My perception of reality must have got packed by accident into a
Wilson box last week, bubble-wrapped like my Vancouver mug, and my cake tins, and all the sugar sprinkles, as I woke up one morning to find myself in a tiny, sunny town by the foothills, with no going back. Until I get that delivered to me (after it's been taken to a very spontaneous trip to Venice; or Belarus, for what we know), I really won't have a clue on what to get used to first, whether it's the 30+ degrees or not being invisible or the nice food or cheap coffee; nor an alternative to being reverse-culture-shocked (why is the icing sugar sold in 100g envelopes only. Where's the imported Asian flour. Ooh look at the colourful candied peel), or making recipes up with random, yet pretty, and pretty delicious, baking ingredients. If I get my discernment back, I will let you know; either way, I have done great with the baking. The Italians approve.