Sitting Seaside in Sori, talking about not taking things for granted, over a Peroni and some peanuts. The waves are breaking hard a mere 50 metres from the terrace that we’re sitting on. On occasion, a particularly forceful swell crashes and a frothy wash rolls all the way up to where the rocky beach meets the sandy shore.
The last few days here have have really afforded me the time and space to a) chill the fuck out and b) write for myself and I am thankful for every minute of it. As we sit here mesmerized by the power of the waves in front of us, I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. The thought of going back into the eye of the storm that is Paris doesn’t appeal to me at this moment. There’s nothing like complete silence to alert your senses to the incessant noise that you’ve been tolerating.
Last night we prepared the most beautiful mozzarella-arugula salad, complimented by the holiest of spinach pies.. washed it all down with red wine from Abbruzo, and chattered away into the night in the sun-room on the backside of the villa. We sat in the wood-panelled, windowed-room, sheltered from the elements with a panoramic view over the sea, just taking it all in.
Last night also marked the largest sea storm I have ever witnessed to date. The wind and waves were wild, with bright flashes of light followed by cracks of thunder as the storm raged on. Even this morning, the skies were an ominous shade of grey and the waves continued to pummel the shore.
There are two days left in this little adventure before I hop on a train to Genova and continue west to Nice, then Marseille and up to Paris. Monday is going to be a long day with an early start and a very late arrival. I arrive at CDG around 10pm, but then have an hour commute to get back to the Southside of the peripherique.
The beauty of train travel is the slow time and getting to enjoy the process, the ugly side of train travel is the slow time and having to enjoy the process. There is no winning, there is no losing.
Now, back to my Peroni.