Europe: Life should be

Where we would have once spent our days rushing around, trying to see every single landmark each city had to offer, we now preferred long hours of sitting in the shade, watching the world go by, and eating chocolate.

Lots and lots of chocolate.

Cube upon cube of melt-in-the-mouth praline or smooth truffle globes, cups of hot chocolate so thick they snatched our breath back from the cold, cakes and tarts with dense, dark underlayers capped by airy, whipped peaks, we ate it all.

Every two days, we would pass by a chocolatier in some hidden, cobblestoned alley and despite complaining about how much weight we thought we were putting on not five minutes before, our eyes would meet and without a word, we'd duck right in.  

After an agonising twenty minutes or so choosing flavours and box sizes, we slid back onto the street, blinking in the sunshine, our secret tucked under an arm.  And then, we'd search for the perfect cafe.

I'd order a latte, Bear a cappucino.  She ate her chocolate reverently, eyes closed as she smoothed the flavours over her palate.  I'd wait, and we'd give it a score.

Although I can't recall every little bit of cocoa we tasted, I have fond memories of an explosively delicious sea salt caramel in Nice, perfectly smooth Giandujas in Florence and the familiar slide of Leonidas pralines in the chill basement of Harrods.

But my favourite one of our chocolate moments was the first big box we shared on a hilltop in Avignon in the late afternoon.  The table was a little rickety on the uneven ground.  Water bubbled in a pond filled with absurdly wagging ducks, and children flashed along the banks, throwing bread and flying kisses.  I threw my head back and watched the sun's interminable summer crawl toward the horizon.

Bear and I took turns reading from the pamphlet and carefully tasting each dark square.  Like a food critic, I scribbled our ridiculous comments.  Over one glorious hour, to the sound of quacking and the breeze in the trees, we finished every piece in the box.

I gave Bear the brochure to take home, but I still like reading, every now and then, what I wrote beside each one.

It is a reminder of every other afternoon we spent guilty and giggling, chocolate melting between our fingertips.  Of how life should be.