Saturday, June 13th,
2015 7:38 am
It could be almost any Saturday morning, from the way the
ambulances blast their EDM sirens, from the way the low, dull horn of the
cruise ships making port resounds around the old stone walls. My eyes are
heavy, rimmed with dark circles as I blink from the bright. It is almost
refreshing to open the window and let the warm morning air hit me like a
freight train. The city screams with activity: a Ryanair plane lands over the
port: car horns blare their angry yells.
I feel the rush: the voices in my ears telling me to go and
look and see before the sand falls from the hourglass, and I board a plane to
another new place.
Saturday, June 13th,
2015 7:26 pm
"I’m standing here –uhm- on the edge of a cliff where the Sella
Del Diavolo is. The ocean, right where it breaks, right where it turns into
waves that slam the rocks below, is the exact same and perfect color of
someone’s eyes. Everything I’ve seen today I just want to share with you. I
want to take you on this hike, so that you can see what I see, so that you can
feel what I feel.
So we’ve been walking for almost an hour now: it would be I
guess a hike if there wasn’t a massive trail marked with spray-painted green
dots paving our way back to society. It is really pretty up here: I’ll give
them that. We’re on the downhill slope I guess. My feet ache from the open
blisters on my pinky toes: the right one throbs in time with my heartbeat and
breaths. I catch flickers of feral cats and kittens as I wander past the danger
signs and out to the ledge of the cliffs. Its where I’m standing now, on the
ledge of a cliff that makes the hills of San Francisco seem younger than a
newborn.
We saw the Spanish stuff: a dilapidated lookout tower and
lighthouse. We climbed on its bones like children at the first playground of
summer. Further down I stumbled upon and almost fell into the Punic cistern.
The iron slats and chain link cover had rotten and wasted, leaving open holes along
the 27 meter gash in the earth. I searched, but couldn’t find the Roman
cistern. Perhaps it was for the best: better to not find it than find it via a
short stop and a sudden stop.
Sunday, June 14th,
2015 12:24 pm
With only a few hours left before the group leaves for the
festival, I feel panicked. Too much work, too little time, too much to see. The
panic rises from my belly, pressing on my chest. It claws its way up my throat,
leaving acid gashes on my insides. I swallow it down like a shot of jet fuel,
and chase it with all my happiest thoughts.
Breathe, Katie
Sunday, June 14th,
2015 2:04 pm
Breathing. Also known as not
panicking.
It’s almost time to go. I have to stop myself from choking
up when I think of how little time I have left here. I’m so excited to see new
places, but so very sad to leave.
