I’ve read that humans impose their perspectives onto their environments. What did this mean for this tiered world of straight-up-the-hill vineyards? And these houses clinging to the mountain sides? Opportunity? Perspective? Efficiency?
Not Going To Make It
A couple of hours in, the nausea was back. Next to an old locked chapel, I ate small bites of my lunch to prevent it from coming back up. Dizziness followed, and all of a sudden, I was crying. The problems in my life had fused to the physical ailments and become a rocket never intending to come back to Earth. I can’t take deal with all of it, I told the Universe. It’s too much. I’m not strong enough. I don’t know how to handle it. I don’t know what’s to say. I don’t know what to do.
I was in the middle of nowhere and feeling as abandoned as the chapel, but eventually, I had to get up and start walking. There was no other choice. I gained Fromm it that I wasn’t going to make it to Ivrea. It had taken me hours to get this far, not even halfway to the 21 1/2 km. So I started looking for a place to sleep and rest.
The only hostel on the trail wouldn’t open for another 3 1/2 hours. No one answered the bell, and none of the towns had a place to rest in the shade, either. Their benches were usually set to admire the view, right in full sun. I kept going.
By Borgo d’Ivrea, I was desperate. I stumbled around town a long time but couldn’t find the B & B a restaurant owner had recommended. None of the locals had heard of it, either, and my questions were met with the look people get when they’re asked for money.
Anger As Motivation
The third time I got this look, the pride in me sent the nausea and dizziness packing. Enough! I was walking to Ivrea. Whatever it took, I was going to make it.
I was out of food by then and only had a bit of water, but the determination flowing through my veins would have jumped much greater hurdles. My feet felt steadier than they had since Nus.
Outside of Ivrea, I stopped at a grocery store on the way into the city and even managed to find the hostel, the Ivrea Canoa Club, without too much ado. It sat right on the river, and I watched the canoers practise through the gates as I ate my supper and thought of the personal issues waiting for me back home. I knew now that I’d get through them, the same way I’d gotten to Ivrea.
And we’d be okay. All of us.