Lost In Transition

There’s a gelato shop in Cornigilia, Cinque Terre. This gelato shop has pistachio gelato. This pistachio gelato changed my life.
I had heard that gelato was a must have during my backpacking trip through Europe. So true to form, I took this advice and sprinted with it. I ate gelato in every Italian city and village I came across, dissecting its merits with my fellow travelers. There was much more to this trip, but the gelato seemed to make it that much more memorable. When we arrived in to Cinque Terre, arguably the most breathtaking place I had ever been to so far, we decided to explore. We walked up and down its tiny man street, a process that took about five minutes and then meandered over to its back streets, which were windy and confusing. It was quintessentially Italian.
On our way through, we saw a gelato shop and had to stop. I got a pistachio gelato. Every positive trait of a pistachio nut was enhanced; its taste and texture without the annoying part about the nut getting stuck in your teeth, and the gelato was smooth and cold. While we were awing over the gelato’s beauty, I heard something familiar, a faint murmuring of one of my favorite operas. I went to explore, as was my prerogative. After walking for a few seconds down the cobblestone alley, I came across a wine bar, where the doors were opened to let in the warm sumer breeze and the smell of limoncello and the sound of Puccini was pouring out.
I hurried back to my companions and dragged them down the street to this little wine bar. Puccini’s La Boheme was playing softly in the background and a middle-aged man was playing guitar. He ushered us in, sat us down, poured us each a glass of limoncello and when I asked if he liked Puccini, proceeded to rant in broken English about the beauty and mastery of his work. We sat and drank limoncello for two hours, listening to Puccini and a wine bar owner’s doodles on the guitar and talking about the importance of the verismo period. I left tipsy and sated, full of good conversation and a conviction in my love of opera. We walked past the now closed gelato shop and vowed that we would come back tomorrow for more. Gelato would carry me through the rest of the trip, allowing me to stumble upon hidden marvels like the wine bar and racking up memories and stories.
I have never forgotten this evening. It spurs me on to try and make conversation with strangers and learn something about everyone. You never know when you might met your Puccini soulmate.