I only cry when it Hertz...

What would a day in Italy be for us without fiasco upon fiasco? Thankfully, I'm still smiling. In fact, I'm pretty damn happy. The town we are staying in -- Montepulciano -- is divine. High in the hills and much, much cooler than Rome. Sadly, the hill also poses a bit of a problem. All the great shops and trattorias are at the bottom and mom is a teeny bit nervous as we make our descent for dinner.

I digress. I should start at the beginning.

I returned from my fabulous foray to Trevi Foutain and the Pantheon (which I realize I have been referring to as the Parthenon for several days) and mom is a bit beside herself. I've been gone for two hours and she was sure I'd been raped and killed. I remind her I am an adult and perfectly capable of taking care of myself. She says she was about to call the police. I tell her she needs to stop reading the murder mystery she's got her nose buried in.

We grab the bags and get in the cab that Lady Ana calls for us. Meter has been running for a while and is already at 6 euro when we get in after hugs, kisses and a gift of a pair of mom's fabulous earrings to our hostess. We've stayed a bit later than planned to mail off the extra stuff we accumulated without our luggage. Okay, fine... we did a little shopping, too. But when we arrive at  Mailboxes, Etc., we discover they are closed. That's the same result we had last night after I dragged the bag uphill for twenty minutes. We get in another cab to head to Termini Station. 

That's when mom remembers that we were supposed to leave town early for a reason.

We were supposed to pick the car up in Chuisi by 12:30 PM when the Hertz location closes -- for the weekend. It's 10:00 AM and thing aren't looking good for the home team. I have her get in line for train tickets while I get on the phone to Hertz. No cars in Florence, and no other options near our destination. Awesome. Well, if all roads lead from Rome... one has to take us to Montepulciano. 

Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner, and unfortunately, it won't be mom, who will probably have a heart attack when she finds out I'm driving us out of Rome. At least it's not on a Vespa! We jump in our third cab of the hour with a driver who is an absolute doll. He regales us with stories about a recent trip he took to America with his family. It was a shame to get to our destination so soon, as we were laughing and having a lovely time.

Which ended promptly when we arrived at Hertz.

The woman behind the counter clearly did not want to help us. She was miffed that mom had paid with her card and I would be driving. Though we had cleared this in the US when we made the booking, it was NOT ok now. We had also rented a GPS, and when I asked if she would show us how to operate it, she glared at me and said she already programmed  it in English. Then she had mom sign the damage waiver before we looked at the car. Record scratch, not okay with me, so I asked her to stop. She looked at me and said something about how we were already breaking the rules and they don't have enough cars to go around. Ok, ok... I'll just go take a look. There was, of course, more damage -- including a major dent under the passenger door. Not a ding, a dent. I walked back into the store and asked her to change the other copy she had ripped off and stapled to our re opt for their records. She refused and told me she wasn't renting me the car. I kind of ran out the door with the keys, snapped a few pics, threw the luggage and mom in and pressed go.

Driving in Rome? That was nothing compared to all the other stuff we've experienced. 

And the GPS was the best money spent on is trip. Until it died about 45  minutes away from our destination. We call Hertz emergency roadside assistance, which is busy. They say they will call us back. Emergency. Roadside. Assistance. We call the Hertz we picked the car up from, but since we don't understand Italian, we keep getting disconnected at the prompts. About eight times. We call the Hertz at the airport. Nothing. We finally get a call back from roadside assistance, who tell us the problem is the GPS, not the car. I discover later that isn't accurate, but it doesn't matter much. We will stop in Siena on Monday and get this sorted out before we head to the next town. We are hoping to ship stuff from there, too. 

 I won't be holding my breath on either account.

It isn't clear where we are supposed to go when we arrive in Montepulciano, but thanks to the directions we write down before the machine calls it quits and wonderfully marked roads, we DO actually arrive. Our new hostess is kind enough to meet us at the entrance to town and lead us through the winding back streets we never would have found on our own. There were flowers and a small birthday cake waiting for me when we arrived. I parked mom in the house with the luggage and went with Cinzia and her sister to park the car outside the city wall. 

Mom and I set out when I return. Literally right next door is a very old winery, which we wander into, marveling at casks reaching far above our heads. The cellar is brick, with cobwebs hanging from the black candelabras on the ceiling and walls. There are barrels upon barrels, and the musty scent in the air is a mixture of dampness and wood. It is magnificent, and we are sad to be kicked out for a large tasting that they have scheduled, though happy to be invited back later. We stroll down the road and come upon a board with all kinds of posters advertising events. One, a flute concert, is happening tonight. Now, actually. As in it started about 15 minutes before we saw the sign. We move as quickly as we can straight up to the Piazza Ricci to an international music school. I'm following the sound of the music, and we make it in time to hear about six different pieces.

I learn another thing today. I love music. That I knew. I'm a big fan of violin, adore cello, can appreciate the piano, a saxophone or trumpet. I do not like the flute. Please forgive me if you are a flute player, but who the hell picks that as the instrument they want to build a career out of? In a symphony, okay. But solo? Blech...

We haven't eaten much today... a roll for breakfast, a bit of cheese and buffalo salami in the car, and a small snack -- mozzarella and prosciutto on crostini -- after the concert at a small bar overlooking the countryside. We have glasses of white wine and a birthday toast. Then we head to the main square and take some pics before the long descent to poke in shops and eventually grab an actual meal.

So we've come full circle. Mom's blogging tomorrow since I'm coming down with something. Vacation colds have summer colds bat, hands down. I think we plan to take it easy tomorrow. Sleep in. 

If you read my post from this morning, you already know that sounds perfect to me.

Divide & Conquer

The place mom picked for dinner was a win. There were roving singers, an incredible antipasto plate, and too much charged on our bill... which was promptly removed when I pointed out the error. I'm glad I read up on dining in Italy. Common problem, apparently, leading several to suggest always reviewing your bill. Mom has ossobucco, which was amazing, and at her suggestion, I had lasagna. If at third you don't succeed, why try again? I can't explain it, still -- nothing. It was tasty, but I am not a convert yet.

Afterwards, we searched for that little gelato place from last night again. Is the gelato-related suspense killing you? Don't worry -- the official gelato guide at the end of the trip will hopefully make it worth the wait. This is definitely the best quality gelato, and we get two flavors a night to try and discern the best. Well, at least our favorites.

Before we left for dinner, I had another lovely game of charades with Lady Ana. She is really a sweetie, and I am finding that if I say a word in Spanish, she can often pick up what I mean. See... I did learn something in high school! tonight we talked about where else we plan to go in Italy, and why we've come. She is 63, but I would have imagined much older. People seem to age quickly here. 

We are plotting a course for tomorrow, which includes a tour of the Vatican and a tour of the Vatican post office, so we can ship some of the bounty we've accumulated home. I'm working in another siesta for mom, which I am sure I will appreciate, too, especially as I plan to run in the morning before we head out. In the afternoon... we plan to tour a crypt with mosaics made from monk bones -- a recommendation from friends in DC.

I like mosaics.

I've been thinking a lot about the Roman Empire. There are so many little colloquialisms that make much more sense to me now. One example -- Rome wasn't built in a day. Clearly. It took centuries of people trying to out do each other to create the masterpiece known as the "Eternal City." In that, though, there is something sad. It wasn't meant to leave behind something great for the ages. It was Flavius outdoing Nero, and Constantine  UNDOING them all. That brings to mind another example -- divide and conquer. Rome divided itself, and that brought about it's fall. 

As we look back at history, you would think we'd learn something. A great civilization, revered -- or feared -- by the world for a far reaching hand. Yet something as simple as one leader trying to exert his power over another brings about the end. In the US, we've exerted our control over others in a similar fashion. America the great, now divided within. And we watch it fall... mute.

What happened to united we stand, even against our own leaders, who fail us time and time again? 

Lady Ana vs. Lady Gaga

As I was enjoying my tea on the veranda this morning while mom was getting ready, Lady Ana came out to tell me how beautiful the opera music I was listening to was. I love that no matter what language you speak, music always seems to connect people. She says something about pop, indicating the rapid, loud beats, and that she much prefers this. Me, too, Lady Ana. 

But I can still rock out to some Lady Gaga.

We head out to catch the hop on, hop off bus tour of Rome that I bought with my Citicard thank you points. Excellent allocation of resources -- it is a fabulous experience. Except, of course, the open top. It's kind of a double edged sword... fabulous views, scorching sun. Mom says even though the seats are hard to get, the the best place to sit is the very front, otherwise the scent of every person in front of you blows past your nose. 

Regardless, we take the bus the full circle through Rome while listening to the history of each place. I am a little crispy by the time we get off at Piazza Venezia, the former embassy of the Republic of Venice, and wander around to look at the outside of the Foro Romano -- the Roman Forum. It's hot as Hades. I buy mom a hat to replace the strategically misplaced umbrella she was trying to poke my eyes out with in Capri, but it keeps blowing off her head. 

We find some relief after another short bus ride toward the Vatican, getting off near Castel Sant' Angelo (a.k.a. Mole Adriana, a.a.k.a. Hadrien's Pile, a.a.a.k.a. Castellum Crescentii...) for a peek. It's five euro, but again, money well spent. It's cooler inside the Roman mausoleum. One of the things we learned on the bus passing the place before was that in 590 AD, the year the castle received it's current moniker, Rome was afflicted by a severe plague. Pope Gregory I participated in a procession organized to pray for it'end and had a vision near the Castel 'Sant Angelo of the Archangel Michael sheathing his sword. It was interpreted to be a sign of the end of the plague, which, miraculously, came true. The site was renamed Mole Adriana and a statue of an angel sheathing a sword was placed on top to commemorate the celestial sign. The building has also been used as an outpost, a jail, and as our tour pamphlet describes -- a "splendid Renaissance residence." 

Splendid home sweet mausoleum.

We upgrade our bus tour to include a Tiber River cruise, which is not running on schedule. It is also not air conditioned and a glass boat... so it's kind of like a floating greenhouse. The heat puts me out and I sleep for the entire ride. Also money well spent as we are a tad exhausted. We disembark near the hip neighborhood, Trastavere, and pop into an internet cafe (the password is "pimpmyride" -- yes, really) where I unsuccessfully try to figure out how to load pictures onto the blog with an iPad. Anyone know how to do this? It is making me crazy, and I feel like you deserve some eye candy. In the meanwhile, mom sends emails to our entire family letting them know I won't leave the door open at night because I am afraid the people staying on the other side of the apartment are actually ninjas. 

Oy.

Speaking of, I've read about this place in the Jewish ghetto called Sora Margherita -- the place I mentioned that doesn't have a proper sign? Well, it actually does, but this doesn't make it easier to find tucked back off the main road. My taste buds thank me for the effort. We share Corcio Fo Alla Giudia (fried artichoke) and Fiore di Zucca (fried squash blossoms) to start. Yum. The artichoke is kind of like potato chips and the squash blossoms are to die for, stuffed with gooey mozzarella. Mom has veal for dinner and I have Agnocotti (basically, beef ravioli). It is delicious... the sauce wonderful and the pasta sort of tastes like egg noodles. 

I have, however, come to a sad conclusion. I tend to avoid pasta at home. I'm not a huge fan, and everyone kept telling me before we left that I just needed to have GOOD pasta in Italy. Well, I've had it twice now and it is official -- I just don't like pasta. I'm not really a picky eater, so I'll eat it and enjoy it. I just don't PREFER it. 

Likely won't be on my last meal menu in the Italian prison I'll get sent to when I buy one of these fake Prada purses from the street vendors. Believe me -- I'm tempted, but we read so much about big fines and such that I've shied away. Anyway, right now, my last menu would have lots of spinach on it. Or maybe some kale. Green things. I miss vegetables, which I know my trainer loves hearing, don't you Jeff? 

We got home excited to take a shower only to hear from Lady Ana that there is no hot water. Mom's screams were enough to scare the crap out of me, but I'm going to brave it anyway. Funny how we complained about the heat all day, and are now afraid of a little cold water, isn't it? 

I'm a princess. Really.

We have 20 foot ceilings in our room. There's a column in the corner and a whimsical metal headboard that sort of makes me feel like a princess. The doors to the veranda are ten feet tall, and the louvered design on the metal "screen" door reminds me of my apartment at home. Except now I wish I lived in Rome. 

The apartment is set up with a vestibule area, and the door to our room is one of those seamless ones that blends into the wall. There are a few other doors, but the only person that seems to be here is Lady Ana. She's made us breakfast this morning of some biscuits, rolls and coffee and tea, which she sets up on the veranda. I may be in heaven.

We are thrilled to be putting on our own clothes, and ironically, both choose a hot pink dress. Mom looked totally cute in hers with an orange belt she got in Sorrento around the waist, so I opt for black pants and a red off the shoulder shirt with some ballet style flats. We look very chic for tourists, if I do say so myself. Rome seems to be much more fashionable than the south, and it's nice to see men in suits and ties rather than oddly colored pants hanging off their butts and untied high top tennis shoes. I guess saying that makes me officially old.

Damn. 

We head out to Fontana Di Trevi, which when overrun by tourists, looks a lot less magical. We stop for cannoli (me) and gelato (mom) which means a trip back to the apartment. Blasted lactose intolerance. Just in case you were wondering -- that doesn't mean I plan to STOP eating my way across Italy any time soon!

We regroup and come up with a plan...  Piazza Di Spagna to see the Spanish Steps, then on to Piazza Navona for more fountains, and on to Campo 'de Fiore. We plan to have dinner in the ghetto at this place I read about called Sora Margherita, which has no sign above the door. That will be fun to find, but it is supposedly an institution in Rome, so will be worth the hunt.

LATER THAT DAY:

My feet hurt. I actually wore a hole in the bottom of one of my shoes. In retrospect, not the best choice for hiking around Rome for about eight hours! We hit all of our marks except one, but since we added in the Palazzo Barberini and the Pantheon, I figure we made up for it. We have a lovely lunch at Il Palazzetto overlooking the Spanish Steps, which are much shorter than I imagined they would be. We both crave vegetables, which doesn't seem to rank highly on any menu we've seen so far. Mom wants broccoli and I could go for some zucchini. We get salad -- which is at least green -- and a little tipsy from the wine. I can always tell when mom is a little drunk when her nose gets pink. It's her signature sign. I will ask all of you who know MINE to mind your p's and q's...

After lunch, we stroll toward the Piazza Navona to wander throughout the artist stalls. On the way, we come upon a demonstration near the parliament building, which also happens to be in front of the Pantheon. I actually really enjoyed the Pantheon, with it's massive foot-thick doors and incredible stone dome ceiling. And you didn't have to pay to get inside. We did pay earlier to get into the Palazzo Barberini -- totally worth all five euros. The art was amazing, but the frescoes on the ceiling were unbelievable. I literally couldn't tell that they were painted on a flat surface without really training my eyes on certain areas. Barberini (a.k.a. Pope Urban VIII), was a great patron of the arts and invested heavily in projects throughout Rome, hiring sculptor Gian Lorenzo Bernini and the architect Francesco Borromini to complete a lot of the work. The Barberini coat of arms features three bees, which can be seen all over Rome on statues and monuments commissioned by the pope, including Fontana de Tritone (the Triton fountain).

By the time we get to Campo 'de Fiore (decidedly not very impressive, supposed to be buzzing in the evenings, but all the shops seem closed when we arrive at 8 pm), we are still not hungry for dinner so we scrap Sora Margherita and hop in a cab home. It seems like we are always eating, but all we really had today was a few biscuits for breakfast, salad and gelato. We decide to nosh a little on cheese and salami from the factory at Paestum while watching Italian TV. We make up our own lines since we can't understand much of what is going on.

Believe me... our version is much more entertaining. 
 

Dove Trevi Fountain?

We arrived in Rome late, but totally lucked out with a great taxi driver who quotes us a price of 20 euros, then charges is half. This is after grilling me about my marital status, then proposing marriage when he discovered I am not married. Lady Ana meets us at the apartment. She is lovely, but speaks absolutely zero English. I have a lot of fun, though, figuring out what she is saying and am able to understand some things mom is not. Its very similar to Spanish... plus, I'm good at charades.

The place is amazing. Fourth floor, which is terrifying for a moment until I see the elevators. Great balcony, great location. It is just perfect. Mom is beat, but I'm anxious to go out. I unpack a bit then set out around 11:00 pm. I think she's nervous for me to go. I am at first as well. Strange city, single girl out alone. But then I accidentally run in to the Trevi Fountain. Yes, accidentally. Mother of God... what an awesome accident. I'm just wandering down the street hoping that I might find an Internet cafe and some gelato -- not to mention my way back home -- as I admiring the beautiful statues, buildings and fountains I am passing. I am still completely surprised when all of the sudden, I round a corner, and there it is in all it's glory. Stunning... an entire wall of fountain. It is brilliant.

Now, I could stay here typing to you at this Internet cafe where the waiter is mercilessly throwing himself at my feet (apparently, Rome will be quite different in that regard than the south of Italy), or... I could meander back and stare at this monstrous feat of architectural engineering and expert craftsmanship. What do you think I should do?

I wish it was a harder decision. Ciao!



As if there

ISO... best Napoli pizza, and our long lost luggage

Given how challenging life is as a pack mule just getting down the hill one last time, we've opted to forgo Herculoneum, but that gives me one more reason to add to a growing list of why I would come back here. 

While waiting at the Schiatzanno bus stop (pronounced ski-aht-sahn-no, which takes me a week to learn), there are some locals waiting in the shade across the street. At one point, I see what looks like the bus and begin gathering my things. The folks across the way come over and are not impressed to see a tiny tourist "train" ferrying passengers around the area for sightseeing pulls past. Scusi!

We stop at a store in Sorrento selling bags and I negotiate a deal on one with wheels and another more trendy shoulder bag. The strap ripped off my bag before we even got off the plane. The guy at the store is watching my flurry of packing activity with amazement. We are condensed and much more mobile in minutes. I think he may have applauded before he handed me a scarf for free, indicating I could use it to wipe my brow. 

Yes, Grandma -- I'm doing the heavy lifting. So I wonder why I'm so bent on working out given how much lifting and walking I'm doing. If my kilogram to pound conversion and Lucia's scale are correct, I've actually lost weight in Italy. Today, I carry four bottles of wine, all of the clothes I bought over the last few days, a bunch of toiletries, our travel materials, reading, my iPad and iPod, camera equipment, about six various chargers, a few gifts... and a partridge in a freaking pear tree. 

Now, let's go pick up our bags, shall we?

There are more musicians on the train, playing a song The Gypsy Kings does that I love. I'm mouthing the words with my head buried in my arms so as not to make eye contact. Eye contact costs money, proving we've learned a lot in a week. I wonder if when we "land" in Rome, if the learning process will start all over again. Maybe we'll get graded on a curve. 

Getting to the Naples airport isn't too difficult. We are offered a cab ride for 55 euro, but the bus costs 12 for both of us round trip. Don't you think that's a crazy difference? We just can't figure it out. 

Getting the bags takes a while, and when I'm ushered into the room where all the luggage is kept, I'm disheartened not to see it right away. They don't actually seem convinced they even HAVE mine. I find mom's tucked behind a luggage cart, and finally spot mine on the bottom shelf in another area. I can't wait to use MY shampoo, MY makeup and perfume. To wear a dress. To slip on my Vibrams and run through Rome. To fall asleep in my tank and the blue boxers with lemons on them instead of an airline-issued white t-shirt. I lean down and give my luggage a hug. Ti amo, bag.

We head back to the train station and check our bags to free ourselves to walk out for a bit. I'm adamant the day will not be a total loss, and ten minutes walk from the station is a pizza place touted to be the best in Naples, maybe the world -- Da Michele. The Condurros family has been making pizza since 1870. On my birthday last year, Julia Roberts ate here while filming Eat, Pray, Love. The place is pretty Spartan and the menu simple. They are famous for using only sweet San Marzano tomatoes and fiordilatte cow's milk. They have two kinds of pizza, pizza margherita and pizza marinara. We place an order for one of each and watch them making it in the brick oven. In just minutes, the pizza is on the table. A few more... in our bellies. 

I'm not big on pizza, but I must say -- the place doesn't disappoint. Mom says thanks, Dr. Selva, for the great tip! 

On the way back to the station. I attract a little fanfare of my own. A few Italian men call out "bellisima" while whistling. This is the first time anyone has been so aggressive, despite many queries from the home front on whether I've had my bottom pinched yet. The answer is no. Noticed, maybe. No touching, thankfully, but I hate to think what will happen when I don't look like a fashion fugitive anymore. 

In the meantime, we are watching the countryside pass on the train and listening to an operatic piece from Rigoletto. It will be dark when we arrive in Rome. That should make things fun.

I think we'll need gelato, STAT...

Good Morning, beautiful view!

As we were getting back on the bus to Massa Lubrense last night, at least two groups of people asked us how to get somewhere.

This makes me laugh. A lot.

I've spent the last week utterly frustrated by my apparent inability to get ANYWHERE, despite a concentrated and somewhat educated effort. And now, people are looking o me for guidance. Mama Mia.

It gets funnier. There's a Scot on our bus this evening who we joke with a bit about the trials and tribulations of getting from here to there. A few minutes after we board, I'm giving a young girl -- I think German or Polish -- advice on getting a bus card in the morning. The driver was nice enough to let her and her friends board tonight without paying (more on this in a moment.) I told her to make sure to get the three day Compania pass that will take them all over the region for 20 euro. 

The Scot comes back up to our seat afterward to say we've been here too long... he says, "You sound like a bloody tour guide!" Me... an Italian tour guide! Now THAT is funny.

On the bus fare thing... I have a theory I've been working on after watching people board the bus. The locals never pay. It seems like the only people who DO pay are tourists. I'm not complaining, but I do think Italy might make a dent in their financial problems by actually collecting bus fares from all passengers. Saturday night, there were about 30 teenagers from Sorrento to Massa Lubrense. At 2,40 euros per person... That's around 72 euros.

I'm just saying... it's a start.

We've decided to try to hit Herculoneum on the way to Naples to pick up our bags. The only issue is, we have a crapload of stuff and no new bags in which to carry said crap. I am quite sure watching us get down the hill looking like two pack mules will be pretty damn funny. 

I made a Caprese salad with the mozzarella we bought at the factory and the rest of Lucia's tomatoes and fresh basil. Yes, for breakfast! I tried some of the mozzarella, which I can barely describe. Simply cutting it was different. Commercial  mozzarella in America would cut in uniform slices. With this, the outside layer is more firm, almost like a shell, and the inside -- sort of crumbly in a way. This only breaks apart in softly held together chunks, bleeding a milky white liquid when cut. The taste is unimaginable... like cheese rather than a squeaky waxy imitation. It's sort of sweet and savory at the same time, but also delicate. This is the beat thing I've eaten in Italy. I tuck it in the refrigerator to wait for mom to wake up and take some tea to the roof overlooking Massa Lubrense, Capri, Vesuvius and the sea. 

I'm listening to opera -- something from Turandot -- as I watch smoke from one of this morning's fires roll lazily down the hill. One of the first ferries cuts through the water, making it's way to Capri. The sea is calm, the clouds low in the sky, hugging the water and the island. Drivers beep their horns to let other Italianos coming around the many blind corners know that they are there. A rooster crows in the distance as a cacophony of dogs sing to the new day. The tag from my tea flutters in the breeze, clinking against the side of my mug.

I'm feeling relaxed today. 

I've been thinking a lot about the stress of the last few days. My mom said something really poignant yesterday about being in a foreign country and needing to play by their rules instead of trying to get them to play by mine. That's tough for someone who is pretty used to making things happen. "Making things happen" leads to a lot of conflict, though, conflict I claim to loathe. And don't get me started on my preoccupation with getting a good deal, milking the most value from everything. It's how I make my money go further, which is greconflict it can also create conflict. For example, yesterday there was a tour boat to the Blue Grotto heading out, but I was convinced we could get a better deal. We waste a good 45 minutes looking for that better deal. Unsuccessfully. We ended up back where we started anyway.

Sometimes you just have to let it go. 

The path of least resistance will still get you to your destination.

This mosquito walks into a bar...

I hate to say this. I'm almost glad we are leaving for Rome today. Not because I don't love it here. Not because we aren't having fun. No... not even because of the luggage (which I am sure you will be shocked to hear is at the Naples airport, where we will have to now go out of our way to pick it up. When the guy I talked to Saturday seemed skeptical it would be delivered... He said, "Madame, tomorrow is Sunday," I decided to have them hold it there. Better safe than waiting, or worse -- missing our luggage again.) 

I'm happy because, if we don't leave soon, these mosquitoes are going to eat me alive. Mom hasn't been bothered by them, but I have at least eight, including several on my knuckles. Have you ever had a mosquito bite on your knuckle? Decidedly not cool. Last night as I was going to bed, this cartoon popped I to my head. I'll share...

Two suave looking Italian mosquitoes are flying around as church bells clang in the distance. One looks at the other and asks if he's hungry and wants to get a bite to eat. They hem and haw over what they're in the mood for, when they run into a third friend, flying slowly, rubbing his stuffed belly.

"Giuseppe, where have you been, my friend? We were just heading to dinner, would you care to join us?"

Giuseppe, slightly out of breath, responds in his squeaky Joe Pesce-esque voice...

"Luigi...," he gasps, "Francesco...," he puffs, trying to keep up, "If your are hungry, you must come with me! I found this great new American place in Massa Lubrense. The food is delicious!"

I itch.