I did not really sleep last night, it was like a 6-hour series of fitful naps.
I don’t know if this is just Italy, but going through customs in the Bergamo airport was like driving between California and Oregon — actually, it was easier. There wasn’t even a dude in an orange vest waving me through.
Bergamo! This medieval Italian town on two hills is at the foot of the Alps. As is the Italian custom, nobody speaks English. Deni seemed curious why I don’t know Italian, though.
“Deni… Is that corn?”
“Yes! Urban agriculture!”
More urban ag, I suppose….