My last blog entry…
was a very long time ago.
But I will eventually tell every story of my Sevillan and European adventures. Even if it’s for my own sanity of remembering each and every one.
I think about the last 5 weeks of my life surrealistic dream.
The past month, like the two before it, has been so wonderful it must have been at least inspired by some of my daydreams.
And it must have cotton tree season in Florence. We floated through streets amidst white, weightless puffs that drifted through the air from flowering trees. The river twisted itself through the city nearby.
I inhaled deeply.
Ahh. That fresh smell of the river.
Exhale.
No…. I don’t want to exhale.
Inhale again.
Rivers are just so…… WAIT…
It was a different scent this time. Ivy and I grasped each other’s arms at the same time.
“PIZZA!!!” we squealed, and ran to the corner restaurant that it was coming from.
And let me tell you…. pizza isn’t the correct word for it. At least, not if Pizza Hut or Dominoe’s Pizza are still in business.
Yes, it looked like pizza, but the many different pieces I savored in Italy were slices cut straight from heaven. Talk about a cheesy milky way… let’s just replace the stars with sprinkles of oregano.
“Ciao, Bella!” isn’t a cliché. Neither are singing waiters that seem incredibly happy, regardless of how many hours they’ve been serving pizza.
The old man with his round stomach and greying beard hummed as he lifted the wine glass from the tray, and rolled around the water inside.
“Give it a taste, Bella,” he said, with a swooping gesture of the hand.
I took a sip.
“Magnífico!!” I laughed. I had just tasted the most plain water in the world.
“Oh! I am so glad!” he smiled, and the humming burst into Italian singing as he filled up the rest of the glass. He then disappeared inside to leave us under the lush vines that were adorning the street side restaurant. Passerbys began to hold hands as the moon came up.
Markets overflowing with leather kept tourists busy during the day. Corner performers, fountains, and sculptures dotted the thin cobblestone streets.
Oh, and those oh-so-famous Florence bridges… they weren’t too bad either.
Sevilla Vivita. 