Travel Sized Bites.
A selection of short stories submitted by visitors to the site between 500-1000 words
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luv-sick american
By Author: Dick Curtis
E-mail: re.curtis@virgin.net
Submitted on Tuesday 3rd August 1999
From Rome via Pompeii, on my trip to archaeological sites in southern Italy, I eventually stepped out of the bus into the scorching heat, and was immediately buried in a cloud of dust, as it left. I had arrived at Paestum, a scatter of houses, an immense Greek site with a row of three fine Doric temples, and a flat sun-burnt, stony scrub landscape, bordering the sea, which seemed to offer little more than a scratched return for local families.
A youth directed me to a stand of tall crumpled maize, across the railway line, through the staion, to an earth track and the youth hostel. It was a simple house with three small rooms and an animated giant American who, lept over beds, lunged at windows, bellowed and led his mission with a loaded mosquitoe spray. His passion and fury -apparently, to rid the World of mosquitoes -
I was immediately impressed !!
I discovered, over the evening meal,that he was deperately missing his girl-friend 'back home'. He was doing 'the Europe trip' but tormorrow would return to Venice, hoping to find her letter waiting - would I like to join him !
He couldn't cope with Doric pillars.
After an early breakfast, his VW Beetle was packed, pointed towards Venice, and together we scorched up the motorways, leaving Naples, Rome, in our wake, as we began to burn-up the miles.
The southbound lanes soon filled with charging coaches and cars, festooned with wreathes, velvet swags and black-framed photos. The funeral of Italy's Communist Party Leader was to take place in Rome that afternoon. The comrades and their families were flooding south from the factories of Milan. My companion became demented and, despite our frenetic speed, much of his shuge bulk squeezed out of the window. He beat the door panel, shook his fist and screamed political obscenities, intoning the downfall of the Red Peril at everything that moved.
By evening,we were both emotionally drained and exhausted, We stopping in Perugia. He ate and went directly to bed, not tempted by the warren of alleys, passageways, cafes and bars that tunnel the mediaeval hill-top city. At dawn, the Beetle again thudded north, ignoring Florence, and Bologna, before finally crossing the Po as yellow light cast long shadows. We stormed into Venice and arrived by water-bus at the San Giorgio Maggiore youth hostel, at dusk.
Now miles from Paestum, I sat, legs dangling from the quay, as Venice shimmered in the balmy blue night. The locals promenaded, laughed and chattered, while at my side, my American companion cooed, grinned, and wept, reading his mail, yet again!
Just how does travel and culture compete with - AMORE !!