We didn’t think we would go to Siena, because Siena is heavy with hills. We would go along the (much flatter) coast. But, we’ve been told by a few people that Siena is one of Italy’s most beautiful cities. Which is great. But this scenario is us of something: we never know where we are going. Ever. This fact is radical, and atrocious. Sometimes it makes us feel so free, because it is really powerful to be able to change our mind any moment we like – but just the same, it is despairing. Is it inherent for a traveler to maintain big flexibility? Ought we make some real decisions, and role with them? We don’t know. And we think maybe we never really will. But, Siena. It’s supposed to be lovely. In my mind it is in sepia.
I eat so much garlic, that I cannot taste it unless it’s fresh. I am not sure if this is bad. I eat it like an apple – but between bites of food. Maybe my body demands it. I think so. Marc, our friend in Grosetto, says that every traveler who comes to his house eats lots of garlic. Yes, I think it is the Adventurer’s food, and here’s to keeping my backpack full of it.
Cyclists (generally) do not need to be honked at. I, for one, Hate it. It makes me panic – assuming that there isn’t enough room in the road, and we carefully slide across the precious centimeters towards the (often sharp, drastic, dangerous) curb; and the truck roasts the road at 100 in a completely clear lane. Please, no more honking.