The Runaway Cook

"No, don't tell us!"  He almost shrieked from across the train table with an almost cocky twinkle in his eye.

"Yeah, let us guess." Chimed in the man to my right

"Ok, fine" I blushed with a sigh.

They grinned together with a suspicious low hum of a "hmmmm" and eyebrows raised. Names soon flew out of their mouths in an attempt to discover mine. Some were flattering and that you'd expect a mysterious woman to own up to as hers, while others were silly what I'm hoping were just ridiculous jokes. Alas, neither of the men could guess my name.  The decision was made to narrow down the selection of possible names by guessing my heritage and going from there. Again "alas," as they too sucked at guessing that. I eventually had to clue them in on my mainly Norwegian and German blood.

"Helga? Olga? . . . No, I've got it! INGA!"

"Really? Inga?" I raised my eyebrow and took a swig of milk.

"Oh Yeah!"

The gentleman across from me then explained that Inga was a name for only gorgeous women and I should be in want for such a name. I laughed and I tried my best to work on journaling that was past due. But their playful interrogations continued. I think it was shortly after they found out my name was Elizabeth, that yellow button-up to my right went back to what I assume had something to do with a business. However, the smarmy man sitting opposite me gave himself up as James Biss a Canadian magician. (I'm not lying. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried!)

After revealing his name and occupation, the interrogations swapped. I begged him to tell me some sort of illusion. I insisted that revealing his secrets to me couldn't hurt. I mean who was I going to tell. And I had some questions about an illusion I had seen/been part of last fall.

"Only if you promise not to tell a single soul!"
"Ok, hahaha I won't"
"Repeat after me. I promise . . ."
"I promise"
"Not to reveal the secret"

A photo from that day I received from Magic Man

"Not to reveal the secret"
"Of what I'm 'a-boot' to learn"
"Of what I'm about to learn"
"Even if I am tortured"
"Even if I am tortured"
"Tickled"
"Tickled"
"Or given treats"
"Whahahahatttt? Hehehehehehehe . . . .(he glared) . .eh-hem ok, or given treats"

What was that secret you wonder? Well, you'll just have to keep wondering.

 I haven't told a single soul and I'm not about to reveal the mysterious ways of a seasoned, and if I might add, dishy, Canadian magician I met on the train to Bologna.

photo from http://www.destination360.com/europe/italy/images/s/italy-trains.jpg

Step 1: Slip on a comfortable airy dress that makes you feel great in the heat and about yourself. Don't worry about how trendy it is or what belt to wear with it or even slipping on a pair of heels. Just wear your hear down and put on some shimmery sandals.

Step 2: Walk into a busy piazza just after dark and buy yourself an ice cream, just one scoop. 


Step 3: Now, simply walk and enjoy what is around you and the delicious ice cream. Within minutes a young Italian Man will separate from his hang out group just to talk to you. Now there are no guarantees on if you'll like the first one, but take heart my friends. After another 5 minutes you'll have someone else running after you just to say, "Hello."




I was antsy,  not looking to run into anyone. I just wanted to enjoy Florence by night and fill every second of being awake with experiences. Little did I know what would happen.

The pale-eyed, blond-haired fella that bumped into me came off a little nervous but sweet. Conversation and flirting soon followed his "caio." I tried to steer the conversation's focus away from where I was from, names, gelato, Florence, and compliments, but when I asked what his favorite food was the reply I got was, "What is Food?" Apparently, this was one Italian "stud" that just knew the survival guide to light English conversation. Strangely enough I couldn't explain to him what food really was. I said names of food and made eating motions with my hands and mouth but he just got more confused and 'm pretty sure he thought I didn't understand what I was saying in Italian. I mean what would you do if someone just said 5 random food and expected you to know they meant all edible things? haha.

The night was clear and still so agreeing to link arms and holding hands was fine by me. We walked through peachy lighted streets and came to the Ponte Vecchio.  The lights reflected off the black water and made warm glow. Just then my walking pall tried to lay one on me. I sweetly said no and he asked why. I tried my best to explain using simple words that I just didn't want to kiss him or well anyone. At this his brow furrowed and the expression of pure concentration was adorable. His answer was pause then a laugh and, "I do not understand." We both laughed and kept walking. When we were nearly to the  Piazza again he tried again and I tried to explain again that it really wasn't him. He seemed great but no thanks. The poor guy had the most innocent frown and let out a big sigh with, "I just don't understand."

Hahaha I think he got over it. His palls were meeting up to go clubbing anyway. I told him he'd find someone who'd love to kiss him there, but I'm not really sure he understood that either.

Hopefully you have better luck ;)

Around the corner and inbetween a smattering of delis, street venders pawning off scarves, postcard stands, and of course gelaterias is a little place that rather strongly insists they are not selling popsicles. 

L to R: Mr. Germany, Mr. Norway, Me

The rabbit