I had a lovely photo of Allen and me sitting on the bed in our hotel room sharing a bottle of wine, a hunk of cheese and a loaf of bread for our anniversary dinner, but you'll just have to use your imagination since I can't access my own computer!  (Note to file: when traveling abroad with your computer, you need not only a plug adapter, to change the shape of the prongs, but a high-quality current converter with a surge suppressor -- not the kind made for shavers and small appliances -- or you'll fry the circuits!  Thanks to the graces of the internet and UPS, I'm expecting to have the parts I need shipped to our hotel shortly...)

So in place of pictures, I will regale you with tales of Rome.  We didn't have lots of impressions, since we spent most of our time sick in bed or waiting in line in the post office.   Post offices in Italy are places where people go to spend their day.  They pay their bills, file all kinds of official forms, perhaps even mail packages.  There was a major upgrade this year in the form of ''take a number'' tickets, so that it wasn't just mass pandemonium fighting for a place in line.  The  clerks are surly but the customers who aren't mad at you for being ahead of them are very interested in your business, and in our case were very helpful, with all kinds of opinions about how to fill out and file our forms.  It only took about 2 hours waiting in line to get the forms, 3 or 4 hours to fill them out (with help from a native Italian), a trip to the tobacconist to get $15 tax stamps, a trip to the copy shop (which was a story in itself...nothing like Kinko's, just a sweet old man with ancient machinery copying one page at a time, and then counting them by hand to come up with a price), another wait at the post office to file the forms, another trip to the ATM to come up with more money (you would not believe how much cash this required!), another wait at the post office to pay the fee...and that was after negotiating the bureaucracy in DC to get a ''police clearance" form (don't ask...)  Thank God for our wonderful (but very, very distant) relative Cecilia, who helped us through the whole , mystifying process.

The trips to the post office allowed us to get a birds-eye view of the parking situation, which wasn't pretty.  Apparently there are no rules about it.  You can park forwards, backwards, sideways (YES, the opposite of parallel parking - vertical parking?) or at any kind of angle.  You can have any part of the car on the curb.  In fact, you can just park right on the sidewalk.  Or double park, don't bother to leave the lights flashing or come back any time soon.  Crosswalk?  No problem.  Corners, fire extinguishers, driveways, entry ways -- it doesn't matter.  The real challenge is for pedestrians; not only do you take your life in your hands every time you cross the street, you do it every time you walk on the sidewalk.  Cars and vespas just come up on the sidewalk, or more frequently, they just park in the whole sidewalk, bumper to bumper across every intersection, so there's no way to get OFF the sidewalk.  Which is why Italians walk in the street.  They love their cars, or should I say they love having their cars, because they don't seem to care what kind of shape they're in.  We chalk this up to one major factor: how far could a person possibly walk in those high heels?

The hotel experience is also an interesting one.  Americans have chain hotels because they like routine and predictability.  You stay at a Holiday Inn or a Ramada or a Hilton -- you know exactly what you're getting.  Italians don't "do" chain hotels.  Each has its own little eccentricities.  Either the TV won't work or the shower is too small to turn around in without knocking the temperature handle, maybe it will have shampoo but not soap -- but the desk clerks and bell hops are immaculately dressed and attentive and responsive to any request.  And they don't hassle you over expenses for things like phone calls or water from the minibar.  

Eating and shopping take some getting used to.  The stores are all closed between about 1:00 and 3:30 for lunch, which is the only time that restaurants are open for lunch, then they're closed until dinner, which doesn't start until 8 pm.   Apparently they need a 2.5 hour lunch break so there's time to mail a letter.  You can get food any time at a "bar", which is not what we think of as a bar, but more like a Starbucks - coffee and some sweets and sandwiches.  Then they usually eat at these bars standing up, for which we have two possible explanations:  could anyone really sit in jeans that tight?  Or, since "coffee" means espresso, which comes in thimblefuls, how long could it possibly take to drink it? 

We're off for Catania now...will check in tomorrow!