Tuscany 2015 – Day Seven
Towels, Croissants, and a Dash of English
Ah, another day in the riveting saga of sun, pools, and pastry-induced mayhem. Brace yourselves for the chronicles of my escapades in towel warfare and my valiant attempt to decipher the chaotic bakery scene.
Sun Loungers and Pastry Wars
First things first—sun loungers. I proudly claim victory, beating the Europeans at their own game by strategically placing towels on prime spots. Take that, early risers!
Now, the bakery. It’s like a battlefield without a queue, but fear not; the ticket machine, our guiding beacon of order, saves the day. I sidestepped the plain croissants, deemed insufficiently sweet by the connoisseurs Michele and Joshua. Opting for the custard-filled wonders, I admit they didn’t quite match the French magic. Two sandwich loaves also joined the party, ensuring a delightful lunch with toast and boiled eggs. Michele, my savior, had the coffee ready upon my return.
Poolside Chronicles
Preparedness is my middle name (not literally). While the others snoozed, I claimed my sun lounger throne by 10:00 sharp. Michele strolled in fashionably late, but Josh—well, he embraced his inner Lewis Hamilton with a noon appearance. Clearly, sleep is his newfound love.
A rare treat awaited us—a conversation in English! Sarah, Richard, and their quartet of daughters shared tales of tent life on the Venetian coast. No Donald and Jacqueline sightings yet, Dawn—your kingdom remains secure. And oh, the husband might need a megaphone to be heard over his female-dominated abode.
Tan Lines and Birra Moretti Bliss
As the clouds flirted with the sun, a premonition of Warren and Dawn’s arrival teased us. Regardless, poolside nirvana persisted. Eight hours later, Michele declared a ban—I’m too tanned for her liking. Blame it on my latent Italian genes, perhaps?
Showered, well-fed, and nursing a Birra Moretti, I’m now the official chronicler of kids on bikes weaving around caravans. Move over, Tour De France; we’ve got a new generation of foot-scooting contenders. Sir Dave Brailsford, sleep easy.
