Every Boy's Got One

Travel Diary of Jane Harris

Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine

Jane Harris

OK, everything I wrote in here last night about hating Italy and wishing I were home watching ER? Strike that.

I LOVE Italy. I LOVE it here.

Just now when I woke up, I pushed back the heavy curtains from my window, expecting to see more of the hard cold rain from yesterday….

Gone. No more rain.

Instead, there was a cloudless blue sky. And a distant, green, castle-topped hillside straight out of a fairy tale. And a crystal pool sparkling below me. And the scent of freshly cut hay. And the sun-washed stone walls of the terrazza dripping with the thick green leaves and fire pink blossoms of bougainvillea, and birds singing in the treetops—

Well, what else could I do but slap on my swimsuit and hit the water?

And it was so very, very…

COLD!!!!

OK? The water is REALLY cold. Like ice-cube-tray cold. I’m writing this half-shivering to death on one of the lounge chairs, completely draped in towels.

But even though it’s only like nine in the morning, or something, the sun is already beating down. Steam is coming up from the damp towels on my legs. Soon I should be toasty….

YES. Now THIS is how I’ve always pictured a European vacation. Just me, the water, clear blue sky, bright hot sun, and a bottle of acqua con gas (sparkling water, which I found in the fridge). It’s SO quiet here. No car alarms. No sirens. No neighbors squabbling over possession of the remote control next door. Just birds tweeting, and horses neighing, and the wind rustling through palm fronds and the leaves of the olive tree beside me, its branches heavy with little round balls deepening from a pretty pale green to a deep brown color… totally bitter and indigestible (yes, I tasted one. Who knew they had to be marinated or whatever? The pomegranates from the tree at the other end of the pool are MUCH better).

In the air is the crisp, clean smell of chlorine from the pool, the scent of freshly cut hay from the field beyond the hedge, and… OK, well, the smell of horse manure drifting over from the Centro Ippico, but it’s very faint.

And off in the distance, atop a deep green rise that seems to come from the middle of the hay field, sits another fortified city, topped by a castle… Castelfidardo, where we’re going to go today to apply for Mark and Holly’s marriage license. If they can pry me from this spot. Which I sincerely doubt. Because the only way I’m moving is if—

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

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