Starting with the heat wave in Ferrara and Verona, which was brutal, I began writing again, a tennis romance (#4) with a tall dark handsome Italiano man and an American physiotherapist named Lucy. I'm approacing 30000 words after 3.5 weeks, slower than my typical pace but pretty good considering equipment and having other things to do.
It's a fun life. I'm still traveling in a foreign country, learning things, exploring history and culture and daily life. I'm also living daily normal public life, speaking this melodious language exclusively once I walk out the door. It's the life I'd be living if I were to move here. (Minus the Segway I'd definitely buy were I a FT resident!)
It's a good balance. And if I moved here, I'd keep doing travel, taking little overnight trips on a train to a new place to explore more for two days, plus half a day as a tourist to more obscure places in the town I settled in, the rest of days writing, cooking, shopping the fresh veg, fruit market and cheese counters, walking recycling out every few days to the bins that are everywhere for everyone to use, getting to know my neighbors, slowly, as is the Italian way. And assuming I'd live on the Adriatic coast, which I would, wading or swimming every morning six months, and walking the coast or hills in a jacket when winter arrived, getting to know my sea in it's hibernal mood and the green edges of town.
It's not impossible this is my future.
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