I'm Not Used to Packing My Bag

I'm not used to packing my bag, but once it's ready, I find myself waiting impatiently to leave Rome. When I set out, I realize I'm a traveler—that I really want to be one—and I hope to find welcoming people who are willing to make space for me. What's hard for me is that I'm not free to choose where to go. There's more than just Bicoca (an agriturismo in Viterbo), but not everything—no sea, no mountains. Yet when I arrive at this place, I find something beautiful. Each camp has its own character, and the sad part is I'm not free to rest whenever I want. But I've gotten along well with everyone I've met. I'm passionate about horseback riding—I know how to get up and walk around, take walks. Silence doesn't scare me. When I meet someone tense and others who are friendly, I do well. In the pool and the thermal baths there's the issue of taking a shower. When I wake up, I find a slice of cake and a warm milk before facing the day. Then I like being around people, listening to whoever reads aloud, and then going back to eat good food.