of Livingston Montana and Married Life

And as if by magic (or Delta Airlines) we were transported from 96 degrees and humidity of the same at sea level, to the land of the arid mountains and smoky air at 4,200 feet.

We departed Tallahassee, Florida arriving to Salt Lake late at night their time and early in the morning our time.  We arrived to the downtown Hilton hotel, tired as can be and slept soundly till 8 a.m.  EST.  We arose and had a bite in the Hilton Executive Lounge, then strode off to pick up our rental vehicle.  Alas, the reservation was made for the day before we arrived, and now the same vehicle would cost six times as much.  Avis prices were crazy, and I am an Avis Wizard Member!!!

Upstairs to hit Kayak.com to see if they could save us.  And even more magic happened.  We got a Nissan four door truck for $200 less than our original reservation!  Thanks Budget!  After a forty five minute wait, we were off to the Hilton to retrieve our bags and start the drive to Livingston, Montana.

The google maps said a mere 6 and 1/2 hour drive through Utah and Idaho, then over to Montana.  The time frame did not include rest breaks or food breaks or road maintenance. The actual trip was closer to 8 hours.  Most of it was through valleys that paralleled rivers, or maybe, the roads were built next to the rivers... don't know the answer.  But, it is serious agricultural land.

 Cows, corn and silos everywhere.  Potatoes growing in neat rows, greenery a nice break from the dry mountains above.  The fires burning in several states make the view a smoky red color.  Still, it was a pleasant drive, rich in color and so different from where we live.

We finally arrived in Bozeman thinking we were close.  Close is never close enough on the last leg.  Livingston was yet another 30 minutes.  We arrived to a pleasant AirBnb accommodation, which had everything we needed.  We settled in, then walked the main drag in search of food.  We settled on a Mexican restaurant, which was not really what we needed after sitting all day, but it was easy and we were tired.

Up the next day and off to the fly fishing event.  The Flyfishers were gathering for the annual event.  The local high school provided the venue.  The rooms were afloat with Columbia shirts and Simms hats.  The land of sensible shoes and comfortable pants.  Fly rods bobbed in every back pack as people wandered in and out of the lobby.  We had registered for a couple of classes.  Mine was a casting class, learning the basics of the roll cast.  Must say the gals (and Frank) in my group were pretty good.  The instructor was very experienced and she kept things simple to make practice easier.  I was particularly good at the side cast, which is handy in Florida.  I enjoyed the time.  It is a lot standing and casting, but once you get something right, you get a little smug.  Casting on grass, and no fish in sight, you can sort of huff and puff about what might have been!

Class over, it was time for lunch and a big Montana nap.  The Fish Fest Hoot was the entertainment of the evening and the music was fun, the weather fine and the crowd very relaxed.

We sipped wine and beer, ate smoked trout and lamb, and swayed to the music in the street.  We also bought new boots and waders for me!  Dan Bailey was fab and my new boots were only $25!  Many a fly fishers dream, I might add.  I also got killer waders for less than $70 bucks.  Thanks to you Dan!

Next morning cooking class was the order of the day.  We got up and slipped out to Gil's to grab a pastry and coffee.  Hurried to class, as to not be late.  However, shouldn't have done so, as the instructor did not arrive for another half hour and then didn't start for another.  He was a large cowboy looking type with a well worn hat, a big mustache and a large belly.  He was teaching dutch oven cooking with charcoal, a camp style cooking.  He promised peach cobbler and cowboy eggs.

He read his instructions in a very deep voice, with authority they way one might talk when narrating a movie.  The recipes were all simple and he had the ingredients with him.  Well, most of them.  After reviewing the process, we all donned aprons and proceeded to begin the chores.  He insisted all eyes be on him, and all hands be on deck for prep work.  Coals in the chimney for warming, we proceeded to cut onions and beat eggs.  He forgot the peppers, so he had to leave us and the group of eight began chopping and beating eggs.

Then, he had everyone gather round him to take a bite of the same peach.  I did so, but very reluctantly.  Fortunately, I was  second.  He handed out peaches and we began cutting them for the oven.  There is a short distraction as the coals are poured onto the flat grill bed.   Butter slicing resumes and the mix is put on the peaches.  The butter was not to his liking so he took over placing the butter on the mixture.  The recipe would take 45 minutes and all of that would be listening to him regale us with his prowess in canning, smoking and bar b queuing.  My best take away was how little charcoal it takes to make a cobbler.  The heavy cast iron dutch oven with legs is a mighty grilling tool.  To be able to make desert at the same time as ribs, is simply freeing.   A very valuable lesson indeed.  Luckily, the class over, I found the little park where we assembled to be charming.

A very pleasant ending to a very different kind of morning!

of returning to work and things you wish you didn't have to do and not wanting to think about it too soon

The last day in Palermo brings great angst.  Last night, I dreamt of being back at work and having to tell my boss something he might perceive as unpleasant.  It was intermittently interrupted by loud music and this weird electrical sound outside my window.  But I digress.  (turns out the local primary school is outside my window and the wind instruments are playing.)

Today, we toured the Teatro Massimo, the third largest theatre in all of Europe.  To my great disappointment, it was built in honor of Umberto Primo, who has a statute gracing every harbor everywhere,  His statute here is large and prominent, surrounded by arches of the porto and by the sea.  Imagine my surprise to hear that he is displeased by the great theatre built for him.  He says Palermo is nothing and does not deserve such a theatre, and he never sets foot inside.

you truly have to be here to appreciate the immenseness

this is the ceiling and the painting are window that open to increase accoustics

Poor Umberto Primo.  For such a lucky man of war, he was an unlucky man of taste.  But fortunately, Al Capone did step inside.  Godfather III was filmed in the theatre.  In Spite of either of these two, the theatre is amazing.  Stepping inside is incredible and now that I know the King's box is available ( Umberto made it a public affair), I will not hesitate to try and book the best.  We have missed the opera, ballet, and other performing arts all by a day.  Such a poor planner I am.  And there are no last minute stand up seats in these theatres.  No these are for the noble, or at least those who can pay.

And in the boys will always be boys category, there is this duo who find the visual behind them hilarious.  It doesn't matter, 28 or 68, they all still have boyish humor!  Enough said on that!

We take off to see another piazza, not previously explored.  This is the plebicita, the parliament of yore.  The locals call it the "Champs Elysee " of the island. Regardless, it is a fine building with horses charging as if they would leave the building for the drivers. Hooves above your head, with brass green blazing their legs.  Down below, standard breds (or the Italian equivalent) trot through the street with carts behind.  These horses almost blind with blinders (sorry for the horse take on this) and hats, stupid beyond belief.  The traffic booming around, these horse take of trotting forward, and tour buses beside them.  I told my son, I would rather be a French dish.  I apologize for my perspective.  My horses have acreage and only one rider to respond to.  Theses poor guys, must go forth regardless of traffic, weather, or noise.  These horses are fed.  They have shoes, with wooden plates, I might add.  It is just a luxury in the US and not here.

Shopping.  Well, yes the last day should be about shopping.  We leave the piazza and head to the one wine store that I liked.  It turns out not to be a wine store, but a souvenir store.  Matters not, we buy the limoncello for our friends.  We buy balsalmic vinegar for those who don't drink.  We buy candy for those we aren't sure of.  We are thinking of you, not being here with us. And, while I am happy I can buy this for you, next time, I want you to come with me.

the monument for those who died because of the Mafia

science fair in a church of the 10th century

a pope in front of the cathedralle

our view from the deck

our veiw from the patio

I am thankful for Michele, our host.  He was most kind and most helpful.

I miss my husband, glad my daughter came, glad my one son came and thinking Lindsay could have made it, and the rest of you, we just need to decide to go!  Patrick, you live up to your Saint name. Our next destination is only one year away...

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Aww sweet Cefalu'

Woke up this morning and finally, finally felt like I was on vacation in Italy.  Young children shouting on their way to school, horns honking on their way to work, voices of mothers shouting in the piazza.  Water running through the pipes, and yes, wake up, its time to hit the train station and see lovely Cefalu'.

Cefalu' is pronounced Chef a loo, with emphasis on the loo.  It is a one hour train ride from Palermo.  The ride itself is beautiful as it clicks and clacks along the coastline, revealing hidden towns and bays.  Fishermen dot the sea horizon as we pass the small villages.  The water is remarkably flat and just as blue as the sea on the Amalfi Coast.  You can tell that once, maybe in the 1950's that this was a wonderful fishing village.  Now it is half fishing, half tourist - or maybe 80 percent tourism.

Corbett arrives in Cefalu'

the inlet in complete overcast with mountain cloud cover

The little village is snugged safely in the tiniest spot of real sand on this coast.  I love the colors of the houses and windows.  I am very thankful the day is not hot and the wind is not strong.  Rain had wetted the cobblestone streets and thankfully washed away the scent of dogs.  There is not a sacred corner in Italy, or perhaps they are all sacred.

With the wet, I gingerly tread the streets. I think we walk for at least a mile or so before deciding to stop and eat.  It wasn't great, but it was "classico".  How can you go wrong with pomodora and cheese, basil wrap with olive oil and oregano?  If you don't know what to order, order what they do well.  Wine menus often require you order the bottle. As we had miles to go, I had a Beck birre instead.

Off touring again.  We walk the streets and look at the views.  There is a monument to WWI soldiers.  Our first stop in the village.

 We trudge onward and find the port and the little cay or inlet.  The scenery is breathtaking.  One can envision the summer tourist invasion on this tiny town.  I am very happy to be here in November.

 The few tourists that are here, are European or Asian.  We run into very few Americans, which were so common in Napoli (Naples).  The shop keepers here run from the ice man who says nothing, to the lady at Helios that explains what matapalo is, which is really marzipan.  Corbett bought the bright colored fruit and was disappointed to find the almond paste as the center of the brightly colored fruits.  Turns out these are pastry that monks made to keep funds coming into their abbeys.  I liked them, but a tiny bit goes a long way.  Speaking of a tiny bit, I am a big fan of the local "digestive" which means a spirited shot usually  The shot of digestive for Sicily is Tutone Anice Unico.  A product of Palermo.  It tastes like licorice on fire.  Which at first sip - I do mean tiny sip - is a little alarming.  A full shot takes about a half hour to consume, at least for us Tallahasseeans...  I love licorice, so I was all in for the bottle.  It's a small bottle.  And it will most likely have some in it for the next guest.

Cefalu'

The train ride back was funny as a Swedish couple sat across from us.  The only thing they understood on the train was English instructions, just as we do.  When we leave the train terminal, we all exit crossing the street in front of the station which is a large circle of roaring vehicles. Buses, cars scooters.  Her husband darts out and goes half way turning to look for her.  She runs back and stands with us.  Then, there are enough of us to barge out to the road.  We cross and her husband is gleeful and he says, " It is so exciting!"  and she and I agree, only for men.  We try to find the grocery, but give up after our long day.  The night has descended and warnings of purse snatchers and thieves send us back to our lovely apartment.  Three bathrooms, one for each person!  Lovely.

Tomorrow is Monreale, a trip up the mountains to see a duomo.  A lovely day all in all.

of the double booking

Napoli  is a city of wonders.  Lots to see just on the ride in from the airport. Our first day, I booked a tour of the Amalfi Coast.  It is supposed to be one of the world's most beautiful coastlines.  Our driver arrived promptly at nine a.m. to pick us up.

Our other driver arrived promptly too.  Rut Ro.

I am not a big fan of tours and guides.  I love tromping off, as my daughter says, in no direction. But in this case, I am so happy I booked an Amalfi Tour.  In fact, I am so happy, I booked it twice.

So the day begins and I am all over getting people up to to get ready for the tour.  I get downstairs and two men are making phone debates about who is in charge.  They are arguing and then I get my party downstairs.

I think I am emailing the same person, but not true, I am emailing two and they both show and want to be paid.  We are really good sports or suckers, depending how one views it.  We  pay driver two to go away... and then half way through the tour, we're thinking the driver and think we should have had him go the whole way driving two of us since he insisted on the full fare! The only way out is to pay, so pay we did.  A very expensive tour and lesson, but worth it!  Oh and we picked the handsome guide since we had a choice.

our first view of the whole Napoli Bay

My two lovely adult children 

We stopped often to take photos on the winding narrow road of the coastline.  We could not have picked a better day for weather and clarity.  The sea is the bluest teal you will ever see.  It is deep and it is very clear.  We stop at edges just to look out and see the lovely skylines.  The photos above are taken with the phone, so they do not do any justice to the wonder.

The ride to the cities is in a new silver van and is very comfortable, even more so if you don't have to drive.  Salvetore drives efficiently and it is best not to look.  There are mirrors on all of the curves so you can see who is proceeding before you or at you.  The water takes your breath away and then you arrive at a little city like Amalfi or Positano.  The houses emerging from the hillside and every inch of soil planted with lemons or olives.  Tiny little patches house a few sheep or some milk cows.  The land is terraced and houses are tucked in every available space there is.

The beach is rocky, smooth rocks, but rocks nonetheless.  The water takes on the dark hue of the sand on the shoreline.  It is "fresh" says Salvatore.  He tells us this is the perfect time of year.  The tourists are gone, it is all Saints Day and many stores are closed, but the weather is perfect.  72 degrees.  I daresay we are blessed.

toes in the mediterranean

And of course it could not be a complete tour with out the tunnels and the art on the hillside overlooking the treasures that lie before us.  The day got immensely better when we went to the lunch where this adorable little Italian Lady who looks like every Italian grandmother you know has flowers in her hair, a smile on her face and she is ready to tell us what to eat.  Morgan has the pizza and does not finish it all.  The Lady picks up the plate, puts in in front of Corbett and tell him to eat it.  She was great.  And he obliges as if he had an option.

We finally head to the piazza and have a campari, which no one likes but me.  Beers for the others.  We take a final look at the town and know that our very expensive tour is coming to a close.  We get back to our lovely apartment and make dinner and have fun conversations about the abundance of selfie sticks and how every tour group is bombarded by selfie stick sellers.  Make for interesting entertainment watching how people learn to say no.  Oh yes, and one more.  The street vendors catch the cars at red lights and run around with kleenex on the mirror.  The kleenex is a six pack of little kleenex.  As the light heads for green, they run around and take them back if you do not purchase.  Our guide says this is effective in winter time.  Perhaps a future retirement job for me!

Rising to Rome if that is even possible

Arriving in Rome is like being Audrey Hepburn or Sophia Loren.  You are at once in awe and in ownership of a busy street, a busy city.  And of course, you feel fabulous!



If you travel to many cities, you learn to pick up the vibe of the city. You know when to walk fast and you learn when to stroll.  You can catch on to the hustle factor that the big roundabouts offer.  You watch to see if people hold their bags clutched to them or if they are just holding them as the walk.  You can see if the mood is moving or if it is one of fiscal desperation.  You can learn to step out in the street, with cars flying and to watch them all stop.  And most importantly, you learn to pick out the non tourist restaurant.  Or you learn to favor a tourist restaurant.  Perhaps it is your level of interest in cuisine that makes one place more alluring over another.

On our arrival, my travel partner says to eat at a certain restaurant.  We do.  It has a tourist menu.  That alone tells you that they cater to the travelers.  It isn't bad, but it will not be authentic.  It will be the best of all and the best of none.  To be fair, my food was al dente and was nicely presented.  My seafood pasta, which was clams and mussels was just fine.  The bottle of pinot grigio acceptable.  However, I cannot help but think the amount of pasta I can make for that amount of euros. If you eat outside in Europe, you will eat with smokers.  Don't have a bad attitude.  If it is important to you to be away from smoke, then eat where you don't have to smell it.

Later, we walk the Tiber River and then buy prosciutto and cheese and bread for the late night snack.  The exhaustion of the trip before sets in and we give into the night and return to Trastevere for the evening.  Thunderstorms break out in the middle of the night and the roof sounds like it is being pounded by rocks.  The heavy tiles take the beating with aplomb and the night beats on.  With only hours till daylight, Rome doesn't disappoint the big city reputation and the street life picks up at three a.m., bottles hitting the streets and loud young people going back to their roosts.

Then, bright as can be is the alarm to awake us to to the tour of Vatican Museo and Gardens.  Six a.m. and yes we are up and staggering around in the dark.  The Vatican, I say.  We must not be late!

And when we are twenty minutes early, we climb down the well tromped tourist stairs to buy our, "you got here early" six euro coffee.  Which by the way, we gladly paid.  Well done whomever owns that spot.  Well done!

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The Vatican is like every church and museum and catholic school you ever attended or visited in one.  Many of the tourists are clergy, priests and nuns.  Many are on the Catholic pilgrimage.  The clergy are of every color and age, every tongue.  They are in black, grey and blue, with white collars.  There is the one rotund Jesuit that looks like the monk in the Robin Hood book, Friar Tuck.  Then, there are the multitudes of asian tourists (trusting word to know if that should be capitalized, sorry Sister Mary Judith). I wonder if I was in their country would I visit such a specifically religious place as this.  Oh, but we are in Rome.  It is not Miami or even Madrid.  It is the home of the city/state/country - Vatican.  There are museums and halls and rooms and halls and stairs, more than you can ever anticipate.

The ceilings are as elegant as the walls and statutes, more so in many cases.  And who knew that the Sistine Chapel ( which is the 16th chapel according to the tour guides, not built for a  pope's  sister) was so small compared to the rest of the museo and buildings.  One could spend days here.  But, the opulence makes me ponder the lives of those who built the buildings one stone at a time. The artists who did Michael Angelos' bidding, but were never he.   The paintings seldom depict happiness unless god and heaven are part of the picture.  I am glad that I did not live in those times.  The place is a wonder, but also provokes thoughts of bigger problems of the world.  I am glad for the break of the patio near the end of the tour.

Morgan and I find a bench that we think is far from everyone and she lies on my lap and quickly dozes.  Turns out we are in the best vantage spot to view Saint Peter Basilica.  Tour guide after tour come stand two inches from our bodies to look at the dome.  At one point, a nun - a rather young nun- pushes Morgans feet aside and sits on the end of the bench.  She has worn wool socks under her sandals and the heat is now too much.  She removes the socks and places them in a bag.  She then invites an elderly woman to take her place.  Another bench opens up and so Morgan and I move.  Morgan again reclines, only this time an officer says, "Madam! Madam!" and she sits up and we gather our thoughts to leave.  The cappuccinos have definitely worn off.

I bought postcards of Pope Francis.  Pope Francesco.  And of Michelangelo paintings.  I wanted to make sure my mother received a card from the Vatican.It made me remember my grandmother who had this little pendant that she said was full of sand from the holy land and that Jesus had walked on the sand.  I can't remember how she got the pendant as I am sure that she never traveled outside the country.

My daughter and I visited the cathedral of Saint Francesco of Assisi tonight.  We saw the Bernini of the Lying Woman.

internet photo

Doesn't sound that impressive?  Well think of any church or place of worship you have been in that houses a work of art so emotive, so full of history and expression.  If you are in America, you may be hard pressed.  It is five blocks from our apartment.  Every few blocks is a new piazza with more fountains and more art.  Marble graces the open steps and Roman Warriors adorn every monument. This interesting chap was on top of the Mussolini castle and the main statute in the Borghese Park.

Umberto Primo Wiki Photo

Aside from the fact that Umberto Primo has a killer mustache, he rides a pretty mean looking horse as well!

We walk most places covering around ten miles a day.  Of course this is filled with stops for looking and grabbing a beer or prosecco. And maybe a little cheese and bread.  And maybe a pizza.  You feel like if you walk that far, you should get  to eat or drink what you want!

We stop to get the items at the butcher shop my daughter wants. Dried meats, smoked mozzarella.  I buy Sangiovese wine to go with it.  We stop at a bar for a glass of wine, waiting on our third traveler, who left earlier to see the colosseum.  And we hear, " Even Americans don't like Fleming!"

I am assuming they are talking about a painter, but soon it matters not.  They are Bob and Bob from southern California by way of Cinque Terra and Rome.  We converse on politics and wine and restaurants and Saint Francesco of Assisi.  They were disappointed with Cinque Terra hiking access and delighted with Rome.  Then, they are off and so are we.

Our host for the dinner evening is none other that Gigi. He owns Impiccetta Ristorante in Trastevere.    He trained in South Beach, Miami, Florida.  He is fluent in spanish, italian and english.  He owns a lovely little space on Via dei Fienaroli and I highly recommend it!  #impiccetta

Gigi of Impicetta

Be forewarned, a meal is enough for two love birds.  Order two, and one appetizer if you are three fold.  You will be greatly pleased.  Beer is not so much in Italy, home to Tuscany.  But there are small craft spots that you can find.  If you are not a wine connoisseur, then definitely  pick the house wine or have the wait staff pick for you.  While not all of the ones have been fabulous, none have been so poor as to send back.

The Trastevere neighborhood is safe, but trendy.  It is noisy after midnight and easy in the morning.  Lovely to walk and easy to access transportation.  We feel safe and welcome.  People for the most part are friendly and helpful.  We have not had any trouble with the usual travel warnings of pick pockets and scams.  There are always people selling stuff on the street and they can be persistent.  But a firm no, grazie or No Thanks will do.  Rome is, well what can I say, Rome.  Ciao!

Rising to the Challenge of Trip Planning

Rome. Naples. Palermo. Stromboli (the place not the food).

Sounds fabulous.  And it will be, I am sure.  But, tonight, I stare at AirBnB and Marriott and all the other sites that I know.  And then, there is the aha!  That is where I want to be! Except not really.  I want to be on the coast and in the mountains.  I want to have the view and be in city center.  I want the fancy kitchen and the close by restaurants.  And of course, the time to go to cooking school in each city.

I also want to be in the best reasonable seats at the opera in Naples and have good seats on the train from Rome.  Decisions, decisions.  It requires discipline, research, money and a little leap of faith.  Or a big one.

In a recent article in the New York Times, a young man told a tale of horror.  Nothing about his trip turned out the way he planned.  I personally have had great success with airbnb, but I understand the caution.  I have not traveled alone on these trips  This young man did.

Then there is the concern of the immigrant situation in Europe as told by many, but this article included the plight of Rome, which is where we are headed.  My heart breaks with the thought of planning a vacation, when so many are lost.  So many things to think about.

An image of contemporary Rome


And then, I remember that I won't be at work for two straight weeks.  Sixteen days total. Limited computers, lots of walking, thighs burning from stairs and laughing at how bedraggled I have become. Dragging suitcases up stairs and running through the market with the awe of a child seeing all the things new to me.  Especially the fish markets, that do not stock Florida fish...

Two weeks of no office and no confrontations, no negotiations and no bosses.  Just the opportunity of a new day every day and new experiences.

internet photo

That alone will improve my posture and improve my gait.  It will make my neck a little longer and my legs a little quicker.  I won't be driving so my left leg will re-engage.  I won't be sitting, so my core will have to work for its food.  The plus part of a late year vacation in Europe: fewer tourists, lower temperatures, fewer lines, a little less expensive.  On some trips, a little too cool. Small price to pay.

Departure day arrives and as we depart at the airport, my husband says not to worry about his new cast (he just had surgery) to have fun and to not worry.  This means, please write me and think of me.  I am sure he wants to milk this for the hunting trip to Kansas he wants to make in late November.

The long flight over is filled with older folks ( including me) but other people with white hair.  The ones that surrendered to the grey or white and joined the elderhostel crowds.  And a few very elderly Italian men traveling alone, looking lost.  One across the aisle, one such man can't figure out how to put the earplugs into the monitor or how to choose Italian on the screen. The ear buds come with the two prong insert, which is no longer needed.  I just can't stand to see him struggle, so of course I am up.

I climb over my seat mate and go to help him.  He can't hear well, so it really doesn't matter that I can't speak Italian.  I pat his arm and gently take the ear plugs and unwind them.  Then I remove the two prong insert and plug the mike in to the slot.  I hand him the ear plugs and he tells me, " gratcie, gratcie".  I am sure that is not how to spell it, but it is how it sounds.

He goes to sleep after the meal and I worry not about him for now.

The plane is packed and it is surprising how quiet it is.  even the babies know it is night and we are flying.  I think it is harder for older folks to sleep than the babies.  The fellow next to me dozed, then woke and restarted the "Godfather" and then dozed again.  How does one sleep through the "Godfather"?  Don't they shoot and kill people in that movie?  This must be a man thing.  Like sleeping through baseball and missing the grand slam.

The plane ride is ridiculously long and not the fault of the airline people.  It is just a long overnight flight sitting up, waiting to arrive in a a fabulous location.  A first world problem I am sure my children would say.

internet photo

Out to the airport in Rome, I ask my traveling friend if it feels like home. He says yes, go left. At this point, I am glad we have both agreed on the car to the apartment in Trastevere. The good news is the driver knew exactly where to go. The bad news is we arrived in rush hour traffic. Lovely ride though outskirts of Rome and we were so pleased that the flat looks just like the photo.

Exhausted on the first day, we stroll along the Tiber River walk south of the area we are staying.  The weather is wet and drizzles are on my coat.  I worry more about footing on the slick cobblestone pavement of the roads than about my damp hair or the wet coat.

We decide to turn back and my hair is increasingly curly from the rain.  We stop at a tourist restaurant to eat because my travel partner says he ate there before and it was good.  I said it is a tourist restaurant.  He says, "it's great"!  I say, he has this and only this day to choose where we eat.

There is more to tell, but it will be tomorrow.