With Good Friday and Easter Monday taken up by Italian lessons, it was plain Saturday that we decided to celebrate Easter. That weekend it was lazy and murky, and my cousin and I woke up late and took our time getting ready before heading over to her friend’s place to finish making “Easter Sunday dinner” – żurek, bigos, sałatka and mazurek – that we would scarf down later that evening.
We were a gaggle of girls concocting a rambunctious dinner over Ukrainian rap, German jokes and Polish movies. Continue reading Buona Pascua: We are gluttons
I love Italy.
I love the way people speak the language, the hint of warmth in the air even when it’s supposed to be cold out, the fact that it is absolutely normal to be called “bella” as a term not only of endearment but as a salutation, and the idea of going for walks along the river Arno just because.
Pisa, so far, is wonderful. I was lucky enough to land in PSA on a sunny day (a warm 14 degrees) so my cousin took me to the Piazza dei Miracoli where, among other wonders, the leaning tower stands. I’m not sure what I was expecting but I wasn’t expecting to see it so soon.
It blew my mind.
Its angle (defying gravity), its size (smaller but more profound than expected), its pure existence (always so surreal in photographs) – here it was right in front of me, leaning under the glow of the sun. It was breathtaking. I fell in love with it the way I fell for Venice.
I love Italy.