One day into the trip and there's already so much to tell. Might as well begin with the charter bus from the high school. It arrived over half an hour late, the luggage compartment was swathed in beer, and the air conditioning barely worked. It was the luxury bus that we've been taking to Yale and Johns Hopkins with the leather seats, party lighting, beverages, and big video screen at the back of the bus. We hit a big bump on the highway and the screen actually fell on the students sitting in the back. That aside, it was a stylish way to go, even if most of us were sticking to the seats.

We waited in the airport queue for Scandinavian Air for what seemed like ages, trying to determine the name of a Swedish death metal band on our flight, and failing that, trying to figure out each members' instrument. One of their t-shirts read "Goatwhore," while other labels on their baggage and clothes included "Rot and Roll" and "Crematorium." Truly a brush with greatness.

Scandinavian Air is a pretty nice outfit. Their airbus had touch screens for each seat and an array of movies, music and video games to choose from. One could even watch either of the two exterior cameras on the plane. The meals were pretty good, heavy on tasty -- and hot -- bread and yogurt. They also kept coming around with baskets of rolls for seconds and thirds. I should've learned my lesson and packed a sweatshirt as it was chilly to freezing most of the flight.

The fun began when we got off the first plane in Sweden. As we approached customs, Tiffany Young frantically began to search for her passport, but to no avail. She and I ran back to the plane (my watch falling apart in the process) and made it just as the crew was exiting. The security personnel allowed Tiffany to go back on board, but not before instructing her to "give your boyfriend your bag." I gathered they had heard the news and Tiffany and John Hreno breaking up and assumed I pulled the Vincent Schiavelli move from "Better Off Dead." Fortunately after about 5 minutes Tiffany returned with her passport -- saving the two of us an overnight stay in Stockholm.

With that little hiccup, the layover went super quickly, and we boarded a far smaller and more primitive 737. It was a bumpier ride, but more of the group was able to get some sleep on the 2 1/2 hour flight to Milan.

Then came the luggage. Erin Flaherty's and Shawn Layton's bags were nowhere to be found. They found the missing baggage desk and described their bags as best they could. Guess I shouldn't have eliminated the photo of the luggage that we required for the Egypt trip.

We then met Andrea, our tour director. Fluent in English, he appears to have a good sense of humor, a grasp on the ins and outs of tour directing, and a helpful nature. He reassured me about the authenticity of the cuisine, is willing to work in a winery visit if possible, and even let me use his cell phone to start the phone chain when the pay phone wasn't working. He also seems to share the philosophy that there should be a mix of guided tours and free time. After a 30-minute discussion, I'm much more optimistic about the overall quality of the trip.

We stopped at a roadside restaurant/convenience store called the Auto Grille for our first lunch. Despite Andrea's overview of the facility, the 29 of us acted a bit bewildered and intimidated in trying to figure out what to order or buy. Whether this was fatigue or culture shock or some combination, I can't say. He suggested the sandwiches behind the glass counter as a nice, cheap and tasty option. I checked them out and found a bunch of variations on the same theme -- pork and cheese. There was one spinach and cheese item, but little else. There were also salads and dinners one could order. Some Italians stood at small, high tables drinking espresso. Nothing that wasn't really expensive appealed to me -- and I was more tired than hungry -- so at first I settled on a chocolate croissant and water. I took them to the cashier and she indicated that I had to pay for the water at the main cashier, but she was the person to go to with the croissant. Weird. I only managed to make myself hungry with that stomach stimulation and I decided to take my chances on a salami (salame) and cheese sandwich. I asked the clerk for it, forgetting that you need to go to the cashier and pay for it first, get a ticket and give that to the clerk. Aaargh! The sandwich was pretty good with the crusty roll making up for the relatively stale innards. I should also mention that when Nick Confuorto went up to the cash register (just in front of me) to pay for his meal, the cash register listed two numbers. We both mistakenly saw the lower number which read something like $17.80. He gave a $10 and two $5 euro bills to the cashier, who returned the two fives to Nick because the $17.80 was actually in lira. Odd that they would still list lira as they are no longer accepted anywhere in Italy. Nice that the cashier was being honest though and not gouging ignorant Americans.

Back aboard the bus we watched some relatively dull scenery (we weren't near Tuscany yet). We noted a few fields of sunflowers. Someone asked what they were used for and I ignorantly answered, "I would assume sunflower seeds." Andrea corrected me, pointing out that they're primarily used for oil. Oh yeah, Italy.

Andrea gave us an overview of Italian geography, explaining that there are 20 regions (akin to states) each with a capitol and provinces (akin to counties). He described the three cities we would be visiting as "safe." He pointed out that Europe is a very small place, Austria only 3 hours drive away and Germany only four hours. And we learned that Italy too has sectionalism between the north and the south. As a Roman, he said that he hates northerners and that they hate him.

I slept a little on the bus having been unable to even doze on the plane save perhaps 30 minutes on the flight to Milan. We arrived in Lido de Jesolo a beach-front tourist town near Venice. We discovered that the Hotel Sheila was overbooked and didn't have a double for Shawn and me. We instead were booked at the sister hotel, the Hotel Kennedy (both very Italian names, you might notice) two blocks away. When I bristled at the notion of the trip leader and a second teacher not being in the hotel with the 25 students, Andrea volunteered to give up his single at the hotel and have them bring an extra bed in. That didn't seem like the best option -- and anyway his single ended up at the Kennedy. The other thing that cinched the decision was that Kennedy had air conditioning and Sheila did not, although we were told it would cost 5 euros a day. By the way, with the exchange rate and commission figured in, a euro is roughly $1.20.

We checked into our room, and having stuffed myself on bread on the planes, I needed to use the facilities. I'll leave out the goriest details, but I found lots of "evidence" that the toilet had been recently used. After remedying the situation (you don't want to know), I did what I had to do -- finding out with further disgust that unless one sat at the very back of the toilet seat, that one's business wouldn't make it to the water. And unlike a normal toilet the water didn't come down from the top up. In other words, it filled up from the bottom. Yuk, yik and blecch. I really AM leaving out the goriest details.

We had some free time before dinner, so Layton and I went to the beach. There were very few people there and the beach and water were both clean. An unseasonably hot streak was ongoing in Italy (about 20 degrees hotter than usual), so the water was really warm. I spent 30 minutes or so in the water and on the beach (trying to wash away the memory of my bathroom experience, perhaps). Someone later remarked that it was a shame that we didn't do the trip in reverse -- hanging out on the beach would be a great decompressor. Someday we'll do the Australia/New Zealand/Hawaii trip ending with Hawaiian beaches for just that reason.

While I was swimming Layton walked around the town, I think. The reason this matters is that he had taken the room key with him. In European hotels, you're supposed to give the room key to the front desk when you leave the hotel. Anyway, after the beach I returned to the hotel salty and sandy only to find no Layton and no key at the front desk. Each time I went up or downstairs I played the paranoid game of "What if I just missed him?" and reversed course. When I saw Erin Flaherty on the street and asked if she had seen him, she said, "Yeah, he was just here a minute ago." So… 30 minutes later and a precious 30 minutes before dinner I headed over to the Hotel Sheila. Nick C. intercepted me with the key from Layton. I rushed back to the hotel, showered and headed over to dinner in not the best of moods.

And dinner at the Hotel Sheila was nothing special. We had some decent pasta as our first course -- and I think the rest of the crew got pork, I think. I was given another plate of pasta instead, even though I had only told Andrea that I couldn't eat chicken. I didn't mind though, as I only eat bacon (and apparently salame). It was okay. Many of us looked forward to our first experience with Italian ice cream, gelato. Although I mangled Italian in making my order, I ended up with a delicious strawberry gelato cone. Despite the tourist trap locale, it was only 80 euro cents for the cone.

After a very good night's sleep, Layton and I headed over to the other hotel. Breakfast at Ol' Sheila was not so great either (although it would turn out to be better than the other two hotels). Sliced cheese and pork, chicory water coffee, corn flakes, hard rolls… your typical European continental breakfast. We discovered that the rest of the group had a miserable night due to the hotel's other guests -- a middle school from England. Apparently they stayed out late the previous night and most of them returned to the hotel drunk. Their group leader was nowhere in sight as they ran up and down the halls, slamming doors, vulgarly propositioning our female students, and just causing a racket.

We took a bus ride to the water taxi for our one day in Venice. On the taxi were two other EF tour groups, and we sat next to some people from Colorado who were on some epic tour of Europe, practically a country a day. Nick C. pointed out the lanky tour director of one of the other groups and asked me if I though he could take Andrea. My reply was no; although this guy had the reach, we both agreed that Andrea looked like someone who would fight dirty if he had to.

Venice was a surprise, and for me, a disappointing one. In my head I thought that most people had to travel by boat, but boats are only used for bringing in supplies and giving tourists a thrill. Venice is comprised of 150 islands, some of which are extremely small. These islands are connected by over 400 bridges. The primary means of transportation are one's feet -- bad news for me since I have bad feet and due to unknown reasons at the time, I felt faint. The 95 degree weather was not a help.

We walked along the boardwalk-looking dock to the only piazza in Venice (out of respect for St. Mark and/or his place, the rest of the piazzas are called piazzetas). On the way Andrea pointed out the Bridge of Sighs, the enclosed pathway that death row inmates used to take to the death chamber. The idea is that they'd peer through the small windows, gazing on the outside world for one last time… and sigh. Later we went inside the bridge and the prison, but it was only the story that made it mildly interesting. Anyway, when we got to the square the first thing most of us noticed were the hundreds of pigeons. I didn't notice it immediately since she was behind me, but one of my students is evidently birdphobic. The rats with wings terrified her, and her boyfriend had his hands full just trying to get her across the piazza. Her discomfort would be relatively short-lived as we merely had to make our way across the square to get to the glass blowing demonstration, the first of the commercial interruptions on the tour.

The actual demonstration was mercifully brief (and pretty cool, I should mention). We then moved into the sales room where one of the store's bigwigs gave us his best sales pitch, replete with really lame jokes that clearly had been used thousands of times. For instance, tapping two vases on the glass twice to show their strength, he tacked on "Tap them three times, they break… BWAH HAH HAH." I type "bwah hah hah" not because his laughter sounded like that, but because he actually said it. Well, maybe not, but each of his jokes was punctuated by a somewhat evil laugh. Andrea had warned us all that the only things worth buying in Venice were glass and Venice trinkets. I was pleased to see very few of the group buy anything at the store.

We returned to the square to meet our tour guide for the morning, Carlo. He was a hulk of a man, something like 11 feet tall. No question he could clean Andrea's clock if he had to. His English was very good, although he had this weird affectation of closing his eyes at times during his presentation. Probably trying to remember how to say years in English or just plumbing the depths for some details. I'd like to include a detailed description of what he said on the tour of the art museum in Venice, but it was all I could do to move from room to room with the group, I felt so physically miserable. I do know he spent a considerable amount of time explaining the meaning of works of art and seemed to know his stuff. I wondered to myself whether he just did a good job of memorizing his spiel, but when asked specific questions, he readily answered.

We then had our first real opportunity to get an Italian lunch. The other teachers and I returned to a small restaurant row a few blocks from the piazza. We selected a nice looking restaurant and took seats outside. Layton, Eric Puma and I all ordered pizzas while Alysia Puma had some kind of octopus salad. The other two pies had some kind of pork and olives on them, while mine was the conventional margherita pizza. All looked huge (the diameter of a small pizza in the States), but were wafer thin. The pizza was pretty good, though the edges were too burnt to eat. Our attempts to communicate with the waiter were someone strained, and it didn't help when he rolled his eyes when Alysia used a bit of Italian. Gee, sorry for trying. The food, water and air conditioning at our backs helped me recuperate a little, but the most important thing was the realization that my headache might very well be due to a lack of caffeine. Oh yeah, I barely touched my coffee at breakfast… that must be it! So I ordered a café Americano. To make sure we got milk Layton ask for "latte," and once again the waiter snorted at our cultural ignorance. I guess that would have been brought anyway. Whatever. The coffee did its magic and I was ready for the afternoon.

After lunch we went for our gondola rides. It cost 15 euros per person (or 90 for each boat). The ride lasted about 25 minutes and was worth it. Although the water is filthy, we all enjoyed the ride and the sights. We joked that our gondolier was old school since he was the only one we saw who didn't wear the striped shirt; he was too hard core to condescend to that tourist notion, you see. The gondolas are not symmetrical, by the way, with one side higher up to give the gondolier an easier time moving it on the water. The gondoliers have to duck pretty low underneath some of the bridges as they push the gondolas through the canals. At one point our gondolier called something out in Italian as we approached a sharp turn. Someone from a nearby building yelled something out in response. Our gondolier then uttered a string of profanities that I recognized from my youth; what boy doesn't learn how to say curse words in other languages? I guess he was warning anyone on the other side of the turn about his approach, but some jerk in the building felt compelled to respond.

After the ride we had free time to walk around and I went with the other teachers. We walked and walked and walked, seeing about 50 of the bridges on the island and walking along the main canal that we had seen on the gondola ride. It was much less populated than the piazza. We also visited one of the connecting islands and found it less crowded and somewhat less touristy. Two dozen restaurants seemed more appealing than the restaurant row we visited. I wished Andrea had told us to leave the main island earlier.

We were all so wiped out towards the end of the day that I think nearly everyone wished we had a little less free time in Venice. Nick Starzynski had manage to cut his toe, but fortunately Nora McBurnett, who was with him at the time, had all sorts of medical supplies just in case.

Obviously one's experience of a city can be colored by their physical condition or emotional mood, so perhaps I was just having a bad day. But I don't think so. From what I saw of Venice, there didn't seem to be any there there. It seemed little more than a tourist trap with a little bit of history and art. Granted, when we left the main island it seemed a bit nicer, but not enough to make me feel like I ever need to return.

Dinner was once again at the Hotel Sheila. The first course was once again pasta. As the main course was chicken (and I'm allergic to it), they gave me eggs over easy. They were greasy but really tasty, so I couldn't complain. Dessert was something a bit like crème brulee, but it wasn't very good. Andrea located the British group leader and cleared the air about his group's behavior the night before. Exhausted from all the walking we turned in fairly early, ready for the bus ride to Florence.

We finished packing our belongings and headed to the lobby. There we tried to pay for the two days of air conditioning but the clerk couldn't make out what we were trying to say. Darn. Breakfast was the same as the day before, but I made myself drink two cups of coffee. Maybe it tasted better, maybe I was getting used to the taste, or maybe my mind overruled my tastebuds. Whatever. The caffeine would do the trick. No headache, no exhaustion.

As we waited for the bus on the steps of the hotel, a large vehicle resembling a garbage truck pulled up. One man picked up a small grate on the street while another stuck a tube into it. And they we smelled it. Ah, sewage. Interesting system.

On the bus to Florence I got a chance to do some reading. On the trip I read Kurt Vonnegut's "Galapagos," Anne Tyler's "When We Were Grown-Ups" and Jon Ronson's "Them." The Vonnegut book was typical Vonnegut. I was amused at times, but found myself getting annoyed when he would get particularly precious. At the time of this writing I'm simultaneously reading two books, "Wigfield" by Amy Sedaris, Paul Dinello and Stephen Colbert (the makers of "Strangers With Candy") and "Frugal Indulgents" by Jennifer Griffin and my friend from college, Kera Bolonik. I'm reacting much in the same way to their clever turns of phrases. I wonder if I'm just bored with that kind of humor. The Tyler book was… well, typical Tyler. Perhaps a bit more upbeat than usual. Very enjoyable. Ronson's book is a hilarious non-fiction account of extremist lunacy, focusing on the divergent crazies who think that a group of Jewish industrialists known as the Bilderberg group is running the world. To his amazement -- and mine -- the group actually exists and the descriptions that some of the loonies gave aren't that far off. But no, they don't rule the world. Or maybe I'm one of them…

Oh yeah, Italy. We arrived in Florence and at first glimpse it seemed very nice. Clean. No sewage smell. Cobblestone streets. Lots of mopeds and bicycles. The bus couldn't park near the hotel, so we had to walk a few blocks with our luggage. We emerged on a gorgeous piazza and headed for one corner of it where we found our hotel!

The Hotel Olimpia would be nothing special if it were in virtually any other town, but it's in the heart of Florence. Our poor, tired feet would get a break. The elevator in the hotel -- like every elevator I've seen in Europe -- was tiny, this one with a maximum capacity of four passengers. Four, if you want to get some full body contact. Like the elevator we had in St. Malo, France, this one was in a cage, allowing you to see where you were going, watch the pulleys on the machinery, etc. Most of us took the stairs because it would have taken a month to get everyone up with their luggage. The hotel is obviously quite old. The ceilings were ridiculously high. I'm guessing 16 feet. The air conditioning is free. The furniture was kind of quaint. The standing closet had the cherubs painted on the door. The only negative -- the shower and drain were in the middle of the bathroom. If one opted to use the shower curtain, and thereby avoid soaking everything else in the bathroom, avoiding skin contact with it would be near impossible.

Andrea walked us a couple blocks from the hotel to the true center of town, an unbelievably beautiful piazza that included an open air museum. There one could gaze upon a magnificent replica of David (more on the real thing below) and a bevy of other beautiful statues. I would spend a lot of my free time here -- and although I was far from alone, the sea of tourists we encountered in Venice didn't replicate here (or at least didn't seem the least bit oppressive).

I had lunch with the Pumas. We were having trouble settling on a place to eat -- or what to eat -- when a woman who worked at one of the restaurants, who spoke fluent English, helped us out. We selected our food and then sat down. I started with a gigantic bruschette which was absolutely delicious. And because I didn't really have any confidence yet in figuring out what to eat, I ended up getting another salame sandwich, only this one had tomato and basil on it, and was served on a bread that was sort of a crispy pita. The basil was a weird inclusion -- I thought it was lettuce at first because there was so much of it. I ended up removing most of it. Unlike the sandwich at the Auto Grille, this one was heated up. It was good, but it was the last sandwich I'd eat in Italy.

Back at the open air museum we met our tour guide for the day, Alessandra. She spoke with a bit of an English accent, but after consulting with Catherine Kinrade, I confirmed that she must be an Italian who attended school in England. I suppose I could have asked, but playing accent detective is more fun. Alessandra walked us to the Duomo, the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. It's the fourth largest church in the world. Inside were beautiful, ornate decorations that must have made some plebeians mighty poor. We visited another church (forgot the name) which actually had a star of David on the outside. Inside were the tombs of such nobodies as Michelangelo, Rossini, Galileo and Machiavelli. Alessandra's explanations of the art and history were outstanding, but I had carelessly fallen out of the practice of taking notes so much of it is lost to me.

Across from the second church was a sizeable rectangle of dirt. I wondered why nothing had been built there and asked our guide. She informed me that every year on a particular holiday there's a game played there which is a cross between soccer and rugby. I think she said there are 22 players on each team and basically, "there are no rules." I said, "They must be carting people off the field left and right." She confirmed that the "sport" was particularly brutal.

As we walked the streets of Florence I think we were all struck by the city's beauty. The art is incomparable, but it's also secondary. The restaurants, the shops, and the people are utterly charming. Lindsay Sanwald described it as "St. Malo meets New York City… with more art." Yes, there's plenty of tourism, but unlike Venice you really get the sense that it's a real city. People have jobs that aren't just catering to (or exploiting) the millions of tourists. I also noticed a lot of the denizens of Florence in touristy places like the open air museum, there merely to enjoy the city.

We then endured the second commercial interruption, this one for a leather shop. As I wanted to buy Eileen a handbag, I was okay with it. After explaining how people on the street and in some shops will rip customers off with fake leather (real leather won't burn, so they might do a slight of hand trick with a lighter), they informed us to beware of price gimmicks. Immediately after finishing that spiel, the guy offered us 10% because we were with a group, and another 20% if blah blah blah. He didn't explain it very clearly, but if you spent more than a certain amount, you would be given a tax rebate. If you paid in cash you'd get it immediately; however, if you paid by credit card, you'd get it at the airport. I didn't have cash, so I paid by credit. It would have saved a lot of time and effort if I had just gone to an ATM machine and returned to the store. Anyway, I got Eileen a really nice handbag, even if it was significantly larger than she originally wanted. Ha! I know what's good for her! Uh, yeah. Well, she IS using it, so no foul.

Dinner was at a nice restaurant in town. We started with pasta with beef. The second course was brisket, and although it wasn't a popular meal among the students, I thought it was excellent. For dessert they brought out selections of cake to each table. I ended up with the least tasty of the three brought to our table, but I was happy enough with the meal that I didn't really care.

At some point during the day I learned that one of the key stores in Italy is a tobacco shop, known as a Tabbachi. They carry postcards, sells stamps and have other key items. I'd visit several over the course of the week. Got to give up smoking hashish.

After dinner we found that the missing luggage had finally arrived. Although Layton had bought an entirely new outfit -- and Erin had borrowed clothes -- both were understandably relieved to get their stuff back.

I headed back out to the open air museum where I read a little, but watched the people around me more. There were the museum police -- the vigilanta ambientale -- whose job it is to prevent people from sitting or leaning against the sculptures and to prevent food and drink in the main section of the museum. I guess I haven't really described that area very well. It's maybe 150 long and 50 feet deep. There are steps at the base with many sculptures in the center area. At the back are steps that serve as seats. Dozens of people sat around taking in the art, several of whom were sketching their own versions.

There were a number of street performers in and around the piazza. The most popular seemed to be a "mime," whose modus operandi was to good-naturedly harass passersby. He'd mimic some, sneak up on others, stand in people's paths for a solid 20 minutes. Then he'd take a bow, pass the hat, smoke a cigarette and start all over again. I usually hate mimes, but most of his stuff was un-mimelike -- especially when he made noises. I was struck by his creativity and energy. Although he repeated some schtick, I couldn't believe how many new things he came up with. There were the requisite street musicians, one playing "Redemption Song," singing in English with a heavy Italian accent. I'm not sure if he understood the words or was just aping Marley. Other "performers" were primarily people in elaborate costumes. A number of people were dressed AS sculptures. I don't know what they used, maybe papier mache? Tourists would get their picture taken with them and be asked for a tip. They were far less pushy than their equivalents that I saw in Egypt.

The only slightly pushy people I encountered were AIDS activists who asked for signatures on petitions and then hit tourists up for donations. I was on guard when someone approached me and asked me for a signature, so I walked past him, but when he said AIDS I stopped on a dime and walked over. I just gave whatever loose change I had -- which can be dangerous in Europe since there are no $1 and $2 bills, only coins!

At night in the square outside our hotel there were a variety of other entertainers including a firewalker, who evidently did his stunt while carrying Katie Brock across. Lindsay and her roommates go to watch most of the goings-on from their window which looked out on the square! Layton and I had a great view of the building two feet from our window.

Most of the rest of the group went to a disco in the evening, but I stayed behind with Nicole Humphrey and Dan Halverson who weren't interested in going. It cost almost $20 for a few hours of dancing and karaoke. You'd probably have to pay me $20 to endure those activities. After a full -- and wonderful -- day, I was more than happy to read a little bit and get to bed at a reasonable hour.

I awoke cheerfully having had a good night's sleep and feeling great about the trip. Most of the rest of the crew was zombie-like having stayed out pretty late the night before. I gathered that they had a great time, but not without a price (literally and figuratively). Breakfast was the usual -- croissants and cheese. The coffee was the best I'd had yet (or maybe it was all in my head again).

Layton and I mapped out a plan of action for the day -- we'd start with the Academia museum (David's hangout), visit the flea market, get some lunch and stroll around the Boboli gardens, see the Uffizi art museum, get dinner, and visit Michelangelo's Hill at sunset. The plan was a good one and came close to fruition.

We followed Alessandra's directions on how to get to the Academia and in a few minutes we'd arrived. While waiting on line -- they space out the number of admissions to prevent overcrowding -- we looked at postcards at a kiosk. There was one that had nothing but rear ends from sculptures and another that had nothing but male genitalia. Very tasteful. Gave me the idea to find the tackiest postcard in every country I visit and mail it to the same person each time. S/he ould create a wonderful collection by the time I'm through. They don't allow pictures inside the Academia (would cut into sales, I gather). There were a couple rooms of art prior to David, but little that interested me. David was the place's raison d'etre and he didn't disappoint. Michelangelo's sculpture is 14 feet high -- which is a lot bigger than I expected (before seeing the duplicate). I guess I thought it was life-size. I had seen a lot of beautiful things in Florence -- and a few in Venice -- but David left me awestruck. I circled around him and gazed upon a true masterpiece. We read a bit about the history of the sculpture that included a couple of attempts to vandalize it. Hard to fathom that someone would be so warped to even make a blemish on it.

We then headed towards the flea market. Primary goals for me were to find something for my nieces, and perhaps buy a watch. Layton wanted to buy a number of souvenirs. The flea market was like any other, lots of sub-standard merchandise initially overpriced with a decent price a haggle or two away. We both had success in our hunts for goods, Layton even finding the same t-shirt he bought several years ago that he described as the perfect sleeping shirt. I bought one for my wife as well.

So far so good. Now we wanted to have a nice, sit-down lunch. Layton was wiped out from the previous night and I was reaching my walking quota. The notion of taking food to the Boboli Gardens was ditched in favor of a restaurant I had seen the night before on the other side of town. I miraculously found the Trattoria Nella without a single misstep. Nestled a couple blocks off the main street, the restaurant was a quiet alternative to the bustling tourist stop I had visited the day before. The bread was fantastic. I'd go there just for that. We both wanted lasagne as our main course, but the menus were in Italian and we weren't sure what "al Forno" was. Layton asked the waitress what it meant in English. So she turned the menus over -- where the menu was in English. D'oh! Except it just read "lasagne." So we crossed our fingers and ordered it. Since we were the only ones in the place, the food arrived just a couple minutes later. I can only describe it as "hearty." There was a ton of cheese and a deep beefy taste. It was unbelievably good. To go with the great food, we had a wonderful conversation. So to top off the meal, we ordered café, not realizing that we'd be getting café Italiano, aka espresso. I'm not an espresso drinker, but I figured when in Florence… I didn't down it in a gulp though. As I sipped it, I felt every nerve ending awake. Someone started playing techno music -- in my head. I'm still trying to recover.

After lunch I went to the Uffizi with Ilya Livshits, Charlie Kratovil and Lindsay. We had been told not to bother with the headsets because they were so detailed… not thinking through that we could have always skipped forward had we wanted to. We went headphone free and wasted a lot of time trying to interpret Italian title cards or guess the artist where there were no title cards. The main hall has one bust after another, but without some explanation, we couldn't make head nor face out of them. The various side rooms featured primarily paintings. We sped through some of the early rooms tiring of the endless depictions of the crucifixion or of the Madonna. We did get to see the Birth of Venus and that cherub painting whose name I don't know. I also saw a really cool, dark painting by Luis de Morales who I intend to look up. I would have like to have spent more time there… next time, I guess.

Walking around in the evening I was able to observe the little game played by the unsanctioned street vendors and the police. Several Chinese men had squares of cardboard on which they steered a tiny remote control car back and forth. Just as everywhere else in the country, henna painters also set up temporary shop. On one street I saw two police officers walk past two sellers and then roust an artist who was trying to make a sale. I couldn't understand a word he was saying, but he seemed rather indignant as he packed up his stuff. Two second and ten feet later he was trying to recapture his sale. Nothing like going through the motions.

Dinner was a bit different tonight. Navya Sosale had the temerity to be born on the fourth of July, so we had to celebrate with fireworks and patriotic songs. The restaurant's pasta was perhaps the best we'd had so far adding a few ingredients to the typical penne with sauce. Unfortunately the main course was veal. Most of the group chose not to eat it, although a couple of people wolfed down others' as second helpings.

After dinner we went en masse to see Michelangelo's Hill. Getting their was pretty easy -- a healthy walk followed by a bus ride. Andrea had told us that the tickets were valid for an hour. You validate them when you get on the bus. The plan was to stay for a half an hour and then return with plenty of time remaining. We came up with the idea of not validating them until we left the bus to maximize our time. But no one asked to see our tickets on the bus there. Just in case there was some kind of unforeseen whammy, I made everyone validate their tickets shortly after boarding despite the original plan. I had been hoping to sit back on a hillside and gaze out at Florence, but it was more like a scenic overlook. There was nowhere to sit. So after 10 minutes, we all were a bit antsy to move on. Katie Brock looked through one of those pay telescopes and offered me a glimpse. She had it focused on the Duomo. I said, "Hey, there's people up there!" Which was pretty stupid, because people can visit pretty high up in the building if they want to. But probably not at that hour. Katie said: "No there's not. There's no one home-o at the Duomo." I rebutted, "Yeah, that's Church policy." Ba dum bump.

We were going to grab the same bus to go back when Layton pointed out that we could take a different one that would be quicker. I expressed my skepticism (why didn't Andrea tell us that?), but went along figuring, "What's the worst that can happen." Alysia Puma and I nervously pondered the answer to that question. As it became apparent that he was right, we verbally imagined that he must be feeling pretty smug about now. And he was until he hit the buzzer for the bus to stop -- and the driver stopped well before the place we wanted to get off. Layton had to sheepishly say, "Next one." And then beat himself up for negating his chance to stick it in our faces. Poor Layton.

In Venice there are no cars. In the heart of Florence there are very few cars. And drivers simply have to wait patiently as pedestrians get out of their way. But we weren't at the heart of Florence, we were on its outskirts. Jean Hsu darted across traffic before it was probably advisable to do so. Nora McBurnett wondered aloud whether Jean was trying to commit Hsuicide. Not bad!

We ended our night with a visit to a gelateria to indulge in Italy's best dessert, canole be damned! By this point it was clear that Eric Puma was badly addicted to chocolate gelato. He had to have it every day -- and never a different flavor. By the second day in Florence he had become Signore Gelato.

I'm not sure when it happened but at some point in Florence, several of the students were harassed by vendors. Dan Halverson has a guy slap a bracelet on his wrist and then start demanding payment for it. Fortunately the teachers were nearby and the guy had to back off. I later found out that Aikta Wahi and Lauren Keinath had some guy grab their hair and start braiding it. Aikta said that when she told him she wasn't interested he pulled out a lighter and threatened to burn her hair, before extorting something like $20 from her. I include this here so my future travelers realize why we have some of the seemingly Draconian rules about traveling in groups, having males with each group, etc.

After getting our wake-up call I headed towards the shower, but I heard someone jiggling the lock and door handle. I opened the door to find Jean trying to open the door with a set of keys. What the ? Apparently, it was her job to wake up students from some of the other rooms, but she had the room number wrong. The hotel security at all of these places is ridiculously lax as anyone could request any room key and probably get it.

Breakfast was the same, which is to say, edible. I noticed Lindsay was wearing a "Firenze" t-shirt apparently bought yesterday at the flea market, so I paraphrased the one memorable line from PCU: "You're wearing the shirt of the city you're in. Don't be that guy!" I think she was annoyed with me, imagine that. Later she said, "I have no shame!"

Lauren had what looked like a bug bit on her arm with a significant amount of swelling around it. We showed it to Andrea and he said, "Oh yes, the tiger mosquito." Tiger Mosquito?!? Yep, some kind of infestation of a super-mosquito. We'd later see signs on the metro warning about it. To help Lauren, we turned to nurse Nora who had a variety of anti-itch medicines for her to choose from.

We took the bus to Assisi. Along the way Andrea asked if we wanted to listen to Italian music. No one had the guts (or rudeness) to say, "No!" I might have enjoyed Italian folk music or something from 50 years ago, but the Italian pop scene is simply awful. Of course I think the American pop scene is also awful, so it's not simply a cultural matter. As I was sitting pretty far back, I didn't think I'd offend if I listened to my discman instead.

Arriving at Assisi, we were introduced to our guide, an American friar named Joseph, whose real gig was teaching at a Catholic school, I think in Massachusetts. To maintain a quiet, peaceful atmosphere, they distribute headsets to tour groups and have the guides whisper into their microphones. It took about 500 hours to get our headsets and then we were ushered into a small chapel along with a group from Kenya. Their guide was John, a friar from Zambia. I'm very interested both of those nations, but I got the distinct impression that they don't believe in deodorant. Brother John gave a bit of history about the church, annunciating like a fiend. When he was done, the Kenya group went ahead and Brother Joseph took over. He admitted this was his first tour and that he was a bit nervous. Although he had a few miscues and the tour was a bit long, it was informative and interesting. The church is actually two churches built atop one another. In the mid-90s an earthquake damaged the building. When it was being assessed by architects, a second quake hit and four people were killed. Brother Joseph and his students raised money to help rebuild it and he took great pleasure each time he looked at the restoration. Assisi is atop a hill giving it a fortress-like locale. In fact, it served as a potential papal hideout for many decades in the event of attack.

During the entire tour we were told not to talk. Periodically a detached voice would come over a loudspeaker and say: "Shhhhhh. Silencio!" After getting over the irony of it, the repeated announcements became annoying. Not because they were particularly disruptive, but because they were necessary as many visitors weren't offering the due respect. Brother Joseph previewed the basement chapel by describing it as a place of utter tranquility. As a result, he wasn't even allowed to talk in it. The hushed room, dim candlelight and beautiful architecture did provide a lovely atmosphere, except when insensitive louts would talk despite the repeated warnings. Although I'm an agnostic, the power of the room affected me -- much as a synagogue in Egypt practically moved me to tears. Here I thought of my father-in-law who had passed away a couple weeks prior. As he was one of the most intelligent, learned people I've ever met, I would have so enjoyed discussing my experiences in Italy with him.

Brother Joseph described the life of the friars focusing on their vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, explaining that's what the three knots on his sash signified. He said the friars have an expression to describe it: "No money, no honey, no funny." Some of our students reported seeing a wedding band on his finger, but no one asked, so it's a mystery…

For lunch Layton, Lindsay, Ilya, Charlie, Rob Lazar sat down at a nice little restaurant that may have been part of a small hotel. I ordered ravioli with spinach in a creamy yellow sauce. It was outstanding. Can't believe I wasted time on sandwiches early on!

On the first day of the trip I asked Andrea if it'd be possible to stop at a winery to repeat the fun we had in France. He tried to arrange it for this day, but the winery wouldn't open just for 29 Americans. So we had to settle for a pottery factory that also sold way overpriced wine and olive oil. We saw the pottery process (commercial #3) and then had some time to shop. They did have some wine tasting, so naturally Charlie got drunk.

Back aboard the bus we watched Gladiator on the way to Rome. I had never watched the film as I think Ridley Scott is one of the worst directors in the universe (although not worse than his brother Tony), plus I couldn't see how a gladiator film could possibly be interesting. I lost $20 to Adam Gold a few years back when I guaranteed that it wouldn't win best film and Russell Crowe wouldn't win best actor. But I figured, when on the way to Rome… The film was better than I expected, though bloated, self-important and pretentious at times. They did considerable rewriting of history (e.g., Maximus did NOT kill Commodus), and overdid the demonization of Commodus to the point of cartoon caricature. And the computer backdrops during the fight scenes (the crowd mostly didn't exist) was really odd for such a big budget film. However, I'm glad I saw it, especially as it geared me up for seeing the Colosseum and the other historic buildings in Rome.

We arrived at our hotel, the Nordland, somewhere on the outskirts of Rome. Good old EF. Layton and I were on the fourth floor and the Pumas were on the far end of the building -- neither of our rooms were anywhere near the students. It so happens that my group was particularly well behaved, but you would think others wouldn't be (remember the Brits in Lido de Jesolo?). You'd think it'd be in the hotel's interest to have the chaperons nearby. Guess not. Anyway, our room didn't have a television (not that we would be watching much TV), no air conditioner, and another shower in the middle of the bathroom. Ah, the shower…

Sweaty and grimy from a day of traveling, I decided to get a quick shower. I looked at the curtain that was interwoven on a set of collapsible criss-crossed hanging bars. Think of four X's to get an idea of what it looked like. I opened up the curtain to find it made a little circle almost the exact dimensions of my body. Considering that the hotel probably changed the curtains every couple months (at best), I wasn't too anxious to get inside. So instead I folded the curtain to serve as a barrier between the shower head and the sink. As I showered the curtain did little to stem the tide of water from the rest of the bathroom. I guess I should mention the drain was not in the center; instead it was under the shower head in a SLIGHTLY recessed part of the floor. The drain was so slow (clogged?) that the water quickly lapped over the supposed retaining wall and spread across the rest of the floor. So I thought to myself: "Just get in the curtain, what's the big deal. Just use plenty of soap!" I tried, but no matter what I did the curtain hugged to my body on all sides. Grossed out I went back to the original method. The only thing Layton found more gross was the notion of standing in my (or anyone else's) shower water. Maybe 45 minutes later the floor was dry. At least we didn't have the problem that Tim Pultorak's room had -- their drain was so clogged that the water overflowed into the bedroom wetting their luggage!

We did have a balcony with two French doors leading to it. Having no air conditioning we knew that we'd have to leave the doors open and leave ourselves vulnerable to the tiger mosquito. Amazingly Layton and I didn't get bitten at all -- while Lauren turned into mosquito pin cushion. Alysia Puma said it was because she must be so sweet.

Dinner was somewhere in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of Rome, but we were seated outside and the temperature had dropped to a reasonable level. We also were seated at one long table instead of divided up. A peeve of mine on the trip was how clique-y people were becoming. Obviously one spends the most amount of time with their friends, but it becomes pretty insulting when people maneuver to make sure they aren't seated with certain people or try to manipulate people into moving. One of my favorite things about these trips is when people build new friendships. You can't do that if you spend all of your time with the same three people.

Anyway, we discovered that a 1.5 liter bottle of Coke only cost 3 euros, which was a bargain compared with most everywhere else in the tourist cities. By the time the meal was over there were a dozen or more bottles of Coke on the table. We had a garden salad that included pieces of corn in it (we had that a second time later on the trip, so evidently it's an Italian thing) before being given our pizzas margherita. It was almost exactly like the pizza we had in Venice. Super thin, burnt around the edges. Tasted fine, though. This would be the one meal where we didn't get a pasta course. For dessert we had a particularly taste-less vanilla mousse. It was basically whipped icing, and our group was split between people who hated it and people who thought it was divine.

To get to Rome we had to walk several blocks to get to the metro. The subway system in Rome was designed to have ten branches, but only two have been finished. Their system is pretty much identical to the Parisian metro. Since the lines don't run strictly in one geographic direction, you go towards the last stop in a given direction -- our line went to Ananigna or Battistini. The trains had the same graffiti one finds in most major cities, but seemed to travel a lot faster than their American counterparts.

A few blocks from our stop, Spagna, we arrived at the Spanish Steps, so named because the Spanish embassy is close by. Andrea said when he was a teenager, it was where he and his friends would hang out with each other (and perhaps to ogle the tourists?). He explained that the fountain, like most fountains in Rome, had cold, fresh and drinkable water. Only ignorant tourists bought water bottles in Rome since water was so readily available. To get the water one would go to an end of the fountain, step onto a flat rock and put one's bottle (or mouth) under one of the two streams of water at each end. It did taste good, but I couldn't help but be a little disturbed by the dirty water on top of the rock (from everyone's shoes) that intermingled with the water in the fountain. That water had to go somewhere, didn't it? Maybe it went elsewhere and wasn't recycled. The source of the water was in the mountains 10 miles from the city center, clearly one of the great achievements of antiquity. We never got to see the aqueducts, though.

Andrea took us for a walk around Rome pointing out the various obelisks stolen from Egypt (okay, at least one of them was given to Italy), and the Marcus Aurelius Column, built as a tribute to the defeat of the German invaders. But the main purpose of our trip was to go to the best gelateria in Italy, according to Andrea. I figured, when in Roma… so I got a massive gelato with three different flavors. Andrea was with me at the time and he suggested I get pana on top. Turns out pana is basically heavy cream. That's what I needed, more sugar. The gelato was, in fact, the best I had on the trip. And I had a lot on the trip.

With our gelati in hand, we headed over to the Pantheon, the oldest virtually intact structure in the world. It was closed at night, but the outside was remarkably impressive. The inside, which we would get to see tomorrow, could fit a perfect sphere. Andrea said that the only differences between the Pantheon in 2003 and the original structure were that two columns had been replaced in the 1400s and the statues on the front of it were melted down by the pope. He said that virtually all Italians are devoutly Roman Catholic, but the one problem they had with the church (historically speaking) was the interference with the beautiful Roman architecture. Later he would tell us that the Romans greatest antipathy for Mussolini was the Venezia palace, also known as the wedding cake. A huge structure in the center of Rome which obstructed the view of the Colosseum and other historic sites.

One of the students was feeling sick, so she and Alysia Puma stayed back at the hotel. When we returned, she said she was actually feeling worse. Worried that it might be appendicitis or something else serious, I asked Andrea to call a medic. The evaluation was that it was just some stomach/digestion issues that might best be treated with over the counter medicine. So Andrea and I took a walk to a nearby all-night pharmacy. It appeared closed since no light was visible, but he pressed the buzzer and a woman's voice came out over the speaker. He explained what he needed and she appeared. Like a late-night convenience store in an inner city, there was a safety device to allow payment and delivery of the goods. She spun it around and gave us the bill. I paid the $8 or so euro and within two minutes of buzzing her, we were on our way. On the way back to the hotel Andrea translated the instructions. When I heard him say "supositro" or something akin to that, a chill went down my spine. "How do you say that?" he asked. "Uh, suppository," I replied. He took out the medicine and said, "Oh, no, it's pills." A gigantic sigh of relief.

Breakfast at the Nordland was particularly bad. They had rock hard rolls and plastic wrapped sticky croissants. The orange juice was watered down, but the coffee was okay. Then I found out that the sick student was no better, so I decided I would be the one to stay with her. I got a little extra sleep and read a little before checking on her. She was still in bed, feeling miserable -- and guilty for keeping me here, worried that she was ruining the trip. I convinced her that lying in bed wasn't going to make the problem any better and we took a little walk around the block. I told her to sit up and read and that I'd check in on her in a half hour. When I returned she sheepishly admitted that she had gone back to bed because she couldn't stop thinking about her stomach ailment. However, she didn't feel any worse when she was walking so we took a much longer walk around the area. She even indicated that she might try to eat something so we searched in vain for something she could eat (she's also a vegetarian, something that is not easy to do in Italy). We finally came upon a fruit stand where I bought her some apples and bananas. Back to the hotel and it was decision time. Would she tough it out or would Layton come back to replace me? Deciding she'd missed enough of the trip, she courageously opted to join up with the rest of the group.

So we headed off to the subway. Andrea told us to use the machines by the entrance, but no matter what I did it rejected my money with "Operation Aborted." I tried coins, bills, satanic incantation, but nothing worked. We ended walking right past the turnstiles without tickets, but no one even blinked at us. Twenty minutes later Eric Puma met us at the Spanish Steps, giving me a map and explaining where everyone else was. We found out that all of the boys had been prevented from entering St. Peter's Basilica because their knee length shorts weren't up to the dress code. Andrea was very frustrated because on previous trips this wasn't an issue. I was actually happy because it meant that I wouldn't have to do the Basilica by myself, unlike the Colosseum which I planned to do right away. I gave the ailing student the option of going with me (I'm sure that's just what she wanted after hanging out for the last couple hours discussing her anatomical inner workings) or finding her friends with Mr. Puma.

Now on my own I first checked out the Pantheon, which was even more beautiful on the inside. Nothing much to do there though and no time to waste and I headed towards the Colosseum. I was starving though, having had no breakfast, and thought of grabbing a sandwich somewhere. But unlike the Auto Grille, none of the sandwich shops had labels next to the sandwiches! How was I supposed to get a ticket for a sandwich? It was just as well, none of them appealed to me. Enough with the pork and cheese already.

I walked down the main street towards the Colosseum (which was in clear view once I passed the wedding cake). A couple blocks before the building were a string of restaurants. I figured they'd be overpriced, but was so hungry I surveyed the menus. I picked the third restaurant I saw which had an outdoor seating area under a manmade grove of plants. Ah, shade and fresh air, the best of all possible worlds, my dear Candide. I ordered bruschette (for a measly $1.50!) and a lasagne (for $7). Guess the price gouging was left to the street vendors. Both were excellent, with the bruschette better than the one I had in Florence, but the lasagne not quite as good.

Next I headed toward the Colosseum. As I entered a woman asked if I spoke English. "We have a 35-40 minute tour starting up in a couple of minutes and you won't have to wait in line." As I had missed the morning tour and had only an hour and a half before we were meeting up for dinner, I thought it was a good idea. So I paid the extra $7.50 for the tour and the $10 admission and was asked to wait off to the side where I met an Australian man and an English woman who were a couple. We chatted for a few minutes while we impatiently waited for the tour to begin. Then we waited another 20 minutes or so before the tour did begin -- and throughout the tour guide's presentation they added more people to the tour. Quite a moneymaker. Our tour guide was a walking negative Italian caricature. He had a heavy accent, flirted non-stop with the attractive women, and while we waited for the tour to start he regaled us with really unwitty "jokes," explaining what various acronyms stood for. The nadir was when he said Pontiac stood for "poor old Negros think it's a Cadillac." Ah, racist too. When the tour finally began he talked for 20 minutes where we stood. Then he took us outside and talked for another 20 minutes. By the time we finally got inside, I had about 5 minutes before I had to head back. I ditched the tour and took a quick look around and split. I did learn one interesting tidbit from his presentation -- the gladiators would receive the thumbs down from the crowd if they wanted death, but not a thumbs up if they wanted to spare lives. The thumb represented the blade, so instead of a thumbs up, they'd make a fist covering the thumb. Not worth $7.50 though.

I headed back to the Spanish Steps walking very quickly making sure to get to the Trevi Fountain on my way. The tradition is to throw two coins over your right shoulder into the fountain to ensure one's return to Rome. Practically on the run I tossed a couple of euro cents into the fountain and kept going.

Dinner was once again on the outskirts of Rome along a busy roadway. Pasta as the first course, as usual, followed by chicken and salad. They replaced my chicken with mozzarella and smoked cheese. The mozzarella was delicious, but I can't really eat huge chunks of cheese without bread or crackers. For dessert we had a rum soaked piece of poundcake called baba. It was okay, but having gone light on the food today, I gulped it down. I had a nice time sitting with Andrea, Tim and Catherine. Andrea asked if I wanted coffee and I said sure. He said, café Italiano. I said, "I know." This time it didn't have quite the same effect. I do think it'll be the last time I try espresso. I'd rather have two cups of coffee.

We then opted for an early night, returning to the hotel for some fun bonding activities. I played hearts with Ilya, Dan Halverson and Rob Lazar while a cutthroat game of gin rummy went on across the room. Somehow -- I can't explain it -- Ilya actually won the first game.

I was the first one downstairs for breakfast and I was able to blend in with the Italian group that was staying at the hotel. I discovered their meal was significantly better than ours -- fresher pastries and fresh, pulpy orange juice. By the time the others were downstairs, the breakfast police were down to prevent them from gaining access to the first class table. Not that it was really that good, but the differences were pretty irritating. The one improvement this morning was that they had some good yogurt on our table and that served as the main part of my breakfast.

Andrea repeatedly fielded questions on the dress code for our visit to the Vatican Museum. He insisted that there was none. Shortly before boarding the bus Nora asked, "I'm going to ask one last time" to me. I said, "There's no dress code!" She was wearing a low-cut top and pretty short shorts. Some of the other girls were wearing similar outfits as well. Andrea dropped us off on line with our tickets. When we got up to the front they let everyone through except for Nora, pointing to a sign that indicated the dress code. We managed to put together a ridiculous makeshift outfit to get her through the door -- Dan's huge button-down shirt, someone else's very long shorts. Catherine used someone's pants as a wrap around her bare shoulders. Later Andrea expressed his frustration at the fickle enforcement. He evidently had received grief from previous groups when he insisted on a dress code and his travelers saw people in shorts. I thought he should have just said: "Look, they sometimes enforce the dress code and other times they don't, but you're going into the center of the Roman Catholic world. Out of basic respect, you are asked to dress this way." I think most people would understand and accept that.

The Vatican Museum includes the Sistine Chapel but many, many other rooms and exhibits. Nick C. and I tried to see everything, but again having no tour guide it wasn't that edifying. The Sala Rotunda was a beautiful room as were most of the rooms leading up to the Chapel. Once again we were asked to be silent inside the chapel-- and were subjected to both live and taped "Silencio" calls. The Chapel itself was simply the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I'm sure the scope of it plays a major fact in that, but I was content to just stare for many minutes at the various paintings. At the back of the room along the sides were benches and Nick and I sat there for quite some time just gaping.

Ooh, creepy coincidence. As I type I'm listening to John Hiatt's new album "Beneath This Gruff Exterior," specifically his "Most Unoriginal Sin." And this lyric just floated by: "The whole Sistine Chapel painted on a head of a pin." What are the odds?

After the Chapel we met up with most of the boys and headed over to St. Peter's Basilica, the largest church in the world. It defies description. There's just so much to look at. I briefly went into a prayer room on the side just to get the feel of the place. Later we passed by an actual mass in progress. Nick C. pointed out a massive wooden structure made by Donatello. I had never heard of it or seen it, but it was ridiculously impressive.

With just a few minutes to spare I headed over to a gift shop to purchase something for my mother-in-law, who is a devout Catholic. At the Vatican you can buy a gift, have it blessed and delivered to wherever you're staying. I picked out her gift and the clerk asked me what hotel I was staying at. I told her, paid and left. A minute later she ran out, irritated, and gave me the package. I went back into the store and said, "I thought you were going to get it blessed." She said: "How could I? You didn't give me your name or room number." I apologized, but thought to myself -- you did ask me my hotel and I gave you a credit card with my name on it AND you didn't give me anything to fill out. However, I think I can understand where she's coming from -- the ultimate in retail hell.

We then left Vatican City and walked a long distance to get to a lovely piazza we hadn't been to previously. In the square thousands had been put to death for various crimes (against the Church?) including Galileo's associate who refused to recant. A sculpture of him "graced" the piazza, although it was pretty ugly. As Andrea was explain all this, some local drunk began screaming at him for blocking the entrance to a butcher shop. After Andrea seemingly mollified him he began mimicking Andrea's presentation. Ilya noticed our American-loving friend had a Florida State cap on. Big fan, I bet.

A bunch of us then ate lunch right on the square at Carbonara. We almost sat outside, but one of the staff said "Air conditioning?" and we leapt at the chance to go upstairs to the second floor. The restaurant was elegantly decorated and we had a lovely view of the piazza. The AC was cranked way up -- and this was a really hot day. The water was ice cold for the one and only such time during out trip. We scarfed down the incredibly fresh bread and delicious breadsticks like we were starving. The waiter joked with Andrea about hungry American tourists. Everyone loved the food, although I would have been happy to eat nothing but bread. I had tagliolini (basically linguini) with clams. It was outstanding. The best dining experience we had and basically my fantasy of what Italy would be like.

After lunch we walked through the Trastevere area, a place recommended to us by Mike Wilson and Andrea. I'm not sure what were supposed to find there, but evidently we missed out on whatever cool things were there because it ended up being 45 minutes of aimless walking in the heat. The group then split with Ilya and I headed towards the Circus Maximus, the ancient racetrack. We knew it was no longer standing, but the completely bare dirt and grass area was really uninspiring. We walked past various ruins, including the Forum buildings (which I missed in the morning) and ended up back at the Colosseum. From there we decided to head back (man my feet were dying) and stopped at the Trevi Fountain to relax.

There I saw the back of Aikta and Kanika Wahi's heads sitting at the top step. I stuck my head between them and said something like, "Hello, ladies." At first they ignored me, thinking I was some vendor (perhaps planning to braid their hair?). Aikta pointed out that most of the walking vendors were Indians. Since she speaks Hindi she had had a number of conversations with them. Some were almost outraged that she could more clearly communicate "I'm not interested, go away." The Wahis had discovered a store just off the square that sold the 1.5 liter bottles of Coke for $1.70. It was pretty shocking to find such a decent price in the heart of Touristville.

For dinner we went to a nice restaurant, this time in the heart of Rome. After lunch I didn't care if we went to McDonald's (which Ilya and Charlie had done the afternoon before, sigh). They served a solid lasagne as the first course and then followed it with a big chicken patty (Tim described it as the world's biggest McNugget, keeping with the McDonald's theme). All those who had it, however, said it was really good. I had a weird non-breaded eggplant parmagiana. I wasn't very hungry so I just let Nick C. inhale it. For dessert they gave us fresh pineapple.

But the real dessert would be our final gelato. We went to yet another previously unvisited piazza and had what I thought was the weakest gelato of the trip. Ilya filled up his camera with a mini-video of Signore Gelato eating his final spoonful of the dessert. It was a bittersweet moment.

We returned to the hotel, played some more hearts, now with Nicole Humphrey as a fifth. Ilya accidentally shot the moon, but fortunately did not win the game. I didn't either, so you know there had to be a full moon or something.

Breakfast at the Hotel Nordland. Enough said.

Because of the timing of our flight Andrea told us we'd be leaving at 10:30. The wake up call would be later as a result. Apparently the hotel wasn't entirely in agreement and around 9:15 they called each room to tell us to GET OUT. No big deal, we always had cards!

Andrea helped us get checked in and then took Patrick Bieli and I to figure out how to get our tax refunds. After lots and lots of walking back and forth we finally got our customs stamp and said arrivederci to our outstanding tour guide. They told Patrick (but not me) to get the money from the office in Terminal C. Unfortunately, our gate was in Terminal B and there was apparently no way to get to Terminal C. So we'd have to wait for Copenhagen.

The flight to Denmark was uneventful. A flight attendant told us that the Copenhagen Airport was renowned for its shopping. And after visiting that airport, we could certainly see why. It was gorgeous. Super clean, tons of shops, everything under the sun. Patrick and I quickly located the tax refund spot, got American cash and for the few leftover cents some useless (to us) kroners. I then also exchanged my euros. We had been told that they accepted kroners, euros or dollars at all of the stores.

We had a few hours to kill so we decided to get lunch. Most of the restaurants looked really expensive (prices were usually listed in kroners and euros). We settled on a cafeteria-style restaurant. I discovered that hamburgers and fries were semi-reasonably priced (something like $8). When we saw the enormous size of the patties, it seemed a really good decision. Layton and the Pumas also got hamburgers or cheeseburgers. The soda, however, was ridiculously expensive, something like $6 for a large. They also charged 20 cents for condiment packages. The meal ended up being more than we could handle -- and a great idea when we saw some of the weird food choices on the final flight.

I swapped places with Nicole so she could sit next to Erin and Allison Gretsuk. I sat next to Lauren, Jean and Aikta. We realized with some dread that seated behind us were two toddlers, a boy maybe 1 1/2 years old and a girl about 3. The boy kept kicking Lauren's seat and as he was eating kept slapping his father. Their cries and howls would sporadically boil up, but with headphones on, it wasn't too bad.

I watched both Phone Booth and Chicago on the way home. I was pleasantly surprised with both films. The premise of Phone Booth appealed to me merely as a filmmaking stunt. Although there were some major plot holes, I thought it was an effective thriller. I don't think Chicago was a great film worthy of the Academy Award, but it was extremely well done. The best aspect of the film -- and this was a genuine surprise -- was the camera work and cinematography. A surprise considering that the director had only done stage work previously. The story is remarkably thin (gee, a musical with a thin plot?) and lacking in any relevance or significance, but the craftsmanship was evident in every other aspect of the film. I get why people liked it so much; I'd just like "great" to be reserved for films that aim a bit higher.

We landed in Newark, got through customs and found that yet again Scandinavian Air had lost two of our bags -- Nick C.'s and Dan's. As of this writing (six days later), Nick's has been recovered but Dan's hasn't. Other than that whole losing 2/29's of our luggage, their airline was a pleasant surprise. And after the obviously wholly unrepresentative time spent in the Copenhagen airport, I'm starting to think about visiting Scandinavia in the coming years.

This trip was pretty fantastic. The food was better than France by leaps and bounds, and the Hotel Olimpia was ideal. Although I was disappointed by Venice, I'm glad I saw it. Rome was great, although it still paled in comparison to the beauty of Florence. If I have any regrets about the trip, it would be not bonding with as many people as I was able to in France. Part of that is obviously due to the size of the group and the composition of the group. Some people came with their friends and spent the bulk of their time with them. And there's nothing wrong with that; after all, they're the ones paying for the trip! And some of the people I was already close to gave a little more attitude than I cared for. When you're the person primarily responsible for the safety of 25 students, it's your prime directive to be cautious. I could have done without the rolls of the eyes and sarcastic comments when I asked people to stick together, walk faster, or keep their voices down. I'm sure nobody meant anything by it, but it was pretty wearing as the trip went on.

With that said I did have a particularly nice time getting to know a lot of the folks on the trip better. Nick Confuorto may be the world's most gregarious person. Katie Brock among the most friendly and curious. And Dan Halverson revealed himself as a man of taste with a sly sense of humor that I didn't know he had. The Pumas are so cool, so laid back. I can't help but imagine how wonderful they'll be as parents. And Layton did his job, giving me a proverbial slap early on when I was deep into my bitching and moaning mode. We had a great time and I'm looking forward to traveling with the three of them and hopefully some of the juniors again.