Me: The Night Writer, John Stewart; 50 years old and smart enough to have married my trophy wife first.
On Holiday!
Tuesday. Hello everyone! Today is our last day in Italy, and it is the only one that has been rainy. It’s been so warm and sunny I’ve even gotten a tan, which you will never see because tomorrow we’re leaving for Scotland, and then Ireland, where we won’t be in the sun much and my tan will promptly fade.
I’ve got some bad news and some good news. The bad news is that the sweater I brought along and a jacket of Tiger Lilly’s got jacked when we were in Firenze (Florence). I was extremely P.O.’d. (Someone left a back window on the car half open, and the extra clothing on the back shelf, and someone else came along and snatched them). The good news is that so far I’ve bought a shirt and two (count ‘em, two!) pairs of shoes. They are pretty sweet, yo, but they won’t keep me warm in Scotland, so I am sad.
Yesterday and today we checked out the Cinque Terre (the Five Lands), which are actually just five little towns that are all connected along the coast. They are all super cute with windy roads and buildings pretty much leaning on each other and laundry hanging out of the windows to dry. All of the buildings were very neat and tidy considering how many - and how compacted - they were. Pink houses are really popular over here, and my mom says she wants one.
Oh! My dad just reminded me! I have to tell you what I ate the other day in a ristorante just outside Barberino: a mussel. I kid you not. My dad will even tell you. It was small and wrinkly and orange. Its insides were brownish, though. My dad plopped it on my plate and said ‘here, try this; it’s good’. You have got to be kidding me. I looked at it, and the more I looked at it, the less I felt like putting it in my mouth. Finally, before I knew it, I had picked it up and shoved it in my mouth, much to my surprise. You know, it’s not really the taste of things that gets to me as much as the texture. The mussel was slimy, and not at all bouncy like calamari (which I like) is. It wasn’t a good slimy like Jell-o, either. It was more of a “what-the-heck-am-I-eating” slimy. It tasted like crab, though, which I also like. Try some today!
And then two days ago we were eating at another restaurant and ordered a dish of mixed roasted meats. My dad starts slicing some of the meat and holds out a chunk of something mysterious and asks me if I want it. It looks a little shady, but hey, when in Rome…or Dicomano, you know…
Anyway, I take a bite and start chewing. It’s all grainy, and I can’t think of what it tastes like. My dad has also taken a bite when my mom asks a fateful question: “Is that organ meat?”
I stop chewing and look fearfully at my father. He nods. I throw up. Just kidding! I only almost throw up. Instead I spit it out and scrape off my tongue. I’m never eating anything he gives me again, unless it’s gelato.
I’ve got some bad news and some good news. The bad news is that the sweater I brought along and a jacket of Tiger Lilly’s got jacked when we were in Firenze (Florence). I was extremely P.O.’d. (Someone left a back window on the car half open, and the extra clothing on the back shelf, and someone else came along and snatched them). The good news is that so far I’ve bought a shirt and two (count ‘em, two!) pairs of shoes. They are pretty sweet, yo, but they won’t keep me warm in Scotland, so I am sad.
Here I am bargaining with a street vendor in Florence. He wanted 40 euros for a plastic purse! I didn’t get ripped off here, but meanwhile someone was stealing my favorite sweater! (By the way, those are my new shoes in the big bag. Aren’t they cute?)
Yesterday and today we checked out the Cinque Terre (the Five Lands), which are actually just five little towns that are all connected along the coast. They are all super cute with windy roads and buildings pretty much leaning on each other and laundry hanging out of the windows to dry. All of the buildings were very neat and tidy considering how many - and how compacted - they were. Pink houses are really popular over here, and my mom says she wants one.
Some cool people hanging out in Riomaggiore, one of the five lands.
Some steps (and laundry) in Riomaggiore.
No high heels? What’s up with that? You can walk between the five lands, though some of it’s a tough hike. We just walked the easy, 30-minute part (the Via Dell’Amore) between Manorola and Riomaggiore.
Oh! My dad just reminded me! I have to tell you what I ate the other day in a ristorante just outside Barberino: a mussel. I kid you not. My dad will even tell you. It was small and wrinkly and orange. Its insides were brownish, though. My dad plopped it on my plate and said ‘here, try this; it’s good’. You have got to be kidding me. I looked at it, and the more I looked at it, the less I felt like putting it in my mouth. Finally, before I knew it, I had picked it up and shoved it in my mouth, much to my surprise. You know, it’s not really the taste of things that gets to me as much as the texture. The mussel was slimy, and not at all bouncy like calamari (which I like) is. It wasn’t a good slimy like Jell-o, either. It was more of a “what-the-heck-am-I-eating” slimy. It tasted like crab, though, which I also like. Try some today!
And then two days ago we were eating at another restaurant and ordered a dish of mixed roasted meats. My dad starts slicing some of the meat and holds out a chunk of something mysterious and asks me if I want it. It looks a little shady, but hey, when in Rome…or Dicomano, you know…
Anyway, I take a bite and start chewing. It’s all grainy, and I can’t think of what it tastes like. My dad has also taken a bite when my mom asks a fateful question: “Is that organ meat?”
I stop chewing and look fearfully at my father. He nods. I throw up. Just kidding! I only almost throw up. Instead I spit it out and scrape off my tongue. I’m never eating anything he gives me again, unless it’s gelato.
