Freezing on the Farm

Layering is an art form.  As a rabid bike commuter here, I've become accustomed to multiple pairs of merino wool socks, always sporting leggings under my jeans and being one with my long-sleeved Icebreaker shirt, its "chocolate drool" stain of unknown provenance (so charmingly dubbed by my ex) carefully hidden underneath wraps and hoodies.  I am always just warm enough, comfortable and a little bit smug.  Hey, there's no bad weather, only bad clothing, right?

Emilia-Romagna, you officially kicked my ass.  I bow to the power of your constant foggy humidity, icy winds, frost-bitten plains and my frozen limbs that never quite thawed out in the six days I spent with you.  Our flirtation is so over.

But regardless of personal (dis)comfort, many many hours were spent in freezing concrete structures or outside on farms. 

Attempting to warm up over deep frying lard

Some naughty cows get nose rings to stop them from partaking of their friends' milk

Another attempt at staying warm: the group hug

What the best-dressed gastronomes are wearing

Free-range pigs cavort in the mud while our trusty bus driver Piero naps road-side

Buffalo. 
We're serving his friend in the form of osso buco for dinner next week. 

The two Alpha males fighting for farmyard domination.  This was taken
two seconds before the buffalo bit the dog's ear, causing a massive
frenzy of snarling, barking and thundering hooves.