London, I’m not impressed. And I think you may just be seasonally dyslexic. Because this weather outside, it’s not summery, or warm, the kind you’re meant to provide in the season famously known as summer. You’re all mixed up, and getting things back to front, and you’re currently providing us with a winterish version of autumn. This is not a good time.
Italy, on the otherhand, a gold star for you and your fantastic three weeks of sunshine and baking heat! As I sit here back in London, wrapped up in my favourite Topshop sweater and Zara jeans, oh and my £2 Primark plimsoles, I find myself making a vow to never complain of being too hot and sweaty ever again, situation depending obviously, in this case I’d much rather be dripping buckets on the beach in Amalfi, than feeling like I’m in the early stages of hypothermia.
So, I thought you might be interested to hear about my holiday? 🙂 August 9 – 29, travelling my favourite country in Europe, it was good, so let me tell you just how good…..
I knew I was off to a good start, checking in for my BA flight at Gatwick airport, when my bag weighed just 15kg! Talk about a momentous occasion, my bag has never been that light before, and I shared my excitement with the BA girl, who probably didn’t give a damn, but then I didn’t give a damn that she didn’t give a damn, and saw this bag weigh-in as a sign of good things to come. Or did I just not pack enough!?
First stop: Verona, home of Romeo and Juliet. Oh and the best freakin pizza I’ve ever eaten before! But we’ll get to that in a minute. I should mention that the first 2 of my 3 week holiday, I was travelling loner style, and there are many pro’s and con’s to travelling alone. A major pro is being on your own schedule, so when I arrived at my little hotel, I could indulge in an afternoon siesta, (when in Rome, or Verona in this case, but you get me right?) before doing the ‘right thing’ and seeing the sites. Slightly rested and ready to roll, a short walk away was Juliet’s balcony, oh and a gazillion tourists, but it was a cute place to see, where people graffiti their lovers names on the wall, framed in a giant red heart. More walking, some slight detouring into the shops, camera clicking, piazza’s, statues, lots of old things, it was time for a coffee, surely it had been half an hour by now? 🙂 I sat next to this European family, couldn’t quite figure out the deal, the man spoke with an American accent, the woman and the kid were speaking a different language to each other, but this is not where I’m going with this little story. I sat in awe as the child gave his order to the waitress, and let’s just point out here, this was a chubby child that could really benefit from Santa giving him a treadmill and not a Nintendo Wii this coming Christmas, ANYWAY, he made a wise choice, I don’t blame him for choosing the cioccolata calda, a hot chocolate so thick your spoon can practically stand up straight in it. The stuff is delicious, mind-blowingly good, no one stops to think about any extra pounds they’re carrying when being offered such a treat, especially not some chubby kid. So that’s fine, indulge buddy, you’re on holiday, and it’s only 4 months away until Santa hopefully delivers that treadmill. But blow me down and pick me up, once he’d hoovered that baby back, he ordered a tiramisu! Seriously? It is highly likely I was staring rudely with my mouth open, but it was unbelievable to see that parents can be so irresponsible with their childrens health. I finished my coffee, walked away, and bought myself a fruit salad.
After more statue and piazza viewing, I’d had my fill of culture, and swiftly moved on to the idea of dinner. I’d given myself a talking to, and said ‘Annmaree, this is your first night on holiday, start out healthy, there is plenty of time to eat pizza and all those thigh expanding delights, go for the salad, remember the fat kid with the hot chocolate and dessert, you don’t need all those calories’, and so I wander the tiny streets and come across a restaurant with a lovely outdoor area. My waitor hands me a menu, I open it, I scan it, the menu is calling out to me ‘Ciao Bella, you should try the pizza, you’re on holiday, come on, what’s one little pizza in Italy, you should get the one that has cheese AND smoked cheese, it’s molto bene, mmmmm’, so who am I to argue! My pizza with sundried tomato, and smoked mozzarella arrives on my table, I take a bite, I die and go to heaven, I text my mum in NZ about how good the pizza is, it was a perfect moment, until the kiwi woman in the restaurant next door with the strongest accent ever, starts talking at full volume and that knocked me back into reality. And then, it was like I really had gone to heaven, cause those heaven’s opened up and sent torrential rain down, fork lightning, the whole show! Rain easing, I extracted myself before that menu was put in front of me and suggested I choose a dessert! Thanks for the pizza Verona, it was worth getting fat for.