Battle of the Beaches: Oaxaca v. Chiapas

Continuing our travels south, we waited on the side of the ‘highway’ (where the mountain road from San Mateo joins back up to the main carretera) with a cardboard sign that said A LA PLAYA!  It didn’t take long before a truck with a metal frame on the back (our favourite and most common pick-up) stopped and loaded us into the back.  Our ride was a group of Christian guys who were going to Huatulco to play at some Christin beach festival.  The air was fresh, the views were amazing, and we were giddy to get to lower elevations and seashores- perfection, almost.  Except for the boy that kept throwing up over the side of the truck, and no matter how loud I turned up my Marc Anthony playlist, I couldn’t cover up the retching sounds.

So, when they dropped us up in the middle of nowhere in the mountains, we didn’t complain.  The second truck that passed picked us up and took us all the way to Pochutla, from where we took a colectivo to Puerto Angel.  We filled up on tacos on the street:

, and then hopped in the back of a French couple’s van that took us the remainder of the way to Zipolite.  After so many months, finalmente!  The ocean!  Waves and sand and salty breezes and a full moon to usher us in.  We set up our tent in the dark, next to a psychedelic reggae party.  My first view of the beach when I woke up the next morning and peaked outside was that of a naked hippie taking down his tent- we picked a good spot, it seems.

Nope, not bad at all:

But, not perfect, we felt.  So, we rolled everything up again, put the backpacks on, and walked a few kilometers to the next seaside town- San Agustinillo.  And, as we collapsed, sweaty and exhausted, into a café for breakfast and found an available room upstairs (the only one in San Agustinillo, it seemed), we didn’t hesitate.  A delicious and cozy café downstairs and not-too-shabby of a view from the balcony?

Sold!  And I really loved this beach.

Unfortunately, the red flag was up, so there wasn’t too much swimming that happened, but it was still fun to wade in the waves and jump around:

And walk the cove and admire all of the palapas:

And go for morning jogs:

My favourite part of the stay was hiking out to punta cometa for sunset; a small rocky peninsula that juts out from the shoreline in Mazunte (the adjacent town, about a kilometer west of San Agustinillo):

It almoooooost felt like I was back in Scotland, with waves pounding onto cliffs:

Except that the temperature was about 30 degrees C warmer and that there were cacti:

And there were a lot more people to keep us company in the sun-going-down ceremony than on secluded rock-tips on the Isle of Skye:

But, a little bit of similarity, no?

And it was all very beautiful, but also very hot.  It had already been rather steamy in Oaxaca the past couple of weeks, but add the seaside humidity, and it was less-than-enjoyable.  So, after less than 48 hours, we rolled everything up again and returned to the side of the road.  The first van that passed us by was headed to  Matías Romero, a city about five hours east of Mazunte.  So, we told the kind sir to take us as far away as possible from the heat.

He dropped us off on the side of the highway, right outside of La Ventosa.

The name does not lie.  It was the windiest place that I have ever been in; I couldn’t stand up by myself and our heavy backpacking bags were rolling around and into the ditches on the side of the road.  We somehow inched along the highway until a run-down truck took pity on us and gave us a lift (windiest ride of my life, help!) to the next small town.  There was nothing there, other than more wind, an empty bar with bachata music, and a bus stop.

By this point, it was getting dark, so we took the last bus to Tapanatepec, which was not any more inviting.  So, another bus on to Arriaga.  Not much better.  One more bus, to Tonalá.  Not any better, but is was midnight and we were kind of discouraged by our entry into Chiapas, so we checked into an overpriced and less-than-quaint hotel and turned up the AC so that it could lull us to sleep.

The next day, we moved (very slowly, as people in Chiapas do not pick up anywhere near as enthusiastically as in Oaxaca) to the coastline, for one more night on the sand before heading inland again.  Our destination was Madre Sal, an isolated strand of beach about an hour (or, in our case, six hours) southeast of Tonalá.

It took a lot of walking on little dirt roads (Our last ride was holding on for dear life, hanging out of a watermelon truck.  As a reward for surviving, we go at a watermelon.  So, we got to carry one of those with us the last couple of kilometers):

And crossed a lagoon surrounded by mangrove trees on a lancha:

And then,  voilà, paradise:

Madre Sal is an ecotourism project, working to conserve the land and provide a safe, isolated refuge to the turtles that come ashore in the fall to lay eggs.  As now is not turtle season, we found the place utterly empty:

Except for our friend, the Red Flag:

And many flocks of seagulls flying parallel to the waves in the morning sun:

We set up camp in the sand, under a palapa (and a clear night sky that graced us with the Milky Way):

We wandered around the property and had fake mojitos with the sunset and felt like we were a hundred miles away (well, I guess that we were… so, maybe more like a lifetime and a thousand miles) from the beaches of Oaxaca we were lounging at slightly more then 24 hours ago.

I suppose that both the Oaxaca and Chiapas coastlines had their pro’s and con’s.  But, the heat was similar in both.  So, reluctantly (for I love the sound of the ocean waves so much) we put our backpacks on again and continued the journey inland, toward the highlands of Chiapas and away from the sandy horizon line:

The next chapter is colder, but just a beautiful!

 

 

 

 

Scotland Day #7: Skye to A Home In The Middle of Nowhere

Day Seven found us celebrating our one-week anniversary in the UK by driving all day through beautiful landscapes- kind of what has established itself as the norm by this point.

After a lazy morning with a full Scottish breakfast (sausages and eggs and more meats, oh my!) in our little bunkhouse, we (painfully) bid arrivederci to the Isle of Skye and continued driving north through the Upper Highlands.

The road was, as always, mesmerizing.  Except for the fact that we were in the red on the gas meter, and our rental car so kindly made it a point to point out that we were another five miles lower every few minutes.  And, like I mentioned before, there ain’t much between one shack and another in the Highlands.

Somehow, as travel luck would have it, we pulled into Ullapool with some ten miles left.  Celebration dance on the harbourside, next to the gas station!

And then we continued driving north.  A couple of kilometers before Lochinver, Mr. Italian and I pulled over for a spontaneous hike to Kirkaig Falls.

The walk was simply breathtaking, starting lower in a bushy forest and then gently rising up to the mountaintops.

Between the fields of violet, we also found splashes of orange, which made for an exotic contrast:

After an hour or so, we heard the roaring of the river grow louder.  Rounding a corner, we found ourselves standing above this gem of a rainbow/waterfall:

After this little detour, we got back into the car and passed Lochinver.  Northwest of this little post town, the landscape changed yet again- into a series of islands (floating mountaintops?) in infinite lochs; compact, but by no means limited.

It’s hard to capture and explain the peculiarity of this area.  It is as if someone flooded a rough mountain range, and you are left with only the mountaintops to visit.  Every corner brings you to one of these little slices of isolated bliss:

After a few more minutes, we found ourselves at Clachtoll Beach, one of those hidden coves with that white sand and turquoise water that you find in travel magazines.  So, clearly, we took advantage of the world’s most perfectly situated picnic table (although haven’t I said that about every picnic table in Scotland?) and nibbled on our breakfast leftovers:

Since we were only a mile or two from where we would be staying at that night, we decided to bathe in the sunset light and make a quick hop out to Stoer Lighthouse.  Which, I must admit, was my favorite lighthouse of the trip.

There was no one there; just the cliffs and a field of trampoline-like grass upon which I jumped my little heart out.  Ahead of you, just sea and the setting sun.  Below you, waves and caves.  All around you, just blue and green and wind. (And a little bit of mud.)

Ready to get our toes dry again, we hopped over the hill and checked into our favorite accommodation of the trip: a B&B in the middle of heaven.  Cozy and elegant and modern and warm.  One of those rooms with wood on all six surfaces, really poofy covers, a high-tech shower, and a self-designed layout that leaves you full of surprises.  Huge walls made out of glass, artsy accents everywhere, and the most delightful couple to talk the hours away with.

This place convinced me that I need to move to this region of the world…. and soon!  What a beautiful life, filled with art and love and comfort in a land of wind and water and grass.  Yup, count me in.

Art Dump Before Travel

This will be short and sweet, because I still have an entire backpack to fill up with woolen socks and scarves before hopping on a train in the morning and flying out to Scotland in the evening.  So… I will leave you with this week’s artistic endeavors.

The first watercolor sketch is of Ancona’s grotte (little caves in the side of the cliffside that serve as boat storage and BBQ/wine nooks):

The next two are depictions of this season’s opera productions at the Sferisterio.

Ecco, the dark and mighty Aida:

And my most-beloved Traviata:

I can’t believe that this summer’s beachtime lounging (OK, wine-sipping and paint-splattering) has already come to an end… I don’t know if I will actually miss it, but, it did kind of grow on me.

Oh well… I will have time to ponder on trains tomorrow, as Mr. Italian and I embark on a 13-day adventure through Scotland.  (But first, the even more adventurous Ancona-Treviso Airport route!) I’m looking forward to cloudy skies and dramatic skylines and some writing inspiration.  And, hopefully, empty, desolate stretches of road and sea, away from the highness of high season.

But, most importantly, cliffs.  And whiskey.

You can’t go wrong with that combination (well, I guess that you can go drastically wrong with that combination, but, uncombined, it’s perfect).

See you all in a couple of weeks!

Roman Rooftops

Okay, okay, I know that I said that I will not participate in any more of these mandatory Weekend Beach Lounging sessions, but… in the end, it does allow me to swim, take infinite cold showers, and go through several buckets of ice for my water.  Also, I am forced to read and make art and talk to little kids in Italian, so maybe it’s actually more productive than I feared it would be.  Plus, it has gotten to that point where it is equally unbearable to be sitting at home and underneath a little beach umbrella; serious summer sizzling has started.

So, third full day on the beach, third couple of beachtime sketches.

Today, we are shifting from the eastern coast to the western coast of Italy: Roma!

More specifically, Roman rooftops:

And Roman rooftops during sunset:

In the end, it’s always these Italian rooftop silhouettes that I miss the most.  I wonder if, one day, one of them will be mine?

Summertime…

… and the living’s easy.

Before I get too comfortable in this routine of eating and drinking and making art, it’s time for another improv trip!

Tomorrow morning, off to Napoli for a weekend full of opera and FIFA games, thanks to the Teatro San Carlo, who is streaming the final two matches on a big screen after the shows (the idea of watching Deutschland squish Argentina into oblivion at one of the world’s oldest and most prestigious opera houses in Campania sounds like my sort of thing).

And then, probably a few days hopping around the southern coast, with a cardboard sign attached to my back and a desire to see some new waters in my heart.  So… it’s time to leave behind this view of the Adriatic coast:

And find something a bit more wild.  On the same note, today’s acrylic painting is probably the last one in this palette knife series– but I needed one more session with my knives and was in the mood for some blue hues.  Hopefully, more art inspiration to be found in the south of this country!

A dopo!

 

Centerless towns, tornados full of beach umbrellas, and electrifying art.

I found a city in Italy that made me ecstatic to get back to Ancona: Pescara.

Mr. Italian had a business meeting there yesterday, and I decided that it was a perfect opportunity for me to tag along and explore a new city while he does important things for a few hours.  So, another 5:30 AM wake-up call, picking up the company car, and zooming down the Adriatic coast.  We took the exit for Pescara, and there the adventure started… or, rather, didn’t.  I have never been able to not find the centro before, but, in this case, we were both at a loss of where it could be hiding.  I came to the conclusion that there is no centro.  So, Mr. Italian dropped me off at a random, slightly-sketchy corner, and kept zooming off to his appointment.  I twirled around in circles for a couple of minutes, and then headed in what I assumed to be east (at least there is the sea, right?).

En route, I had breakfast at an out-of-place-ly adorable bar, with a particularly chocolate-filled croissant.  The coffee shop was painted all sorts of bright colors and contained no shortage of quirky decorations and international books.  It even had a ‘shopping nook’ inside, which featured some of the owner’s creations:

After getting an energy boost from the cappuccino and GERMANY REIGNS, BRAZIL IS SQUISHED! newspaper headlines, I continued walking until I hit the sea.  Except that I was on the ‘wrong’ side of the city, so I had to cross over a desperately modern bridge over the port.  Coming down, I was greeted with a packed shoreline that stretched far into the horizon.  The last tip that you see should be Monte Conero (Ancona)!

I began my beach trek north at this wannabe-tropical establishment:

, and then walked about ten kilometers through crowded beaches with half of the world splashing around and laying there, sun-drying like sardines.  Hundreds of beach establishments that all look the same, except for the color of the umbrellas:

I do think that it deserves a mention that I did pass a couple of Santa Clauses instructing acqua zumba.  And then, I look up to see several dozen umbrellas floating in the air, spinning wildly in circles.  Initially, I thought that it was some sort of art installation, but then everyone started screaming and the life guards started evacuating the beaches.  I learned that it was actually a beach tornado, and that Italy is now in danger of being impaled by these huge beach umbrellas when they will fall back from the sky.  Lovely.

After that confusing interlude, I made my way back into the water and continued wading north until a river separated me from continuing along the lungomare.  While looking for a bridge to cross over, I found a creepy abandoned fairground:

, and a shady park that had a Poetry Garden inside.  It also had a Super Level bodybuilder who asked me to join in, and a dog pound right next door that took all of its inhabitants on an afternoon ‘walk’ in the park, and so I woke up from a brief nap on a bench surrounded by ten dogs sitting there and looking at me.  I took it as a sign to move on.

Crossed the bridge and took an alley down back to the sea that was clearly used for nightly business because, despite all of the Divieto di contrattare prestazioni sessuali signs plastered up, it didn’t stop cars from slowing down next to me.  Probably not the best day to wear an ‘I love you!‘ shirt.

But at the end of the road, I was greeted by a beautiful, secluded cove with clear waters and clearer skies:

At the end of this cove was a single shack (called il Sorriso, how perfect), nestled on some cliffs and serving plates of pasta di pesce.  It was one of the windiest and most delicious meals I have ever eaten:

Tummy full, I continued following the waterline for another ten kilometers north, out of the touristic hubs of Silvi, and into the quieter, more natural coasts of Pineto:

Finally, some fresh air!  Lots of it, actually… the waves were really impressive.  Between that and the white sand, I could almost convince myself I was back on a beach in South Carolina with the ocean in front of me.

Then I was joined back up by Mr. Italian, and after a gelato break, we moved the party north to Giulianova.  Since it has my name, it makes sense that I picked it as the city en route back home to explore ; )  It was a good choice though, as the entire hilltop portion of the city was setting up a city-wide beer fest, which included about twenty different beer stands, live music in every piazza, homemade crafts, sangria, and other goodies.  Though even without the festival, it was a charming city, with its buildings:

, and art covering up all of the electrical boxes:

All of them!

Tummies full again, we zoomed back up the coast, a very colorful sunset and old, cheesy music accompanying us the entire way home.  And though I eventually found some nice nooks during the day, I still felt very happy to return to Ancona.  Especially since I did it just in time to get into my pj’s, open a bar of chocolate, and watch Argentina vs. Holland.

(more) Art in Ancona

A week in Ancona, and I am starting to get pretty restless and think about what the “important parts” of life are.  I miss the nights full of dancing, and all of the outside afternoon activities, and theatre/music events back home (as well as all of the people associated with all of the above), but I do have much more time here to devote to art.  As in, all day, every day.

Which satisfies a different part of me… how to balance them both?  Find a middle ground that does not make me feel like a sedated slug, and still let me be in a part of the world that I would like to be in, with the person that I would like to be with?

Until then, I have been entertaining a few new art project ideas based on this little corner of the world that I am currently living in.  One of them is advertisements about businesses and their owners here in Ancona:

And the other series of watercolor/marker snapshots of Ancona expands every time that I am forced to spend a day at the beach.  This past Sunday was particularly hot and windless, so it was difficult to find the energy to lift paintbrushes.  In the end, I did whip up a couple of sketches though.  One featuring your average street here in Ancona:

And the other one, sunflowers at dusk:

Maybe, if I find a way to paint while zumba-ing, I’ll feel better.  Or, they could just open a latino nightclub and a black box theater in town…

Non-Hungry Hungarians, Poofball Fields, and Kittens in Castles

Wednesday morning, I popped out of the house with the intention of briefly saying ‘ciao’ to my Anconian Mentor and taking a photo of him for an art series that I am working on.  Last night, I finally got back home.

Anconian Mentor invited me out for lunch, and so we closed up his art gallery and started the walk to his house.  On the way, we saw a young backpacker sitting on the stairs of a cathedral, a cardboard sign in front of him with NIRVANA written on it.  Anconian Mentor and I exchanged glances, smiled, and decided to adopt him for a couple of days.

The boy was from Budapest, on a six-month hitchhiking trip to Spain.  His plans in Ancona went awry (as so often happens in this beloved city), and he was contemplating his escape from the city when we came along and shattered those ideas.  First, we took him to a restaurant on the beach and treated him to all of the standard seafood critters of the region:

Then, two days full of all of the most beautiful sights and delicious tastes of this city and surroundings.  Poor guy, I think that he was forced to eat more in these two days than what he has eaten in the two weeks since he left his house.  But, that’s okay; it’s an acceptable price to pay for all of the sunsets we shared:

Friday morning, after breakfast, we bid adieu to my Anconian Mentor.  Then Mr. Stuffed Hungarian and Mr. Italian and I formed our own Terrific Trio.  The Hungarian’s next stop was Perugia, so Mr. Italian and I decided to accompany him part of the way.  Originally, we were thinking of driving out halfway to Genga and leaving the kid there.   However, fate was on our side and Mr. Italian somehow ended up with two free days, so we swung by the house, grabbed our toothbrushes, and decided to extend the adventure.

We started the day with horizons of blue water:

, and then moved inland through never-ending fields of chipper sunflowers:

, detoured through vineyards:

, did double takes of roundabouts when the center of them was particularly interesting:

, and even found these funny plants.  We’re not sure what they are, but we nicknamed them poofballs:

We spent a couple of hours driving through the Marche countryside, showing off its vast beauty and diversity.  Behind every turn in the road (and there are a lot of turns in the road), the landscape is different, but always impressive.  So, we started out with sunny fields:

, then added scattered villages and hills,

, and then added some mountains to the background:

We had our mini hike and not-so-mini lunch at Genga, and then continued off to Perugia.  Before settling down to watch the Germany/France soccer game, we took a stroll around the city, which always manages to amaze me with its rooftops (Jesus reception included):

, warm hues of Umbrian sunsets:

, and welcoming atmosphere:

We even found a very cute pigeon couple that couldn’t keep its wings and beaks off each other:

After sundown, Mr. Italian and I left Stuffed Hungarian at some park outside of the city so that he could continue his adventures.  With a silent sniffle, we stuffed chocolates into his backpack and drove off.

For the night, we stayed at Castello Valenzino, an old castle converted into a B&B about half an hour north of Perugia.

I loved it!  It was rustic and cozy and charming, in the middle of mountains and rivers that blocked out the rest of the world.  It even came with a jacuzzi bathtub!

But, the best part of the castle was two of these adorable creatures, which we spent all night playing with and cuddling vigorously:

The next day, after a long breakfast and spying on the four baby falcons nestling outside of the upstairs bathroom, Mr. Italian and I started weaving our way back to the seaside.  Out first stop was Gubbio, a hillside town:

, with a desolate little colosseum:

, more puzzle-piece rooftops:

, narrow stone alleys:

, and impressive castles:

Before continuing the rest of our trip through villages not on the road atlas and arriving back to le Marche and finishing the day up with seaside FIFA matches and grigliata‘s, we took a moment to reflect on the past few completely unanticipated, yet utterly satisfying, days.  Upon getting back to the car and opening the trunk, we found this piece of cardboard left behind:

And, as we looked around at the Umbrian sky and listened to the thick drawl of the summer insects, Mr. Italian and I realized that it was us, just as much as him, that are on a long trip.  A destination without a location, unexpected turns and detours, and endless memories to share between us and with the rest of the world.

Thank you,  Hungarian vagabond for bringing us to where we all hope to arrive one day.

Day on the Beach

In Italy, summertime means beachtime.  And beachtime means everyone lying like sardines under rows of striped umbrellas from dawn until dusk, the tan rotations interrupted only by lunch/coffee/gelato breaks and volleyball games.  And, when things get really desperate, occassional cold showers for the brave few.

In other words, definitely not my type of thing.  Moreover, (to spite me, I think), Mr. Italian took up a summer weekend job at a friend’s beach establishment… and, so, if I have any hope of spending some (semi) quality time together, I have to tag along and conform to the sardine standard.  This is where I drew the line and started looking at air tickets to the Baltic countries, but I did say that I would put up with one day…

… and I am glad that I did, as I actually kinda, sorta, allllllllllmost enjoyed it 🙂

It helps that Mr. Italian works behind the bar, so I had numerous caffès and glasses of wines and spritzes and snacks brought to my little table.  But, even without the Italian nibbles and sips, I consider it a day well-spent.  A completely jellyfish-free swim, a pebble-y stroll, and a perfect breeze and afternoon cloud coverage made the twelve hours a lot more enjoyable.

I read a good book (finally!): Mancarsi by Diego de Silva.  And then did a couple of watercolor sketches (basic art lessons in Italian included to the flow of little kiddoes that came to observe the process).  The day’s theme was cats in le Marche:

I feel like this could turn into a very long series, so I am going to do my best to limit myself to just a couple.

And then I got in some language practice, as there were people from all over the world at the beach establishment (girl from Houston, what you be doin’ in Ancona?!).  Tie it up with a FIFA match on a screen on the beach with another spritz in hand, and it’s officialy a good day (YAY, HOLLAND).

(But don’t think that you tamed me into Regular Beach Lounging Lady, Mr. Italian.)

Un jour en France (Dunkerque, St. Omer, Clairmarais, Wimereux, Cap Gris Nez)

After a day devoted to the Belgian soccer game and celebrating with the entire city:

it was time to go back to taking advantage of the fact that Belgium is a small place with many adjacent countries.  In other words, it was time to hop over to France.

Within a few minutes, Mr. Italian and I crossed the border [thank goodness, because Belgium has the worst radio stations in the world, so driving for excessive amounts of time there either turns into a begrudging house (car?) party, or mournful post-news silence].  First stop in the new country was Dunkirk, a place that I have been fantasizing and wanting to visit ever since I saw Atonement for the first time.  Favorite scene of my favorite movie, so it definitely had much romanticizing to live up to:

I’m not sure that it did, as it did not match the gloomy atmosphere I had anticipated.  But, there was something about the vastness and industrialized horizon that matched the cold, rocky views that I had in my mind.  I’m sure that without the sun, it would have been more depressing (and, thus, accurate).

Instead, it was more like the final scene from Atonement (which is bittersweet, so it’s okay), rather than all of the depressing war stuff.  We used it as a backdrop for a photo session, then strolled through a modern art park back to our car, and zoomed off to our next stop: St. Omer.

I honestly have no idea how to describe this city.  It was cute, but seemed deserted (in a creepy way), except for sad teenagers walking around.

There was a really impressive park and some really astounding architecture though, so I can’t cross it off my list.  And, we did find a Carrefour open past 21, so we stocked up on cheeses and pâté‘s and wines and baguettes and chocolates and had a makeshift, illegal picnic at a royal garden.

And then, we found this gem of a ruin:

The remains of this alley of the St. Bertin church is probably my favorite monument that I have seen- I’ll place it on the same slot as Ephesus, even if on a much smaller scale.  But, it took my breath away.  It blew my mind, how fire can destroy a building of such proportions and weight.  It seemed as if someone just took an eraser and erased parts of the church, and left the rest of it there.  On the park grounds, you could see an outline of the rest of the abbey, so that you could imagine the rest of its size and grandeur.  Truly unexpected and awe-inspiring:

However, most of our time in St.Omer we spent admiring all of the details at our timewarp bed-and-breakfast… which featured long windows, heavy wooden furniture, makeshift bathrooms separated by curtains, and tacky wallpapers:

I loved it; I felt like some sort of 18th-century countess.  Especially at breakfast, which consisted of a basket of fresh croissants and baguettes and breads and an assembly of home-made jams:

All while being surrounded by this country atmosphere:

After a lazy morning, it was time to bid adieu to our chipper hostess, and drive to the next town over: Clairmarais.

There we rented a boat for an hour and navigated through the hundreds of canals that make up the Flanders region (or, more accurately, the Regional Park of Caps et Marais d’Opale).  Kind of like a cross between Louisiana and Venice :]

After the boating excursion, it was time to stroll along picturesque Wimereux, a colorful seaside town with delicious mussels and unique designs:

And personalized beach cabins:

And (finally!) cliffs:

Tummies full, we tied up our little adventure in France at the cap griz nez calais, the point of France closest to England.  We found sheep:

And lighthouses:

And a lot of wind, so we hopped back into the car and started the drive back home to Brugges.  Except that we didn’t want to miss the Italy-Uruguay soccer game, so we stopped at a little bar in the middle of nowhere, somewhere on the French-Belgium border (it was surprisingly hard to find a bar with a television…), ordered ice cream and wine, and watched with disappointment as Italy bid farewell to future 2014 FIFA games.  Bur, seriously… I don’t think that it is a coincidence that the World Cup is being hosted in Brazil, and it’s all of the South American countries that are winning?!

Anyways… after that, back to Belgium for one final night of toddlers, speculoos, and strawberry milk.  And then, back to Italy, who welcomed us back with all of its hailstorm and spicy curry glory.