A 37 day imaginary travelogue of a trip to Rome (with a few scattered other places such as New York). This is written to match the journey I am actually taking, and so each post is concurrent with the more or less actual day my wife and I are experiencing in Rome.
What day number are we on?:five
Level of writer's drunkenness (in real life, scale of 1-10): Pushing two, have poured second elephant shot glass of frozen lemoncello.
What am I eating (in real life again)?: Made extended cooking diversion that I won't go into, but just finished a glass of, well, I'd better describe it: I remove through gentle squeezing the juice and seeds from my home grown tomatoes and put all the juice and seeds in a glass. I add a hearty splash of olive oil, a pinch of salt, and a good squeeze of lime juice. I also slice up a bit of garlic and throw it in. Then I sort of stir it up. That's what I just drank. I love that drink.
Map or picture?: Well, fine, seems to be what I do. Check out those dirty feet!
Any other notes/Status: Still horrified by how behind I am on my timeline for this project. It looks like I'll be working on it not just today, but for the next week and a half to come!
We woke up in Rome. The bed will do. We can see a building out our window, but we opted for less glamorous views to push us into the street and give us more spending money. We sort of live here now, but in an especial exalted way. And with living here comes a bit of shopping, which we have allotted the first two days in Rome for. Our trip misadventures have reduced that to one day. You might be surprised to learn that there is a lot to buy here. We got olive oil and toilet paper. Oh, and some soap. Smells like rosemary and is twice as expensive as the soap I buy at home which is also expensive, but smells like pine trees.
It's strange how people here speak a different language, but, a. I almost never talk to random people, and b. listening in on other's conversations is shockingly uninteresting. So hearing some man yell into his cell phone is a stupid reality of modern life, but hearing some man yell into his cell phone in Italian is all cute and Roman. At least so far. Actually, that phase may have ended.
Several Caravaggios for the ages are mere steps from our apartment, so we popped in to a church where one was for a visit. I don't know how to convey the city's largess in this category, or what it's like. How can we understand this as Americans? It's as if a weed grew in your back yard with twenty dollar bills on it.