At noon it thundered. Rain poured from the deadgray sky. No azur in the Cote d'Azur. I was in bed. I had been in bed since Sunday morning. Unable to eat or, God forbid, drink wine. Unable to lift head from pillow. To stay awake for ten minutes. This was more than jet lag. This was A Bug.
It is Monday. Plans are delayed. Italy beckons, so near, yet far. Sun breaks through gunmetalgray clouds, the chastened sea glowers.
My spirit is like the timid crocus, poking through the winter mulch. My soul whispers, "I shall laugh again. I shall drink deep of the wines of Italy." My stomach says, "Oh do shut the fuck up."
Pastis or rose.
Posted by: Marco | February 04, 2008 at 02:53 PM
Marco, you're getting as cryptic as Alfonso.
Posted by: l'Ambasciatore | February 04, 2008 at 03:47 PM
I will never top Alfonso. It's not very nice to be sick in Nice. Hope you are better soon.
Posted by: Marco | February 04, 2008 at 04:07 PM
No it is not. But I managed to drink 2 glasses of slightly plonky Bordeaux tonight at a place called Ma Nolan's, with my hamburger. A nice dry overcooked one, just like the ones me mum used to make. I actually liked it.
Tomorrow off to Asti territory, if we're capable of it.
Posted by: l'Ambasciatore | February 04, 2008 at 04:12 PM
Terry,
here in old Europe, not wearing a scarf makes you getting a flu immediately... :-))
I hope you'll recover soon !
Posted by: alex | February 06, 2008 at 06:46 AM
Good one, Alex! I deserved it.
Posted by: Domenico | February 06, 2008 at 07:31 AM