Contraband

We're sitting in a beach bar in a town called Rosetta, which has very little to offer other than a sea front strip packed with gaudy hotels, tatty-looking palm trees and neon lights. We're essentially here for the best pizzeria in the district, which I remember from my last trip as a fine place to eat and hang out. We're watching groups of lads playing beach volley ball, which seems to be one of the preferred sports down here. 

We've been on the beach all day, milling about on lilos, eating caprese salads, reading, sleeping and relaxing. The sea water here is extremely salty. It has a viscosity and a buoyancy which reminds me a little of the Dead Sea. It's very easy to float in it, almost impossible to swim downwards and when the water gets in your eye, it stings like hell. 

At 4pm every day we've started a regime of drinking tea on the terrace with a small amount of "contraband" chocolate. The Italians are pretty useless at both chocolate and tea, and it's almost impossible to find anything decent in this department; apparently the heat makes the chocolate melt. We have a stash of the good stuff which we're keeping to ourselves! 

The other thing the Italians can't do is bread. Bread is universally dry and tasteless here. Too much moisture in bread, they say, would lead to mouldiness. Frankly, I'd rather eat mould than this crap!