La Spiaggia (the beach)
“My life is like a stroll on the beach…as near to the edge as I can go.”
--Thoreau
Jenna is in love with the beach. And we are in love with her.
Wearing short shorts, t-shirt, barefoot, she works on her cartwheels in the wet sand and demands that we watch. She falls over on purpose. She buries her feet until she gets stuck. Familiar now with castles, walls and piazzas, she and and Jeff make a perfect sand castle.
I think the beach feels familiar and settling to her. A beach is a beach.
She jumps in the low waves, watches a dog chase a stick thrown into the water (no doubt longing, as I am, for our Roxy). She smiles at the young children nearby, pouring small buckets of saltwater on each other, laughing. I know she wants to play and make friends, but not yet. It will come.
The ocean is blue-green and the wind blows white caps on the surface. It’s sunny and brisk. To remind us of where we are, a red/white/green Italian flag blows sideways out on the jetty. We rent “lettinas” (lounge chairs) and umbrella for 5 Euro per day at one of the private beaches. Most of the private beaches (along with their snack bars) are still closed, in anticipation of warmer days ahead. The public beaches are further away, often rocky, and we haven't bought towels or chairs to sit on yet.
A tan, thin woman wearing a tiny striped bikini lays a few yards away from another tan, larger, older woman, also wearing a bikini. A large pale man wears a tiny little black Speedo-type suit. No matter what age or size, in Italy women wear 2-piece suits and men wear shiny little panties, period. The only exceptions are foreigners. My “tankini” is pushed to the back of my suitcase in favor of my 2-piece (“When in Rome…”).
Jenna is adapting to Italian life with her usual flair…she orders succo di fruitta (juice), Panini and tosta (sandwiches) and most importantly, gelato—all in Italian. She buys bus tickets. She reads (2 books already!) during the enforced quiet of Siesta. She burps and says, “Scusa” (pardon me). She notices all the little things…how the children run naked on the beach, how the cars are smaller, how people hang their laundry outside. Jeff and I are jealous of her ability to never forget a new Italian word. We call her our “little ambassador” as she smoothes the way during any interaction, because it is very clear to us that Italians LOVE children.
NEXT UP: Apricale: “One of the most beautiful Italian hilltowns”
“My life is like a stroll on the beach…as near to the edge as I can go.”
--Thoreau
Jenna is in love with the beach. And we are in love with her.
Wearing short shorts, t-shirt, barefoot, she works on her cartwheels in the wet sand and demands that we watch. She falls over on purpose. She buries her feet until she gets stuck. Familiar now with castles, walls and piazzas, she and and Jeff make a perfect sand castle.
I think the beach feels familiar and settling to her. A beach is a beach.
She jumps in the low waves, watches a dog chase a stick thrown into the water (no doubt longing, as I am, for our Roxy). She smiles at the young children nearby, pouring small buckets of saltwater on each other, laughing. I know she wants to play and make friends, but not yet. It will come.
The ocean is blue-green and the wind blows white caps on the surface. It’s sunny and brisk. To remind us of where we are, a red/white/green Italian flag blows sideways out on the jetty. We rent “lettinas” (lounge chairs) and umbrella for 5 Euro per day at one of the private beaches. Most of the private beaches (along with their snack bars) are still closed, in anticipation of warmer days ahead. The public beaches are further away, often rocky, and we haven't bought towels or chairs to sit on yet.
A tan, thin woman wearing a tiny striped bikini lays a few yards away from another tan, larger, older woman, also wearing a bikini. A large pale man wears a tiny little black Speedo-type suit. No matter what age or size, in Italy women wear 2-piece suits and men wear shiny little panties, period. The only exceptions are foreigners. My “tankini” is pushed to the back of my suitcase in favor of my 2-piece (“When in Rome…”).
Jenna is adapting to Italian life with her usual flair…she orders succo di fruitta (juice), Panini and tosta (sandwiches) and most importantly, gelato—all in Italian. She buys bus tickets. She reads (2 books already!) during the enforced quiet of Siesta. She burps and says, “Scusa” (pardon me). She notices all the little things…how the children run naked on the beach, how the cars are smaller, how people hang their laundry outside. Jeff and I are jealous of her ability to never forget a new Italian word. We call her our “little ambassador” as she smoothes the way during any interaction, because it is very clear to us that Italians LOVE children.
NEXT UP: Apricale: “One of the most beautiful Italian hilltowns”
Tracie, Jeff and Jenna, reading these utterly engaging blogs and seeing you three in your long awaited Italy, has put you right into my mind, under my skin and close to my heart! Tracie, your writing is delightful!! I can't wait for more...
ReplyDeleteGood luck with that car adventure, daily life, and the next destination! Love and blessings, Colleen