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…
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…
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…
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…
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?
I wish I had taken more photos of the archaeologists in my aunt’s yard, but I was too busy marveling at the fact that there were archaeologists in my aunt’s yard. She was completely used to it, of course. Her village, my grandfather’s own, is ancient. I knew this. The area is full of artifacts…
Yesterday, I may have exaggerated slightly when I said that I found my aunt’s home all by myself. I was caught up in the poetry of it, of the idea that I could wander the same ancient streets that my grandparents did, and find their loved ones’ homes without needing an ounce of help. But…
“What’s the address?” Rand asked. I shrugged. “No idea.” “Is it on this street?” “I think so? The door is green.” (I feel it pertinent to note that nearly half the doors in the village happened to also be green.)
Our plane landed in Naples just as the sun started to set. Vesuvius loomed over the city as we sped out of town, the volcano turning deeper and deeper shades of purple in the fading light. We were heading towards my grandfather’s village. I suppose it eventually became my grandmother’s village, too, after she married him…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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