Verona, Italy

Ate dinner at a veronese pizzeria last night, just off the piazza erbe and down the street from the Arena Romana. Prosciutto, egg, artichoke hearts, tomato, and mozzarella. Saw Aida at the old roman theatre: 4 hours long, good thing we only stayed for 45 minutes. (4 hours?! Can you blame us?) Wandered back towards the hostel, crossed the bridge and looked out over the river Adige which encloses the town, separating it from the tall surrounding hilltops. I love the alley streets and the door frames. The piazzas and the window shutters, all framed neatly, waiting for the fragile italian woman to open them up and hang her sheets out the window. The gelato is like ice-cold silk: creamier and more refreshing than anything you can imagine on a hot italian day. There are street performers playing accordians and the music is nice, although most of them are children and they will grow up hating the music. The steets are cobblestoned and you can feel the groves when you walk up the slopes of the hills. All the colors are pale: not a weak pale but a comfortably-worn-in pale. All of Verona is comfortably worn-in.

Its nice here because time moves quickly and life is exciting, which is exactly how its all suppose to be when youre "very poor and very young." Moment to moment, pastry to pastry, one coffee after the next. Clairvoyence only comes when youre at the cafes, working on a caffe con crema and all that youve seen just hits you. Or maybe its just the caffeine.