Unexpected farmhands and tractor in Viterbo

The truth is that I am a huge scaredy-cat.  I always have been.  I find any tv shows with bad guys scary, even this one show that lasted just a season back in the 1980s, called "Lottery."  Per the title, each show a few people won the lottery, and often there would be a mystery or theft or confrontation or missing person.  I couldn't get myself to not watch it (lottery winnings are intriguing), but Friday nights had some fear in them.  Sitcoms were a little safer.  And while I was attracted to the news whenever it was on, to the stories of robberies and kidnapping and break-ins, they haunted me later when I went to sleep or babysat at night.  I checked under my bed before sleeping, scared that someone might grab my ankle.  I hesitated to slide open the closet door, afraid that someone might reach out and grab me.

I still babysat by myself at night when I was a teenager, lived in Berkeley alone, lived in Rome for two summers in apartments, etc.   After college, I lived in Ghana for a summer.  I wanted so much to go, yet I had many scary dreams before ever even leaving.

Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love) writes in her book Big Magic something about it's being fine to have fear so long as you don't let fear be the driver.  Fear is fine, let it come along, and let it sit in the passenger seat.  I must have shared this with Connor (now 8) a couple years ago and not recalled, but when I dropped him off for a day at recreational summer camp in Waltham, he would not let me leave.  He had thought that he would get to be with his sister and buddies, but he was older than they were, so he had to go to an unknown group solo.  As we stood hiding in the bushes debating our next move (him -- how to avoid this unexpected situation; me -- how to get him to his counselor), he said to me, "I know what you're going to say."  Golly, I didn't know what I was going to say, so I was curious what this six-year-old thought I was going to say.  "Oh?" I asked.  "What am I going to say?"  Connor said, "You're going to say, 'Just take your scaredness with you.' "  I didn't recall sharing that nugget with Connor, but what a champ he was to remember it.  And he did -- both take his scaredness with him and participate in camp every day that week.

Back in Viterbo...I rented a bike for a day.  Daniele, the store owner, offered me a route since he's also a tour guide and does bike tours.  I had intended just to bike around, get lost, find places.  But I liked his idea of a route.  So I tried it.  It went outside the city walls, by McDonald's on the left (not joking...at least it's outside the city walls), and then along a shaded, green-covered road with a huge wall on one side.  This road was quiet and would take me to the Terme and to the Castel d'Asso, i.e. the hot baths and the necropolis.  Daniele told me to take this pretty road rather than the busier road that ran parallel.  This one is more beautiful and peaceful, he said.

He was right.  It was lovely.  (It reminded me of a ride decades ago in the Cotswolds.)  But a few things gnawed at me as I biked down this lovely road: 1) my helmet is so annoying and won't stay on; 2) Alitalia is supposed to deliver my luggage today (it was Friday), and if I'm not there, they won't leave it, and I don't want them to bother Roberta and for her to have come over to receive it; 3) this road is so quiet at this time that it feels deserted, and I feel a bit on edge.  The old childlike fears returned.

Sidenote: My sister Christine understands every bit of this, and she would not babysit at night by herself when we were kids.  So now, while she is in Massachusetts, and I'm in Viterbo by myself, she texts and calls me every night to make sure that I have gotten home safely and have locked my doors.  One might think that, age 46, I'd feel irritated by this.  But no, I actually feel comforted.  And the scaredy-cat in me feels glad that someone will know each night that I am safe and sound and going to bed.  (At home, when I go to sleep, I nudge Daniel until he assures me that the doors are all locked or he gets up to lock them.)

With my helmet off and tied to the bike, I stopped.  My concerns were too heavy, troppo pesante.  I couldn't relax and enjoy the ride.  With all my stops and starts, I hadn't gotten more than a mile, so I turned back, headed up a hill, and explored outside the walls in the more bustling city, the busier roads that Daniele was trying to help me avoid.

The Chiesa da Sacra Famiglia was open and empty.  I locked up my bike and went in and sat.  It was peaceful, empty, yes, but I felt no fear.  I just sat.  Meditated.  Enjoyed the quiet (I suppose, what Daniele had been trying to give me for an experience on that road).  Roberta texted and let me know Alitalia was indeed coming this afternoon, early afternoon, between 2-6pm.  I biked around some more, finding the comune piscine and the gym that I think we'll join once we figure it out, enjoying the exploring amid the bustle.

When I went to see Daniele about my helmet later on, he said that I could keep the bike until the next day so I could finish my ride out to the Terme and Castel d'Asso.  I told him how I turned around because of my luggage; I did not confess my fear.

Christine told me that night on the phone, "Don't go on that quiet road.  You shouldn't do that alone."

The thing is, I felt confident that nothing bad would happen on that beautiful road of foliage and shade.  But I didn't want to have the worry with me the whole time, not enjoying the ride because of that jiggy (word my mom coined some years ago) feeling.  Then again, I had to get out to the terme and necropolis.  I just had to get there for myself.

Saturday morning I got up, hopped on my bike, put on my new helmet (much better), and headed out.  But on the busy road.  I had no fear.  I loved it, cars and all.  The fancy hotel with the terme looked gorgeous, the ride got quieter once I turned to head to the necropolis, and I felt calm inside.  I glided so quickly, barely working on the bike, and then, unexpectedly, farms.  Vineyards and farms and tractors.  Another feeling of the Cotswolds.  A biker here and there.  Green and green and more green.  Endless fields.

The truth is that I did make it to the necropolis...but I did not get off my bike and go exploring in the caves myself.  The boys in Thailand stuck in the cave, being alone, needing to return the bike by 11am (convenient reason) -- edged into my peaceful state: I kept moving.  Even now, as a grown woman, the news sticks with me, even when the likelihood of a newsworthy event's happening to me is so statistically unlikely.

The way back was all uphill, a slow, steady climb with the slight wind against me -- no more gliding.  I liked it, the feeling of exertion and the feeling of trying to meet the 11am deadline, justifying my not exploring those caves.

I'll rent a bike again, maybe myself and maybe with a motor to make it up to a lake or maybe when Daniel and the kids are here.  I'd do that quiet road with them (hmmmm....strange to think I feel safer with a brood of children with me...).  Or maybe, next time I rent a bike, I'll start on the offered route and then find my own way again -- to churches and pools and farms.

Sacra Famiglia

Sacra Famiglia

Lettuce?