I tend to make corny jokes when I’m in uncomfortable situations. Who am I kidding? I tell corny jokes all the time. At any rate, he finished up and gave a diagnosis that was just as laughable as my webbed toe stunt.
He said, “It sounds like just a case of bad jet lag.” I naturally thought he was joking, but quickly realized he was dead serious. “Are you kidding me?” I thought. That Africa trip was three years ago and I’ve been steadily getting worse since. I was frustrated, confused, angry. Not being a fan of conflict or uneasy situations, I took the news calmly and went on my way.
On the road home, I thought long and hard about my situation. What should I do now? My health was getting worse. The numbness in my legs had reached my waist and I didn’t know when or where it would stop. Imagine how your foot or hand feels when it falls asleep and you'll get a sense for how it felt, only I never could manage to wake them up. The numbness was constant and on the move and this scared me.
I knew I needed a break from the frustration of dealing with all of these doctors and the uncertainty of a diagnosis. And that’s what I did. I took my break and just lived my life.
Detour
Even though the two trips I had taken to Mexico and Africa weren’t the smoothest of trips for me, I still wanted to travel. The appeal of visiting new places and having new experiences far outweighed the negatives I had endured on previous trips. My friend Carmen had been living in Germany for a year or so when my buddy Bob and I planned a trip to visit her. The three of us had previously travelled to the Salt Lake Olympics together and had wanted to do a more ambitious trip.
This trip would be great for me mentally. I could leave behind the increasing frustrations of my health problems and brooding over the approaching anniversary of my dad’s death, and just relax for a change. This was no mission trip, but a real vacation, and I drooled in anticipation at all the new experiences awaiting.
Bob and I booked a flight with a connection in Philadelphia. We continued on to Munich, Germany, and I took some comfort in how travel-savvy I was becoming. Flying over the ocean this time? No big deal.
As we elbowed our way out past customs, Carmen welcomed us with open arms, beaming, so happy to see familiar faces from the states. We were equally pleased to see her. She offered us the option to relax in Germany for the day or to hit the ground running. We opted to hit the road, destination--Italy. We headed for Vicenza, grateful that Carm had shipped her trusty sedan over from the states and was more than comfortable driving on the Autobahn. Since Carmen worked on contract for the United States military, we took advantage of her military discount by staying on bases along the way. We grabbed some dinner at a local eatery, which was fabulous, probably more so since we were in friggin’ Italy.
For breakfast, oddly enough, we made our way to an on-base American staple fast food joint and downed our sandwiches, fortified for our train ride into Venice. Along the way, we met some American soldiers and our lively conversations with them made the time pass much more quickly.
Ah, Venice. What a site! An entire city on water, so much to take in. I'll never forget San Marco’s square, home to the largest dance floor in the world and what must be the world’s greatest concentration of pigeons. They were everywhere, lounging about, socializing, running their little pigeon errands, jaded to the taunting of children. Like paparazzi, tourists young and old were busily snapping pictures, in awe of their sheer numbers. Bob was quick to discover that they were tame or dumb enough to perch on his arm and insisted we make the most of this golden photo opp. Carmen and I were less enthusiastic about this invasion of our personal space, but we eventually relented. Bob snapped a picture of me looking rather skittish at the “rat with wings” crawling up my arm.
After that adventure, we boarded a water taxi to the island of Murano where the famous Murano glass is made. We got a tour of the facility and a glass blowing demonstration and left laden with glass souvenirs.
No account of our Tour d’Italy is complete without a nod to gelato. Now I love good homemade ice cream, but I got my first taste of gelato in Venice. What a creamy delight--so smooth, so many flavors, so many gelato shops, so little time. It seemed like we stopped at every gelato establishment we came to, not that I’m complaining. We couldn’t get enough of the stuff.
As sunset approached that first day, we found ourselves at a place where the city appeared to end abruptly, just some steps leading down directly into the sea. We sat there, watching the sun go down and recounting the events of the day. Somehow, our conversation meandered to events of my life over the last couple of years. I will never forget what we talked about next. Over the last few years, I had been afraid to get too close to anyone and consider them a friend. I'm not really sure if that was my fear of getting close to someone and then losing them as I had my father or what. But this night was different and I realized that friendships are a wonderful thing. To have people you can count on and that are there for you no matter what is nothing short of amazing. I’ve never felt that more keenly than on those steps at the end of the world. To this day, I still get a little emotional thinking about that night. I'm glad I opened myself up to care for people and to be cared for.
Part of me--probably the get-to-the-point, bottom-line business side of my brain--wants to skip relating details of the visit to Europe. I also realize that there are life lessons to be learned at all points of the journey, even in the detours. That which changes our course is also a chance to take a ‘scenic route’ and discover new things.
Detours are a part of life, whether by choice or chance. Since we're here, we might as well relax and open ourselves up. Open our eyes to see the beauty around us. Open our ears to hear what the world is saying. Open our hearts to be truly moved.
It was difficult to say good bye to Venice. Cinque Terre helped soften the blow, five little villages which are built into the rocks of the coastline, nestled picturesquely between the beach and gently terraced hills and vineyards of Tuscany.
Although it had just been a couple of days away, I found myself missing friends, family and the simple conveniences of home. When we first arrived in Cinque Terre, I carved out some alone time just to call home to hear some familiar voices. Amazingly, this simple time-out helped me get over my momentary home-sickness. It reminds me of one of my voice recordings from 2006:
I was just thinking about missing the little things, like being able to stand up to take a shower. Being able to stand in front of a mirror and do my hair or put in contacts. Being able to stand up and pick my clothes and get dressed. Putting on a belt or kneeling down to tie my shoes. Being able to stand up and cook dinner. There are a lot of things I can do from a wheelchair. I get excited when I can manage to cook something from the chair. A part of me wants to cry for the loss of these things. Being able to jump into my car and drive somewhere, crank the music and just go. No matter where: work, church, to grab a soda, anywhere. In missing these small things I’ve realized that each step of the process has brought something new or different. Having to deal with many set-backs and work-arounds has truly given me an appreciation for the little things, often so simple and seemingly inconsequential, but just what the doctor ordered.
Cinque Terre is best reached by boat, and what a beautiful day that was for a boat ride. We soon shimmied up to the docking area. I use the term “docking area” loosely. It was more like, “let’s find a random spot to tie the boat off, lower the plank, and dump out the passengers onto the rocks below.” I know it sounds like pirates were involved, but maybe that’s just me. Since the five villages are situated in the cliffs, we had to climb up seemingly endless stone steps to get to the first village. But what a cool payoff. The village was San Francisco-like with its streets, uphill one way and downhill the other. Quaint shops and eateries comingled cozily with the residential cottages.
In between the villages, lurked a narrow, sloping pathway to the next town. My vertigo kicked in big time at first glance of this. The path overlooked the sea and jagged rocks below. My knees trembled; my stomach churned; my brain refused to relay messages to my feet to proceed forward. We were forced to find an alternate route for me and discovered, to my relief, a small rail service also provided passage