The day my mind took a self-protective journey away from my body

12/4 – Nicotera to Palmi – 19.16

Each of my shoes had holes in the heel as well as the toe. The holes had slowly been growing over time, causing discomfort on rainy days. I didn’t complain from Mortilla to Pizzo, the day after Thanksgiving, because I was thankful to have shoes at all, and anyways the rain did not last all day, but only toward the end. On this day, however, the rain was heavy from the time I emerged, and worse still, it had rained heavily all night, causing major puddles and rivulets along my path.

Within 150 feet of this 19-mile day, my socks were soaked all the way through, and there was no letting up of the rain until the last three miles. At some point around mile 4, all the way until around mile 14, my mind left my body, and though my feet were immersed in cold, muddy water for around three and half hours, I remember very little of it. What I do remember very vividly was a large portion of my train of thought that day, and the awareness that I would have to record that process, or as much as is appropriate (three and a half hours of thinking would take a long, long time to read).

That, however, will feed a different blog post. Instead, we will skip to the end of my mind journey, where after a triumphant listen to Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony (my first full listen since my “Alpine Force” walk in July), I landed from my mind flight with a shattering thud. I look around: I had just passed the gigantic industrial port complex of Gioia Tauro, one of my ugliest walks to be certain, and was about to enter Gioia Tauro proper. This town, anything but a jewel (Gioia), stuck out in my mind as the place a painter near Marina di Ascea had told me to skip, as it was overrun by the local mafia.

I put away the headphones, scowled at the uneven, broken down sidewalk leading to town, and headed straight for the piazza, where I sat alone in the middle, daring anyone to hassle me. I was not in a mood for mafia tales, fear, or caution. I took my rest as needles of rain constantly pelted my face and hands, swam in my shoes for ten minutes, and continued.

My flight of momentary insanity, coupled with the ecstasy of the 3rd Symphony, had totally sapped my energy, but somehow I found it in my reserves to walk the last two hours uphill, pushing myself along with pats on the back, and with a firm conviction that I was stronger than anyone else on the planet, at least at that moment.

So, as the rain finally let up but the unavoidable rivulets constantly circulated cold water into my shoes, I pulled into Palmi, and made straight for a shoe store. I did not want to repeat this day, as interesting as it had been, and as much as it had challenged me. At 3:58 I found it closed, set to open at 4:00 (or, in Calabrese, 4:20). I needed to find lodging first, so I went around town asking for places to sleep. Reaching the end of town, I found a group of guys, who after a lighthearted chat sent me into a bar, where, brown water literally streaming from my shoes, I gave my spiel.

A girl and two guys, standing nearby, heard me ask, and soon I was telling the full story. The only hotel in my range, they said, was two miles back where I had comefrom, but Paolo, an angel in accoutant’s clothes, offered to drive me back. Not only that, but he first took me to the shoe store (where they had nothing for me), and accompanied me into the hotel to help me bargain. I think he saw me wince at the price, because he told me not to buy the dinner, as he would come pick me up later.

I really needed a friend at that point, and he came at just the right moment. When I reached the room, I immediately removed my shoes and socks, and sat on the step to the bathroom for a full fifteen minutes in swollen bare feet, collecting myself. It had been a hard day.

When I came to, I turned the heater on full blast, took a long, hot shower, napped a half hour, and when Paolo came back to pick me up, I was a new man. Amazing man’s ability to bounce back…

Paolo took me to another shoe store (they had a good pair, but I didn’t pull the trigger), then to his house, where he had invited three other buddies, Frankie, Antonio, and Antonio, to hang out. We ate pasta fasool and sausages, drank wine, told stories, and hung out till 12:30, and I can’t tell you how grateful I was for the hospitality. At the end of the night, Paolo drove me back to the hotel, and just before speeding off, handed me a heavy sack, with a dozen mandarin oranges, a dozen baby apples, bread, and a huge Calabrese salami. I’ll never forget how happy he looked when I registered what he just given me; it was the look of a child giving his mother a Christmas gift that he has created himself. Good man, that Paolo.