Dear Italy,

How i miss you. Your burning sun, your colors, your easy way around modernity. Remember our delicious afternoons? You would feed me: wine, olives, taleggio with honey. In your arms I could lay awake in tears, and still enjoy the following day. We agree that work is for chumps. We agree that Florentines loves them some linen suits. Who isn't a fan of your elaborate aesthetics?

Oh, Italy. We didn't have enough time together, but the time we shared was magical. The laughter, the hijinks. The discovery that it is in your southern regions that your boundaries are as poor as mine. Poor, poor Tuscany. Mi bimbo. Mi amore.

Remember when we tried to get gas on the way back to Florence, and you were all "Nah. We need naps. However, we will get you tanked. Glass of wine with your diesel?" You totally rule. That tiny fox in the marine park. The beach lousy with driftwood yurts. Signore cock and balls. I missed him, but you showed him to my friends, and they were delighted. The smells of the countryside, windows open. Horseback riding through your vineyards, dogs at our heels, magnificent Giorgio with his noblemans (long-haired, but not too long) persona as our lead. Forgiving Noni and Liliana, protecting us from our own idiocy and witchy Austrians. Chris' spectacular dinner presentation. I should stop. It is enough. We will see each other again, si? As far as the madness goes, non importa, mi e indifferente. No worries.

Love,
The D.L.

P.S. Seriously? One word-- infrastructure. It can help on so many levels. Finish that highway.