There's something really special about softly melting icecream cones on warm days in Italy. I love seeing staunch men in suits become boys again as they clumsily eat gelato on lunch breaks or walks home.
I love seeing the young couples walking together. They snap and pop, full of energy, laughter, and playful taps and soft caresses.
I especially love the older couples full of a sort of knowing and a love that has endured.
On its paper holder, my own icecream cone reminds me: "Non esiste un ricordo che non abbia sapore." There doesn't exist a memory that does not have a flavor.
Though perhaps it would translate better to "Every memory has a flavor."
While not always true, I can say that in a country like Italy, this saying holds a certain special truth to it.