Sigh. In 2005 I was living alone in a small apartment in a rustically gracious Adriatic town. Mornings I would plop downstairs, turn left into the alleyway ('ruva' in the local dialect. French influence. The alley's mane was Labyrinth, Labirinto in Italian. Too ironic given the personal circumstances then,) which led directly into a small piazza, head towards a bar-pastry shop to devour a 'bomba' - the Abruzzo version of a stuffed doughnut - freshly pumped to a burst with cream. Each one contained enough calories to feed the sum of all living things in sub-Saharan Africa for a week, humans included. I was an athlete then, before.... all the whips, scorns and injuries of age. So I would eat two. After, I would hop onto my lovely blue Honda motorino and descend to the sea - the central Adriatic, which smells entirely of home to me. The hilltop view from that town affords a full panorama, the coastal air sweet&sour and as you near the waves the language, wo...
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