Miami, Florida;
A month before winter break

 We were in our black rental BMW convertible. I had never been in one before and was awed by the clever way that the car transformed itself into an open-top vehicle made for cruising down beautiful roads. Roman and I were in the back, our hair flying every which way, the world at that time made of only the sky, the sun, the wind, and EDM - Thomas behind the steering wheel rocking to the music and Remy playing with the car's navigational system. Sun spreading out on everything we could feel and see - what could go wrong? It was hard to believe that winter had ever touched us. 

Key West

So carelessly with our ice-cream we walked past bars and souvenir shops, and those little houses that look like the cutest dollhouses. Roman asked, "What is that?" when we both noticed someone coming out of a tattoo shop. I already had my suspicions but his question confirmed the bizarre sight: it was a middle-aged white man, butt-naked, pants halfway down, a fresh tattoo on one cheek. We made zero effort to conceal our laughter. When we came closer to the tattoo shop, we saw another, this time a middle-aged white woman with the same tattoo in the same position. I was almost crying. What a place is Florida!

The plan for the day was to drive to Bojnice Castle (which I had seen in a photo just a few days ago and sent to Tomas), stop by Vero's town for lunch, and check out Tomas' hometown in Trnava. The castle in the snow in the near-empty town of Bojnice was closed, but it didn't matter - I was looking for a feeling and not a museum entrance. Like most Slovak architecture, old and medieval, it was modest in its beauty. It stood without announcing itself, at the end of the town, like it belonged to the same level of the shop-lined streets that led up to it. 

Nitra, Slovakia

Sasha's house was full of Kofola. We took a walk to the river ("the most polluted in Slovakia"). She asked me: "What do you want in life, Bellyn?" I was stumped - I'd been doing, doing, doing, falling out of touch with the important questions. "To have a story" didn't seem enough. "To have love" was too private to admit. I travel, travel instead, flighty and careless. I slept that night on her pull-out bed in her bright yellow room.

I felt at home not understanding anything and always waiting for a translation. We were in the living room for Sasha's mom's Christmas decoration workshop - she was showing us to make flowers using cut-up toilet rolls. When I was leaving for the airport, Andrew handed me a box of gingerbread cookies that I had decorated, all arranged nicely with a Christmas napkin on top. And my flower decoration - Sasha's mom had wanted me to remember my Slovak Christmas. She had said all this to him so that he could translate it for me. 

I never realized how much I thought I dreamt up Florence until I arrived in Santa Maria Novella station, fresh off a flight from Slovakia and a train ride from Milan, and saw Silvia exactly as she was, coming to get me in her scooter. Nothing felt believable, surely it was I who was dreaming, not that the dream-world was real! This place, its cobblestones, the lights, the buildings, everything was exactly in place! I was beside myself, shrieking with delight at finding that the ground held my footsteps, that if I turned a corner, the city did not disappear like the Florence of my dreams, but led to another real street or alley that went on and on, to pasticcerias abundant with promises of sweets and one-euro cappuccinos, and passages layered with memories. Crazily, if I walked away, and returned to Silvia, she was still there! Still smoking!

I am completely absorbed by the life here, unperturbed by any urgency or normal flow of time. Breakfast with Silvia, night walks with Raffaella, a big family Christmas dinner here, and another there. I'd wake up late, go for a stroll. Christmas lights were strung over the streets and an infectious festivity was everywhere. The Italian tongue is no longer foreign, but I had lost mine and could only listen. No big matter - kindness is universal. 

One night Raffaella took me on a walk to get some gelato because she knew I liked it a lot. We crossed the river and passed her favorite lifestyle shops and she pointed out the ceramics and handbags that she thought was beautiful. The gelaterias were all closed, because of the holiday timing, which upset Raffaella more than me. We went to two more places but nothing was open.  

Another night Raffaella came home, excitedly asking me to guess what it was the she had found. I was at the dining table, wondering if maybe she'd bought something interesting. She took out a box of gelato, in three flavors: ciocolato, nocciola e crema con arancia. 

Via Ghibellina, Florence

Florence is as much the "Buongiorno" exchanges with the shopkeepers as it was the conversations with Silvia and Raffa, behind the arched walls of the house at via Ghibellina, the thump-thump-thump of the stairs, either my own or someone else's (slowly, it's Raffa, rapidly, it's Silvia). It was as much the Buddhist chants in the morning and late in the evening, Joao's noises to clear his ear, the distinctive taste of tap water when I brush my teeth, the constant chilly air of the house, the custom of setting up the table with matching plates, for yet another breakfast, lunch, dinner, by the dim glow of the single lamp over the table. It is this same sensation of being indoors with my book, knowing that the whole of Florence is just out there. There is no hurry.

One lovely day we went for a long walk in Florence - Silvia and I, to Giardino Bomboli and Palazzo Pitti, that place that I said I would go if I ever dared to be in Florence again.

While asleep in my room I had phantom dreams of another time - the most striking of time travels. I'd get these vivid memories of being in this room, fresh with memories from a recent weekend trip or excitement over a coming one, even though they were two years past. It was as if my old presence, with her dreams and happiness, still lived there as an essence, passing over some of it to the present me. I was surprised to wake myself back into the present moment, to recognize the distance between the me who was sleeping and the phantom me who tried to be alive again and live through me, the phantom who confused me because I thought I was her. But it has been two years.

Two days before New Year's

Jordan arrived the 30th, with a camera bag, a big carry-on, and an excited look that was new on him. I wondered what Florence looked like for the first time, so sunny and warm in this winter. 

New Year's Day

I woke up late with a headache. Just a few hours ago Jordan and I had been the first customers to a barely-opened bakery, buying a cornetto. It wasn't enough, so we went to a 24-hour McDonald's. It had been a long night partying with Italians and taking care of a drunk friend.

Day after New Year's Day

 Joao came to our room early in the morning. Silvia, call the car rental agency nearby! Belle, get food for all of us! After he left with Silvia, I dressed slowly and looked with Jordan at Airbnbs. We didn't have a destination in mind. Maybe a house on the hill in Val d'Orcia, or a lakehouse with a terrace? The road trip euphoria crept in. When Joao and Silvia returned with the rental car, parked badly, we all hurried inside with our paninos and overnight bags. We drove, that sunny day, leaving Florence for the hills. Here again, in the countryside of Tuscany! Nothing bad ever happened and nothing bad will happen if everything in the past and all my choices had led to this!

Cinecitta, Rome

This place I hadn't known existed until brought up yesterday by these film friends by the name of Joao and Jordan. It was a film studio with a history dating back to the fascists. I found it bizarre that we had left Rome to visit a re-creation of it. Still, no better time to visit Cinecitta than with these two. In the souvenir shop they left their bags and jackets with me and went full-out shopping, picking out books and posters, putting them down, picking them up again. 

Monti, Rome

It had become apparent that Rome made us feel like tourists, while in Florence we felt like special foreigners. After wine we were much happier. At night we went to the cutest bookshop bars and I liked Rome more and more, and this neighborhood called Monti, which with its little hills and charming shops remind me very much of Montmartre in Paris.

Firenze

At one point during our train ride from Rome to Florence, we were all writing - Joao bent over his large Moleskine, Jordan typing out full blown paragraphs on his phone. We walked from the station to via Ghibellina, thud-thud-thud on the Florentine cobblestones in silence, until we got through the front door and there was Raffaella, dressed-up in her red lipstick, and Silvia upstairs with Sofi, brushing her hair and making changes to her outfit. It was the first and last night that we will all be together and we were going to a restaurant for some bistecca. 

He found Bergamo through a story. I found Bergamo through a film and then through him.

All these cities have started collapsing into each other. Walks through the streets recall Southern France, turning a corner I suddenly remember Florence. Bergamo is set against the mountains of Turin, with grand marble sidewalks like Paris, and the quiet air of Venice. Collapsing places and memory into a single instance like traveler's synesthesia. 

Penang, Malaysia

I was on the train, remembering things. That's how you know a trip has ended. I went home.

Seattle, WA

Seattle was cold and lonely. I was on top of the Space Needle, overlooking Seattle, this city that I had nothing to do with: no sentiment, no personal history, no literature that I know of, nothing, nothing ... 

Atiqah came to meet me in crutches.

Brooklyn, New York

Feels like a long, continuous day, and the world feels like a long, continuous walk, not broken up by terrains and oceans but by long walks through airport security and crowded aisles to get to the seat.

It was my birthday and we had cake. I carried my flowers all over Williamsburg.

Surprises, surprises everywhere, like last night in La Condessa, we saw a building that looked like a tooth. We passed a crashed car that was entirely wrecked, placed on display by the government. We passed women trying to get us into clubs with parties that end at 6am, at 10am. A club that said: Established in 2048. Hustlers selling cigaros. Bars and bars. Girls in bathrooms selling drugs. Swanky dudes in blazers among swanky ladies in heels among casual go-ers in jeans among impoverished people, sometimes families, seated on the same street asking for money in a dirty polysterene cup. All acutely summed up by Armando's nonchalant, "Crazy, right?" 

In the day I am wandering and in the evening there is always people. I took slow walks to new neighborhoods and bought books and ate too many Mexican sweets. I liked the paper crepe sweets with honey in between. It impressed me that it was such a cheap candy, made of such cheap ingredients. I liked especially the wafers with the dulce de leche, which were called (or as Armando shouted) Sevillanas!! Why do you shout so much? That's how people from the North are. 

Every encounter with a local had been a lesson in kindness, generosity, and humility.

Teotihuacan Pyramids

Someone had built them, out of stone, out of sweat, out of blood. This had been a different world, and for the people who lived there, it was their entire world. I climbed the Temple of the Sun, and felt the suffocation of an entire civilization trapped in their specific beliefs, customs, and hierarchies. A lot of deaths. Eerie place.

Juarez, Mexico City

Andres made me try oranges with chilli seasoning. It was very Mexican to add chilli and cheese in everything. I was happier when he showed me the cartoons he was working on.

I noticed something curious on my last day.