Me, with dancing Spaniards
I’m writing this from the Piazza del Campo in Siena, where a huge group of littering Spanish tourists, who, failing in their attempts to start “The Wave,” have just embarked on a mass-performance of “La Macarena.” Seriously. It’s pretty epic fail. At least, for a change, the embarrassing tourists aren’t Americans.
So, how came I to be in Italia, you might ask? At least, you might ask this question if you didn’t know my Italophile wife.
It all started after our honeymoon. We were bemoaning the fact that, so soon after our wedding, she had to pack up and go on tour in Holland for two weeks. I dutifully sent her on her way, and I was, as always, proud of her for her work, but sad to see her go.
A simple twist of fate later, and I found myself with some free time on my hands. I got a decent deal on a plane ticket to Amsterdam and, lo and behold, found myself on tour with Vanessa for the second half of her tour.
The next thing you know, and we’ve found a pair of cheap tickets to Italy, and a free place to stay, and, uh… well… you guessed it, we’re in Italy for a couple of weeks.
We’ve been eating our way through Europe like a pair of starving Gypsy moths. As usual, Tuscany does not disappoint. From Bistecca alla Fiorentina to Ravioli con Ricotta e Tartufo, we’re dining like Scottish kings – amazing food, really cheap.
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