the weekend.

Friday, Liz, Piya, and I talked our teacher into letting class out early so we could catch a train to PERUGIA. Now, Perugia is a lovely city and all, I'm sure we'd've gotten there eventually, but it was particularly pressing to get there because:

THERE WAS A CHOCOLATE FESTIVAL.

This is no joke. We needed the chocolate. We were excited. We were RUNNING to the train station. We got our tickets, got on the train...and sat. And sat. And ssaaaattt for 50 minutes after the designated departure time of the train.

Grrr, we thought. But no big deal. We'll still get there.

We were so excited about getting there, we missed the fact that we were supposed to change trains in Arezzo. We were on a Rome-bound train and I happened to glance at my map...and realized we were SOUTH of Perugia, heading towards Rome. Whoops! We got off at the next stop, bought tickets back up to the change point. So this took awhile...but it was ok! We were going to get there! When we got back to the appropriate station, we hopped off to find the other platform with the train headed to Perugia. A few frantic moments later, we figured out we should be on binario 4...which was, in fact, the train we had just. gotten. off. Cool.

So we finally got to Perugia. We needed to find the appropriate bus to get up to Piazza Italia. People were all around us wearing chocolate crowns...we were extremely excited. We got on a bus...but it wasn't going anywhere. We waited for awhile, then got on another bus. Yes! We were just about at the Piazza Italia...when a CAR on the side of the road caught on FIRE. Our bus driver pulled off and ran over with a fire extinguisher. Whew. Thrills and chills.

The chocolate festival was AMAAAAZING!!!! We just ate...and it was amazing.

Saturday, Marcello and Giuliana took us roomies to a piano concert, which was excellent. Good times.

SUNDAY, Liz and I decided to take it easy and head out to Fiesole, about a half hour outside Florence. It's even on an ATAF bus line so we were in the money. Very cute -- we had a 2 hours walking tour in Liz's guidebook so we took that but not very seriously. Hung around for mass in the church, took our time in the Etruscan and Roman ruins, hurried through the musem (we were hungry!) We had heard that there was an Indian restaurant in Fiesole and sought it out -- but it was CLOSED (we'll have to go back). The views of Florence were fantastic, despite the haze, and we took a slow walk down to San Dominico, where we checked out the graveyard of the church (weird, huh?) and caught the bus back to Florence. It was perfect - we got out of the city and enjoyed the PERFECT weather but it wasn't a very big trip. Very relaxing!

professore...

Allow me to tell you about our art history professor.

The first day he came in, he had, (this is the Truth) hair just like Kramer, from Seinfeld. All crazy with the one random puff on the top of his head. But he seemed like a relatively normal guy, dubious hairdo, but pretty serious and scholarly.

Apparently the Uffizi releases him from his shell. We’re waiting in line to get in and all we can hear is his mumbling about the “cattivi giapponese,” the evil Japanese. Hmm. He turns to a guy in our class (the first time he’s actually recognized that we exist, usually he is off in his own fog of art or whatever) and says, “Hey, you look just like Joe Pesci” in Italian, then stutters, “Are a-you talking to meeeeee?” (p.s. he doesn’t speak English.) We stare at him, stunned. Who is this man? 10 minutes later, he’s admitting his grand passion for one specific type of music. $10 to anyone who can guess.

Motown.

The man likes Motown. He’s going on and on about the “Cinque di Jackson” and “Diana Ross! Stop! In the naaaame! Of LOVE!” and he’s SINGING in the UFFIZI. He’s singing Motown in the Uffizi.

On the walk back to school, he goes on and on to me about American actors. Turning to me, he says, very seriously, “Frankly my deeeeear, I don’t give a damn.” I wish I could type in heavily Italian-accented English…because it is the funniest thing in the world. He then told me how he was planning to get his hair cut “military style” (this is EXACTLY what he said, in English and everything) and then showed up to the next class practically bald.

Last Tuesday, he opened class with, “Are you a-talking to meeee?” before launching into Donatello and his sculptural styles. Then, the gem of yesterday’s class: we’re waiting around in one of his long pauses (he does Powerpoints and just stares at the slides for very long periods of time. We’re not sure what he’s doing during these long periods of time.) So, he’s staring at a slide. Then he turns to us and announces, “I push the button.” In english. So we look at him. He goes on, smiling slyly. “My finger. Is. On the. Button.” And he is just waiting for praise. He looks so proud of himself. And pushing the button, he turns to the new slide and continues the discussion on Brunelleschi.

I am a Puritan American.

It’s true. Last night, I decided to go out and watch some TV with Marcello and Giuliana. They watch TV every night, but it always seems like they’re watching films, so I just thought I’d join in. Well, the movie ended…and on came a show, “Porta a Porta.” This is apparently a show about discussing hot topics. They bring on all kinds of people (professors, actors, authors of books, etc.) to discuss whatever subject.

Last night: Sex and Love.

At first, I’m like, whatever, sex and love. No big deal, right? But this was NO JOKE. They were talking about EVERYTHING. Does sex come before love or should it only come after? How old does sexuality begin? What is the older generation’s role in teaching healthy sexual activities? Yeah, that’s all fine and dandy…before I know what’s going on, the conversation has SWITCHED and they are suddenly talking about masturbation…wait! They’re talking about POLYGAMY. And how it’s ACCEPTABLE. One of the guests on the show (this is awesome) is a PRIEST. A priest is on a show talking about sex. Marcello checks in with me to make sure I’m understanding all the words. Whoops, there’s one I don’t know – he’s miming it to me…and oh. He’s miming a THONG. This is no big deal! Here’s another I don’t know – and now he’s telling me all the rules for playing FOOTSY.

Oh man. I’m pretty sure I didn’t stop blushing the whole time. Marcello turns to me and says, “They don’t have TV shows like this in America, do they?” I affirm his observation. “You know why, don’t you?” he says. “You guys are too moral. Puritan Americans.”

Yep, that’s me. Puritan American. I think I’m still blushing.

Roma di nuovo

After a relatively uneventful week, Rita and I headed to Rome again Saturday. We both had been already during the semester and wanted to hit it up again and check out the Vatican this time. Finding out that the Vatican museum closes at 1:45 on Saturdays, we resigned ourselves to our fate of taking the 6:44 train out of Florence (ugggghhh...just thinking about it makes me want to cry). Luckily, Marcello and Giuliana were headed out of the city for the day and gave me a life to the stazione...otherwise it would've been me and the bus driver on the 5:47 bus out of Antella. Yesss. The train ride was pretty boring. When we got to Rome, we found the bus that heads down to the Vatican City. After a few pictures in front of San Pietro (and several comments on how the road leading up to the piazza looks like Rodeo Drive or something) we got in line for the Vatican Museum. The wait actually wasn't long and we got in with plenty of time to check out the Raphael rooms, etc., before getting in to the Sistine Chapel. There were SOOO many tourists there it was extremely exhausting. By the time we got out, we were starving...grabbed some paninis and then started walking towards the piazza. It wasn't too long before we realized we were in a HUGE crowd. The piazza was closed for no apparent reason and people were just STANDING AROUND and the carabinieri were not letting anyone by. An hour later, they start to let people though and into the piazza. Apparently the pope was having a party...and we were invited! by a nice woman on the street who had too many invitations for her group. Sweet! We worked our way through the security line and we were in! Much to our dismay...the basilica was CLOSED. So we were just hanging out in the piazza with a bunch of pushy (literally, one pushed me in to a STROLLER. With a BABY in it) Catholic Italians...so we peaced out of there. An hour and a half of our time was enough.
We headed back across the Tiber to check out the Trevi Fountain (Rita hadn't seen it), fortifying ourselves with granitas along the way. Enjoyed the Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps (well, basically...you can't see them because of all the people sitting on them. But we saw them! yessss) and then walked to the Piazza del Popolo, where there is a church that houses 2 Caravaggios. I LOVE Caravaggio so I was stoked. We found a good place for dinner (and it took some work, I can tell you) then headed back to Termini. The Piazza Repubblica was beeeeautiful at night. And the train ride home....felt....liiikeeee....forrrever. Well. Sunday was a relaxing day, Rita and I were going to go to Perugia with another friend but she couldn't go so we skipped it. It turned out to be good because there was a LOT of homework to do...I went to Santa Croce to observe a tomb for Art History then hung out in the city and did some work. Dinner was excellent as usual...Giuliana outdoes herself every night.

Men.

Two unbelievable incidents today. The first, while walking in the city with my friend Maura, happened right outside of the Uffizi. We were chatting about our lit class when a clearly foreign, somewhat young man lept into our path, cell phone outstretched. He spoke directly to Maura in heavily accented English. “Do you have a telephone number?” When she didn’t respond, he whined, “but I like you soooooo much…..” We walked by him without a word, but I exclaimed my disbelief to her afterwards. I had heard that she had a lot of trouble with the Italians when out, but this was too much. “Oh, that’s not even the worst,” she said to me. “I once had a guy tell me he wanted to sex me. You just basically have to ignore them.”
Later, as I walked along the Arno to my bus stop, a crowd of Italian ragazzi were walking my direction. Fixing my gaze on a point beyond them, I walked resolutely by. One boy started making comments to me, even grabbing my sleeve as I passed. I tried to step out of their path, but the group stretched across the whole sidewalk. They didn’t bother me after I passed, but I was left a bit unnerved. It reminded me of my incident with an overly-friendly Moroccan man on the bus a few weeks ago, who then felt it necessary to return to my bus stop to find me when I didn’t call him after a few days.
What is it about these men that makes them think this is acceptable? Is it strictly a cultural thing? I have definitely never received comments like these in America, or, not from American men (maybe from Hispanic men while walking in West Chester a few times). How harmless is it? I always thought this kind of thing, while irritating, was fairly harmless, until I found the overly-friendly Moroccan waiting for me at my bus stop. How does he think it is acceptable to try to come back and find me? Didn’t he understand that if I were interested, I would’ve called? I’m sure American men make comments like this, in certain situations, but not as excessively as Europeans. Is this just part of the culture, harmless, just something to adjust to? I feel like it’s a major problem. It makes me really uncomfortable. I’ve been warned about “foreign men” (most strongly by my former Latin teacher, of course) but I really had no idea it was so obnoxious. I understand that this is mainly a cultural thing, but American men will do similar things, in certain situations. Is this a MAN thing, then? Do women behave in similar, blatent behaviors? What IS this?

a moment of rage.

I had a moment of complete disbelief today. I got on the bus, as normal, and a man and his wife were eating a simple lunch. I started on my usual task of staring out the window, and at one stop noticed something white flash by my eyes, out the open door. I assumed the man had tossed out an apple core (this is normal, my dad’s car walls are spotted with spots where he missed the window with his core and hit the wall instead). However, several spots later, I see a crumpled potato chip bag land on the pavement outside the door. My jaw dropped. I mean…I was always aware that yes, people litter. But I think I always thought it was unintentional, like when your gum wrappers flip out of your purse in a stiff breeze, or a newspaper blows out of your hand. But here was a blatent, cognizant littering. He had put the trash directly on the ground, making NO attempt of getting it into a trash can whatsoever. WHAT!!!!!! Suddenly, all the litter on the ground outside the bus took on new meaning. Was that paper cup tossed down deliberately, or had it blown out of the trash can down the street? Was that newspaper from the stand at the bus stop or had someone just thrown it down, thinking it unimportant? I always thought that in our so-called enlightened age, there were just some things people didn’t do…but apparently the things I think are unthinkable, beyond belief, are routine for some people. I will never forget looking over at that man, now in conversation with his wife, and looking back at the potato chip bag, now rolling away in the wind from beneath the bus. Where is that potato chip bag now?

Florence thoughts.

: I reflected last night about the great feeling of happiness I felt at returning to Florence. Yes, I was certainly glad to escape from the insanity of traveling, but I really felt like Florence was a familiar and welcome spot…allllmost like home. I was excited to go to the pasticeria where I usually go (with the man who I KNOW recognizes me because I go almost every day, but will not smile at me, no matter how much I smile at hime), to go to the café where I usually get coffee (where the barista always smiles at me and I actually saw on my bus today, that was fun). It was fun to walk to school and greet the duomo again. At the same time, it’s fun to try new things and discover new parts of the city. I’d been to the Piazza Michaelangelo before (overlooks Florence) but today a friend and I went up to study and hung out through the beginning of sunset. It was fun to linger there and feel like natives and feel like we belong. Then I had a lovely walk by the Arno and observed some of the things that have become habitual to me, like seeing people rowing on the Arno in the evening or the open air market on the city side of the Ponte Niccolò. A man expressed his anger to me that it was “sempre quattordici!”, always bus number 14 (there had been 4 that passed us) and not the 32 we were waiting for. I loved my return to Florence…sinking back into the city life, the recognizable and the new, seeing Marcello’s smiling face at the bus stop and eating Giuliana’s wonderful food, and of course, the unbeatable feeling of sleeping in your “own” bed.

As a friend noted in an email, "Kind of cool that it took you going over to London (and your native tongue) and seeing some familiar faces to make Florence feel like home...no?"

London...just when I finally thought I had travelling DOWN.

London. Well, let’s just say this weekend was hectic. This was by far the craziest of my traveling experiences. Here’s the story…(settle in, it’s long):
Piya, Kat, and I made plans to go to London like 3 weeks ago. Piya said “we can all stay with my uncle! It will be so fun!!! Yesss London!” so we reserved our tickets. And thus begins all of the problems that occurred with this trip.
Problem 1: A week later, Piya informs me that actually, only 2 people can stay with her uncle…so could I please find someone else to say with? I drop an email to Max to see if I can stay with him, and Max is great. Max says yes, by all means! Come! I’m excited! My excitement for the trip mounts again. I let another friend know I will be in town and we make plans around his girlfriend’s arrival, Saturday morning. Slight dilemma arises when Max lets me know his best friend in the world, Gus, will be in town as well but he’s not staying with him so it’s fine. He just won’t be as free. This is fine.
Problem 2: We purchased our tickets for the “Bologna Forli” airport. Bologna is an hour away by train, NO problem. Well, we mention this to Giuliana, who proceeds to flip out and tell us Forli is WAY more than an hour away, actually by the coast on the OTHER side of Italy (this turns out to be false…she tends to overreact). I do some research and find out we can go to the Forli train station and take a bus from there. Now, this includes another hour on the train and then 20 minutes on the bus…but…we’d already ordered our tickets and it was totally no big deal. Right? Right.

Last Friday Arrives! We are SO excited! Everyone wishes us bon voyage as we head back to Antella to pick up our bags. This is the plan: once we arrive in London, Piya’s uncle will pick up Kat and Piya. I, on the other hand, must take public transportation from Stanstead (waaaaaaay the hell outside of town) into Liverpool Street and then catch the Tube to Russell Square, where Max lives. Perfect! I even know what line to take because that’s where my HOSTEL was this summer! So stoked! So…I find out the tube closes earlier than I thought. No problem, I say to myself. I will take the train from Stanstead instead of the bus…it is much more expensive, but faster! I will get there in time before the Tube closes! NO sweat.

4:00pm Friday: We leave Antella.
4:45: Arrive at Florence train station.
5:14: train to Bologna
6:07: arrive Bologna, switch trains to Forli.
7:15: arrive Forli. Loiter in sketchy train station and use nasty toilets (i.e. hole in ground, no toilet paper)
8:00: bus to airport.
8:20: arrive airport. Realize our 9:45 flight is delaaaayed a half hour.
10:15: supposed NEW departure time. Actual departure time: 10:45.
Ok, I think to myself. I can handle this. There is no way I’ll make it before the Tube closes but I’ll take a taxi! I’ve got the directions to Max’s flat…but I don’t have his number. I emailed him before leaving and told him just to call me if it got ungodly late and I had not yet arrived. Everything is still going swimmingly.
12:15: arrival in London Stanstead.
12:30: I catch a bus to Liverpool, deciding to opt for the longer/cheaper route since there’s no hurry. Shortly after buying my bus ticket, I realize it is, in fact, the same price as the train ticket and I could’ve gotten there a full hour faster. Pissed, I get on the bus and place irate phone calls to my parents and Kelly. No one is available to complain to. I leave angry messages. In the midst of attempting to call Daniel (who may have Max’s phone number), my phone sends me a lovely message: you have no more money on your phone. Aka, your phone is now virtually useless. I had JUST put more money on before leaving…so I am rather upset…but whatever, I will top it up tomorrow, I tell myself.
2:00: after a long bus ride, I arrive at Liverpool. Wander around, wondering if I can take a bus rather than a taxi. Realize I need cash. Go find an ATM. Attempt to catch a cab without waiting in the long ass line at Liverpool, but eventually give up and resign myself to my fate. In the line, I hear a couple behind me saying they are going to Russell Square. We agree to share the cab fare. In the cab, they speak Italian. Whoa! They are Italian! I am excited! Yes! We chat. I am queen of the world! I can do no wrong. Look at me, paying less for this cab fare than I would’ve for the Tube! I am speaking Italian! I am getting out of the cab.
2:30am The street is deserted and I’m not exactly where I want to be…I am slightly creeped out…but lo! There is the pub that Max described in his directions. Yes! Colonade Street. Now all I need is 9. On the right. Blue door. Hey! There is a blue door!...pleaseletitbenumber9…..annnnd it’s 29. Oook. Maybe Max mistyped. I push the buttons at the door. There are no lights within. No one is coming. I feel like these plastic buttons are really cheap and should be replaced with more durable buttons, buttons that make you feel like there is a response to the fact that you pushed it. I start getting nervous. I knock. I kick. I beat on the door. There is no response. Ok! Maybe 9 really does exist, but further down the street. How many blue doors can there BE?? I walk down the street. Suddenly, the doors are no longer numbered…but LETTERED. B, C, D, and E appear on my right. I retreat (because let’s face it, the street was scary and dark) and beat on 29 some more…hm…maybe I can get Daniel now. I try my phone. It is still dead. I go to the phone booth around the corner. Desparate, I use my credit card (and probably spent $1000000000000 on the call) to get to Daniel, hoping he has Max’s number. “Hey, it’s Daniel, but I guess you knew that…” greets my ears. Crap. Literally, the primary thing happening in my head right now is shitshitshitshitshit. I am freaked out. I am in the middle of London in the middle of the night and I have no idea what to do. Suddenly…I make a decision. I am doing it. I call Kyle, another friend. He picks up with a groggy hello and, with little preamble, I say “soooo, can I come over?” I get a cab and another $1000000000000000000000 later I am at 14 Queens Gate Road, and there is Kyle, just sittin around in his PJs.
3:00-4:00 Kyle and I chat.
4:00: we decide to sleep.
4:15. His phone rings. “hiii Kyle…it’s your girlfriend…calling from America……..” I hear tinnily over the phone. She has misseed her flight. She will not arrive until 11pm the following night.
….sometime during the night…..We hear a girl in the hall say “Hey, Lucy’s going crazy or something…she’s running through the streets naked.” Kyle (an RA, may I add?) does not move, though I know he hears.
…..also during the night….the elevator, every 2.5 seconds, feels the need to explain to the passenger where they are going. This lovely woman, in a lovely British accent, will say “Doors closing. Elevator, 4th floor, going down. Going up!” etc. until I want to kill all people who speak with a British accent just because they remind me of the elevator. Going up!
8:45am. Kyle receives a call from a fellow RA. Lucy, it turns out, has had a (possibly drug induced) psychotic break. (this was just local color, it doesn’t really pertain to the story)
Saturday, morning, afternoon. Kyle and I hang out, shop, he registers for classes, we go to the National Portrait gallery with the tickets he had reserved for himself and Jessica. Max had called earlier in the day (apparently my phone could receive calls. But only his, because other people were trying to reach me during the weekend and could not. Hm.) I use Kyle’s phone and figure out Max and I will attempt to meet in Leicester Square. At a restaurant that I don’t know where it is. But it’s ok! I will FIND it! I leave Kyle’s. It is raining. I don’t know where I’m going. I have no way of getting in touch with anyone should I not find the place that I don’t know the location of. But it’s ok! By some large miracle, Max et al. had exited their restaurant and were JUST across the street from the Tube stop when I arrived. Max’s face glowed like a beacon of hope and justice in the crowded London street. I was going to be ok! We go to a pub and have a lot of fun, except for the part where I spill a pint of Strongbow all over a. my jeans (aka my only pants for the weekend) b. my bag of books I had bought because OH MY GOSH A BOOKSTORE WITH MORE THAN 10 BOOKS IN ENGLISH!!!! and c. my bookbag. With all of my stuff in it. For the whole weekend. Max and a few friends go to another bar but I retire with his 3 roommates. I go to sleep on the loveseat with no blanket or pillow (but I found the flat, goddamnit…and yep, it was after the lettered apartments, for anyone who was interested) on the loveseat where I can’t stretch out my legs…but it’s ok! I am sleeping. I am happy.
Sunday: Canterbury. Much fun and laughter. I actually really enjoyed myself. The cathedral was beautiful and the boy’s choir was lovely. We went to morning mass and then Gus and I returned for Evensong while the others went to a pub (go figure). I also enjoyed some sausages and mash…a big highlight for me.
Sunday night, 7:30: I am scheduled to sleep at Piya’s uncle’s house this night so he can drive us to the airport at the butt crack of dawn in the morning. I call Piya and she informs me that I can’t come til at least 10:30 since they have dinner plans. We decide that I will be at the Uxbridge tube stop (the eennnnnd of the line, on a Sunday night when the tube is very infrequent and unreliable) at 10:30. She calls again and tells me to go Southhall instead ("it's on the same line, just get off earlier, ok?"). Around 9:30, I glance at the Underground map. I find Uxbridge…and look for Southhall…and can’t find it. And Max looks. And Max’s roommate looks. And we look in the Index of Tube Stops. And it doesn’t exist. I attempt to get in touch with Piya with no luck. Well. I decide to go to South Harrow instead, which is on the same line but just a bit before Uxbridge. Great! I am there. It is 10:30. I call her uncle’s cell (because hers doesn’t work EITHER) from a pay phone and “We’re at Southhall…where are YOU!?!?! FINE. JUST GO TO UXBRIDGE.” So I’m waiting for the Sunday-night-unreliable-Tube and finally, an hour later, I am at Uxbridge. And around 12:30, I get to bed.

So here is Monday:
4:30: awake.
…many modes of transportation later, it is 1:50 and I arrive in Florence. We have class at 2:15 but we have not eaten anything, basically. I require coffee, and so does Piya. We decide to be 5 minutes late to class and run into a coffeeshop. I ask for 2 caffe lattes to go, but he only hears “latte” and gives us two cups of hot milk. Umm…Piya says let’s just go but I’ll be damned if one more godforsaken thing goes wrong on this trip. I demand coffee. We get it. We are late for class.
Immediately following class, I get on a train for Lucca (1.5 hrs away, to visit Carl, a family friend) have dinner, wander around town, etc. and leave at 9, arrive Florence 10:30, bus to Antella 10:40, and…arrive at home (thanks be to Jesus). Seeing Carl was really fun, it was nice to get to share the craziness of my weekend and laugh about it instead of being stressed about it. All in all…..INSANE. I had a blast, but you couldn’t pay me to do it again.

roma! ecc.

This weekend was very chill, which I appreciated. I went on a walk on Friday afternoon, intending to take some incredibly beautiful pictures of Toscana, but…well, I always have these dreams of taking spectacular pictures, and they never look as good as I think they should. Anyway…here are the pictures I took of the walk. They aren’t amazing, but they’ll give you a sense of the beauty I am enjoying daily.

Yesterday, Kat and I went to Roma. She is a Classics major and had never been before, so we were pretty excited. We DOMINATED the city. The second we were off the train (around 11:30) we were on the move. We walked down Via Cavour straight to the Colosseo. The line looked awful but it ended up not being bad, and we wandered around inside for awhile. It was fun, I’ve never been inside the Colosseo before. There was an exhibit on mystery cults inside, with some interesting information but the signs advertising the exhibit were more exciting than the actual exhibit itself. When we got out, we were STARVING, but ended up settling for some really crappy panini. On to the forum! I really love the Forum. There is something just really cool about knowing how long the stuff has been there, and thinking about the people that saw it in its grandeur, and thinking about it through the ages (apparently during medieval Rome it was considered pasture. !!!) I went into the Mamertine Prison, where Peter and Paul were held. That was actually really cool. I was really moved, thinking about their dedication to their faith and then all that has happened due to Christianity in the world. Crazy. We went up onto the Palatine hill, which was also cool, but it was a bit frustrating because nothing was really marked so we didn’t really know what we were looking at. It was still neat to wander among the ruins, rather freely, and think of the emporers living there. Amazing view of the Forum and the Circus Maximus (or where it was) and then even of San Pietro in the distance. Then we decided we should bust a move – and set off to the Pantheon. We walked past Trajan’s column and the Vittorio Emmanuale monument (blech…but still captivating in a weird way). Checked out the Pantheon (it was PACKED), got some gelato, then hit the Trevi Fountain. We both tossed in coins, of course. After that, we had some free time so tried to find a Puma store so Kat could brag to her boyfriend about it…but the woman who told us where it was was apparently lying because we walked the WHOLE Via del Corso without seeing the store. We ended up in the Piazza del Popolo, exhausted, wondering, “where the heck ARE we???” We took the Metro back to the Stazione (very exciting. Lots and lots of people), and realized we had actually been in a really famous piazza with a really famous church nearby…whoops. Wandered around for dinner (this is always a difficult task but we found a good place after oh…forever) and caught our train back. Looong ride (we had taken the Eurostar there but decided to be cheaper on the way back) but not too bad – it was good to rest our poor aching feet. We had walked a LOT! And then back to Antella. Sunday was relaxing, I did some homework and watched a lot of TV (in Italian, so it was ok!)…basically restful weekend.