The Chronicles of Venice, Part XXIII – I’m Sorry, But Your Pasta Tastes Like Nothing

Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear. It’s now February 6th, 2014. Over TWO YEARS ago I left for London. Two years.

Everything is so different now. Writing this blog feels like I’m trying to enthusiastically write about someone else’s adventures. I remember what happened, surely, but the original enthusiasm has just been replaced with a dull nostalgia. Two years ago I would’ve described this particular event with a certain venom. I remember specifically the carbonara tasting…well, like nothing. I remember the boss-lady pinching my cheeks and trying to articulate our order to someone who straight up did not speak any kind of English, period.

Being thoroughly amused that she liked us so much despite it all; we were the only customers in the whole restaurant in the middle of the day.

I remember dumping almost an entire container of salt into my pasta, remember thinking that those ham-wrapped sticks tasted so much better than they looked.

Remember how, right after this terrible yet thoroughly enjoyable meal, we went on to to Interlaken, only to have the train break down on us and forcing us to sit in the middle of suburban Switzerland mountainland for hours waiting for the bus to pick us up, to go to some undisclosed place that would eventually hopefully take us to that place we needed to go. In the middle of the night.

But instead of having any kind of emotional response, or even feeling like I was the same person who did all these things, it just feels like I’m telling a Sparknotes synopsis of some story that I read a really long time ago.

Maybe someday in the future I’ll have the chance to do this again, and I’ll be able to keep up. I’m happy that I kept up with this blog as much as I did – these last few weeks in Venice, Interlaken and Paris are the only weeks I missed out of the whole six or so months. But next time, there won’t be a lapse.

Until then, however, I’m just going to post as much as I can. Make her proud!

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