It took a combined eleven or so hours spread across four days spanning two weeks, but as of today, I have partaken of the two shot Pfizer cocktail with a Moderna chaser. I am now boosted like I’ve got a Saturn V strapped to my ass. I have to say, though, there is nothing quite like trying to navigate a Byzantine bureaucracy while not speaking the language.

I started with a friend who helped me get the required paperwork, and filling it out. That was about 90 minutes on day one. Day two was me spending about two and a half hours getting to, getting in and getting denied the booster. Turns out everyone here has something called a Codice Fiscale which, I think, identifies them for anything health related. As a foreigner, I obviously didn't have the card. So, denied.

After consulting with my English-speaking friend, she dig some digging on my behalf and found that I could, as a stinkin' foreigner, get my very own codice fiscale, but that required a visit to another government office in another town, a few miles down the coast. Since it's now December 24, I figure it all can wait until the holiday weekend has passed. End week one.

Enter day three, week two. I walk to the place. Seems...deserted. No cars, no people. I peer in the window, and see a couple of carabinieri. Cool. Less cool: they don't speak any English, and, me, the idiot I am, still have nothing but the language skills of a toddler. Despite the handicap, I (I guess) explain well enough to gain admittance, and get it all taken care of with a combination of guess what I'm saying, pidgin Italian, gestures and pantomime. Woo! I walk back to Taormina and celebrate with whiskey and Netflix. Time elapsed: 4+ hours.

Day four, week two. It's another walk to the vaccination location early in the morning. Apparently not early enough, as I am the 37th on the list. I eyeball the woman who signed up in front of me (made easier, because she was attractive and wearing quite a stylish hat), and followed her lead. It took another few hours - probably two and a half - before I worked my through check-in, get the jabberwocky, and check out. Add in the hour of commute time and my total is up to about eleven and a half hours. Good thing I've not got a lot else to be doing.

The only remaining thing to do is to hit the pharmacy with all my documentation and get the Green Pass. I think at that point, I'll be done with all that - at least for a while.

Here I am, in a beautiful, ancient, seaside town in Sicily for Christmas. Alone. None of that is a surprise, in fact, it's planned. But what's odd, or at least interesting to me, is that the two women who have been the most involved in my life over the last 20 years both have connections to Italy, and I'm really no longer in contact with either at this point. Weird, huh?

My ex-wife spent an exchange year here back in the dark ages of physical letter writing, speaks the language fluently, and still maintains friendships here. We did travel the mainland for a couple of great weeks way back in the 20th century. We went to Rome, Florence, Venice, Verona and Rovigo. It was easy for me, given she was fluent and had friends, and I just went along for the ride with a stupid expression of no-comprehension. I distinctly remember the coffee, and good food. I'm certain her Italian friends thought she married a simpleton. So do I.

The other person was my primary running companion for quite a while. She divorced and moved first away, and then back to my area. We maintained contact throughout her moves and I like to think I helped her figure some things out. She had wanted to visit Italy, and had done some language lessons as well. When I got divorced I reached out to her to see if there was any interest in other than (what had devolved to at that point) casual and intermittent electronic communication. I even went as far as to extend an invitation to join me in Italy (or wherever I was going to be). I buy a ticket, she joins me with no expectations, no strings; just a friend to hang out with. To date, she's expressed no interest. Am I hopeful she’ll change her mind? As long as I breathe, there’s hope I suppose. Though I imagine Vegas odds would be astronomical to the point of absurdity.

So here I am: Covid-hunkered down in Taormina, exactly as I planned, but quieter than I hoped. I'll spend tomorrow probably doing what I've been generally doing every day: walk the town (masked, of course), read, take in the views, drink some coffee, overhear conversations I don't comprehend and generally cogitate on WTF I'm doing. It's still pretty easy traveling, since I can get by when I need to with pidgin Italglish, Google Translate, and pantomime, though not on the level as if I had a translator next to me, or the language chops myself to understand.

Even so, I drift through, unspeaking.

A toast with a tasty local tipple: almond wine. Happy Christmas.

Just some photos I took while wandering about last night. It's a bit eerie seeing all the restaurants with not a single patron. I wonder if it's just that I was early for Italy (it being only about 6:30 or so), or the off season, or the rise of Omicron. There weren't a lot of people walking about. Me? I got a pizza to go and watched an episode of Wheel of Time on my laptop. I read the books so long ago, the only memories being triggered are character names.

​Anywhoodles, enjoy the photos.

 This is mostly a photo blog post, since the activity was simply walking about in Taormina. Click the link to get the deets about the town. It's quite the cool place with only about 11,000 permanent residents. I love the winding ways, and views around every corner. The stairs are impressive, and they are everywhere. I guess that's what happens when you build a town on the side of a cliff. OK, it's not actually built on a cliff (it's not a cliff everywhere; there are some scattered about, though), but it's definitely on the steep side, and there are stairs everywhere. For example, from my place to the beach, there are over 400 stairs. Where there aren't stairs, it isn't flat. To get to the main road in the other direction, there are (again, in addition to a reasonably steep grade) another 300 stairs. I didn't try to count the number of stairs up to the viewpoints I hit. I too quickly ran out of fingers, toes, and other dangly bits to use to count.

Anyhow, here are some photos.

It's too bad the one person who so badly wanted to visit Italy isn't here with me. If you happen to see this, my offer is still open. Hit me up.

It was not the smoothest of moves, but it wasn't bad. It definitely could have been worse. It started well: 30 minutes total time from an €8.00 Uber, dropped at the airport, and through security. At the Lisbon airport, all electronics, in fact every loose item, is to be put into a bag or a coat pocket. Contrast that with Lanzarote where all electronics had to ride outside, and to NYC where laptops ride alone. I didn't have to remove my shoes and I didn't wear pants that required a belt, so I can't contrast that with either other airport (NYC, no shoes, Lanza, no belt). Smooth sailing. 

I check the board, "Gate announced at 6:20." Cool, cool. Departure is 7:15, announcing a gate 30-40 minutes in advance is standard procedure in Europe. I go to get a coffee and croissant. 

After snarfage, I check the board again. "News at 7:15." No mention of a gate announcement. Checking further, no other flight is showing any anomalies, so something is funky with mine. A few minutes later, I get a text telling me my gate. Cool, cool, everything must be above board again. I get to the gate, and the board there doesn't show a departure. BUT, there is staff present. She announces the flight is delayed because of a strike in Rome.

What the fuck? I've heard of wildcat strikes, but a strike in one city, affecting flights on a random day? I chose to be phlegmatic about it. I really don't have anywhere to be, do I? I do what I'm trying to do best: Kindle and Chill.

About 5 minutes before scheduled departure, it's announced the flight will be leaving approximately an hour late. I guess the strike lasted about 43 minutes. I guess the ATC personnel wanted more time for their espressi? Who knows. All I knew was I was on my way. Smooth sailing, y'all!

Flight(s) were uneventful - as all good flights are. Landed in Catania. Since I didn't have checked baggage, I walked out the exit to be intercepted by security. She asked me questions I couldn't answer. Mainly because she asked in Italian, and I'm a Stupid American who doesn't speak anything but 'Murican. (OK, I kind of can, almost, partially get by in Spanish Spoken Like a Child®). After some intervention on the part of another security officer, I discovered they were asking where I was coming from. I replied, "Rome." They then let me by. It was several minutes and I was already outside, when I realized they probably wanted to know where I originated. I wonder if I would have had a different result if I had said Lisbon? I may have been redirected for a Covid test.

Onward and northward I went. By bus. Again, fairly uneventful. But, holy shit, that bus barely fit some streets and the hairpins? We had to back down on one to allow another freaking bus to pass the other way. On one turn, we swung wide, as needed, and the oncoming car darted inside our turn to get out of the way. Wow. That took some cojones de acero. My faux pas of the trip was to push the button to be let off, just as the bus was turning into the terminal and coming to a complete stop. End of the line. Duh. Oh well. I thanked the driver, taking him by surprise I think, and hopped off, double slung my bags and started walking. 

Several hundred stairs later, I'm looking at a closed and locked steel gate. This is where I'm supposed to be staying, but I have to say, it didn't look particularly inviting. But this was the place: Residence Terra Rossa. Courtesy of a former exchange student (Hey Brando!), who's mom owns it, I was offered a deal I couldn't pass up. Beside being on Sicily and if Family offers you a deal you don't pass it up, it was simply an offer not to pass up!

I saw a button for Reception and pushed. After a few minutes, the sally port gate opened, and I walked through. Into a dark courtyard. Huh. A man approached and asked (again) questions I couldn't answer. Turns out he is from Romania, and his Italian isn't much better than mine. After a lot if back and forth using Google Translate (I'm not sure of his reading ability either TBH.), we figured out the situation, and he showed me to my accommodations. Ice cold, but not unexpected. The heater was running, but it had some significant space and chill to overcome. To my delight, there was a bottle of wine, some bread, chocolate and coffee in the kitchen. I was set for the night and morning. But for the time being, I was more than happy to simply burrow under a blanket, sip some wine and watch some Netflix. I'll hit the town in the morning.

Sintra

As the title suggests, I escaped (Ha, one escapes a situation or place where one does not want to be. So, this is an inaccurate term, but WTF, I'm day drinking and I think I'll keep it.) Lisbon the last two days, once to Sintra yesterday and today to Cascais.

Sintra is an extremely picturesque little town - much like the Alfama district of Lisbon. Hell, all of Portugal is extremely picturesque that I've seen, other than the graffiti. Just what is up with that, anyway? Every non-historic, building, freestanding wall, and flat piece of metal is covered with it. Some is stylish, more rarely, some is marginally artistic, but far too much of it just looks like vandalism by illiterates. And it's everywhere!

But, back to Sintra. I got together with Taina again, and she had two compatriots with her, and we took the train together to Sintra, where we went to visit the Pena Palace. I won't go into it regarding any specifics, because Internet, but it and surrounding lands and gardens were nothing short of majestic amazeballs. It's dumbfounding to me how much effort and cost went into building and maintaining a what was essentially an occasionally used vacation house. It strikes me as something Fucktard Bezos™ or ETwat Musk™ would do, though. Hell, they probably have one (or more) already or in the works.

I have to admit the constant stopping by my youngster compatriots at all the photogenic locations to take 10-15 minutes (minimum) to pose for the Instagram photos was a bit tiresome after the fifteenth or nineteenth time. I did get some measure of revenge by taking them down from the palace on a trail, which was muddy, steep and a fuckton of fun - for me! Obligatory beer once we got into town.

I ended up with aliens in the calves when I made it back to Lisbon and got off my feet. After thinking on it a bit, I realized I'd only had 3 cups of coffee (all before 9:00 am) and two beers to drink all day. If I didn't know dehydration was the reason for the aliens, I'm pretty sure now.

Quick story on that last photo - the selfie in the fancy mirror, ignoring the idiot on the left. As I was walking through the gallery room (fantastic furniture and parquet floor, but I digress), I noticed the docent was kind of remaining in front of me, drifting back as I drifted forward. A couple of other people passed me as I checked out stuff, and he still just hung in front of me, while looking at his phone. "Odd," I thought, but didn't really give it a lot of mind amperage. 

When I went to leave the room, he asked me if I spoke Italian, English, Portuguese or Spanish - in each language. Impressive! When I replied "English, please," he turned his phone so I could see a photo - of a pair of well-used Hoka Speedgoats. Apparently Vasco (that is his name) noticed my shoes. (Hoka Torrent 2, in case you were wondering and I know that you were.) For those who are NOT touched by the mental illness of running stupid distances, those of us who are touched feel a kinship of that stupidity, and tend to get to chatting. We talked for about 15 minutes about races, running, and shoes. Had to get a photo. I, of course, had to name-drop being acquainted with Jim. I'm a dick that way.

Cascais

Earlier today, I leveraged my existing Moovit* knowledge and  my newly discovered train know how and hit the station and bought a €5 round trip ticket to Cascais on the coast. Man, the surf was up! Had a good time walking the coastline, then got a nice donut and espresso (for a grand total of €2!) in town before heading back to Lisbon. Tried to figure out the kiosk to buy a metro ticket when I got to the station in Lisboa, but got stymied. I'm not sure if it was operator error, a machine not functioning properly, or a combination of both (the preponderance of history points to the former), but I didn't buy a ticket. Not a big deal, since I'd walked there anyway. Maybe tomorrow I'll get a 24-hour pass and ride the underground rails to other places. Or not. I'll do whatever. Meanwhile, enjoy the imagery from the coastline.

* Moovit is an app that gets one between two points using feet and public transport. It's pretty cool. I first used it on Lanza.

For good or ill, I've been out of the USA now for six weeks. Some days it seems like I've only just left, and others it seems my life in the states is nothing more than a dream. Okay, the former only happened a couple of times when I actually had just left, and the latter has been every day since. I thought long and hard about what I was going to bring, and what was necessary and what was not. Since I am not a fortune teller (my investments will attest to that), I could only hope my prognostication would pan out.

Overall, I would say I've done a pretty good job so far. Given what I know now after the six weeks, the only differences I would make would have been to bring a second neck gaiter, and swap the sweatshirt I did bring for a zip-up hooded one. I had figured the one I brought plus a beanie would be good, and it is, but there is something comforting about pulling a hood over your head when there's a chill – granting warmth to the neck and balding head at the same time, or when burrowing in to watch bullshit sentimentality on Netflix.

Speaking of hair, or a lack thereof, I've not had a haircut since I left Carson City in September, and my flowing locks are the longest they've been in probably more than twenty years. I haven't decided whether or not to break out the power tools and give my head a mowing, but in the meantime I went all out and bought a comb. That's something I haven't had a need for in forever. Someone suggested I not cut the hair on my head or face until I return, but I can't see doing that – especially the beard. I keep it, but really short. You could say I'm reliving the Miami Vice look of Don Johnson, minus the pastel clothing, the loafers, good hair, steely gaze, and good skin. I've got the three- to five-day growth of beard going for me though. Too lazy to shave, and no reason to do so, given dating app activity.

As for the rest of what I've brought, my Hokas are doing just fine as the everyday and every run shoe. Now that I am not on a warm island, the flip flops are out, so the Hokas are it. They are holding up reasonably well, but I have to say the grippiness of the tread isn't the best on wet cobbles worn smooth by centuries of foot traffic. Pretty dicey, actually – especially on a steep descent with a thin layer of dead, wet leaves papering it over. I'm not sure what exactly would be good for those conditions, though. Also, I could probably have done with only a single pair of zip-off pants, and another pair of full-time full length. But, I may soon be in warm climates where shorts will be de rigueur again and having an extra pair that aren't running-specific will be a boon.

If anyone is curious, I'm not feeling any particular urge to return to the states at this point. Granted it's only been six weeks, but I guess it's hard to be homesick when there is no home. Lisbon is nice, and I may return another time, but it's time to finalize the next move. Ticket is purchased, accommodations set, seat locator paperwork completed. All I need to do is a Covid test (time and location locked and loaded), It's currently optional, but checking the country-specific information (daily) I see that their current requirements expire the day before I travel. That could make it interesting, but I am getting the test (Free!) anyway. Oh, and for you US folks, there are at-home test kits here in Europe that the government has available free of charge, so you can test yourself before and after going to a social gathering. AFAIK, they are not acceptable for travel, but nice to have for socialization.

Food tip: if you like sautéed garlic & mushrooms, and like pumpkin as well, try putting the garlic 'shrooms in a bit of pumpkin puree. It's a tasty combination. No, I didn't come up with it myself, but had it in a hole in the wall restaurant last night.

And here's a couple of photos to tide over those who don’t want to read my blather.

In an assault long planned, today I stormed the castle. I won't give the details on the history of Castelo de São Jorge, cuz that's here, but I was the first person through the gate this morning leading the charge of elderly and overweight, mostly German cruisers fresh off the newly docked liner. Evoking images of days of yore, I was a clear-eyed invader: strong in sinew and mighty in muscle with a steely blue gaze. 

Yeah, whatever. I just needed to put something down so I didn't have a post of just photos. So here are the photos. 

I guess even castles get boo-boos and need staple-stitches.

My steely blue gaze was overmatched by the blue in the attire of the permanent residents.

The "Traitor's Door" is a small (maybe 5' tall) sally port in the backside of the castle bulwark wall. It's where messengers and spies got access. The banded door and it's hinge is interesting.I wonder if it was red at the time as a metaphor for spilled blood?

Time to drink some local liqueur. Sour cherry. Pretty dang yum. I'll follow it up with a $4.00 bottle of quite tasty – to me, at least – Moscatel. I'm not doing much running these days, so why not drink?

As it turns out, I had dinner last night with a fabulous and beautiful younger woman. No, I didn't meet her on Tinder, or Bumble, or Hinge or OldMen4YoungerWomen or any other dating site, real or imaginary. I met Taina fourteen years ago at the Reno airport when I was there to collect her: she was going to stay with us as an au pair (that's French for nanny for you untraveled and unread heathens in the back) for the kids for a year.

Fast forward fourteen years, and the painfully shy, never-been-out-of-Brazil woman is an International Woman of Substance. She's a worker for Médecins Sans Frontières (Once again for the slow folks in the back: that's Doctors Without Borders), living in Lisbon for the last few years. As part of her job, she's lived/worked in Mozambique, Malawi, Peru, and Ecuador. She who was once incredibly shy and quiet is a force to be reckoned with! I can see another strong young woman doing something similar - one that has my genetic material.

We had a great meal and I hope we can get together again before I leave. Who knows, with Omicron, further travels may be limited. I can think of many, and much, worse places to be "stuck" than here in Lisbon. One thing to note, in order to eat inside some restaurants, diners need the digital EU Certificate of Vaccination. US citizens are not eligible for it, as far as I know, regardless of vaccination status. I have a digital cert, and a photo of my card, and it was only by the grace of the proprietor that I was allowed to remain inside. Something I need to take into account.

Anywhoo, here's what everyone really visits this blog for: photos. BTW, Lisbon lights it up for the holiday.

It's the morning after. The morning after waking at 0330 in Lanza, because, stupid brain, I guess, and leaping international borders. Hopped my cattle-car flight (thanks, RyanAir!) to Lisbon. The arrival was a combination of weird and efficient. Weird, because I never went through any immigration or customs or anything, even as a non-EU resident. Efficient, because from the time I got off the packed bus from the plane (thanks, RyanAir!) into the terminal, to the time I exited the airport - including walking time - was about 15 minutes. A quick check to see that I indeed had taken, and passed!, a Covid test, and I was funneled out the door into the misty afternoon. A little too efficiently, and quickly, as I needed to re-enter to find a restroom!

I think the most puzzling to me was trying to find where the pickup location was for Uber. In my stupidly confident way, I thought I had my internal compass calibrated. Sadly, I did not. The overcast didn't help, as I apparently are unable to use the Earth's magnetic fields to navigate yet. Maybe I need training. Anywho, once I figured out I was turned around a bit, I found where to catch the Ub, and €7.85 later, I was near my destination. Why wasn't I actually there? Well, my AirBnB is in an old part of Alfama, where no cars can access. The "streets" are too narrow. Which means they are really cool. I followed this group up the street, thinking all the way, "I'm sure glad my stuff is on my back!" And once I got to where I was going, saw the narrow door, and suuuper steep and shallow treads on the steps, thought "Damn." Yeah, that was about it.

I dumped my stuff, and headed out to explore, as I do. Turns out, in Lisbon, I do talk to people! I struck up conversations with two separate couples from Spain (and one's dog, "Lennon") and a guy from Rio. I think the more cosmopolitan nature of the city, closer proximity of al fresca tables, and English being the lingua franca made it easier. So do dogs.