Part 28: Eating an entire boar with Kurdish refugees in Badolato
January 14th 2010 I am in this tiny village of Badolato, a very, very characteristic mountain town. It’s kind of an odd arrangement. I arrived in town around 4:30pm, and called my host, Vincenzo. He is a very nice man, but doesn’t speak hardly any English. In a cruel twist of destiny, I believe I left my Italiano-Inglese dictionary at Francesco’s home in Lauria, so it appears to be time to purchase another.
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