San Diego, CA


June 11, 2019

I’ve recently been told “sometimes you can be a really caring person and sometimes you just act like a dick.” I can’t see what is wrong with that, considering 1. if I had to be affected by everything people think of me, (as it used to happen on a very deep level in the past) I’d have to kill myself for not pleasing everyone every time; 2. depending on the situation, I react to stimuli and that is what, to you, is something “bad”. Can you always be caring? Can you always be a bitch? No. I alternate. And sorry not sorry, but that’s fine with me. Nature alternates. Sunny and rainy days. Deserted lands and florid areas.

I fit in the land around me. I fit in California apparently, as nothing stays the same driving from one point to the other, from one city to the other, and it just reminds me of me. I approach San Diego and I feel drawn to UCSD, University of California San Diego, so I find a parking spot close to the Library and I spend a couple of hours in the architecturally beautiful library after a quick run around the campus: if I could I would say rejuvenating but I still look old and tired so I’ll say “reinvigorating”. It feels nice to be in the academic environment again. One day I will find out why I always feel good, comfortable and safe when spending time in schools.

When I wake up on June 11th I take my time because the weather is gloomy and I can’t find a spot downtown that is really inspiring. I decide to drive through the city, I cross the bridge to Coronado Island and I stop at a local cafe where I get a chai latte after a while, and I just chill observing people around me. Not like a psycho, or maybe just like a psycho, but I just enjoy noticing what is going on around me, picturing different scenarios for those people who are sitting there, in silence, looking at their phones in a remote cafe in the middle of Ocean Beach. There is also a corner called Dog Beach, where I see all these people taking their dogs for a stroll, and that warms my day a little. I end up taking a couple of photos of the skyline from Centennial Park, and I feel a little accomplished.

I spend the afternoon at a park downtown where three dogs come greet me and their human approaches me too. We start talking and we eventually spend hours just sharing anecdotes about our lives, and the stories of those three rescue pups just amaze me. I end up in his apartment, taking care of the three dogs while he goes out for a business meeting. How crazy does this sound? I know, but I guess that’s just me. My friend Jordan calls me while I’m in that apartment –where I could see the city from high above the building– concerned about what I just told him: stranger, dogs, his apartment. He calls me an idiot and I have to stop trusting people so easily. He may be right. But what am I actually doing has nothing to do with people, I am just spending time with dogs. When he gets back, I say bye and leave, feeling a little confused for what just happened: have I really spent a couple of hours waiting for a stranger to get back home while looking after his dogs? Yes. With Jordan’s words echoing in my head and all, I just start driving until I’m tired and pull over for the night. I feel brainwashed. San Diego is too close to Los Angeles. I need to find somewhere else to go before ending up in my City of Angels again, and I am not ready yet.

SoCal, Salton Sea, Dunes


July 10, 2019

This post should also be called “when you were craving for the cherry on the top, and you eventually end up crying for disaster”. Welcome. It’s the beginning of the end, and it is not a pleasant one. Oh gawd! Another rant? Well well, not really. No. I am just going to report objectively about something I was expecting to be amazing. But why the disappointment? Because I do too believe, at times, what people say. The way they advertise, the way they sell themselves, and their mother, if they could.

The Death Valley was magical and at least I have that to remember as part of the last few miles of this itinerary. I was so close to Los Angeles though, that I pushed forward and thought: one more beauty, one more. So, after waking up in Ridgecrest, no earthquakes whatsoever, I kept driving South. I passed through the border of the Joshua Tree National Park where I’ve been a couple of times already, so I did not have to go through it deeply this time. I could still see those pretty and typical trees all around me while approaching the Coachella Valley. Who would have thought I could say “I’ve been to Coachella?” Yeah, because, who cares if I went to Coachella festival or to Coachella valley? I can already picture the conversation in my head <<oh yeah, and then I’ve been to Coachella! -Oh, really, how did you like it? -oh, it was amazing. Hot. But you know, it’s Coachella, always so much fun. Beautiful. -oh, yeah, I totally agree.>> Bla bla. Done. But I was talking about the land, the trees, the sand blowing in your face, the heat burning your skin, and all the desert beauty surrounding you. Character B was talking about parties, parties, money, parties, more money, more parties, oh and music (and drugs, but that’s another story), but that almost comes last nowadays. Who’s playing at Coachella this year? Who cares, I already have my outfits ready. Something like that. Shake head. Multiple times.

It was more than 110 degrees outside and I was concerned about the car. New noises come out every day and I can feel my SiennaMiller is telling me she is tired as well. One more T, one more. Then I’ll let you rest. Instead of just taking the highway all the way through Salton Sea, after leaving Yucca Valley where I felt I could spend some time because what you see around you is so unusual but typical of this place, I switched to internal roads and drove through Palm Springs, Palm Desert, Indio, Coachella and Mecca. Then the real nightmare began. I thought Salton Sea was another natural treasure the Earth and the nature left for us in this divine desert, instead as soon as I approach the area, I notice something is not quite right. Flies start torturing me, and I feel like I am back in the Australian desert, but not in a good way. I ask a few questions to the ranger woman as usual, because I like to know more about the area before adventuring in. I find out Salton Sea is man made: a mistake some engineers from the past did and the whole town of Salton got submerged. They eventually decided to keep the reservoir as a dump place for agricultural waste, so please take a few minutes to consider the toxicity of this area. I can’t believe that something so pretty to see (the colors of the salt water reflected by the hard sun are superior!) is the result of pesticides, fertilizers, and waste dunked into a water basin that has a salt rate almost twice the ocean. I felt disgusted. I kept moving forward as the guide told me there were some characteristic spots I could still visit before reaching my beloved dunes down South, almost at the border with Mexico. Bombay beach: a ghost town. When you think of a ghost town, what comes into your head? Ok, then, forget it. It can’t be fully explained if you don’t experience one in person. Not to be rude, but a ghost town is not only “an abandoned village, town, or city, that usually contains substantial visible remains”; people still live there. How? Eh, go figure. And why do we have to leave so much waste around? All these rotten cars, abandoned stuff. Please stop. Just stop.

All ghost towns in the area… so I drive through them. The guide said, if you fancy, there’s a painted mountain near Niland, CA, it’s called Salvation Mountain and it’s in Slab City. The artist, Leonard Knight wanted to leave a tribute to God so he painted “God Is Love” with biblical references all over the massively painted hills. Everybody loves it, apparently. I was more like: why? You could have celebrated nature, using natural pigments, no cement or other harmful substances, but no. Let’s be praised for slaughtering nature. I’m sorry. The colors are beautiful but it’s a no. Go see it if you like, but to thank God, you could have done something different. I have to leave as fast as I can, and I hit the rock where the Salvation Sign sits, with the back of my car. Nothing too bad, but it hits me like a slap in the face, and I feel like the Universe is telling me to be less negative. Fine. Driving back to civilization (or so I hoped) I see a woman hitchhiking in the middle of the desert going from Slab City to Niland, so I stop and give her a ride.

I didn’t ask for her name, strangely. That’s usually the first thing I would ask, but I asked other questions my mouth was coming out with; she may have been an introvert, as if I decided to keep quiet, she would have probably gone with that too. She says she’s 62 (she looked 90), her body was burned by the sun, I couldn’t see her face clearly as she’s all covered with cloths, not clothes, for what it looks like. Her strong smell and a “sugary” breath, along with her legs covered in bruises and crusts make me think she may have diabetes, but who knows. She has been living in this “city” since 1997, when her ex boyfriend shot her in the head and her son got hit and killed while trying to shield her from further bullets. She told me a couple of other things, but that is the one the stroke me the most. I felt stupid and the bad feeling piled up with the disgust and the dislike I was storing from earlier, so the whole situation got me into an internal momentum that got me sick. Literally.

She has been living in SL for 22 years. Let me tell you right quick what Slab City is. Snowbirds live here. Snowbird is the term to refer to people who stay to warm places in the winter and then they migrate back North. I would say nomad, but go figure. Those who are not snowbirds, are permanent residents of the slabs and they are supported by government programs as they found themselves here because of poverty. Others just want to live off the grid and be left alone. There is no official electricity, no running water, no sewers, no toilets nor trash pickup service, nothing. They use generators and it is basically the epitome of what anarchy would be. But not as I intend it. Anarchy, to me, is something different. I drop her off, she seems like she can’t wait to get off, and I continue my journey that is turning into something I wasn’t ready to experience. And not in a good way.

I need to see something beautiful, something to restore not only my faith in humanity but some general common sense too. Dunes, I’m coming for you. But nope, not yet. All the way to my beloved golden hills of sand, a never ending stretch of cattle farms spreads in front of me, and I can’t help but feeling sick again, outraged. I need to scream, I need to cry, I don’t really know what I need, but this just does not feel right. Why? Why now? Why here? Why this? Why at the end of my journey? I can’t think straight and I need time to free my mind and my emotional sphere from all this build-up. I see the dunes in the distance and I keep driving. Umpteenth disappointment. These dunes are so majestic, spread out and in such an inclement area that you can’t really hike on them unless it’s super early in the morning or at dusk, when the sun is setting and the heat won’t get you killed. Moreover, you can drive through them and there are some viewpoints spots you can park at, I guess because of this “problem” of not being able to “patrol” them and keep visitors safe. This time the Imperial Sand Dunes did not help with changing my internal status, and I have to accept the fact that this “Destination: Unknown” project has been taking a wrong turn. Or maybe it was simply supposed to go this way to teach me something different. Who knows. As for now, I need to go back to civilization and probably back to Los Angeles, sooner than later.

Death Valley, California


July 9, 2019

Babe, I’m home. I pictured myself hugging the road sign where it says “Welcome to California” like a Koala hangs tight on his eucalyptus tree, but I could not really find the road sign. Going all the way from Vegas to the Death Valley, you can’t see any welcome sign. Not even Google maps, that always warns you with a blue banner popping up, said anything. Whatever.

The day started so smoothly I could not believe I was simply taking it easy. There was almost no one on the road once I passed the urban area of Las Vegas, and the long string of asphalt in the middle of nothing was a blessing to me. I took the time so stop, take photos, jump in the middle of the road, tell everyone to go f-un themselves and it was just …good. Reaching the Death Valley was like a dream. I even had to let a wild horse pass right in front of me. A white wild horse. Pretty little thing, so precious. For the first time in my life I saw a road runner: funny little creature. So fast, for real. I was imagining something as big as a turkey. Nope. Small and fast. The funniest of them all was the white-ish lizards that were even faster, but they looked like they were running only on two legs. I remember watching a youtube video of these reptiles, where one was escaping from a thousand snakes coming from all the angles and corners: she made it through by the way.

Every little thing in the Death Valley is beautiful. I am so excited and I just cannot believe I made it here. “Hey look Ma, I made it!” to quote one of the songs I keep on hearing of the radio (it’s by Panic! At the Disco, of course), oh and I actually wrote down a list of the most played ones so that I can create a playlist and listen to it (you can too!!) when I am down (or not) to remind myself of that time I took a road trip all over the US (mostly) and a little Canada, all by myself, with a van, sleeping in my car, seizing the day. Bad-ass. I know. I like it too. And bad-ass is exactly how I feel today, capable of doing anything, under a 110F weather. Go me. Except for a blonde moment I had. I could totally see it coming: I pictured myself in that very situation I found myself trapped in, and not even a second after I imagined it, it happened. What is it? Well, after seeing my favorite spots in the Valley, viewpoints, canyons, DUNES… fighter jets flying low and breaking your eardrums (the Death Valley must be one of those areas where they could legally perform supersonic activity just like over the Adriatic Sea in Italy), I saw on the side of the road some small dunes of another color from those I just hiked up. The rangers at the visitor center said that sometimes you can see grey dunes because there is hematite in the area, which is also one of my favorite rock, that I have in a box somewhere in the car right now, probably in the “random objects” box. I also have the “beauty objects” box, the “electric things” box, the “kitchen stuff” box… I mean, can’t you see why I am not scared of earthquakes now? My aunt said “Laura, you’re out of your mind” because I am not afraid of some soil shaking but, see this: I don’t own a house that can fall over my head, I have everything I need and own with me, in a moving metal box that can go anywhere and, unless it’s the Big One that should supposedly break and detach the whole Californian peninsula turning it into a floating island, why worry? But that’s just me. You can be afraid all you want. Anyway, the blonde moment. I went a little too far in my curiosity for spotting the grey sand, and got stuck in it with the front of the car. This is one of those cases when you have to pretend you like humans and ask for help. So I did. I started waving my arms in the air to the cars passing by, and the first car pulling over was of a German couple, the second of a German family. Yes people. Saved by the Germans. May the Germans be blessed. A few others just passed and looked. They did not stop. Not Germans, most probably. They followed my suggestion and pushed the car while I slowly hit the accelerator on reverse. We made it. They made it. I was so thankful that I wish, if there’s a God listening, that their lives could be blessed for a long long time. The cutest were the girls pushing along with father and mother to help me. Sweethearts. Cherry on the top: when I asked what I could give in exchange for their precious help, they all said “nothing, it’s ok, keep going” and then the father added “tell this story. You have something fun to tell” and it was amazing. I promise I would and here I am. By the way, if one day you will ever read this and this message will get to those kind German people who helped a stranded blonde out of the sand, in the Death Valley on July 9th, 2019 please know that you are AWESOME. Thank you from the bottom of my bipolar heart. One day I’ll pay it back, or forward.

To end the day in the most batshit-crazy way for many, I decide to spend the night in Ridgecrest, the town where the big earthquakes of the last couple of days hit because I just want to see. To know. Curiosity killed the cat. But I am wolf. Protected by a bear. Go figure. If I’m still alive tomorrow, we’ll talk more about Ridgecrest, now enjoy some photos of one the most wonderful places I’ve seen so far. Talk to you tomorrow.

Las Vegas, Nevada


July 8, 2019

Finally I see you again Sin City, and this time I can do it properly. My first time in Sin City was March 2011. I thought it was much longer, it felt like a whole life before this, instead, only 8 years have passed, but I am a totally different person. Maybe. A little. I mean, definitely older.

Today is my mother’s birthday so, before leaving St. George where I spent the night, changed the oil to SiennaMiller and run a couple more errands, I called her and got myself a cake to celebrate her. She said my hair looked stressed (thanks mom) and I agreed, so I gave myself permission to go to Supercuts (I know right? Laughing so hard, but it was cheap and the girl did a good job!) and got myself a haircut. In Vegas. A sort of tradition I created for myself. The first thing I did for my first time alone in New York in 2010: haircut at Jean Luis David downtown Manhattan. Booyah.

The rest of the day was spent in and out of casinos. Las Vegas has always impressed me for its being absurd, but special in its own way and despite being the only one walking alone along the Strip, the f* given were less than zero. I felt comfortable, I was taking photos, laughing and smiling by myself, singing the songs I could hear around me, visiting every single hotel, and resisting. I was resisting my own curiosity to sit at a table and play. Not now. I can’t afford losing not even 10 bucks, I need to be able to make it at least back to Southern California. If only I could though… how much fun would that be? A lot. So, maybe next time. Maybe soon. May… be.

A lot went through my mind while walking for hours enjoying my stroll, seeing the fake Venice that always reminds me of home, having Ben&Gerry and Starbucks coffee, feeling weird while inside the casinos and you can’t tell if it’s night or day outside, visiting Paris for the first time, yadda yadda, but I don’t want this place to always be an excuse for my mind to go bonkers, so I’ll just stop here for today. Just a quick update before my next stop, and a few photos. Just because.

Four Corners, Utah (part 3)


June 6, 2019

Once again I needed a day to process. And to recover. Mentally. I was expecting the Monument Valley to be breathtakingly beautiful instead what stole my heart once again, was the landscape all around me. And Bryce. But that was almost obvious. Don’t get me wrong, seeing those rock formations is still something amazing, but …there’s a but. Arizona, just like New Mexico, is too underestimated. I don’t like this. I took my time driving back and forth through almost four States today to see as many things as possible because they were all mainly a stone thrown one from the other. Not by chance the area is called Four Corners, because it’s right within the borders of Utah, New Mexico, Arizona and Colorado.

Driving and visiting more than one place, together with the emotional atmosphere of Bryce Canyon at sunset, brought up so many memories, so many thoughts, so many reflections. I also had to MarieKondo a few things from my past. After realizing that all the people from the past I got in contact with during this trip, were even too busy to meet, out of town (but then, is it true?), completely ignoring my messages or simply apologizing for not making it, I decided that this was not “sparking any sort of joy” in me, therefore, I need to throw it away (that’s the Marie Kondo technique basically). The only contacts I had throughout my journey were either with people I randomly met, or suggested by mutual friends so we could spend a couple of hours together, or my “Cambridge” friend. So…I guess, enough with the past, bring it on future! What actually made me think about it, was a message from another friend from the past that, to my question: “why don’t you come visit me now that you’re all settled and rich? Lol” he answered “eh, I lost interest in America with time”. Ok, that America word? Imagine while I do the “quote” gesture with my index and middle fingers, folding them down. I wish I could meme this but anyway… the point is, I lost interest in “America” (in quotes) could simply stand for “our friendship” or “you” in general. After all, we haven’t seen for exactly 10 years now, but I must be the only one who does not get affected by time on an emotional level. I could still see you after months, years, centuries, and I would still act as if I saw you yesterday. Eh. Using my typical expression: whatever. I actually asked many friends to come see me, to visit me, because there’s always that excitement of showing them where I live, what I do, even if it’s a crappy studio and I have no career (yet). Nobody ever came. Now that the studio’s gone as well, I guess I’ll stop asking.

From the early morning spent at the Monument Valley, to lunch time at Lake Powell and the Horseshoe Bend, up to chasing the sunset at Bryce, I never stopped for a single second. The emotional state I was in lingered through the evening and the whole Bryce ride was a whole rollercoaster of “fast fast you’ll miss the pink moment”, to “slow slow, stop over here and enjoy the moment”. I took some photos to show you all, but all I wanted to do was to just stare at those vivid colors, with those unexplainable views (I mean, they can be explained it but I can’t explain the way you feel watching them!), while my “being alone feeling” is getting more and more the features of a blessing in moments like this where I can literally do whatever the heck I want because I only have myself to be accountable for. Precious. Just real bliss. I think the photos will speak better than me so here they are. Tomorrow is another day, and something else I have been waiting to visit for so long is Zion National Park, which is right around the corner. See you there.

New Mexico, part 2


July 5, 2019

We need to break the habit. That’s the only thing I can think of while standing here, looking all around me in awe, in front of the stupefying scene that opens before me. New Mexico, like Utah, is a gem that goes too often underestimated. I drove through almost infinite red rocks mountains, scrublands, a desert where you can see the highway stretching for miles and miles, but not only that. Mountain peaks, forests, rios and rivers, plus of course, my beloved sand dunes. The variety that New Mexico offers makes me wonder. I am here, almost crying at the beauty I feel so lucky I can witness, and I see people driving by, careless. I feel jealous seeing those who can wake every morning at the sight of these spectacles of nature and I feel bad because, once again, I feel there is something missing that I am not getting quite well enough yet. Then here it comes: they’re so used to it they just live their lives IN IT and, hopefully they’re constantly content about it. I say hopefully, because most of the times I know it’s not. We need to break the habit. That’s the only thing I can think of while standing here, looking all around me in awe, in front of the stupefying scene that opens before me. New Mexico, like Utah, is a gem that goes too often underestimated. But then I think of the way my foreign friends felt seeing where I come from while visiting, in the past. “You can see the Dolomites from your bedroom window?” or “we’ve been driving for not even an hour and I’ve already seen all the beauties you usually see in those pamphlets they give you at the travel center”. “You’re so lucky!” and I would usually go “meh”. I chuckle remembering when a friend from Mount Holyoke told me she grew up in Flagstaff, Arizona, at the feet of the Grand Canyon, and I told her exactly the same things people were saying to me. She would say “it’s somewhere I just grew up in, you see it every day you just get used to it”. And it is true. Sad but true. We get used to the beauty around us to a certain extent that we almost forget about it. We need to take a step back and unlearn what we’ve been seeing for so long because we need to be amazed every single minute by these marvels. Am I right?

I came in through Roswell, woke up in Las Cruces, stopped for lunch in Albuquerque and then slept in Farmington. South to North, New Mexico accompanied me dearly, and I am grateful for what I experienced. Moreover, I had lunch with a wonderful human being, introduced to me by a mutual friend, at a cute and cozy restaurant in Albuquerque who reminded me of all those nice people out there who are part of those “worth saving” in case of an imminent Apocalypse. And considering the earthquakes that are happening in Southern California this week, I guess we’re not even too far from the X hour. Just like me, and apparently all the people I am encountering lately, she was tested by life, she got broken and she fixed back her pieces, so we connected right away. We were meant to meet. While running around the San Juan College campus before getting ready for the night, I was listening to this song, which is always on my randomized playlist, called Annihilation by A Perfect Circle, and it just closed the day reminding me that …it is up to us. Everything. Is. Up to us.

From dehumanization to arms production
For the benefit of the nation or its destruction
Power is power, the law of the land
Those living for death will die by their own hand

Life’s no ordeal if you come to terms
Reject the system dictating the norms
From dehumanization to arms production
To hasten the nation towards its destruction

It’s your choice, your choice
Your choice, your choice
Peace or annihilation.

Texas and New Mexico


Can’t really say much about Texas. I drove through the thinnest part of the State, but the views were one of a kind. Yellow and its darker shades started appearing before my eyes. No more green, if not sporadically thanks to bushes and trees. All the colors of sand, burned sand, ochre, sienna, maroon, beige, umber, ok basically brown, were all around me, and I enjoyed it all like a cup of hot chocolate on a freezing winter day. Outside it’s 100 degrees F, but those are details. I woke up in Texas and I started my long trip to New Mexico. Sand dunes await me and I cannot wait. I still have food from the day before so I have breakfast in the car and just drive, drive, drive. I only stop for gas and to give my windshield a wash. Those poor butterflies, and moths, and insects of any kind may rest in peace.

I reach Roswell, NM around noon. What. A. Day. After my favorite scenario of finding myself driving alone through a loooong single road through nothing, enjoy every, single, little, bit, of it, I parade along this town that reminds me of a show I used to watch many years ago, called obviously Roswell. Not the new one, which I haven’t seen yet, but may start once back somewhere with a good connection for my Netflix and Hulu accounts. No. I’m talking about the one where the actress playing Isobel Stevens in Grey’s Anatomy (curtsy, please) a.k.a. Katherine Heigl is playing the part of an alien, but the story is too long so just google it. Being in Roswell was surreal. Aliens are everywhere (real or not it is up to you to —believe), despite the actual UFO incident happened more than 50 miles away from the city. What was super weird is that, at my regular stop at Starbucks, where my restroom breaks are getting more and more expensive, something supernatural actually happened. A guy was sitting at a table and I swear to all the Gods he was my friend from Boston College, Mario. Everything looked like him. Even the shape of his lips which are particularly specific. The way he was dressed, the way he was working on his computer, the way he put his hat on. Every little detail, even the haircut. I secretly snapped a photo and sent it to both Matteo, the other friend from B.C, and to Mario of course. Matteo was shocked as much as I was. He said “you’re in Roswell, paranormal activity is normal”; Mario, typical for his Narcissus-like personality, said: “he’s hot, I want his number.” I had to laugh. Funny story to tell, but that was it. Nothing more. Except for all the movies in my head where I would actually approach him and tell him the whole story of Laura, Matteo and Mario. Whatevs. Roswell. Yes. I had fun looking around, but I was looking forward to getting to my beloved dunes.

White Sands Monument Park was a dream. Gypsum sand dunes are rare and this location is the widest in the whole world. I feel lucky. It is a very hot day so even the rangers suggested to not walk on the trails and just stay where vegetation is still visible, so I did. I found a spot on the top of a dune and I chilled for a couple of hours, enjoying the sand like a dog enjoys grass, rolling and sinking, getting all covered in white sand and sun bathing. A very nice way to spend the Fourth of July, and to honor my current Independence. Thankfully not so many people were around and only later, around sunset, we all gathered at a meeting spot to take the Sunset Stroll with the ranger who explained to us the history and the formation of the the White Sand Dunes. Fascinating. Too bad the military occupied part of the land to turn it into a missile range area to test weapons and other stuff I am not a fan of. But nature will take care of it eventually, I want to believe so. As for now, enjoy these photos and I wish you all could see it person one day, because it is so much worth it.

Arkansas and Oklahoma


Leaving Nashville, TN nature gifted me with a spectacular sunset so I decided to go for a quick run down the riverfront of Memphis, right at the border with Arkansas. The river, of course, it’s the Mississippi. A huge river I would say. So huge. I needed that short run, I felt better right after, so I could stay awake before reaching my “destination” for the night: Little Rock, the capital of the State.

I find a place to spend the night and everything works smoothly, except for a couple of bucks I wasted trying to make a car vacuum work in the remotest car wash of the city. It didn’t work. I wake up in the morning and the sun is already burning my skin at 6 AM: I like it, in part, but I always fear the car may overheat and leave me stranded. Reminiscences from the past, I suppose. My usual stopover at the closest Starbucks, but the plan of updating the blog went up in smoke because it was packed. Apparently one of the very few locations in downtown with a drive through… and the poor staff was going crazy. I take a walk on the riverfront and realized the only people awake at 7AM downtown are me and the homeless. I wanted to go to a Library and there were a few, but they opened at 9, or simply closed for the holiday. Bummer. Remembering it’s July 3rd and tomorrow is Independence Day, I add a stop at Whole Foods, buy way too much stuff for two days to make sandwiches, and I’m back on my to the West.

I’m a little bummed I won’t pass through Kansas, as I was a fan of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and that is where Dorothy was from, so I’ll pretend it was Arkansas instead, and I sing the songs while riding my good old car. No red shoes with me unfortunately, and of course “there is no place like home”, just need to figure out where it is. Endless roads in the middle of nowhere, my mind tossing off thoughts like there’s no tomorrow, and I stumble in fictitious conversations I imagine having with people I will either never meet again or not anytime soon, or simply pseudo-philosophical ideas taking place for no reason while trying to stay awake with SiennaMiller –the car, set on cruise.

I think about the fact that I forgot to mention that I saw where John Wayne was born, when I was still driving through Iowa, as well as where the Bridges of Madison County by R.J. Waller was set. Ah, Francesca. Well, now I said it. If you do not know what or whom I am referring to, sweet goodness, google both John Wayne and Waller, for your own sake. This said, my mind was just rambling today. I was thinking about freedom, probably inspired by the “land of the free and the home of the brave” quote in reference to “Happy Birthday America” heard on the radio, but also gender, nature, and … I don’t know. Really, just try to consider every time you’re lost in your thoughts and you find yourself thinking about the sun and the moon when you only started it all with just: “this is such a tasty beverage I just got at Starbucks”. Something like that. In addition to this, while listening to the radio, they always come up with discussions and talks with either hosts or simply reporting news, so all summed up here I am, talking to myself. We are not really free in this world, so no matter how I want to consider this whole “thing” my freedom experience through the U.S., at the end of the day, I am partly free, but not completely, and I must say, it bothers me a little. Ok more than a little. Ok fine, it bothers me a whole lot. Basically I hate it.

Freedom …of choice is what we have, and not even in full, considered the time being. Instead of evolving we’re going backwards, it’s infuriating. I don’t even know how I got to the point of remembering when I was in Massachusetts the first time, and I had this assignment about “Undoing Gender” for my psychoanalysis class. I really worked hard to prove it, I think I made my point back then, but as of right now, it is just impossible to undo the actual gender. Let me explain. English is a language (bullet that I used back then as well, by the way) that is not “gendered” and, in order to refer to something by emphasizing its “gender”, you need to add a word next to it to refer to the masculine or feminine aspect of that “thing” you are trying to explain. The articles and the adjectives do not allow you to understand if a thing is feminine or masculine. Romance languages (and others as well) instead do. So for every word we have its form: if it is masculine or feminine. We know. That’s why, most of the time, I like to play with the words in English and say, for instance: my car, she is my best friend. Because car, in Italian, is feminine. Not only that, but also city, in Italian is feminine, but in English I can put a gender to “it” and play with it. New York to me is a woman, just like Los Angeles, whilst Seattle and Washington are men. Why? I don’t know. Nature in Italian is automatically a woman. I mean, it’s a feminine noun, which eventually translated into Mother Nature to make it a female. Long story short, gender exists. In nature we have genders: we have female, male, sometimes hermaphrodites. The whole animal kingdom is like that. We are animals, so we were genetically born as either one, the other, and less often (but it happens) the third. To this I should also add what I learned at that time in Mount Holyoke, where I got to know about herms, ferms, and merms, making it up to a total of 5 intersexual groups. (Read this if you want to know more about Fausto-Sterling’s article)…but let’s stick to the point because I am getting off track. What I want to say is that, by nature, gender exists, you cannot undo it. If you’re born with a penis your body is the body of a male. What is not “by nature” is the identification of it with your persona. You can be born with a penis, your body is male, but your identity is not. You can still be a female at birth but your identity does not match with the way you look outside, or vice-versa, or anything in between those 5 levels I just mentioned above. BUT you MUST be free to IDENTIFY with whomever and whatever you want. Is this possible in 2019. Not completely. And this sickens me. Also, there was a research about a massive percentage of Americans who are not born “complete” or fully formed in one or the other gender, (again read it here) and they just get fixed right after birth following either a surgeon or a parent’s discretion, causing what will eventually become a real discomfort to the baby while growing up, as she or he is not feeling him or herself in the body that was “fixed” for them; he or she may have psychological problems, and many even commit suicide. This to be added to the fact we are not free. Period.

What is freedom then? I don’t know how I ended up talking about all this, but hopefully you got the point about being free in a society where freedom is not an actual choice, or not in its whole. With these thoughts I drove through Oklahoma and my irascibility grew stronger. I found myself in the middle of nowhere, driving around stooopid people. Where are you all even going on July 3rd? Shouldn’t you all be home getting those stooopid fireworks ready and getting your stooopid BBQs on fire? See? Anger. Anyway, despite the bad mood I stopped in Oklahoma City because the weather was starting to be inclement. A huge storm was coming and I needed to update the blog because I did not do it in the morning. I find another Starbucks downtown and take a rest while writing. Once the sky cleared up a little, I felt like doing something productive in OKC so I look for a riverfront area and I find it: I need to walk. A walk which turned into a run, which turned into a longer walk with no one around me for so long that I had the chance to sing out loud all the songs I had on shuffle on my phone and in my ears. I think only the geese and the crows heard me. Hopefully. I just gave a little show to nature walking back to the car, all sweaty but relieved. Anger was almost all gone. And I think Oklahoma wanted to thank me for stopping by offering a sunset, behind the storm clouds, that I cannot express with words and the photos are simply incapable of showing the truth. With cars and trucks speeding around me, on my left and on my right, I took my time on the highway heading towards Texas enjoying every little second of that big red sun setting, the strong winds and the rain that came right after, with the sky lighten up every other second, and the flash flood warnings buzzing on my phone.

Nashville, TN


July 2, 2019

Who knew I would love Nashville so much? Yeah, me neither. I reached the city on July 1st but I needed a rest. My whole body (and soul as well) was aching so I spent the night at an AirBnB, because I am dead tired of filthy and creepy motels. I didn’t even meet the hosts, which is fine with me. I slept in a very comfortable room and the following morning I was ready to visit the city. A.m.a.z.i.n.g. Yes.

Being on the road for so long, relying only on myself and my reactions to things, I am also noticing how my mood changes, and how I wake up in the morning ready (or not) to face both life in general, and people most of all. It could easily be related to the menstrual cycle, as this week I can barely stand myself, not to mention strangers and annoying people who, for whatever reason, never cease to exist. Every little thing could be a spark to set me on fire, I’m irritable and I could kill. Not literally, but it’s better to not step on my foot. This said…

The first scene appearing in front of me downtown Nashville is a horde of individuals of any age, already walking up and down the streets at not even 10AM on a Tuesday morning, carrying musical instruments. Ding. Let’s go see this “Broadway” everyone is telling me about then, instead of wasting time looking for spots where I can capture a good shot of the skyline or so. Oh well. As soon as I see the Honky Tonk in the distance, I start hearing music on the background, as if there was a concert nearby. Getting closer the music gets louder, I can definitely tell that what I am hearing is live music, not something coming out of huge speakers. Welcome to Broadway, Nashville. For those who don’t know, just like me before I got told, a “honky tonk is an establishment that contains at least one rocking stage, cold beverages, and a party that lasts all day, everyday.” Yes, every single day. The streets are packed mostly every day, you can listen to music for free, taking a stroll or drinking at a bar, and usually the people playing are those waiting to see their dream come true. Plus, being the week of Independence Day, they’re assembling a stage right at the center of the street blocking the intersections with the major roads, so I guess there will be some sort of massive party going on either tomorrow or the day after. Too bad I’m going to miss this. No, not really. I can’t “people”, not all these people, all by myself. Not these days.

<<Once upon a time there was a little Italian girl who dreamed to be a rockstar. She used to sing and dance, mimicking Jem and the Holograms and listening to the bands his brother was listening to. Madonna, Michael Jackson, Mariah Carey but then Dire Straits, Police and Phil Collins were always playing in her dad’s car. She was one of the very few who had the Cicciobello Rock, a doll with a microphone who could sing and dance (see photo) just like her. She will never be a star and she will never again sing on stages, in front of people, covering pop songs with her friends as a teenager. Then one day she found herself in Nashville, Tennesse, when she was not a girl anymore, and her dreams changed with the time and the places she lived in. Crossing path with all these other people in the music city, she felt their vibes and smiled at them. It was nice to realize there is still someone out there who dares to dream, and they dream big. So she shed tears and wished no one could see. Then, she kept walking.>>

After having absorbed all I could from those vibes pervading the air, took a few shots of the skyline, smiled and sung in silence, recognized a few songs and going all the way down memory lane with Kid Rock and the day I met and hugged him at the U.S.O Christmas event in Aviano, I walked all the way to the Musicians Hall of Fame and Museum, and took my time there, honoring those who made of music their purpose in life. It was sad seeing nobody cared that much. The museum was almost empty, but I was glad I could enjoy it with very few humans around. Nonetheless, obnoxious little girls monopolized the recording booth where you could record yourself singing songs like a rockstar, and the little girl in me snapped, while the adult smiled at them, and she was glad they could have some good memories. (Mofos!) What is certain is that they will never have a career as singers unless they take singing classes. DearLord they were so out of tune. My ears were bleeding, at every “you’re gonna seeee meee roooaarrr oh oh oh oh”. Poor Katy Perry. To frame and conclude my stay in the Music City, I look for a good plant based place to have lunch. I am taking myself to lunch at a restaurant today. I find Vege-licious and at first I think I am going to regret it because why spending money when I could get something at Whole Foods or so? Instead, the place is a cozy little home-based spot, rural and sweet, where the atmosphere is serene and food is really good. The cheesecake too, which was the perfect way to satisfy my sweet tooth after a whole plate of “soul food” I got as main course. If you’re in Nashville, go check it out before they expand. And even after.

Anyway, time for me to move on to the next stop, which I still don’t know what will be. I’m heading west, that’s for sure. If it took me more than three weeks to get here, I am counting it would take me at least the same amount of time to find myself back in California. I guess the final destination, at this point, is Los Angeles, CA. What we don’t know, is my next destination, and the following, and the next one, until the car allows me, and until I’ll be in the City of Angels, once again.

As far as I am concerned, it could take longer, and I am always open to possibilities. I am still on the road, and I am still may destinations to reach which are still not revealed because I’ll picked them every morning by just looking at a map I bought in April. Let’s see where I will be tomorrow, and let’s keep moving from there. Meanwhile, if you’ll ever get the chance, visit the music city because it is soooo much worth it. I did believe too that it was only country music and a bunch of rednecks. It’s not. It’s a cradle of bands, musicians of any kind, trying to find their way to success, and that’s fascinating. Keep dreaming y’all. Because, quoting the Blind Melon, “when you feel your life ain’t worth living, you’ve got to stand up and take a look around, and you look way up to the sky. Yeah, and when your deepest thoughts are broken, keep on dreaming boy, ’cause when you stop dreamin’ it’s time to die.”

Delaware, Washington D.C., Virginia


June 30, 2019

Apparently, when dealing with me, people easily make mistakes or forget to do things and I have to be the one paying for it. Interesting. I wonder how this happens but I do not want to jump to conclusions and say that I always interface with incompetence as, most of the times, the very same people were nice and accommodating, so it must be me. I create chaos, and the storm last night should have reminded me of that.

Briefly, my pitstop at another Pep Boys in Delaware turned out to be a correction of what someone else has previously done. It could be people in Omaha, NE where they thought I was crazy because they could hear no weird noise, or it could have been back in Colorado Springs, CO. Whatever it was, in here they heard it, they fixed it, and apart for those other few issues we already know about I am good to go back on the road. Most importantly, Steve managed to make me pay zero dollars as, his words “if they didn’t do anything wrong before, she wouldn’t be here to fix it so… you’re good to go”. Thank you! Thank you! Thanks so much.

On my way to the Old Wide West I start to see colors that are dear to me, finally. Golden fields alternate to green flat lands and Maryland offers some cute spectacles around me, while crossing bridges approaching Washington D.C. I already know I am not going to spend the night in the District Capital of the U.S. of A. because, I don’t know, I just don’t feel like it, I just need to figure out where to go to next, as –like it says, my destination is unknown. I just take a quick stroll downtown, I see the White House, the ridiculous amount of security all around it which makes me think “is it just me, or this is insane? Like, for real, stop this madness and send these people home. Standing under a toasting sun in June, for what? For whom? Go home.” I am impressed at the beauty of the architecture in Washington. White buildings replicating the ancient Greek and Roman styles make it look fancy and majestic. You can tell that this kind of buildings show some importance, but I guess it is just a reflection of what these creations can inspire in people watching from below. Quick visit at the Pentagon, just out of curiosity, and of course pictures do not show the typical shape of the building, but what I can say is that it is not a majestic as, for whatever reason, I thought it could be. So off to the West, and I find myself driving through Virginia.

Once again, the landscape helps not falling asleep as it did before instead. More green, more of a mountain like environment, National Forests, losing network coverage, and I decide to spend the night in Roanoke, VA as I could see a massive star from the highway which made me think it was time to rest, until tomorrow. I find out that Roanoke is called the lost colony, because in 1590, at his return to America after fighting for the queen of England, Mr. White found no trace of the colony or its inhabitants, his whole family and friends were all gone. Investigations of the “Lost Colony” of Roanoke have continued for centuries but there is still no answer, only assumptions up to today. Curious story. I wonder why, out of all the other towns I could go to, I felt drawn to this. Mystery. Once again I don’t stay long. The time for a quick coffee at Starbucks, a few lines written down and off I go again. I don’t feel like socializing lately and even the stupidest encounter is annoying.

I have to say though that this last drive has offered some breathtaking moments. The sunset was like one of those you do not see very often, with the sun hiding behind the clouds but still spreading out its colors. In addition to this, fireflies. Just like the night before at Ida’s house I could see the lightning bugs after what seems like forever, this time I could see them lighting the path for me on both sides of the highway, filling up the hills surrounding me and the other travelers. Nature is beautiful, no doubts about it. I’m just so terribly sorry for all the bugs, moths, butterfly that committed suicide hitting the front of my car, and for those animals resting in peace on the side of the road, and it enrages me to think people simply could not hit the breaks harder to avoid killing them. Hopefully it does not happen to me anytime soon. Let them live.

Philadelphia, PA and New Jersey


June 29, 2019

I have to tell the truth, today I thought: f*ck the East Coast let’s go back West. A spiraling shitload (pardon my French but it clearly represents the mood) of negativity started surrounding me, and all I can think of is “if only I were back in California”. Yeah, no bueno. Not if you’re literally on the other coast, the other side of a continent, the beginning of the end.

I tried to get in contact with the people I know in Boston, New York and that part of America I already visited. Not it town, busy, busy, not it town, no answer, no answer… Wow. I guess I either picked the wrong time or I may only have to reconsider a few things. Probably the latter. After leaving Niagara Falls, at this point, all I could think of was heading back West. I knew Montreal in Québec was almost a stone thrown from where I was, considering the miles I’ve been driving so far, and my bud Jason would be in town, but going all the way up means I have to necessarily go all the way down later, passing through areas like Boston and NY where apparently there is no one there to greet me. I’ve gone through that road before, I actually road tripped with my mother and my aunt back in 2011 all the way from Mount Holyoke College to Montreal, Boston, and NY so the voice in my head spoke: hell to that, start heading down South so you can eventually turn right and go West. So I did, and I found myself driving for hours and hours before reaching Philadelphia, PA.

There was just one more problem: it’s the week of the Fourth of July and Philadelphia has the whole city engaged and dedicated to this event, but I would find this out only later in the afternoon, after questioning if it is my bad luck or who knows what that gets me into these stupid situations. Since Colorado Springs, my car has been making a weird noise, as you should know considering I spent most of the time at that Auto Station in Omaha, NE where they could not fix the problem. Thinking of what it could be, all things considered, I managed to figure it could be a breaks’ issue so I call Pep Boys to find their closest location in Pennsylvania. I got turned down by at least three locations in the city, where I could always book an appointment on line but when getting there, they would simply not checking me in because they were fully booked. System down or not, that was it. I was done. I was cursing everyone and everything, and probably karma was also making me pay for it, so I stopped. I called my grandma’s cousin in Pennsville, NJ and she told me to stop by their house. I book an appointment for the following morning at a Pep Boys near them, and I called it quits with Philadelphia. Before leaving I think of doing a quick tour while sitting in the car, a sort of individual sightseeing. Yeah? Yeah, no. It was impossible to drive through the city streets. Usually on weekends LA is deserted, or almost. Philly was as packed as a regular day of the week if not more, because I started noticing people were not dressed like as if they were going to work, they were all… tourists. Or being tourists for this Independence Day week festival. This “Celebration of Freedom” was depriving me of my own liberty. Humans waiting in line everywhere, sold out tickets for even the stupidest attraction, when the light was green you still had to wait for floods of individuals crossing, and by the time they were almost all gone the light would turn red again and… oh, the weather: 100 degrees F, it was driving me crazy. I had to think about a way out super fast.

After seeing the main attractions from the outside, taking a few pictures and loading up with anger, disgust, and frustration, I am on my way to Jersey. I think, “Philadelphia you are actually pretty, with all the buildings and these little corners reminding me of Boston, but I chose the wrong time” plus something in me was saying “you’ll get back here soon, now just leave” so I left. And it was the right thing to do. As soon as I parked my car on my cousin Ida’s driveway, a massive storm hit us and the apocalypse was all around us. Ida lives on the shore of the Delaware river, on the Jersey side. Water from the waves, the rain, the wind blowing in circles, and boom: a blackout. A pole fell and that was it. We were left without electricity for the whole night. I thought: wow. I brought a power outage to New Jersey. I bring catastrophes to the places I go to, as my business card. Despite the weather, I had a good quality time with family and I was thankful for that. Ida’s house is exactly how I picture myself living in the future, utopian thinking, with a music room, covered in windows, facing the ocean, where you can enjoy sunrise or sunset, with the sound of the waves cuddling your ears (and your soul) 24/7. She told me stories about her travels, we talked about my grandma, and cooked “pasta e fagioli” from the typical Italian tradition, all framed by a sweet watermelon slice we had while enjoying sunset and fireworks facing Delaware with fireflies all around us. It’s been forever since I’ve seen fireflies. Wow. Just wow. Let’s see what tomorrow will bring.

Toronto and Niagara Falls


June 28, 2019

Back to Canada! Here we go! I should have spent the afternoon of the 27th in the Canadian city of Toronto, instead what was supposed to be a normal drive of four to five hours, turned into a nightmare. They told me it may have been because of Canada Day and the fact people were planning ahead and moving for the long weekend, but hell no. Well, for being a Thursday afternoon, what I saw was crazier than the L.A. traffic. I eventually left the car in a parking place and went to grab dinner in a sort of Whole Foods close to where the car was. It was dark already, and I did not feel like doing any “exploring”. My mind is still drained and I can feel that I am not moving much on my body as well. I am sore, I feel heavy and simply tired. Time to rest.

In the morning I manage to visit and walk around. The anger, the disappointment, the dislike I experienced last night are luckily gone. Apart from the main photo-worth attractions, I decide to take a ferry ride to Centre Island, even if part of it is flooded because of the weather conditions we had a little bit everywhere in the world this past year. The view from the ferry in phenomenal. The whole skyline spreads in front of me as to say “sorry for last night”, and I enjoy what I see. I really needed a silver lining for this trip which is eventually starting to weigh on me. I am feeling like from the Midwest to East, everything is simply not worth it. I know it is such a bad thing to say, but not everyone feels comfortable in the cities and most of all in people filled places. In the West I had so much land to see, with its variety and all, here if it’s not green land and green hills with light blue skies (which still is something pretty to see) it’s all cities packed with people and traffic. I need more than that. I got spoiled the first two weeks going to National Parks, experiencing the beauties of nature and I feel betrayed now. Yes, even man made creations are nice, the tall buildings, the skyscrapers, spot on architecture, you name it, but I feel different than before. The sense of awe is different, and I long for more nature.

Toronto was honestly really interesting, and I managed to go to places that maybe not everyone go to when they have just a few hours available to visit. I walked everywhere I could, except for that short ferry ride, and I reached a cute street that made me think “great job L, at least you saw this and it is worth the long walk”. Augusta Avenue in the Kensington Market area of historic Toronto was definitely a gem. It was a melting pot of everything. Cultures mixed up together, small food stores, cafes, bakeries, market booths here and there, weird people crossing the streets, tourists, anything you can think of was tehre. I found a bakery where I got my second lunch. A cinnamon bun and a lemon tart. Eh. At Bunner’s Bake Shop I talked to the nice staff telling them I was coming from L.A. just for them (white lie, so well said!). I even had ice-cream at Hibiscus. I needed some sweet to make up for that bitterness from last night.

On my way back to the car I enjoyed the view of that remaining part of the city I walked through, my back was sore and I needed a rest. So a couple of more hours sitting in the car driving to Niagara Falls felt like a good compromise to do so. The spectacular scene that awaits you at Niagara is not comparable to anything else. It is a view that you have to see for yourself to understand, because videos and photos cannot represent in full the massive power and energy that you can feel being surrounded by a force of nature so perfectly done. Despite having thousands of people around you, you can still feel powerless and vulnerable in front of such an amazing scenery. So I stood there and filled myself back up with energy, cuddling my heart again, trying to forget the bad feelings from before. I had to have a couple of friends reminding me why I was doing what I am doing. One made me recall that I had to leave L.A. because it was sucking everything out of me and I wanted to see more of this world. Right. The other, who does not know me much or not that well, but we’re very similar and we think alike, said exactly four words that I needed to hear: “finish what you started“. Raw and real, just like he is. And I smiled. This is exactly what made me keep going. I always finish and finished what I started, I can’t avoid it. Even if I find myself struggle and in pain to finish something –and I may even not do it properly, I just have to reach the end of it, so I’ll do it this time as well. I am almost on the other side of a continent and I need to keep moving. Who’s with me? Oh wait. Never mind.

Chicago, Illinois


June 26, 2019

What’s up Chicago?!?! I’ve been waiting forever to come see you bud, here you are! Splendid. I wish I could see one of my kids to show me around but nope, not this time, I’m going to explore this city all alone, as usual.

I had to get here late, or better later than expected, because I wanted to stop by a mechanic and ask for a quick check to my wheels as I can now hear a weird noise after they changed my oil and rotated the wheels in Colorado Springs. The guys at the Auto Station couldn’t even hear the sound, so 1. they thought I was crazy and 2. they didn’t do anything except for trying to make me feel a little less concerned about a potentially imminent car crush. They tried to see what was wrong though, for at least a couple of hours, and they were kind enough that they did not make me pay the “consultation”, so before leaving I had already ordered a pizza on GrubHub which got to them 2 minutes after I was on my way to Chicago.

Last night I took it easy. I keep on being tired and can’t figure out a way to recover. I spent the afternoon working on a translation and for a little bit it felt like I actually had a life, in the sense that the motel room disappeared around me and it seemed like I was in L.A. in my apartment, working on something, waiting for the sunset I could see from my windows facing DTLA. Yes, I miss being in Los Angeles. Even though I left because I was feeling overwhelmed by it, I am still longing for the city of angels. After all, that’s where I wanted to go, to move, to live, and I guess she’s waiting for me to come home.

I am so drained I don’t even feel like taking photos or writing about what I am seeing and feeling. I am having a moment, I guess, reaching this part of my adventure, when I am questioning and doubting. Everything. Having technical issues with the car, along with my concerns in general, is not helping, and I am not even enjoying the city as much as I wanted. I feel like I need to be in the wilderness to actually function for this matter. California, Oregon, Washington, Utah, even British Colombia, offered me an escape almost every day, where I could go and free my mind, open up to nature, and touch things. See things. Breathe things. Smell things. Feel. From Colorado on, it’s been green and blue, green and blue, the rain, the clouds, and then Nebraska was nice but did not really pass some good vibes, Iowa was ok, and at least I had a recap of some good music so… what is going on really? I don’t know.

While entering Illinois, two songs accompanied me and they were totally random on the radio station I was listening to: one was Papercut by the Linkin Park, and I am pretty sure I do not need to give another explanation about why this is so important, but most of all, after such a long time I cannot even recall, I heard I’ll be missing you the remake Puff Daddy did with Faith Evans of Every Breath You Take by the Police. Why does this matter? Because this song was the song we dedicated to Michela, a friend from high school who died when we were 16. That year we were in Austria, classmates and friends together, and at a bowling place the song came on the radio. We looked at each other and we thought “she’s here, with us” and since then I always wanted to believe it was true. After all, what are the chances you would hear this song on the radio in 2019? Right. So Ciao Micky, thanks for being here with me today. I miss you too.

This to say I eventually had company today, while visiting Chicago. I took a long walk all over the downtown area, the riverfront and the lakeshore. The parking ticket says 8 hours, so we better believe I have been wandering around for a while, except for maybe those moments I sat at a Starbucks and at Whole Foods where I grabbed lunch. Chicago reminded me that I haven’t been reporting about the smells I sensed in this crazy trip. Every time I was smelling something or having a reminiscence of a place and a time somewhere else, by perceiving some specific odors, I thought “I need to write this on the blog”, and then guess what? I always forgot. I think Portland smelled like my apartment in Sydney, or was it Seattle? Curry and typical Indian Food smell was all over, while Vancouver reminded me of Liverpool. In Chicago, I had it all. A corner smelled like my room at Mount Holyoke College, in South Hadley, MA and the moment I actually recalled it was kind of bittersweet. Somewhere else I smelled fried doughnuts or something, and it reminded me of those nights in September when the nights are getting cooler, and in my hometown there is a town fest where food trucks sell “frittelle”, cotton candy, sweets and caramelized nuts. Then there was a corner that smelled like fried fish, and I was back in those towns on the beach in the Venetian coast, where you walk at night, and all you can do is getting hungry by simply smelling the air. Oh hey, there were also those smelly corners where it seemed like the city had diarrhea, and the putrified smell of sewage were all around, but I tried not to be annoyed by those so much. After all, the city is actually beautiful, walkable, and I enjoyed it, even if just for a day.

At the Millennium Park, in the morning, they were preparing for a music festival that I think had to happen later the same night, and although I actually thought for a moment to stay, and go to that concert alone, as I started doing with pride and honor (chuckle) these days, today I do not feel like having to be social, or alone in the middle of people. Either I am alone and isolated, or not. Alone in the middle of everyone has been my status for so long that I just don’t feel like doing it now. I may be missing a really cool event, but I won’t push myself beyond the limit. My comfort zone sometimes is already too uncomfortable itself, that I don’t need to step out of it to prove something to either myself or anyone else. I wish I were not this tired, and exhausted, and drained. Hopefully I will get some energies back soon.

Nebraska and Iowa


June 24-25, 2019

Trigger warning: if you are suffering from depression, suicidal thoughts or simply hate everyone and everything around you, read this post at your own risk.

Driving through Nebraska and Iowa drained my soul. Maybe not even in a bad way, I probably needed it to let out a few of those demons I do not even hate that much anymore. A never ending parade of blue sky and green land simply deactivated me and, in addition to the lack of proper sleep with my constant ups and downs, I broke down. Can you be a human being who thinks about death on a daily basis without being depressed? Many think it is impossible, that there must be some sort of mental illness behind it, causing unbalances on a mental level and whatsoever, but after years and years of research, therapies and experimentations, I am confident to say you can. I apologize in advance if this post will cause some distress but hey, deal with it or leave.

First things first, it is not easy to actually finally open up about it, but considering I am a nobody in front of a computer screen, yes I feel a little ashamed, but not even that much. I am not even looking for any sort of understanding, pity, sympathy, whatever really. This is my place and I can use it however I want.

What I have been dealing with since a very young age is not a disease nor some weird form of dysfunctional part belonging to the emotional sphere, it is just who I am. We all have monsters hiding underneath our skin (not literally) — sometimes it’s anxiety, or depression, or BPD, or PTSD, OCD, secrets, traumas, past events, and whatsoever. But my monster is not a monster, it’s just… me. I could try and explain how I feel on a day-to-day basis, or even hour-to-hour, but it would not make much sense, and most of all, it is always changing. “I am moody” we say, and yeah, let’s stick to that. Although some days are better than others. You wake up and you are ok, you do your things, you even interact with other people, and others are just a no. Like no. For real.

What I do not absolutely want to pass with this post, is the message that all this could be the consequence of some sort of recurring trauma, or all due to past events perpetrating through time. No. Mother, I know you may be reading this so stop with whatever you may be thinking. Realizing you are NOT ONLY the result of what happened in your life and in your past is a very big step to take. Because at a certain point in life, it is YOUR responsibility to take action, and either react or just succumb to whatever has been going on, supporting you or taking you down. In any case, that sense of guilt, of impotence, of unworthiness, of being the victim, of not having the possibility to escape the current situation, yadda yadda, all this has to stop. I made it stop and I started researching. I understood why I have specific thoughts, why I cope with emotions with binge sessions (of any kind as of right now) and, most of all, I learned to accept myself with flaws and all.

Having suicidal thoughts does not always mean you are depressed. Thinking of ending this momentary situation on Earth does not always mean you are suffering from pains inflicted by others, or that you are seeking for attention, or that you have a mental illness that has to be cured, or that you hate yourself, someone else, your life, your past, your traumas, your whatever. Sometimes you are totally fine, even content at days, but you are simply aware of the fact that you may totally be a human being that does not completely accept this mortal condition, and being a mortal sucks more than anything else in the whole world, so much so that you start wondering, imagining, picturing what it would be like to not be around.

Oh well, once you drop the bomb it’s kind of annoying to deal with people’s reactions so feel free to judge without necessarily reaching out with whatever messages or advice you may have. Just keep in mind that whatever you or we are going through, doctors can misdiagnose, medications are not always necessary, some therapists do not know shit and they simply want your money, family is not always to be blamed, friends neither, and society simply sucks. Last but not least, if you realized that you may resemble whomever I tried to describe above, welcome to the club. You’ll end up comforting others, reassuring them that you’re fine, that no, you are not going to cut your wrists, swallow pills or jump off that balcony, or something. And by the way, all this is simply weird and confusing and exhausting at the same time because you are retracing thoughts you actually had, and the discomfort you are feeling right now is normal. Again, deal with it.

Wow, who would have thought Nebraska and Iowa would have done this to me? Ha. I guess I should have seen it coming while absorbing the nothingness around me for miles and miles, and after passing the border between the two states, the radio in Iowa started blasting rock and metal music like there is no tomorrow, finally ditching the country music radio stations that, for whatever reason, always have receptions, along with the Christian Music ones. I mean. Ok but …no. Music apparently is my actual true and real therapist. I’ve been to therapists that simply cannot help. No hard feelings guys, you simply cannot. I’ve always denied permission to offer me medications. I know how those work and… they don’t. I mean, for me. I’m not saying you all taking medications should ditch them, but talking for myself, no thank you. I’ll pass. I see how things affect me, things like …actual things, but also people, situations, emotions, food, drinks, books, anything. I am a constantly open lab, I am experimenting on myself and I am learning something new every day, and I am actually glad I can do it.

With all this experimenting, well, I learned. I learned that I am in part my emotions and in part I am not, but what I feel and think in particular moments, are not necessarily real or reality. My perceptions can at times be deviated and may be “capturing” things in the wrong way, so I simply have to be patient and observe. I learned to check facts, to study, to do research and learn more. But most importantly, I learned I’m not “the only person with these things in mind” just like Chester used to sing.

This thing I am doing, traveling without a fixed destination is a clear representation of who I am, of what I am capable of doing, and how I deal with things. I needed it to remind myself that yes, I may have to heal from some pain I endured, yes I may have to face some thoughts I always tried to ignore, as well as accepting that other thoughts I had before are TO ME, simply normal, and NO ONE has the “power” to be labelled as “guilty” for this. Not my family, not my friends, nor other humans, not even society (wait, I am really saying this? Yea, ahh emm) it is just how it is. Every day is different, every day I AM different, and I am still here, I am still living, and at this point, I am simply appreciating the fact that, at least, I realized this world is worth living in. This Earth is a planet worth staying on for as long as we can. And beware of this: I may be saying something completely different in like, a minute or two, but that will just go away, because the truth is that I like this place, in its whole. It’s just that humans are kind of a pain in the butt most of the time.

Last but not least I will conclude with saying that Edwin Schneidman, author of Autopsy of a Suicidal Mind (read it!), notes how there are indeed cases of individuals having spontaneous suicidal thoughts, without depression. Statistics say that “90% of people who die by suicide have a diagnosable mental illness” which leaves a gap of at least 10% of people who dies by suicide, as individuals who are not depressed or having mental illness. You can still think of letting your body sink into the dark waters of the Reservoir next to Brookline, or jumping off the balcony of that seventh floor apartment in West Hollywood. You can still think of swallowing all those painkillers knowing their side effects and consequences of overdosing with them in L.A. You can still see yourself hitting that wall with the car in Italy or crossing the highway while there’s a red light for pedestrians in Melbourne. You can. Let that thought travel through your mind and don’t lock it up. Let it flow. Don’t choke it or it will suffocate you. Embrace it, accept it, let it go.

The first time I thought about death and willing to die I was around 7 years old. I know this for sure because I read it on my first “secret diary” as we used to call it, or journal, that I found and took with me to L.A. last summer. Eye opening. This is who I am, who I was and who I will always be, and I am OK with it. Thank you Nebraska and Iowa for reminding me that. Sorry folks for not having taken pictures of these two States, which I am certain they have cute little areas to be spotted, but I guess it was more important to me, at this point, to take care of this “situation” first. Off to Illinois. See you in Chicago where I’ll be reporting on less serious matters. Cheers.

If you are suicidal, depressed, dealing with any sort of illness and need help, look for your local organization or hospital. A quick google research will open up several possibilities. USE IT.

Colorado, sand dunes and books


June 23, 2019

It was actually June 22nd that I was in Colorado. I woke up in Pagosa Springs and drove for another hour or so, to reach what is to me a sacred place: sand dunes. Recently I found myself stopping along the way while hiking, to take a moment and actually be grateful for what I am seeing, feeling, smelling, absorbing, rejecting… In Utah, for instance, I sat on a rock facing the arches. No one was around me because people are fundamentally lazy. I sometimes “hate” myself for staying just a short while wherever I am going, taking a too short walk, or hike, but some of us out there really take it to another level. What’s their main purpose while visiting a place? I am not sure, but very few of us humans were opting for walking down the Primitive Trail, which said “difficult” at the entrance, so I had only very few encounters with those of my species, which is something I am really happy about. I took advantage of being almost alone in the area, and sat. Listening to the only sound of the wind blowing through the rocks, reminded me of when I road tripped for the first time with Emily, in 2011. My first time in the Mojave Desert, in SoCal and my first time with real silence. A deafening silence, to use an oxymoron that expresses the unexpected sensation I had. Blessed.

The Great Sand Dunes were packed with people being profane in my sacred place. To reach the dunes you have to walk through a stream of water all around them. All these individuals with inflatables, umbrellas, tents, and more, treating the dunes as regular beach places where you just go to sun bathe and your children pee in the water, made my anger explode. I was expecting silence. I was foreseeing respect, experts of the land handling obnoxious humans: yes you’re allowed to visit, yes you can sand board, yes you can even take your pets and your kids, but you cannot leave Starbucks cups and dogs’ dejections everywhere. I started taking photos to document it. I had to. Spoiled rotten little kids whining, crying, screaming and I was done. Despite how hard it is to walk on the dunes, in the sand, while sinking deep, with the wind blowing sand grains in your eyes, ears, mouth, nose, everywhere, I started hiking up and down, seeing that the further I was going, the fewer people I could see. Just youngsters, in small groups, going all the way up to the high ones to sand board, and that was actually fine with me. I was smiling at them remembering my time in Huacachina, Peru, sand boarding with my BC peeps, riding those funny dune buggies like crazy. Fun times.

Going down memory lane allowed me to release some of the bother and I eventually reached the top, enjoying the view all around me. I sat and I contemplated the wonders of this place. To be honest, I also felt a little sorrow for not having anyone with me to say “See? How amazing” as I could hear many say while passing me by. Everyone had someone having their back, but me. They all had someone rooting for them, “come on, one more dune” or “one more, one more, see the rim? So close!” and I only had the voice in the back of my head with me, which we already know is not exactly what we would define as my best friend. But I endured and I stayed. After a while, being all covered with sand, I just decided to walk down and head North. I was thirsty and hungry, and still had a little annoyance lingering within me, thinking of having to cross path again with those irreverent individuals there, at the bottom. Luckily a friend of mine from Boston moved to Colorado, now living in Boulder, and I can’t wait to get there.

Maintenance Required light: ON. UGH! I have to do a quick pit-stop for an oil change. Colorado Springs seems to be the closest place where I can get it on a Saturday afternoon. Deal. The Pep Boys guys in LA have always treated me with courtesy, so I choose to go visit their colleagues in Colorado. They find a couple more issues on my SiennaMiller but, not having the financial possibilities nor the time to fix those, they kindly change the oil and replace an air filter for me, treating me once again as a valuable customer, and then they just write a note for future reference in case I decide to get everything working properly again. Great attitude is the key. I leave and go back on the road with a few more concerns, but glad I found some nice fellows in here as well as in LA.

The road to Boulder was… soaking wet. I had to go through two storms, a couple accidents and a whole lot of water, but once in Boulder the weather was merciful and I could greet Gabriel, my friend, after two years from the last time we hung out in Boston. Mah “wicked” Bawston. It was so nice to see a familiar face and do something with a friend. We went out right away, to a German place he likes, having the chance to catch up on the past two years of our stooopid crazy lives. The following morning we opt for a Tea House downtown where we have brunch, and then he shows me around. We visit two places he knows I would very much appreciate: a store where they sell old maps called Art Source International and Boulder Book Store. Loved both and bought a book: of course. If I could, I would get hundreds plus a couple old maps and an old, err vintage, wooden globe for my mother, but not now. One day. When my bank account will allow it. We eventually go for a short hike and fall into deep conversations about philosophy, biology, literature, languages, games, art… whatever. Sharing opinions and ideas, even when we disagree on some points, is something I cherish and respect. I could stay and wait for tomorrow, as it will be sunny and warm, but the road is calling. I am going to miss a Dungeons and Dragons night my friend wanted me to go to, but he understands and let me go on my way. I’m grateful for today so I leave content and laid-back. By late night I’m in Nebraska and I can rest for a few hours, thinking about my dogs back home, one in particular –who is old and in pain, and I weep a little, before Morpheus gets me…and tomorrow is another day on the road.