Isola del Giglio

Isn’t it odd?  On this day, seven years ago, I was in Italy on a field trip to Isola del Giglio. The island is one of the seven that forms the Tuscan Archipelago off of the Tuscan coast.   In the summer it’s a aquamarine tourist attraction but in the middle of March it’s an almost-deserted commune with pastel buildings and sad weather.  Being twenty-three years old artists, my two male roommates and I had to get in the water just to say we did, but that meant stripping down to our underwear in front of each other and our painting teacher, Lorenzo.  Mark is a gentle artist, disarming in his bare chest despite the Blackbeard tattoos.  Great guy.  I’d never seen my two roommates more bonded than the moment they were standing hand in hand in boxers, preparing mentally to jump in.  We freed ourselves of academic worries in the  twenty minutes we spent in the water with goosebumps and half naked just grateful to be in the middle of the Tyrrhenian Sea, even if it was bloody freezing.

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