Well, here we are in Lucca, Italy. I am sitting in the kitchen of a sweet, little home located at Via Pisana 51, not too far from the older, walled in city. I got in yesterday afternoon and the travel was an other worldly experience. I was wrung dry by the time I got to my place. You know, when you have to, it is amazing how much energy you can draw from your reserves. Even at the very end of the journey, I had to run around like a crazy person to find the train to take me from Florence to Lucca. For the last challenge, I had to take a bus from the airport to the downtown train station, followed by over an hour wrestling with AT&T, while on the train to Lucca, because my phone was malfunctioning.

I can’t go one inch further without telling you how much I have appreciated the support from so many of you. This writing business is something I hope I never adjust to doing, taking for granted the idea that there are actually people who take time out of their own lives to read my stories. I am just so grateful, I can’t tell you how much it means to me.

Bullshit doesn’t seem to have a place in my writing because it just doesn’t feel right, lousy payback for your time. I can’t say I have an idea where this trip if going to take me, having really just begun, but it will not be your standard travelogue, at least that’s for certain.

I am not sure I ever looked forward to sleep as much as I did last night. I had scheduled a walking tour of the city for ten this morning, the only thing scheduled for my five days here in Lucca. I had one of the best sleeps i can ever remember, a tribute to the sheer exhaustion of the torturous travel. It was dark when I awoke and I looked for a pillow to use as a substitute for my Zen cushion. The twenty-five minutes went by quickly and then it was time to start sorting out the complete unfamiliarity of my surroundings. It is funny how so many of our daily patterns are done without any thought, just part of our daily dance, the same music, the same moves. Absolutely nothing was where it was supposed to be, a stunning welcome to the world of total improvisation.

I rolled out my yoga mat, found a couple of books to use as a block and began my routine, unchanged for twenty-five years. Somehow, I managed to get through it, knowing that the second day would feel slightly more familiar. My run was out for today because I wanted to make sure I had time to get to my tour. There is a medieval, constructed wall that surrounds the city and it is about 90 feet across, used for all sorts of activities and probably Lucca’s signature. It will be the scene for tomorrow’s run. Everything from brushing my teeth to taking a shower was a paint by numbers experience today.

When it was time to leave my place this morning, the reality of having absolutely no idea where I was hit my penchant for predictability right between the eyes. I was to meet my tour lady at 1 Corso Garibaldi, right near the bus station. I punched the info into my Google Maps and had no idea what it was directing me to do. So, living just outside the wall, I headed for it. I asked for directions and eventually found the meeting place, which is where a couple met up with myself and Wanda, our expert tour guide.

I spent the next four hours walking and mostly listening to Wanda recount the history of the city, years blending into years and facts folding over each other. Of course, I kept wondering how the hell I was going to find my way back, especially after walking from one church to the next, one street to the next and one historical fact after the other. In fairness to Wanda, she did an incredible job and her enthusiasm was wonderful. I was the problem and she was just fine.

Frankly, I was surprised by my reaction to everything I saw, feeling a kind of numbness with the repetition. The architecture is stunning, the plazas and churches are spectacular. The narrow streets, bordered by buildings that are hundreds of years old, make you wonder about life all those years ago. it seems that like there is one store front after another, uniquely designed, each one having a timeless pedigree. One of the stores was being run by the thirteenth generation of the family!

Christ, I don’t mean to sound jaded or unaffected by all I saw. It is also quite possible that I was simply overloaded by it all and it shorted out my senses. Today was my very first day in this world and I don’t think it is necessarily a fair judge of what’s to come. Even as I read this, I don’t feel quite right about it all.

When I left the statue of Puccini, I absolutely couldn’t believe that Google Maps came to life and actually told me how to get back to my place. Seriously, the lady in the machine led me out of the confusing city, through one of the passages through the wall and right to my goddamn door.

I want you to do me a favor and stay with me for the rest of this adventure. Hell, I couldn’t even find a bar of soap in the morning to wash my face and it took me a few minutes to figure out how to turn on the shower. When the mundane becomes monumental, it takes an energetic toll, draining the juice needed for imagination and wonder.