Sunday Morning
Last night I proved once and for all that Atkins and I are not on the same wavelength. Limit the carbs? Are you kidding? Dinner was at a wonderful little place where you can order for your first course just “pasta.” The waiter will then bring you not one, but five different pasta preparations, in succession, so that after you’ve stuffed yourself with gnocchi con radicchio, you are given rotini garganzola, followed by spaghetti and eggplant, fusili with roasted peppers and conche with creamy zucchini. Then, as you sit there wondering if it’s appropriate to loosen any kind of attire that is suddenly tight around your girth, they bring out the grilled foods – steaks, or fish for the fussy fussy types who can’t appreciate a good Tuscan piece of meat (or an omelet for the real wimps, but I saw none of those).
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This is my last day in Florence, in Italy, on this side of the ocean.
Predictably, then, there has to be an early morning walk and I mean early – like before sunrise. I don’t understand how travelers can resist this part of the day – it is stunningly beautiful. The streets are empty. Policemen and old, old people (who themselves cannot sleep and are therefore out and about) talk to you. [One elderly man, after asking the usual where are you from and how do you like Florence yada yada, told me that he really appreciated the American war effort – against the Germans during World War II.] It is a time where the streets are stripped of noise and traffic. A time when I am not distracted by anything or anyone. It’s just me, my camera and the handful of others who wake before the light becomes too intense.
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Hey, if you rise before dawn and roll into bed after midnight, is that even healthy? When is the “getting rest” part?
Later. Lots of years for rest ahead.
You are such a show-off! Early risers have this “holier than thou” demeanor that is quite annoying!
They are “holier than thou.”
You think you got it all figured out? Did you even notice that there are more typos in your Italian posts than pigeons on San Marco? That photos are out or sync with the text? That one photo appears twice? That words repeat themselves as if the English language provided no alternatives? That dates are confusing and posts are partly in English, partly in misspelled Italian and partly in French (“tu es kuku” for instance)?
All that is true. I did not proof anything. My electrical plug got butchered, my battery kept dying and, most significantly, I never once got a speedy Internet connection. It’s all been dial-up, typically thanks to someone’s kindness. You want editing perfection? Go read other UW prof blogs. You’re not going to find it here, especially not in Italy. Ahhh, but there has been so much other “perfection” in each day! That, in essence, has been Italy for me – a blend of the irregular and the sublime.
