Belgian Slovenian Italian

Four girls, sometimes more. Loud, most of the time. Women of my life from all parts of Belgium and Slovenia. One week together in Florence. After travelling with a boy for six months, I longed for this badly. An all-girls holiday in Italy. Wine bottles were emptied and crazy amounts of money were spent on gelato. Every picnic spot had its own stories. Ine's balcony was filled with boy talk, next to the river conversations on life left me inspired. But the moments that moved me most, that made me fall off my chair laughing or warmed my heart like chocolate cake in an oven, were unmistakably the ones where plates of steaming hot pasta and creamy desserts were involved. In tiny restaurants, over a bottle of red and food so goddamn good it puts a smile on your face no matter what is going on in your life, that's where we feel at home. That's where limits of conversations fade with every empty glass. The room awakens with the smell of tartufo and shared secrets. Bellies full and no more voice. Pure bliss.

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