The weather has been…well, sweaty here in Providence, and it’s bringing back sweet, sticky memories of hot, hot Roma. I suppose it’s about time I got down to sharing my Italy photo diary, so here goes Day 1.
Four days in Rome. A claustrophobic climb to the top of St. Paul’s Basilica rewarded us with a stunning terra cotta panoramic of the city, Rome reflecting the sun with its warm, glowing tettos. The Sistine Chapel, The Trevi Fountain, The Spanish Steps…no historic stone unturned, I assure you.
Days of sweaty sight-seeing in Cathedral-appropriate attire spilled into cold showers, apertivo, and cobblestone strolls to this piazza or that. Many a family dinner, with 2 pizzas for the table, vino flowing from one end of the table to the other and back again, children’s choirs spontaneously rising behind us, a lone cellist filling the hour with that warm, sweeping sound.
last 3 photos by Michael Collins.
It’s been a strange few days, so here are some photos of blue skies and books. My mom had a few Providence places to cross off of her bucket list, so we (very spontaneously) strolled through the gorgeous athenaeum and the quiet Arcade together. We talked architecture, restoration, politics and love. We walked Westminster and Benefit, bought vintage sweaters, picked up fallen leaves, and picked out East Side homes around the Boulevard. November is weaving its golden ways and once again I’m hypnotized.
Speaking of my lovely mother, today is her birthday! This wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t wish her a very happy day here. xoxo!
It was the coldest, cloudiest day of our entire trip. So we went to the beach. When life gives you lemons, right?
After a little research (and I mean little), we packed up our towels (also little) and headed for Trouville. What a pleasant surprise! We’d been to several coastal towns in Normandy that week, but this was by far the most charming. Families sharing ice cream cones, kids playing soccer in the sand, and so many striped beach tents. M was pretty taken with the architecture just along the beach and I was totally transfixed by the murals everywhere. They almost looked like a page torn out of an old children’s book, so sweet and faded.
We immediately took to the water. There was splashing and superman-ing and somersaulting through the waves before returning to our teeny towels for apples and a swig of Calvados. Ahh, the beach life.
Dinner that night was a slighty un-French round of tapas at a wine bar in town, served by a happy man who did not speak English. He learned quickly of our language barrier, but decided not to dumb anything down. Instead he spoke in such a diverse range of tones and inflections that the actual combinations of sounds and letters being used did not matter much. We understood each other just fine, and he quickly became one of our favorite interactions. That night we realized the human-to-human connection is far more powerful than any organized arrangement of words.