Gathering breakfast

Every morning in the Cinque Terra I would wake to the sound of venders opening their shops.  Their quite voices would drift up into our open windows on the third floor of our 500 year old building.  As I continued to lay in bed the smell of fresh baked bread and pastries would lure me out of bed and into the streets in search of breakfast.

I loved this ritual of rising early and going out alone into the markets.  I would imagine I was Italian and did this everyday with all the other locals.  Most of the tourists were still tucked in at that hour.

There was this great little bakery, halfway down our street, where all the locals bought their daily bread.  I would practice in my head the italian words to order my bread and pastries.  Inevitably, after ordering my bread I was answered back in english.  Darn, I'd think, how do they know I'm American.  Don't they know I am pretending to be Italian today.

After gathering our bread I'd wind my way through the narrow stone streets in search of fresh fruit.  Here in the Cinque Terra you ask the vendor for your fruit and they pick it out for you.  I made the mistake the first morning of helping myself and was gently scolded.  Tucking my nectarines, apricots and tomatoes into my bag I'd slowly make my way back to our little apartment.

There, the kids would crawl out of bed, to see what delights I arrived with each morning.  Their favorite was the fresh focaccia bread.

I sure loved these slow quite mornings.  I miss them now that we are back in Davis.  This morning I drove to the Coop.  Not quite as satisfying as strolling though winding stone streets pretending you are Italian.