This week I was supposed to be home on Cape Cod.  I had anchored my summer return to coincide with the running of the 48th Falmouth Road Race. It’s a race that, while very crowded and starts too late in the summer morning for my taste, was one that I had resolved to do again after observing my brother with a bit of jealousy last year as he ran. My Dad and I had camped out by the Falmouth Marina and managed to catch sight of him as he ran past in his fluorescent green shirt. This year, I wanted to come back and run with him.

But the chance to curl around Nobska lighthouse and slowly ramp onto Surf Drive was not to be. This is not a huge loss because I go on multiple runs while home where I gaze out onto the Sound, watching the Steamship Authority ferries traverse between Woods Hole and Martha’s Vineyard. It’s a simple thing, but one of the activities that I love most.

So I ran a virtual Falmouth Road Race from here in Rome yesterday. I did it while listening to a podcast that eviscerated the terrible Boston accents attempted in the movie The Perfect Storm (yesssss).  The race was restyled into a “Run at Home” event, so I did my best to find motivation despite missing the ocean swells and my brother keeping pace alongside me. 

I woke up early after watching the Boston Bruins win an August playoff game the night before. I ran the seven miles and was spoiled by Rome’s many architectural wonders; it wasn’t a terrible running course as Rome “must-see” sites such as the Trevi Fountain and Ponte Sant’Angelo were deserted. The entire experience brought me back to the recurring realization that things aren’t normal this year. I have no idea what next year will be like, either. 

Bahhhhh.

This weekend I also went to see another town that was recommended by a colleague. It’s about an hour away, and is called Civita di Bagnoregio, also termed “the city that is dying”. Nice. 

Civita di Bagnoregio is indeed a visually stunning old city. It is described as dying because it suffers from erosion. You can only access the village through a footbridge, and the internet tells me that there are 16 residents. The rest are the hoards of tourists like me making the pilgrimage to have a look around. Red Cross workers manned the entry point of the bridge to check temperatures as a town employee scanned entry tickets (it cost 5 euros to wander Civita).

Like I said at the start, I’ve had home on my mind. And while Civita di Bagnoregio is worthy of visiting exactly one time, I would not recommend visiting in the summer (COVID or otherwise). It was crowded, and I found that the stand-off views far away from the bridge were the best part about going. Otherwise, it was just jammed with people wandering a handful of shops selling cianfrusaglie. Some restaurants. The Water Street of Edgartown on Martha’s Vineyard.

When I’m back home on the Cape, I look upon the shore of the Vineyard quite often. Like Civita di Bagnoregio, it’s a pretty place to go, and likewise one that has been a popular choice for visitors since long, long ago. I take a day trip to Martha’s Vineyard perhaps once a decade (and slightly less often if we are speaking of Nantucket).  Each time I go, I note (and appreciate) the crowds of economy-supporting people. I marvel at the high prices and of course, have a rich appreciation for the picturesque houses and beaches that are emblematic of Cape Cod.  But I don’t feel as though I am missing much by limiting my visits to once in a blue moon. 

I’m a lucky kid in that I grew up on Cape Cod. The grooves in my fingers were fashioned by these kinds of vistas, as such they are most familiar and most easily accessible. Whether I randomly decide to pull into Spohr Gardens for a quick walk or setting out in the morning for a run on the Bike Path….it’s great stuff.  I’m spoiled because I require no further transportation or crowd negotiation before I can derive enjoyment from the Cape. At least that’s how it used to be.

I am also now a lucky grown-up kid in that I live in Italy—especially during this time of COVID. I still have access to all kinds of natural and architectural beauty that is found each time I step outside of my door. Or drive for 120km in order to check out a dying old city that is really an engineering marvel. None of this is a story about me bemoaning the abundance of beauty in my life.

But while my parents always forbade whining in our Mashpee house, this is a story of me complaining about what I’m missing. Much like in my practice of meditation, I find myself—especially this summer—continually bringing my mind back to the present. Oh yeah, I’m here. It’s COVID. There are limitations to how we are all currently living. And then I allow my mind to wander off into a diversion.

I was in Sicily two weeks ago for a bit of vacation. I drove my car because I didn’t want to set foot on a train or aircraft. Again, COVID has us modifying our behaviors. The upside of having the car is that stops can be made wherever things look neat. I could also play deejay during the longer stretches between towns. I picked tunes that were a mix of all the places I’ve lived: France, Ireland, Senegal, the UK, Italy…and of course, home. 

At some point I choose a Billy Joel standard that always takes me back to working on a project in the Hatchville Shipyard: The Downeaster ‘Alexa’. It was about halfway through the song, while driving into Catania to check out an old Roman amphitheater, where I suddenly started to cry. Sure it was great to check out a second century ruin that the seaside città has now built itself around, but it wasn’t my città. I didn’t realize how homesick I was until that song came on and broke open my head.

So yeah. We’re all inhabiting this same proverbial boat while trying to stay as far apart from each other as possible. Yar. And my personal struggles are neither unique nor are they dire. But it is still August, and I am letting myself be a bit more selfish since it’s my birthday in a couple days. I’m grateful that the people I love retain not only their health but their sense of humor (especially the New Englanders). But I will be more even more grateful next time I am home and can set my feet up on those roads partially covered in beach sand. Whether it’s here or there, I’m doing my best to take none of it for granted.