A little door (Episode 2)

Here we go, I mumbled to myself – the climb begins, old man! There is something fascinating about walking up a long set of stairs, I thought, as I passed the first stone blocks and column fragments which once belonged to the majestic Roman theatre built in the first century on the hillside leading up to the castle. People don’t like to show their weaknesses. I smiled, as I saw the first group of exhausted tourists resting about one fourth up the way. Of course, not resting – they were pretending to take pictures of what once was probably a lion sculpture. Or an eagle, maybe? It did have a pointy nose or snout, I thought. I looked forward to reaching the little gallery halfway up. Another good excuse to slow down the journey. I always liked to read the graffiti on its damp, musty walls. My favorite was “I hate people and people hate me: but I hate them more. I smiled as I passed by. I had always wondered who wrote this. Maybe someone with a good sense of humour. Or a serial killer. Either way, the first drops of sweat had paid off as slowly I reached a good elevation on the winding stairs. To my right, the stone ranks of the theatre emerged through a sea of sun beaten blocks and pillars, while the afternoon sky turned into the first shades of bright orange. “Under the skies of an Italian summer”, I thought to myself smiling. Those were the lyrics to the title track for the 1990 Football World Cup in Italy, which I fondly remembered watching with my father. This and my heavy breathing about three quarters up the stairs were a testimony that time was passing faster than I thought. The roar of the traffic seemed further away now and the chit-chat of the crowd on the massive plateau a lot closer. Hope at last. … A little door (Episode 3)