“Do you know where you’re going in Italy?” We had just finished licking our mini plastic spoons at the city’s most famous gelato shop, Fenocchio, in Nice, France on a drizzly evening. Due to the abysmal weather, we planned to leave the French Riviera the next morning for the Italian coast. As we earnestly exchanged stories, tips, and photos on the shop’s tabletops, a new friend we made weeks earlier in Spain inquired of our future plans. “No, we’ll figure it out when we get there,” I replied. One of our typical replies, of course. After all, in the words of Rolf Potts, “a tourist…
