Europeans don’t care whether you live or die. And that’s a good thing.
Six years ago, I lost my youngest boy, Julian, in Lake Como. Don’t worry. I quickly found him.
After a few seconds of morbid panic, Julian bobbed to the surface, soaking wet, gasping for air, and gripping the cobblestone slope that had proved too slippery for his Velcro sneakers and sent him bumping into the water. While Italian vacationers looked on, si…
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