Tonight I received a letter from the hotel in Gargnano. Valerio, the proprietor, wrote in the most delightful way, in Italian, thanking me for a review I’d put up on Tripadvisor (I am a senior reviewer there – every once in a while I come across a place that deserves words of support and so I'll write them).
His email came at a good time. My notes here yesterday notwithstanding, it was a very busy end of week. And after all work details were attended to, I had to check in with a doc and after that proved to be a good and unproblematic visit, I exhaled.
Well, what with the Italian reminder of blissful times spent letting go of the day at sidewalk cafes where Aperol spritz blazed orange on most anyone’s table, I thought I may as well do it: buy that bottle of Aperol and make my own spritz here. In celebration of a day well spent. Or at least spent.
True, it wasn’t at a port-side table, no indeed, but I poured the drink on my Limone table...
...and then I carried it over to where Ed was hauling wood chips.
Nothing about the scene shouted Gargnano. Resting on a cool and dreary evening, in my old jacket, in fact, in my ex’s old jacket, against the backdrop of the old Ford pickup...
... I thought – no, not Gargnano. But home. And I have to say, an Aperol spriz tasted lovely here, at the farmette.