Week 1 - Memory

 

Flight behind me; three hour bus ride behind me; trek up three flights of stairs, twice, behind me; trek to the grocery store behind me; trek to Bar Duella behind me; trek to pizza restaurant behind me, finally I was able to relax into my weariness and allow the sweet, fresh water to quench my parched mouth and dehydrated muscles.  The buzz of the patron’s laughter and conversation rang in my ears.  The smile on my face threatened to become permanent as I watched people reach for carafes and water bottles over others and wipe their travel worn faces with their hands.  Yawns were exchanged as we settled in to wait for dinner. 

“How do you say Coke?”

“Coca Cola,” hearty laughter ensued.

“What does this mean?  I don’t like anchovies,” mingled with sighs and the clink of glasses and silverware.

“These are tuna based.  These are pate.  These are tomatoes,” explanations of appetizers.

“Ew, I don’t like liver.  I’m not even gonna try that one.  This one is yummy.”

Relief filled the silence as everyone chewed on fresh, crisp toast points covered in tiny squares of red or creamy spreads that tasted better than any tuna from back in the States. 

“Don’t fill up on bread.  The pizza is excellent and you want to have room for that,” good advice.

“Ohh, ahh,” the pizza arrives and faces instantly sport circular mouths dripping with anticipation with raised eyebrows above bulging eye sockets.

Beautiful red tomatoes, black olives, green arugula ride atop thin crispy crusts that crunch in my head waking to the moment long awaited.  I am sitting in a pizzeria in Spoleto, Italy far, far from home and loving it.