Day 498: Loved Up

I can’t actually count the times I’ve laughed today, just so, often alone. Or yesterday. I’ve flown to Rome and back twice in the last week, on easyJet. Neil Bett (aaah, what a lovely man) has been getting me speedy boarding tickets and seats at the front, so I’ve had the pleasure of watching the flight attendants. Today, one of them called the girl at the back, all irate, because apparently, he’d missed it when she’d said ‘potato’ and he wanted her to do it again. When she finally did (“we have snacks on board, including chocolate, peanuts and potato crisps”), the two of them at the front cracked up and rejoiced. Such simple fun. Earlier today, I was remembering a similar thing… an old boyfriend from university times, Hugo, used to say ‘un mes’ (one month) in his best ever Spanish accent, which used to make us both howl with laughter. How can two little syllables be so hilarious. And not. And still...

First few washes with Pope hand

The thing that triggered that memory was my own self-induced glee at the idea of a souvenir ‘Pope soap’ to take home to Ruth. I didn’t find one, but the glee remained, even though I won’t (yet) get to say “I’ve brought you back a Pope soap”. 

Rome is full of papal memorabilia. And sex shops. I am the weaver, so I got to wondering about Pope fetishism. If there are people who dress in baby clothes and crawl around, and all the thousands of other very specific fetish areas that exist, and it’s true that forbidden things are often very compelling, it follows that there must be people who fantasize about that, mustn’t there? Whether or not it’s true, it certainly helped me enjoy that little touch more the millions of Pope images I came across yesterday. On the other end of the scale, how not on would you feel, as a good Catholic, if your subconscious gave you a papal sexydream? Hail Marys would only make it worse! Honestly, if that’s happened to you, I’m sorry.

Rome really is amazing. I walked so much yesterday, I got two hard, pea-like blisters from my boots. It’s hard to go anywhere in the centre of Rome without stumbling across something beautiful. I saw so many stunning churches, statues, fountains, buildings, ruins, sets of steps, trees and cityscapes, and an elephant with an unfeasibly long trunk. The Trevi fountain was so busy on Monday night that I went back early yesterday. I caught a small part of the dawn, which was lovely, and saw it, and the Spanish steps, before the masses arrived. I wasn’t the first, of course, but it was possible to be there without the view being mostly backpacks, poses cameras at arm’s length.

I almost cried at my zucchini white pizza. Well, not almost. I did cry, I just kept it in a bit. Not sure why… I was suddenly terribly moved, feeling all grateful and loving. I have so very many delicious people in my life. There I was, sitting alone at a very Italian pizza bar, filled with locals and tourists in equal measure, with the luck to be here and the liberty to do what I want. Part of me wanted just to let it all out. Part of me didn’t. Both parts got their way to some extent.

All the old boyfriend thinking (¡un mes!) has got me on a bit of a realisation too. For a large number of years, I’ve made myself suffer under the delusion that I haven’t been loved… It’s true that I haven’t had any very long relationships, and that those that I did happened before I was 25, but it’s just not true at all that I haven’t been loved. Funny Belgian Hugo would have loved me if I’d let him – he probably did love me. At the time, though, I was busy being loved by French Christophe, though not the love of my life to be, possibly very close to that position so far. We loved each other, definitely. Again, I made it hard for him and it was me who cut off contact and behaved in unkind ways as I ended the relationship.

In the naming, I’ll stick to people who are unlikely to read the blog, but there have been many, and the beautiful King Prawn was up there with the best of them. I made it so hard for him that we never really had a ‘proper’ relationship, whatever that means, but I loved him (and still do, though not in that way) and I think he loved me. What about the love letters from Bulgarian Georgi, probably a bendy yoga teacher now? In my mind, that had become a memory of a fling (though the initation of it was heady and exciting), but it wasn’t a fling, not for him. Had I let him in, it might not have been for me, either. What a clever, interesting, resourceful man he was. And Israeli Amnon, such a warm and gifted creature. And Sussex Alex, golfer James… so many relationships that maybe, yes, were wrong, but not for lack of offered love and good intentions.

I am thankful for all the men (and one woman) who have tried to love me, for longer or shorter times, each in different ways, and whom I’ve blocked out. I’m grateful for people who loved me even when I didn’t know, want, accept or acknowledge it. And that’s just romantic love. God, I just don’t have the words. It’s time to change this unhelpful memory of scarcity. It’s just not the truth, so if anyone ever catches me paddling about in it again, please, give me the gentlest of prods (or beat me with a leek)… whatever it takes to remind me how lucky and blessed I am, on that front as on so many others.

Back to Rome: oh, sweet Russian Dascha, who told me stories when I collected my bag from the hostel yesterday… she was sweet and glowing and so open and wanting to talk… she had left Russia ten months earlier, missed family and friends but loved her life in Italy. She lived and worked in the hostel, so fantasized about, just once in a while, eating breakfast alone, or having her own space to be in even just for a few hours. From there, I went to one side of Rome to do a Sivananda yoga class (thank you Gaelle, in Munich, for the encouragement), then to entirely the other side, and further, to the massive Marriott hotel. The bed’s bigger, the bathtub more luxurious, the food richer, but the service doesn’t touch the sides compared to Dascha’s openness, or the helpfulness of both the other people working there that I had the pleasure of.

Today’s work was delicious. What a team! Simone Douani, Anna-Elena Pepe and Renato Mosca (Mr Renato Fly! Bluebottle, not aviation. How good is that? Even if I’m wrong [it may be only in Spanish, not Italian], I like it). The main forum bit was slicker than last time, I think, and this time, I had my own group of ‘English speakers’, only not. We had to stick with the convention of them talking to me in Italian and me responding in English. It was ACE! Of course, ideal for them would have been an Italian speaker, but given that I was what they got, we all did the absolute best we could, and managed to squeeze as much benefit as possible out of it, with the help of Carola and Renato. Facilitating in a language I don’t speak is such a rush! It feels like telepathy (it’s not). The words come and although I can’t make them all out and I can’t yet use them, meaning comes through and unless I’m sure that I don’t, I respond as if I DO understand… So good. And I’ve learnt so many new words too. Among my favourites is ‘saperevolezza’ – awareness. Simple pleasures, new words.

now laugh

Last time I was here I was on a bit of a detox, which was nice – I ate well and crisply. I did this time too – I’ve had bucketloads of leaves today – but I added to that hotel puddings, cheese, fresh pizza, one gelato hit per day, when I was out on my own… You know what? A bit of both is great.

So, if you’ve read this long, I thank you. Thanks for sharing in my happiness today. For me, it’s been a pleasure. I hope it has for you too.