dillo con un bacio

Yesterday I went to the European Chocolate Festival which involved (among other things) cardboard cow horns, purple face paint, inflatable chalets, and Lindt truffles the size of small cars. People navigated the streets with maps made of chocolate bars while tent stalls bartered everything from chocolate laptops to chocolate hot dogs. If you wanted it in chocolate, this is where you’d find it.

Plus, love. True love. I’d just stepped away from the Ciobar when a boy stopped me, pointing to my little cup of hot chocolate. “Bella, non?” he said, smiling. I agreed with a smile equally wide. “Chocolate usually is.”

“Where are you from?” he went on, his friends gathering about, too. He shook his head at my answer, asserting that wasn’t possibly foreign enough. “Nuova Zelanda?” I tried again. A roar of approval. “Che bella, bella!” they shouted, all in on the game now. “A beautiful country. You know what else is beautiful? You. Yes. You are my heartbeat.”

His heartbeat! We’d hardly even met—and after a shared “Forza, Napoli!” they were gone. Though this sort of love is forever; we’ll meet again, I’m sure. Another day, another destiny. Chocolate has a way of bringing people together, you know.