Our new form of torture for visiting relatives is to take them on a walking tour of the city, ending up (as shown above: Allen’s sister Nancy, brother-in-law Gene, sister Mary, and Allen) at the bridge connecting Elizabeth Taylor’s and Richard Burton’s houses (the ones they bought here before they were married, and had to carry on their affair discreetly in).  The tour involves going up and down oh, say, 400 steps or so (each way), preferably in the blazing sun.  We do this in order to contribute to the local economy in the form of taxis, which our guests invariably insist upon from that day forward, and also to connive our way into a good meal, by making the visitors grateful to reach the vegetarian restaurant.  (This strategy completely backfired yesterday, as Planet Vegetariano was completely packed, and we ended up at No Name Bar eating burgers and ribs and fries and buckets of beer – is it conceivable to stray any further from our plan?)   We’ve discovered that each step along our journey has been preparation for the next: we stayed two weeks in Andrea’s 4^th floor walk-up to prepare us for five weeks of this (and to remind ourselves to pack light).  So our experience here can only mean one thing: a year on the Amalfi coast!