so i got sent to calabria (and almost quit)

okay. i’m sitting in a concrete bunker of an Airbnb in some town whose name i still can’t pronounce, shaking. not from the espresso-though that’s a factor-but from the humidity. it’s like the air swapped places with wet wool. i just checked the stupid little weather widget and it’s a flat 11.5°c but ‘feels like’ 10.82? who are they kidding? it feels like the Atlantic decided to move inland and just… sigh. the pressure says 1024, which in human terms means my sinuses are in a vice. someone told me this is ‘crisp autumn air.’ liar.

this whole assignment was a glitch. my boss, who communicates solely in passive-aggressive smileys, dropped a pin on a map of southern italy and said ‘immerse.’ immersion, my ass. i’m immersed in dust, diesel fumes, and the pervasive smell of woodsmoke and something… briny. maybe the sea? the ‘sea level’ pressure thing is 1024 but the ‘grnd level’ is 975? whatever. my head hurts.

look at that. a blob of green and beige on the tony’s-toe of italy. they said it was ‘untouched.’ untouched by what, competent internet? because this connection is a ghost. i’m trying to work and my screen keeps doing that little spinning wheel dance of death. i asked the host-a woman named maria who communicates in dramatic hand gestures and the word ‘problema?’-about it. she just laughed and said, ‘è la calabria!’ right. cool. cool cool cool.

so i walked. i had to. sat at a cafe-well, a plastic chair on a gravel patch-and the guy brought a ‘water’ that was sparkling. i didn’t order sparkling. he just… did it. i heard a tourist at the next table muttering to his wife, ‘watch out for the water, it’s a 3 euro gamble.’ yelp’s gonna have a field day with this place. but the anxiety of the unknown is less than the anxiety of my laptop dying. which it did.

i’ve started collecting local pro-tips like grim souvenirs. *never* accept a third coffee after 5pm unless you want to see the ghosts of your old deadlines. the gelato place on the corner? apparently the guy with the mustache gives ‘generous scoops’ but the one with the baseball cap ‘has a light hand.’ this is critical information. someone, a student from naples, drunkenly warned me: ‘the bus schedule is a suggestion from a parallel universe.’ noted.

if you get bored, sicily’s just a ferry hop away. that’s what the brochure says, anyway. i’m not bored. i’m in a state of perpetual, low-grade panic about connectivity. i found a ‘coworking space’ that was three tables in someone’s garage. the ‘Wi-Fi’ password was ‘preghiera’-prayer. accurate.

i tried to look up ‘best calabrian dinners’ and tripadvisor just showed me pizzeria chains. no. i want the stuff the old men in the piazza are eating. the thing that looks like a grilled cheese but is actually something ancient. i asked. they pointed at a door with no sign. i went in. it was someone’s kitchen. they fed me anyway. it was a fried zucchini blossom stuffed with anchovies and it changed my life. no yelp review for that. that’s the secret.

my brother texted: ‘how’s the vibe?’ the vibe is 81% humidity. it’s a number on a screen. it’s the sound of a ceiling fan that sounds like it’s chewing glass. it’s the pressure of 1024 hpa on my skull. but also… there’s a guy playing an accordion two streets over. he’s terrible. it’s glorious. i think i’m getting used to the smell of woodsmoke. i think.

i have to go find a ‘reception’ bar to steal a better signal. maria says the one by the old bridge has ‘the wind, but the wind is good for the signal.’ i don’t know what that means. i’m just going. i’ve stopped expecting logic. the only consistent review i’ve gathered is: ‘don’t come here to get work done. come here to forget what work is.’ i hate that it’s working on me.

someone told me that the ‘grnd_level’ pressure drop is from the mountains. that the air up there is thin and angry. i believe it. i can feel it in my teeth. this place isn’t a destination. it’s a spreadsheet error that became a sensory assault. and i’m weirdly, sleep-deprivedly, grateful for the error.

[if you’re actually planning to come, ask for the ‘menu of the day’ and point at thethings you don’t recognize. also, the bus from the train station runs when a man named vincenzo feels like it. just wait by the pole with the faded sign.]

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