I didn’t know whether I was being kidnapped or rescued — that was what made my one big decision so difficult. That and the fact that I was young and foolish, and more than a little anxious about being stranded in the North African desert.
Our relationship began with my quick peek at a wildly pornographic image in Thomas Cahill’s popular book, How the Irish Saved Civilization. An ancient goddess, Sheela is rendered symbolically, stripped of all but the essential features. She is naked, bald, and breastless, and reaches both arms behind her bent legs, using her hands to …
The instructions were unnerving: Boil olive oil in a hot pan, lay the horsemeat in flat, and turn it when it starts to rise. I tried hard not to visualize horseflesh rearing up out of a pan of boiling oil. We were in search of the “Puglian delicacy” I had read about in a guidebook and was determined not to miss.
Was this what Pisa had become? Tourists herded from one attraction to another, planning their day around the bus schedule, purchasing silly plastic mementos destined to gather dust on far-away bookshelves? I looked more closely.
