two days in one

I think I'm getting closer to my inner Italian.

I'm becoming nocturnal and creating a different body rhythm, in tune to the melody of the south of Italy, the Adriatic coastal beat.

I'm embracing my inner Southern Italian and I love the little secret this town shares

of having two days within one.

First part of the two part day is simple.

We get up in the morning and have a coffee and a pastry, a 'cornetto'. Maybe the croissant like one filled with nutella or maybe the custard cream. Then my girlfriend and I chat. We chat for at least an hour, sometimes two and have another coffee. We talk about the dreams we had the night before and the dreams we have for our futures. We discuss the possible significance of the archetypal characters we met in slumber and discuss our waking journeys philosophically. We try to disseminate the meaning of what it is that we are doing, even if it appears outwardly to be 'nothing'.

We have know each other for 10 years and have lived different lives but how wonderful to have a deep respect for each others choices and an acceptance of each others quirks. I mean she sees my flaws, she listens to the struggles I have with me and the disappointments I've created around myself and she just accepts me anyway.

The caffeine kicks in and we need to move, so we get out into the town and get some supplies to take down to the beach and to soak up the gentle rays of the Northern European sun.

Yesterday we bought a little blow-up dinghy from a sea side vendor and stashed our towels, large bottle of water, with it's slight natural effervescence, and fresh made panini with sliced ham, grilled zucchini and soft light cheese into it and swam out to a little island of rocks to bask and eat our lunch.

It's so easy to float on this salt packed sea that has no crushing waves, no threat of sharks or jelly fish, little stingers or salt water crocs for that matter. The most difficult thing about this town's local beaches are navigating the buffed, potato sized rocks that coat the shore.

Once you survive the crunchy potato shore and get your head under the surface you hear air pockets bursting between the rocky sea floor. They make the most delightful popping sounds that it reminds me gobbling down a packet of magic gum as a kid and having that noise explode inside your head. It's wild to be able to completely relax on and in the water, with no fear of sweeping currents or knocks to the head from grommets learning to surf.

Watching the Southern Italians so completely in possession of their summer selves, it's easy to fall in line with the tempo. As we munched away on our panini sitting on the rocks I watched the shore line clear of multi- coloured umbrellas and bronzing families as their lunch times called them home for a proper meal.

We stay awhile dozing on the rocks and flop into the salty sea like seals you see in a nature documentary, cooling us down from the hot, tingling of the sun on our pelts.

Satiated, but sleepy we pack up our island picnic to make our way back home. Of course we stop for an espresso at the beach side bar to give us just enough energy to drag our sun kissed selves back home.

We cut through the cemetery under the shade of tall trees to get back to town, where the first thing you notice is the absence of sound. It is the only time apart from between 2 a.m. & 4 a.m. that this town is actually quiet. There is no trashy techno pumping from cars beep, beeping down the road, the televisions are hushed and the green shutters drawn on the pastel coloured buildings.

It is about 3 p.m. and the whole town is napping, so we nap too. A gentle breeze whispers over our bodies, capturing and stealing away the last of the heat radiating off them and the delicate sound of nothingness lulls us into sleep.

We wake up groggily as sounds start to pulsate through the town and we make another espresso.

We get dressed and brush our teeth, comb our hair in preparation for another day - but it's still the same day it's part two of the two part day.

We flip flop through the narrow, winding streets of the ancient town, tripping over the large, polished undulating boulders that serve as both walkway and road in search of an aperitif. The town has come alive again around the centre square beneath tall tress and fountains. Children hold hands with grandparents while new mothers proudly push prams around the square watching glammed up teenagers hustling around the edges playing the game that got their parents to where they are now. The sun still shines and glitters through the boughs of the trees at 9 pm as we think about finding a seat outside a little pizzeria for our evening meal.

Everything takes a little time here and you have to succumb to the flow. The waiter will eventually get to you, he will eventually remember the beer you've ordered and the chef will eventually get around to crisping that margherita pizza you're panting for as you see the sun finally sink over the tops of buildings and the night time sucks away the last of the heat in the buildings.

Full with rounded bellies and that dreamy sense of contentment we begin our meandering home through the old town that spits us out again at the town square. At 12:30 a.m. children are still playing ball as their parents chat with each other and the little ones rest on seats on grandparent laps.

Little dogs on leads sniff each other happily as their owners chat loudly, gesticulating wildly to make their point known as one of the local kids swaggers up to us, mimicking the men around him, shoulders squared, chest puffed out and penetrating sky blue eyes nods his head to us and calls out 'Ciao!"