole experience soothes my soul.
When I was very young my parents used to take us to the seaside about once a year to visit with my dad's family, but I don't remember much of it; mostly I know because of photos. So I don't remember much about being at the seaside as a kid or ever swimming in the sea, though I've been to beaches since then. When you live in England, it's so easy to get to the coast: Brighton is only twenty minutes away by train. Margate and Broadstairs on the Kent coast are only 45 minutes. Being by the sea is almost as soothing as a night by the lake. The rush of the waves against the shore and the way the water and the sky stretch out before me in a seemingly never-ending expanse mean I can literally turn my back on the city and all the people and pretend there's nothing but me and that endless, powerful, encompassing pulse. I feel as though I could get lost in it sometimes. Sean and I spent a few days in Barcelona earlier this August and I found out what it really felt like to lose myself in the waves. (Don't worry, I don't mean I almost drowned.) Swimming in the sea was probably one of the best experiences of the holiday. I kept stumbling in the sand as the waves alternated between pushing me towards the shore and pulling me out to sea. And then I was swimming, moving up and down with each wave until my arms grew tired and I couldn't touch bottom or feel the waves breaking anymore. I felt the swell against my body though, lifting me up and then leaving me behind, hiding Sean briefly as it came between us until he too was lifted up and then dropped down in front of me. I couldn't stop laughing and I kept swallowing salt water and choking on the bitter taste and then laughing some more. I had water in my nose, salt in the back of my throat, the waves kept washing my hair into my eyes, my shoulders and legs were starting to ache with the effort of treading water, and I don't think I could have been any happier than while trying to keep my head above the waves. Lying on the beach afterwards, I couldn't help but laugh a little as I realised I could feel the salt on my skin as I dried in the sun, which made Sean look over. When I told him why I was laughing he laughed too and started brushing the salt off my neck and shoulders. It was an idyllic way to wind down after a day of sightseeing in the city. Tags
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It's hard to get an accurate picture of what a country is like when you're travelling through it as a tourist. You only really see what people want you to, the picture painted for tourists.
I loved Italy. I only saw a tiny fraction of it, and most of what I saw was packed with non-Italians. Nonetheless, it was a fantastic experience. Particularly Rome. Rome was probably my favourite part of the six days we spent there! When we went to collect our Omnia passes from the office in Rome, I remember thinking that the fellow explaining them to us was so very Italian (stereotyping, I know...). He spoke very energetically, repeating words and phrases until we were suitably excited. And, of course, gesticulating enthusiastically throughout. My favourite moment was when he was explaining the skip-the-line element. "When you go to these places, like St Peter's, or the Colosseum, there will be long lines. Two-hour long lines, with impatient people. But you don't need to wait, you just walk past them. You can hold out your pass and wave at them! Just like Mr Bean." (He then performed an excellent Mr Bean impression). As we laughed, he then said, "Don't really do that. You'll make people angry." That laid back sense of humour was our first taste of what I think might be the general tone of Italy. If you are an impatient person, or someone who always feels the need to rush, Italy probably isn't for you. Italians take their time. They're not lazy, by any means. Nor were they exactly slow. They were just...unhurried.
We missed our train to Verona when we were in Florence because I read our ticket wrong. But when we spoke to the attendant at the station, he had a quick look at the tickets and said, "Okay, no problem. We'll swap these for you." He then handed them to another bored-looking attendant who immediately started typing on his computer. The first man wondered off and Isabelle and I stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do. Wait for the young man to finish swapping our tickets? Was that what he was doing? He didn't say anything, so we couldn't tell... It probably took him about five or ten minutes to sort it, and he handed us our new tickets and muttered something in English.
"Grazie," I said to him, which is Italian for 'thank you' and he broke into the biggest grin I'd seen that day. He looked like a completely different guy with that smile! "Prego! Have a lovely day!" He replied as Isabelle and I went to catch our new train, Isabelle laughing about how much he'd smiled when I spoke Italian to him. I think that can probably be said of most countries though; if you are willing to at least try speaking to them in their own language, the locals will be much more friendly and willing to help. (Except perhaps France, where they'd rather you not butcher their beloved language with your awful accent. BIG TIP: If you learned French in Canada this is doubly true.) Overall the locals were really good about offering us directions and advice when we paused to ask, but there were definitely moments where we also got the "ugh, tourists" eye-roll.
What else do I have to say about Italy that hasn't been said better by someone else? It's incredible. The ocean, the history, the food, the weather...loved every minute. Next time I go back to Italy though, I think a beach day (or week) is in order.
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