Snapshots from San Gimignano, Italy. March, 2014.
San Gimignano is this rather unreal little medieval city about an hour outside of Florence, Italy.
It's mystical because it feels quite literally like you've waltzed through a time machine, leaving all modern contraptions behind as you sit amongst old stone and tall towers and local white wine.
This city hosts, by far, the best gelato in the entire galaxy at the Gelateria di Piazza. Don't argue, just go and you'll see. I don't joke around about frozen treats.
It also featured inifinitous (I like making up words) Tuscan vistas and exquisite little details like wildflowers, olive trees, chirping birds, open-air markets, wild boar sausage, and garden terraces for artists and live music. And for the occasional weird tourist (cough: us), flower-crown-making. Shops were filled with mouth-watering balsamic vinegar, colorful leather and alabaster trinkets.
It's one of the only places I've ever been to that I truly absorbed, I drank it in. Gulped it with the urgency of determined hiccups. I cherished it, letting it sink right into my skin and down deep into my memory. Wouldn't it be amazing if we didn't have the ability to become complacent, and lived our entire lives that way?
I love to close my eyes and imagine that place, remembering the feel and the smell and most especially the taste of that blackberry lavender gelato. Or perhaps the ricotta and blueberries. Or maybe even the saffron cream. We had a lot of gelato in San Gimignano.
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