I could have also titled this post "How to Not Gain 50 Pounds After Moving to Italy" because that's essentially what it's about- it's baffled me that I haven't become reminiscent of Peter Griffin based on the quantity of food I've been ingesting throughout the day, don't get me started on the wine which just escalates in proportion to your alcohol tolerance. I used to find myself stumbling around after a half-a-glass, now my body is so Italian-ized, I can do a good 1/2 litre and retain coherency in Italian. Actually, language skills always "improve" after some liquid courage, strange enough...! (Digression: I once had the absolute best conversation in a bar in Moscow after innumerable shots of vodka with two Russians, in Russian. My friend travelling with me at the time can confirm this phenomenon). This past Sunday, Massi and I took the bike up into the hills around the old city, parked it, and took to the winding little streets by foot. We found so many photogenic moments, I started to go definitive-Asian and Massi, sensible Italian that he is, started to get annoyed/embarrassed. I wish we had written down exactly which "scaletta" (cute stairway) this was. Let's just say I don't have any problem doing these kinds of stairs and in retrospect, that's how you need to balance your food intake: the long, stairs-filled, Sunday walk. It's besides the point that I was dreaming about a granita al limone the entire time (I made Massi take me for one after), the point is that you inadvertently exercise all the time in Italy. At least, that's how I justify this no-carb-left-behind diet...so think before you comment and kill my dreams. (All the photos in this post were taken with my trusty iPhone, FYI).
Gosh, it's a helluva life.
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