No… I didn’t mean to write ‘Livin la vita loca’. You were about to break out into Riki Martin weren’t you? đ
It has been five days, onetwothreefourfive, FIVE days since I’ve had real Italian gelato. How many days? FIVE. Why?! Why, you ask?! Because we decided last weekend to cross from Italy into Slovenia and Austria. It seemed like a good idea at the time – to go experience a different culture, see what a place called Leeyoobleeahnaaa might be like and get away from this Italian heat. Well, the earth is back on its axis because we’ve just crossed from Austria back into Italy and already I’m instantly giddy. I hear Italian again. It’s hot in this train. The sun is shining and my bunny nose can smell the olive oil and the wine and the coconut gelatohhhhh. My Pavlonian-trained Italian alter-ego (where my name is Natalia or Teresa or something with a girly “ah” sound at the end) is already salivating over the thought of dinner (Gorgonzola cheese melted over figs and nuts? Strawberry rissotto? Pear faggattoni? Yes please!). Tonight I change from my trousers and trainers into the short shorts and skirts and dresses and flowery tank tops that this hot, sensual, beautiful climate inspires. The tan will continue to crispen, the afternoons will burn, aperitivos will be sipped in beautiful squares, dinners and walks will last well into the hot night. Life is back to its rightful sweetness. Ciao Italia. I’m baaaaaaaaaack!!!!!!!!!
