La Dolce Vita

Such beautiful architecture here in Bologna, so many arched walk ways and cobbled streets. So many secret doorways in yellow stone walls. I take out my camera and take pictures, yet my lens does not drink it up. Such beauty all around me, yet my camera remains silent.  I show it the history and the sunshine and it clicks and it purrs and it flashes- it is going through the mechanics of sipping on an image..but it only sips.

Perhaps Italy is going to be all about the words.

My favourite thing to do in any city is find the book shops. There is something about being inside one that gives me a sense of peace. Bologna has lots of them tucked away in little side streets. Some with big glass cabinets outside with books pressing their spines up against the glass. I do not like books behind glass, they are meant to be held and smelt and have their pages turned and their words inhaled. I picked up classics written in Italian and I thought how wonderful it would be to speak and understand that curling, living rhythm.  It is always so wonderful to see how nationalities inhabit their language. The British reserve refected in our consonant filled language and the Italians dipping their toes in their hot sweet vowels

I feel like a tall pale wallflower in a country of papaveros. I am learning to dance with the curves and dip my toes in the sweetness.

Isn't that what we are all here to do?


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