Trail of Crumbs

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At some point, all of the cities on the Amalfi coast started to blur, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I resort to describing all of them as “lovely” and “charming” and “like a tower of colorful stone blocks precariously piled one atop the other.”

Positano. But it could be anywhere on the coast.

 

But, see, they all were.

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It’s occurred to me that I’m not the best communicator. It’s not that I don’t communicate, mind you. I’m constantly telling people things. Sometimes it’s stuff that I probably shouldn’t tell them.

Ahem. (“I … I can’t believe you tweeted that.” – Rand)

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Sigh. Yes. Another kissy face photo. Why?

Because I’m leaving for Cambodia on Friday, and I won’t see him for nearly three weeks.

Because it’s one of my favorite pictures from our trip, and I forgot to include it in my photo round-up of Ravello.

Because my eyeliner looks really, really good (and let’s face it – it hardly ever does).

 

And because looking at it just makes me crazy happy.

The evening after you get back from Ravello, and your cab driver has just ripped you off to the tune of 20 euros, you will not feel much like spending more money on a lavish dinner. Besides, your lunch was lovely and late, and you aren’t particularly hungry.

On that evening, is it perfectly acceptable to pick up a sandwich in town that is roughly the size of a longshoreman’s forearm and take it back to your hotel room. It will have prosciutto and fresh mozzarella and tomatoes, and bread so crusty it will wreak havoc on the roof of your mouth, but you won’t care.

 

Because this will be your table.

 

And this will be your view.

 

And you will sit there and listen to the sea and smell the citrus from the groves below and realize that there is no better place to have dinner on that night, and maybe any other.

“I have to run to the bathroom. Here, hold my camera.”

“Okay.”

“Wait, why are you smiling?”

“Huh? No reason.”

 

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Honestly, if I think about it, it’s a miracle Rand and I end up anywhere. Because so many of our outings are just disastrous. Rand will get it into his head that he wants to see something, and ask me if I want to go along.

A day spent exploring some unknown city with my husband? Yes! Of course! I’d love to.

I never bother checking to see if, say, the thing that he wants to see is where he thinks it is. Or if it’s even open on that day. Or if getting there requires climbing infinite flights of steps while a southern Italian sun beats down relentlessly upon us, as though it’s carrying out a personal vendetta. No. I never do any of those things.

Life is too short as is, darlings.

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Going to the castle made me sad. Not because I didn’t have fun. I had a lovely time.

But I knew it was all going to be over soon. My aunt and uncle and cousin had to drive back to their village, and the next day we’d leave for the Amalfi coast. I’d be back again – I was sure of it (Rand had already declared it himself), but this trip to Frigento was winding to an end.

 

When I was a kid, I remember positively bawling when my aunt and uncle had to return to Italy. Whenever anyone came for a visit and then left. I’d desperately wish to be a grown-up, because they never seemed to cry at the end of a trip. I mistakenly assumed this was because goodbyes no longer made them sad.

But that isn’t the case. As an adult, you just get better at not collapsing into a heap of tears and snot. Most of the time, anyway.

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My family has trouble following directions. I’m not entirely sure if it’s a my family thing, or an Italian thing. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

 

Like their total disregard for warning signs. Is it a countrywide epidemic? Or is it just that my family is nuts?

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