Traveling With Celiac Italian-Style and screaming along the way

Recently, I've taken to screaming several times a day. It is not like I've adopted this as a hobby or something. I'm screaming because, at the moment it seems very much like I might die. So I scream. Just a good old-fashioned fear response, which has been occurring since, at the Rome seaport, we rented a small car. I've been unusually frightened ever since.

Of course my fear is occurring for a reason: Italians either drive 120 miles per hour because they believe they are Batman test driving the newest Batmobile or 15 miles an hour because that's the speed they drive farm equipment. The problem is these slow-moving obstacles are almost impossible to circumvent because those driving 120 miles per hour come flying out of nowhere like stealth bats-out-of-hell, scaring witless Americans who then become too frightened to pass the slow-moving obstacles. It is indeed a game with unclear rules. A part of this game I have figured out is that those in the Italian Batmobiles are keenly aware of the slow-moving obstacles. This I know is true because no one seems to crash. Ahhh.  Unfortunately, those of us in-between, the sort of law abiding, hapless foreigners on holiday who stupidly rented a car in a foreign country rather than taking the train and who don't understand the rules to this driving game are left panicked. Or in my case screaming.

My screaming is not planned, it is certainly not appreciated by my driver-husband, and it is wearing me out. Then yesterday, I started screaming for a new reason. Something dark, competitive, and alarming has awakened in R who seemingly has determined he'll beat the Italian Batmobile drivers at their own game. It seems the American Dark Knight has risen, looks exactly like my husband, and is driving me around Southern Italy -- but in nothing nearly so safe, or cool, as a Batmobile. During those brief moments when I open my eyes long enough to glance at the odometer, and I see that my husband is now driving 115 miles an hour with the speed edging up, I scream.  Right now, my life scares me.

All this makes traveling with celiac seem much less important and easier to handle, especially since after a day of screaming I'm much less hungry and more interested in making red wine my meal.

Back to the topic at hand we will go --  eating in Italy when one has celiac -- once we return the car. Can't wait to join the bike tour!
Ciao.

Crusty, yummy gluten-free bread in Matera.