Thursday, August 20, 2015

Ah, the sweet violins!

And . . . we're back! F and I got an annoying summer virus and have been spending time downloading ESL lessons from the internet trying to get organized for the Fall English Lesson Panic or -- as some call it  -- FELP. Just kidding. No one calls it that.

Anyway, T got invited to go to see her New York sister from another mister: Savana. She was staying in Pesaro which is just around the corner from here -- about four hours away by car if you hit traffic, which you will. This is Italy.

It was a sweet reunion:

Savana & T

Kim, Savana's mom getting photos of Savana, & T.

Then T went to visit Natasha in Bologna with Giorgia for a few days. They had a great time swimming and shopping, and came back on their own on the train. (Pictures to follow. . if the girls release them to me.)

While our figlia was away, F and I tooke the drive to Cala Violina finally! I've been obsessed with going there even though everyone says that it is a mobbed in July and August, especially on the weekends. I really wanted to get an early start. We left late because F decided at the last minute that he needed to shave. By the time we got there, the parking lot was full and we had to walk a stretch of highway and through a wooded area where I peed standing up like a professional. Or a boy. Or a professional boy. To be fair, that lot had probably been full for hours.

Our beach tale is quintessentially Italian in that there were three beaches right next to each other and each one was  populated based on people's values: the materialisti, the chissenefregas that dance to their own drums, and the la grande bellezza party people who have to be where everyone else is.

From where we left the car,  the closest beach is called Punta Ala. It is for fancy people who want cabana chairs and to have their hair braided and a choice of woven baskets and beaded jewelry and other assorted wares to buy along with a kind of beach side restaurant bar.

It was super crowded at Punta Ala so we walked down the entire length of the beach until we got to the cliff at the end. We had to climb down sharp, slippery rocks and walk through a channel of water that arrived at my hips and F's knees until we made it around the bend to a second beach where the sand was ever so slightly less white and soft, but that was relatively deserted and tranquil. Some lady felt so badly for us that she helped F carry the bags across.

 Not content with this perfectly fine beach, we decided that we wanted to hear the sounds of mythical violins as the water washed on the shores at Cala Violina, our original destination; so we took a hike uphill through a steep and dusty trail over to the next beach.

Hi. My name is F. We were late due to my shaving and inefficiency and therefore we couldn't park at the right beach, and then I left all of K's stuff including sunscreen and hairbrush on the floor of the car.
Hi. I'm F and I think this cute pose and my dogged optimism will somehow get me off the hook, even though later I can't find where I parked the car and misplace K's cellphone.
I was so mad at one point that things got black and white like the Wizard of Oz.
Nice view, though, huh?

I eventually forgave him.
 This is the deserted beach being even more deserted because, charmingly enough, none of the Italians will go back into the water until half an hour after they have eaten their panini.

Thanks cutie Italians! The water is all ours!
I love this beach.

ME: You said it would only be up to my hips! This is my neck, dude.

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