Rehydrating in Orvieto

I only wish this post's title meant lolling about in sidewalk cafes drinking wine and nibbling on free snacks that the proprietors will bring you. One doesn't even have to order food in Orvieto; one can graze from one end of the town to the other, sipping wine all the while. It's like Costco, but with vino.

Except that, after a few days of going out for a while and having a grand time, I could ignore neither the fever that crept up on me every few hours, nor the feeling that my innards had been scrubbed raw with a bottle brush. Whatever this was, it required action. Orvieto might be a romantic place to die, and I have this lovely, cave-like apartment to do it in.  But I'd really rather not.

Thank God for the Internet. It diagnosed me with simple "traveler's diarrhea," characterized by low-grade fever, body aches, chills, and, of course, diarrhea. It has been called, variously, Montezuma's revenge, the Aztec two-step, the Turkey trots, the Hong Kong hustle, Delhi belly, and the rather insulting turistas. I hope there isn't something called the Thai tango or the Bali blowout waiting for me when we get there.

Maybe I have "curse of the 20th lama."

Although he wasn't feeling a whole lot better than I, Bill went out this morning to the pharmacy and to our crowded, but marvelous, corner grocery store, whose proprietress has proven herself an angel over and over again. He had brought a list with my attempts at Italian translations for applesauce, juice, salt crackers, bananas, and plain broth. She took the list, squirreled about among the crowded shelves of products, and presented Bill with items that I would be eating until cured.

Neighborhood groceries in Orvieto are cramped but clean, and full of everything conceivable.

The crackers are something like Ritz, with an imprint of a mill (the molino of the label) on them, individually packaged in groups of eight to stay fresher than Ritz's tall wax-paper cylinders. They tend to package things better here in Europe. On the other hand, there are no preservatives, so it's best that they do.

The pharmacy in the main town square was able to give him ibuprofen and elettroliti, rehydration salts to dissolve in water.

I may be spending a great deal of time here, eating like a sick Italian. What a blessing that it's so lovely.