We’re back — uh — home?  After 10 long Lufthansa hours — that turned night into day and before that 90 Dolomiti minutes that turned our luggage into a curious rumour (they didn’t lose it – they know exactly where it isn’t!) we’re here.  Oddly, our house is huge and needs a Canadian autumn furnace not Italian air conditioning.  The streets are enormous.  The buildings are tall — and skinny.  The Internet is down (out?) (over?) with no hope of redemption!
“It could be the modem, sir?  Or the routor (rotor?)”  We know it’s not the server.”
I’ll deal with it domani.  Doesn’t anybody speak Ital-lish in this country?

We decide to have chocolate for dinner — and wine — and try to remember what was in the suitcases.  Nothing we need.  So why did we take them across the Atlantic in the first place?

Anyway, so far: so good and sometime in the near future we’ll get back to normal.  Whatever that is!

Hey, is it still Monday?  Maybe?  There’s nine hours difference and … we got on the plane at 6 in the morning so … screw it … too much math!

I love Italy.  I love the people and the piazzas.  I love the food and, as far as I can manage it, the language.  I love the history and the culture.  We’ve been here four times in the last ten years and will probably come back very soon.  However, right now, at this moment, I’d pay serious money for a Wendy’s drive-thru bacon burger, fries, a coke and the surly kid that hands it to me.  I’m a North American – and it’s time to go home.  Besides, I’m starting to look like my passport picture.

A medieval night

A Christian dìscussing it wìth a lion

The Wall Of Soles

Kay and a Medici cookie jar

The Art of the Street

Madonna