Questo e` il motivo

I decided I wanted to move to Pisa. Which seemed a little ridiculous, or maybe more so far too cliché. The leaning tower been one of Italia’s finest and oldest tourist hangouts, and let me just day right here, for someone who has travel in her blood, I do not like tourists. I do not like museums, and touristy paths, I do not like resorts or statues or even much history, I do NOT like maps. And only at the best of times do I actually enjoy meeting other travellers. Except when I’m not travelling, then I love those little suckers.

And so this sudden change of heart came as of much as a surprise to me, as it did to my partner, James whom I was travelling with.

Pisa, we had been told, was nothing too fantastic. There really wasn’t anything to see there, other then the over glorified tower, and it was in the middle of now where. “I’d skip it” I had been told. Before we left the beautiful big hive of Florence we had gosta talking with a handy tourist info desk man and upon learning this was our next destination, he’d laughed “Pisa?! Why the hell are you going there? What the tower?!” Of course we quickly informed him that no, no way, we were not those travellers, we had listened to peoples advice and we didn’t care much for Pisa or its tower, in fact it wasn’t on our list at all until we looked up the prices of accommodation in the grand Cinque Terra. Pisa was cheaper, although not cheap, and close enough for a day trip to the winding cliff faces and crystal waters of the five villages.

And so alas, off we went, bags newly backed, and over bulging, sweat trickling down our faces, backs, and legs (it’s been THAT hot, ugh) to the bright lights of Pisa. I must admit, we went to the tower, it was 500 meters down the road, hell we even got THE photo, of course we felt like douchebags in the process but hey rude not to when your standing at her feet. But it was the classic painful tourist crush one would expect, people scrambling over one another for a photo, day light robbery playing out for entrance into hundreds of years old churches and bell towers and museums. Street people harassing you with roses or braided string, ray bans and other unwanted souvenirs, not taking no for an answer, sneaking it into your hand or onto your head while you not looking, refusing to take it back when you try then demanding money for it. People trying their luck at climbing over the boundaries out of desperation for that shot with out 100 people in the background posing the exact same way.

As quickly as we could, we went, we saw, and we got the hell out of there, time to get lost for 3 hours trying to find the supermarket. Now this was the kinda stuff I was into.

Incase your were asking yourself, why I travel at all. That’s why. Getting utterly lost. Wandering through streets and alleyways and towns and bush and around islands and beaches with no real clue where I am. Finding hidden gems and attempting to talk to locals. People watching, finding the real culture, the real Thailand, the real Italy or Cambodia or even America. Finding a crumbling old church that has been there long long before my time, and it’s incredible beauty in its own little deserted kinda way. Not paying 16 euro to stand in a line with other foreigners for two hours to see a big old famous church that has been repainted 50 times since its hey day, and has scaffolding holding up each of her legs.

I found myself, and I mean this as deep and emotionally, as I do mean literally, wandering around the streets of the town centre (not tourist town centre, very different) of Pisa, the tiny alcove streets with broken tiles, delicious morning markets, local bakeries with Italians lined up for their freshly baked bread, its smell wafting down the street teasing your every sense. Getting a free Italian lesson from the lady on the other side of the counter “forrrrmaggiii”, I gushed back at her, flicking my hand to the left trying my very best to shout it back with its deserved devotion. Copying. Relaying. Again and again back and fourth we went.

Dodging everyone, groceries in basket, on their old bicycles. No gears, speedos or grippy tyres needed. High heels, big brimmed sun hats, beautiful big leather bags tucked under arms, full faces of makeup and dresses draping over back tyres as they weave around one another, around scooter, cars and people alike in the madness, not a helmet in sight.

With the sun on your back, fresh pomodoro bread in one hand you trace the streets with no real destination, your dress floating in the wind and brushing your exposed sandaled toes. Catching your sunhat with a heavenly gust of wind. Flinging your hands left and right, up and down as you attempt to recite each and every shop name, sign post, shop poster or menu. And just when you thought this bellissima giro (beautiful stroll) couldn’t get any better you find yourself at the foot of an awe inspiring dreamy, if only I had this at home, kinda café. WITH RICE MILK COFFEE, CHAI AND LATTES! This is not an easy feat.

And so as I pulled a vintage mis match chair back from the table, plonked down my coffee, self, and shopping bags filled with beautiful fabrics, fresh fruit and bakery breads, I declared, I was in love, utterly swooning, “ I want to live here”, I announced. I want to submerge myself entirely into this place, language and culture, I want to be doused, dripping in its very core, flailing around in confusion and bliss at the same time. I want to forget there is a world past this one and completely give in to all the beauty of an Italian life of pleasure.

I’m not sure if I even will live in Pisa. But anywhere in Italy would be a close second that I could live with at this point. And so the job hunt begins. The mission and the journey, the challenge and the adventure. The dream.

This is why I travel.