Lunch By The Sea

Movement. Flow. For one euro (the equivalent of $1.25)---I step onto the metro, ride,  transfer, slide effortlessly onto a platform, and catch the train to the sea. The Mediterraneaum (as it's called here). I am blown away by the access and ease. Legs moving, bodies moving, lives moving, all flowing and arriving.  Teeny cars moving too--and that's a juicy jazz dance of wild weave! More like knitting maybe---with gusto! Sliding in and out, in spaces unseen by me. Interlaced with women on scooters, legs splayed in skirts and boots. All of it---absolutely working. I haven't seen an accident yet. Nor do the horns honk much. It's fascinating and appears seamless!

But I digress...I'm at the sea! On a Wednesday afternoon. In Ostia...walking towards the water that faces my faraway home. At the end of a pedestrian pier, I lean out---West. The waves crash in front of me, and flow underneath me. The sun breaks through the clouds, gleaming on the crests. It's dreamy and peaceful. 

I'm hungry to taste it! Strolling up the boardwalk now---I peer in. And there it is. The table---on the water, in the sun and the wind. I step in. Hurriedly, in broken English, the waitress says--5 minutes until the restaurant closes for food orders. No problem. She asks if I'd like an appetizer. I say yes---seafood. Good. And a pasta plate? I say no...or maybe "picolino." She says "Half?" I say perfect. And a bottle of water. With gas or no? Gas, I say smiling, knowing I've landed gustatory nirvana! While I wait I take in the sea. And offer to shoot a picture of the German couple next to me (their first shot together of their trip---with thanks). And I shoot a picture of the little blonde boy next to me seriously tackling the biggest gelato on a cone---with smears of dark and white and whip on his face that looks like Picasso!

My Lunch Appears. And it is to die for. A large plate of the freshest seafood---squid, oyster, lox in oils, sardines (oh so fresh!) in oil, octupus with lemon, herbs. And other delicious creatures.  A large black bowl of mussels, plump and huge and evocative---in oil and wine so divine I'm swooning now. I am predisposed to swoon. It's true. And this moment has me. A quick wave of guilt (Me? Wednesday afternoon? So much?) washes over me. But I know better. This is mine. My moment to savor. Right here on a Wednesday afternoon on the coast of Italy with the fruits of the Mediterranean. And there's no stopping me now. I dig in. Suck. Lick. Mop. Inhale. Grin. My eyes closed...I taste. Approaching heaven, I pause. And go back for more. Each bite so very fresh. I'm going for it! It won't work in a doggie bag on the train. No---it's now or never. And I'm loving this now! 

Then, my "half" pasta arrives. There's nothing that looks "half" about it! Mounded with a new diversity of seafood! Now I'm completely incredulous. Already near bursting, I feel a form of ecstasy rising in me. There's no turning back. I'm in for the duration---and absolutely committed to all of it.  I eat every last morsel in all its glory. 

There's one thing left. I peel off my socks and boots. My toes sink down into the dark, smooth sand. The Mediterranean splooshes over my feet----baptism of fresh, cool, playful waters. I walk. Feel the shining sun. Feel the wind on my face. And feel so complete.  One final wave washes over me. Gratitude.