A no-no for a friend in Vienna with an imbalance issue, who would easily trip and stumble, just by coming out of shops on street level, or elevated a tad-higher off the ground.

The pavement that leads to the lake from our friend’s house — perched on a hill — is long and steep; a death-wish for my “imbalanced” friend. Physically, that is. It has 200 steps of un-chiseled stones.

Heading home from a swim one day, I felt my 69-year old heart was giving up on me, despite me taking a break every five minutes, pretending I was enjoying the sights. Oh, how my knees buckled, and my legs wobbled! But I won’t just as yet let anyone think that this old man has become as ancient as the uncut stone steps leading to my friend’s house — the house that has been standing there since 800 years after Christ, so the story goes. Hard to believe, I know. The walls and the foundation seem to whisper though in my ears that the claim is indeed valid. I thought of brawny stonemasons in their greasy loincloth, sweat glistening off their bodies, like Heston when delivering the Ten Commandments. Oops, the loincloth happened after he was stripped of his royal status, right? And after he joined his people building pyramids, until someone — a Republican I bet — gave him a robe. Or was it Kirk Douglas in Hercules? Oh, the movies in my mind confuse me now, sorry. Forget it!

Anyway, like the brawny, sweaty stonemason going back home to his lover busy cooking pasta for his supper, I was back in the house, albeit gasping some, dazed from the long climb, amazed I made it. I sat down and relished the magnificent view of the compact townscape on the other side of the lake — the silhouette of the softly-lit cluster of houses atop and below the distant hills reflected off the tranquil waters, reminding me of some Monet’s impressionist painting.

DINNER IS READY! That was Brenda, my traveling buddy at Lake Como. Cynthia, our lovely friend, and the host was pouring chilled Italian white wine. But, unlike the sweaty stonemason who was served al dente carbonara with bits of guanciale his amore made for him, I got a bowl of piping-hot pancit bihon (rice noodles) with some pre-cooked shrimps from a supermarket in Como.

So much for uncut stiff stone-pathways.