Italy
Elizabeth Gilbert’s life here caused within me a spontaneous combustion of nostalgia for my life abroad. For example, I allowed myself to have a chocolate croissant the other day for the first time since I’d been home from France (my sister and her husband bought it for me from a cute French bakery in downtown Winter Park). It was so good I nearly cried. I really wish that I had indulged in French cuisine more when I’d been over there. Liz (and yes, I feel connected to her enough that we are now on a first name basis) was so ambitious in her attempt to find obscure restaurants, and her success in relaying the mastery of these dishes not only justifies and compliments the life’s work of these hard working Italians but also promotes their way of life with eagerness and ease. (Serious props to her understanding of ancient Roman history, too). Overall, however, reading this portion of the novel allowed me to fully appreciate my life abroad for exactly what it was: beautiful, imperfect, difficult, rewarding, enlightening, compelling, full of fast-paced and slowed down memories, new people, history, languages, tears, laughter and regret. And beauty. And God. And life.
Did I mention beauty…?
