I am standing in a Christmas market in the Piazza Navone, trying to explain the limits of our suitcase to a child who does not wish to understand. You can guess who wins this argument.
“Let’s have dinner there,” Jess says and points to a bistro. She orders the grigliata di scampi, which sounds like prawns to me, so I get the same thing. It turns out to be the whole shrimp, claws, eyeballs, and all. I am almost sure I cannot do this but then I enter into the spirit, clacking the claws and saying, “Prego!” and “Arrivederci!” as I eat.
Jessica gives me her I-am-not-amused look and turns to her own dinner, which she eats without flinching, although she sets the eyeballs aside. “What is your favorite thing about Italy so far?”
“I have liked everything. Venice was beautiful –”
“I mean the people.”
“Oh. I liked our driver in Verona.”
“That is because he does not speak English, so he could not argue with you.”
“Probably,” I say, and clack some claws together.