Even though it makes me sad thinking about how many places in this world I will never see first hand, still I can’t really complain.
I guessed I had a pretty decent share of traveling in my life.
I traveled thru most of Europe: England (where I have been 4 times), France, Austria, Switzerland, Germany, Spain. I went to Yugoslavia, Corsica and the other islands of the Mediterranean Sea. I naturally visited Italy in wide and length, and since I moved here I visited also 18 American states traveling down to visit Mexico and up to Canada .
I indeed have seen many beautiful places.
My daughter had her first transoceanic flight at the tender age of 2 months but my first international dip in the wide world (not the virtual one) happened a lot later than hers.
I was 15 y-o when my father, out of the blue, asked me if, for a chance, I would have liked to go with him to London.
His request generated waves of surprised looks and resentment in the family. My brother was convinced that, being him Firstborn, was his no questionable right to go.
Instead, my father picked me.
He knew better: I was good at school with my English, my brother instead couldn’t carry on the smallest conversation. Guess it was a natural selection.
Also my father was feeling more comfortable with me. We understood each other pretty much. And so we left.
My first flight experience was pretty nice and fortunately short. We arrived at Heathrow and took a taxi to our hotel without missing a beat.
The next day London opened up her beauty to me like a rose.
I fell in love with the city. The red double decks buses, the red telephone boots, those black, big taxis, those young electric vibes..... those old grumpy ladies. Yes, one of them slammed the tip of her umbrella on my foot so hard one day just because I didn’t see her and I slightly bumped on her. She yelled something in some sort of English I didn’t understand and stormed away. Can’t forget her... ...lol....
London was a dream for a teenager like me, full of History lessons and love sonnets by Shakespeare and full immersion romance in Bronte, on the verge of discovering her sensuality, taking her first steps to independence and with a head full of books and songs.
After visiting the British Museum, Hyde Park, Big Ben, and any other possible turistic attractions I successfully forced my father to go to Portobello Road one day......everybody in the city seemed to be there......the crowded small street was packed with vendors of any kind...I bought some cute small iron ink stamps with gothic letters, a t-shirt, a set of beautiful letter and envelopes...
(I wrote to my girlfriend from the hotel room that night just blabbering no-stop about London.....and with her years later I would have finally come back).
I remember people sitting on their window frames playing guitars and bongos..... all those beautiful London girls who were wearing the most creative and amazing outfits, all that young people looked so cool, trendy, happy.
I wanted move there after only one day. My heart was waiting only to be broken.
How couldn’t I fall in love in the magic land of William and Anna Bolena?
And in love i fell indeed.
On the lazy, dirty green and slow waters of the river Thames.
My father had met a group of Italians in our same hotel and they suggested to go with them to Stratford-On-Avon, the city of Shakespeare.
We would have gone on a river boat.
I couldn’t wait for the trip.
Little I knew that the river boat would have been a sweet torture device for me.
Because on that river boat was working my English boy. My first English speaking crush.
He was probably 18, tall, lean, and with a head full of curly long blond-reddish hair. Blue eyes and a skin so fair you might have thought he could pass for a girl.
I noticed him immediately.
I pretended an intense admiration for the indeed gorgeous view we were feasted on .......but my eyes were glancing at him every 5 minutes. In front of us were passing by slowly and full of history the most beautiful mansions with their impeccable gardens, surrounded by deep green woods and sweet hills...the English country side I always imagined reading “Pride and Prejudice”.....
It was also a gorgeous September day...and I had my hair cut just the day before.
I know, mixing Shakespeare with an hair cut seems a sacrilege but.... hey, give me a break.......only the day before I had my first international hair cut. I was feeling really pretty and so different from my old image and so lucky, the luckiest girl on Earth.
My father was busy talking and laughing with his new friends......they were drinking some Scotch on the deck.....I walked as closest as possible to the pilot cabin.
Where my English boy was sitting.
I pretended to take some pictures of the river shore. And I stopped in front of the cabin’s door.
When I turned my head, slightly, to check on him, my heart stopped to beat.
His eyes were there. He was staring at me. He had found me too.
Our eyes got locked for what it seemed an eternity.
So many years had passed by and I still can see him.
His hair gently pushed by the breeze against his rose colored cheeks, his serious and intense face that slowly opened to a short, shy smile. I smiled timidly back.
We would hunt for those looks until the end of that river trip. We would make this silly dance...each of us walking closer and closer to each other. Once in a while though he would run to take care of something on the other side of the boat...but he would always find the way to come back where I was.
I was already day dreaming of finding the courage to speak to him in his language, forgetting my burning embarrassment and my shyness...I was dreaming he would tell me how beautiful I was and that he wanted me to see me again....
But....all those dreaming stares had made me forget about the time...and the end of the boat tour was getting closer.
Until we arrived. The boat attacked at the same pier we left some hours earlier, when I had no idea of his presence in the world and I was feeling the luckiest girl in the world.
Now I was feeling the most desperate one.
I just couldn’t bear the idea of getting off that boat and leave.
What would have happened if I could have stayed longer?
Would he have come closer, finally?
Would he have talked to me?
Would he have maybe kissed me, a sweet, quick kiss hiding from the rest of the passengers, holding my hands tight?
I was a nerve wreck, but the captain of the boat didn’t have mercy on me.
We attracted at the dock in perfect time.
I tried to stay behind, letting all the other passengers and my father and his friends getting off before me.
I was looking at him but he was too busy now with the docking maneuvers.
At the end, I had to leave. Our tour bus was waiting close to the pier...
I had to get on. I felt like I was going to the guillotine....like Anna Bolena..
I seated on the last row on the back, so I could still seeing him, until the last minute.
(I can still see him) He was standing on the top of the cabin sweeping it with a broom....I know he was there so I could see him better......there are things you just don’t need to have explained. .I knew it like I knew I was alive that he was feeling my same sadness for that moment.
So I just looked, and looked at him....so intensely that my eyes were hurting..
The cruel bus started its engine, the ignorant people around me was talking happily about the great tour.
I was devastated.
I thought....I didn’t even tell him my name, I don’t even know his name.
Will he look at the bus?
Will he run after me? (yes, I was that helplessly romantic)
And so I finally gathered the courage to take a picture of him. I wanted do it so much on the boat....
I clicked and trapped him forever with me. I have that picture ...still...
The bus made it first move....my heart sank...it was over...i was leaving...
But then....he lifted his head and stop sweeping...he had heard the engine roaring and he walked closer to the edge of the cabin deck.
And he did something that made me feel again the luckiest girl on Earth....
He smiled and waved his hand at me.
Me.
I immediately waved back to him, a huge smile on my face.
Stunned, surprised, like I had won the lottery.
I kept looking at him and waving, waving until his figure got blurred out and became confused forever in the distance.
Only then I turned my head.
I smiled all the way to our hotel.
Because that impossible English boy liked me.
And I was happy.
Do you have any memorable episode from any of your trips?
