Title : Colours of Italy
link : Colours of Italy
Colours of Italy
My daughter got home late Friday night, and it's been pretty cute to see Little Girl's response, so happy to have her Mama back home. And requiring that all care and carrying, feeding and fetching, come from her Mama, Papa's services grudgingly accepted in a pinch, and Nana standing waaaay back. Still, I've been able to enjoy watching the three of them together, and we had a couple of good outings, dinner at a local sushi place (not what most visitors to Italy are going to be eating, but these guys are so glad to see some decent ethnic food coming on the scene. . . ). I baked up a batch of cinnamon buns, my daughter made some fabulous tomato soup, and, finally a few hours ago, I packed up my suitcase, double-checked my tickets, and started readying myself for tomorrow's departure.
I'm not expecting tears, but I may be ambushed at the station when my daughter and granddaughter drop me at Roma Termini. I'll remind myself that I've had three weeks with my Three, and that I'll be seeing the family again in June. And then I'll be off on my own for a few days before flying home.
On tomorrow's train ride, I'll reflect on the past few weeks here. It hasn't been a holiday, not a vacation at all, but travel for a purpose. Enjoyable, rich, frustrating, confusing, inspiring, and a plethora of other adjectives I'll be chasing down in my journal.
I've already begun organizing the many photos I've taken. Today's selection is all about colour, for me at least, about colour found in the daily rounds in some unexpected and decidedly unglamorous places. Top photo: a rusting water-fountain (nasone) against a sun-streaked, stuccoed wall; next: that truck's minty green against the lift's rusty orange, the gritty muscularity of the vehicle; below: two photos of a graffitied wall on a fenced-off portion of the beach, the faded graphics of the tin can that's been caught up in the wire fencing, none of it romantic, even against that sky, and yet. . .
And then this photo above, the way the yellow skips, like a stone across the water, from the garbage-can lid on the left to that car to that roof. . . .
And below, one town over, out for a walk on my own, these shutters, in a building that's the same age as I am, if I remember my Roman numerals correctly (click to zoom. . . )
So as you might guess, although I'll be leaving Italy tomorrow, I'll be bringing us all back there in upcoming posts once I'm back home. Hope you won't mind. . .
And I'm curious, as I sign off: do you often find that it takes some time for a trip's reverberations to settle? does your narration of it change with time? do you understand parts of the trip better, weeks or months or even years later, than you were able to at the time? Or is that just me?
I'm not expecting tears, but I may be ambushed at the station when my daughter and granddaughter drop me at Roma Termini. I'll remind myself that I've had three weeks with my Three, and that I'll be seeing the family again in June. And then I'll be off on my own for a few days before flying home.
On tomorrow's train ride, I'll reflect on the past few weeks here. It hasn't been a holiday, not a vacation at all, but travel for a purpose. Enjoyable, rich, frustrating, confusing, inspiring, and a plethora of other adjectives I'll be chasing down in my journal.
I've already begun organizing the many photos I've taken. Today's selection is all about colour, for me at least, about colour found in the daily rounds in some unexpected and decidedly unglamorous places. Top photo: a rusting water-fountain (nasone) against a sun-streaked, stuccoed wall; next: that truck's minty green against the lift's rusty orange, the gritty muscularity of the vehicle; below: two photos of a graffitied wall on a fenced-off portion of the beach, the faded graphics of the tin can that's been caught up in the wire fencing, none of it romantic, even against that sky, and yet. . .
And then this photo above, the way the yellow skips, like a stone across the water, from the garbage-can lid on the left to that car to that roof. . . .
And below, one town over, out for a walk on my own, these shutters, in a building that's the same age as I am, if I remember my Roman numerals correctly (click to zoom. . . )
So as you might guess, although I'll be leaving Italy tomorrow, I'll be bringing us all back there in upcoming posts once I'm back home. Hope you won't mind. . .
And I'm curious, as I sign off: do you often find that it takes some time for a trip's reverberations to settle? does your narration of it change with time? do you understand parts of the trip better, weeks or months or even years later, than you were able to at the time? Or is that just me?
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