Franz Boas and the Italian freeway system

The truth of it is...yesterday was a challenge. And I say challenge specifically because that's the way I will need to see it to avoid running away. Yes, there I said it, yesterday I wanted to pack up and leave. I wanted to run away from the food, the culture, the bikes, all of it! but mostly the challenge. And the challenges here are big ones that most of us would take for granted back home, things like being able to read a street sign, or knowing that by putting a far away city on a directional sign, what its creator meant to do was elude to that general direction, say, SOUTH for instance. The thing that got me most about yesterday was not feeling lost, with a GPS, a map, AND Google directions mind you, it was not the extremely frustrating fact that when you miss an exit (or take the wrong exit) on the Italian Autostrada, you are fairly fucked for the next 20-50km until there is another one, and even then there is no guarantee that that exit has a return to put you back in the right direction, it was the way I handled the challenge.

I'm sure that in another months time I will appreciate the Autostrada for its design and implementation, surely and purposefully built to get from point A to point B with the fewest on and off ramps as possible so as to keep the flow crankin, cause it really does move pretty well, very few traffic jams... but yesterday I wanted to stop the van, get out, uproot a tree stump and start dismantling it by hand, with all the rage and fury of a displaced stubborn arrogant 'Merican!

The thing that got me most was that I knew the way I was feeling was irrational. I spent a good chunk of time in 2009 not really knowing where I was going - didn't bother me then. I was recalling trips made for work and going blindly into a small mountain town towing a big trailer at that, finding an address, and meeting new people when I delivered beer, making connections, truly making friends that I would stay in contact with to this day. My mind was all twisted around a handful of facts yesterday and not able to stop and regroup, and I wanted a cigarette real bad!! More than all of these things together though I felt like I was failing, again.

What is it about a challenge that gets us so excited, succeed or fail? Sometimes the challenges we face are small, and sometimes they are the specific ones we have sought out, sometimes they are purposeful, sometimes they are given to us by some unknown force or karmic spirit that just serves to test people's mettle, served on a dull plastic platter with a garnish of horse shit and we just have to get through it. And when we do come through the other side of a difficult situation, how many people out there actually process what really happened? This is where I am accused (rightfully so) of thinking too much. We have all watched friends go down the wrong road over and over again and wish that they could somehow see things differently, maybe from our point of view, and stop the repetitious destructive choosing. Hell, that's been ME, and nothing any of you said or did made a lick of difference at the time. I probably chalked it up to some relativistic or situational understanding that only I could see at the time and because of this particularly privileged point of view my friends were just not able to see the reasons why my behaviour made perfect sense to me. Most of the time that proved to be a complete crock of shit and you were mostly right, I was just trying to justify my stupidity. But its that point of view, that narrow in times of crisis point of view that really got me yesterday. I sat in the passenger seat, fuming mad, staring out the window, trying to remain both critical and reflexive of the stupid boyish fit I had just performed for James (and a witness always makes it tough cause you cant pretend no one saw you acting like a little spoiled brat!) and trying to remain angry with a view of the rolling and twisting Tuscan spring country side out the friggen window!

What a complete ASS!!!

But an over-thinking, overly critical ass without an excuse to let that happen again, I hope. At one point I actually asked James what role he thought lactic acid build up played on mood, cause I was feeling pretty sore and it always makes me cranky. I also dreamed of a roadside Starbucks with a nice piping hot gigantic 20oz cup of mildly disgusting coffee that I could nurse all day for little caffeine boosts when I need it. All in all though I think its my point of view. Yesterday was the first time we tried the Autostrada, and it was a bit confusing and we a bit unprepared. It is NOT a straight 'Merican freeway with big signs, loads of lighting, and usually either a north-south or east-west orientation, the numbers to name it corresponding to this grid-like construct. But it makes perfect sense to the millions of Italians who use it every day, so it must not be that confusing. (Let's all say it together; cul-tu-ral rel-a-tiv-ism....) Its also a toll road and I have a whole new appreciation for those who approach the toll booth of the Oakland Bay Bridge in SF with a lump of trepidation in their throat and a speedy heart rate.

I guess I'm going to stay. I'm going to hang some maps up in my room, maybe take down the girly-posters in the shop and hang up some maps in there too (probably not), commit to figuring out that god-damned GPS, the freeways, the toll roads, Italian street signs, and as much as I can without the language, (Which will be another post later this week, because without language you are lost even if you know where you are.) and be thankful for this opportunity to challenge myself, alone here in a world where I don't speak enough of the language to get myself out of trouble and have at my disposal everything I need to get myself INTO trouble. A couple posts ago I mentioned this is how we figure out who we really are right? Times of crisis. Here's hoping I can handle it a little better than I did yesterday. And keep in mind that this IS the new normal. And its pretty great.

S.