I’m a hopeless romantic. In love with gelato. Incurable in my optimism that everything is possible by eating gelato every day. My husband thinks I’m crazy. Typical man, don’t you think. Thinking of the world in black and white. They miss so much, poor darlings.
Eating gelato fuels my hopelessness. That first spoonful like billions of icicles dancing on my tongue. Light seems to giggle in a multitude of color. Black cherry, green apple, yellow peach, orange, melon, creamy milk, dark chocolate, pink strawberry, blueberry.
As the sea changes to cobalt and the sand to treacle, we saunter along the promenade, the via del mare, street of the sea, to the main square in the charming seaside village of Marina di Ragusa. Piazza della Torre. My happy place. Sun-baked yellowish grey limestone, cafès, old bars and three gelato shops.
By night under a wide starry sky and soft rosy lights the square comes alive with laughter. Soothed by a day of sun and sea people recline dreamily on benches. Old men chattering, chewing on stubby cigars, their woman yawning, wishing for home. Shaggy haired children riding bikes, playing ball, toddlers darting. In the middle of the piazza is a long row of fairy lights sunk into the stone. Small children amuses themselves by standing on it, their toes glowing like fireflies.
Idly stirring the melting, creamy condensed joy, I watch young lovers. The girls long limbed and copper skinned, dark curls streaming to slim waists. The boys with sun-bleached hair and dark sultry eyes stealing lemon kisses.
The hopeless romantic in love with gelato is content.
image from blogspot (my photos were lost)