No pictures from today, so if you're waiting for photos, go ahead and google Rome and look at the images tab. Today was a great day. Plain and simple, with no complaints. I woke up at 8, left the apartment at 9 and reached the town of the beach around 10:30. I was picked up by my coworker Sara, and her husband. They brought me to their house, where their two sons and nephew greeted me. We then went to the beach. We were at the beach until 5, came back to the house, showered and returned to the beach for dinner around 7:30. I left the beach at 10, caught the train home and now you find me here writing a blog. Now to fill in the details.
The two boys are blond, one's 9 the other is 7 and they have a lot of energy. Looking at them reminded me fondly of Mark and myself, two little balls of energy that find trouble for themselves and others. The cousin is 14, and is in that stage of life when things get awkward for guys. We're shy, have trouble being confident around women, and have no idea where we fit in this big wide world. We all go through that stage, and different people get out of it quicker, which I told his worried aunt and uncle. The three kids speak very little English, and this was really my first situation where I had to throw up my hands and confess I couldn't communicate. They were shocked at how tall I was, and they asked if I played basketball for my university. I said no, but I play for my intermural league, and it all just spiraled down from there. "What are intermurals?" Well there are 29 houses at my university and so I play for one house against the other 28. "What do you mean houses?" Well do you know the movie Harry Potter. "What's Harry Potter?" They would stop and yell for their parents whenever a word came up they didn't know. In their defense they knew Harry Potter, I was just pronouncing it wrong (who knew).
We went to the beach and had a great time, with sun, surf and sandwiches. This was a private beach, with no English speakers as far as the eye could see. One group of people that weren't far enough away were the salesmen. You would see one coming, in long pants and shirt, pushing either a cart or carrying a large stack of shades, hats, purses, bikinis and so forth and so on. It was really ridiculous to see them laboring through the sand, to talk to people who don't like you, and to sell a product that might produce 10-50 euro in a day. There's a better time, place and way to make money. We had loads of fun at the beach and the waves were great for body-surfing. I put on sunscreen four times (I was probably the whitest one in a 10 mile radius) but am still burnt.
We came back from the beach and showered and relaxed a little before dinner. The family has a house that was build in the late 70s, with many of its original fixtures, including a weird shower. This was more of a tub, with a hose (was a shower curtain and higher hose placement really that complicated of an idea that the people in the 70s didn't go with that?) and no barrier. It had hot and cold water and I needed a shower, so it all worked out. This was a small town, so we had to go out and look for a ticket for the train back to Rome (the train station closes at 3 on Sundays, leaving the platform open until 10 pm). We found a ticket place and then Eugenio, Sara's husband took me to a WW2 cemetery. It turns out that this beach/area I was in had been a major allied landing point during WW2. The cemetery was full of allied shoulders from all over the world. There were two things striking to me about this experience. The first, was that I'm old enough to die in war. Sure I have lots of buddies in ROTC, and you hear about soldiers younger than me dying on the news, but it was different to see a tombstone that says "Sgt. XXXXX, who died to serve others, 20 years old. His memory will never be forgotten by his two little daughters and loving wife." And that last bit was the really sad part. War is terrible, death is terrible, sadness is terrible. But what about being forgotten. Sure this Sgt's daughters are probably in their 60s now, and my parents certainly remember their deceased relatives, but what about in 30 years. Not every grave of every dead man can be decorated, but if you leave nothing to remember you by, then history will move on without your name, and maybe even your battle, being recorded. I have no idea where I'm going with this, so I'll move to the second point. The United States doesn't have any history. Take our 200+ years and do whatever you want with it, that barely counts. You can't sneeze in Italy without uncovering a grave site and you could skydive blindly from an airplane, anywhere into the country, and land probably within a 20 mile radius of a Roman/Etruscan/Greek/WW1/WW2/Civil Wars etc. etc battleground. The US doesn't have that.
We had dinner at the beach, and it was a really interesting social experiment. All ages were represented, from the three year old who stole our ping-pong ball to the 5-6-7 year old boys running around (you can tell the difference between the size of a 5 and 7 year old, who knew?) to 20 somethings enjoying drinks and smokes, to the parents on the deck, to grandmothers looking on, to mothers expecting, all listening to American music from days gone by (see Beach Boys and Elvis). Really neat to see the different ages, actions, and attitudes.
I rode the train home and a guy tried to sell me weed. I politely declined, and he confessed that the reason he sells weed is that he needs two euros to get into the disco. I gave him two euros and sent him on his way. Usually I don't like contributing to the delinquency, but I thought it easier to part with two euros, than to refuse and get into an altercation with a stoner and his two buddies. I walked home, and discovered that it had rained in Rome during the day. You know those 7 hills (it's really more like 12, since the expansion of the city)? Let's just say that when it rains, there are more rivers in the city than the Tiber. The water hustles down the hills, dragging trash, creating lakes, and soaking this tourists sneakers and socks (turns out my Nikes are no longer water proof). I would hate to see if it rained for several days in Rome, because I was genuinely concerned for any small cats and dogs trying to navigate against the rivers.
I have a lot of tentative plans for tomorrow, any or all of which might pan out. I'll get up in the morning and play it by ear. Cheers to you, Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you may know.
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