Wandering an Incredible Life

Lying on the uncomfortable airbed down on the floor, while I’m wondering, I let my fingers slide on the thin wooden wall that divides the different areas of the dormitory. Lost in who knows what thoughts, in what distractions, I stare at the ceiling. Sudden, a detail catches my attention, and my concentration fades away, making room for a fierce curiosity. Under my fingertip I feel an unusually soft object. I turn around to see. It’s a small piece of paper, a roll maybe, firmly stuck in a crack of the wall, but I think it’s been voluntarily left protruding. Very carefully, I slowly take it out from its hiding place.

When I realize that the paper is completely full of words drawn with a pen, I feel as if I had a treasure map in my hands.

Jealous of my finding, I hide from the others’ sight, but nobody noticed me: they’re all too lost in their thoughts, or deeply asleep.

I start reading greedily. The pen trait is weak and unsure, and in some points time made the ink fade, but I can still understand.

My eyes wide open and my heart crazy, I devour those words, written by another prisoner and left here, hidden in the wall of this cell so that somebody could find them.

So that I could find them.

It’s a diary.

No, they’re memoirs. They’re precise instruction, advice.

Full of emotion, I imagine the risks that this man had to face, the terrible experiences he’s been subjected to, to be able to handwrite these words and hand down to a stranger. To me.

I hardly hold back the tears.

This man is explaining to me, through the words handwritten on this piece of paper, how to face the countless tricks, the endless mysteries, and the mortal dangers of Thai vegetarian cuisine. I hold that treasure tight on my chest, and I mentally thank this brave and compassionate man, whose name I don’t even know. I will give you a name, so that my gratitude can get to you, wherever you are.

Thank you so much…Bepi.

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Ok: now raise your hand whoever thought that this article was serious.

Forgive me, but the Thai vegetarian cuisine I tried at the temple for the whole week (more similar to the one you can find in normal houses than to the one you find in the restaurants for western tourists) without having an English menu or one with pictures, without a handbook, and without the possibility to ask, could be an adventure on its own, and it prominently contributed to toughen my strength of will. I don’t know how many times I forced myself to swallow food with a taste either horrible or so strong that it was intolerable, trying to disguise my upset expressions. At the end though, I always found the way to turn this true challenge in a good humor occasion.

From which Bepi(*), fellow of Toni, the one from Machu Picchu.

(*) A comment for the non italian readers. Toni and Bepi were tipical nicknames in my own region, few decades ago. They derive from the italian names Antonio and Giuseppe, respectively. Now they’re not used as much as in the past, but they still remain as “generic names” to use in some situations, when telling jokes, for example.