so you guys like rome, right?

Well, here we are, in the evening of our third day is Rome, and I have to say, this is easily my favourite city we've been through so far. Not only is the weather totally perfect (well, hot as the bowels of hell, really... but it's a good heat, you know?), but you can't swing a swarthy Roman guy anywhere in this city without hitting some amazingly historic and beautiful architecture. Our room's location certainly helps, of course, being a block away from the Spanish Steps and a million other things, but seriously; there's so much to see that you don't even really see it anymore. When we were in London and seeing all the crypts of a thousand years of English kings and queens in Westminster Abbey, I was floored by the history of everything. Here, though, we routinely walk by churches and statues that are hundreds of years old, and most of the time we don't even stop. It's weird--and it makes me feel silly for ever having marveled at a 100-year-old building in Edmonton.

On Sunday, we did some shopping on Via del Corso (I bought a couple shirts, some pants and a jacket, so expect some serious Eurotrash assholery from me when we get back) and then walked down to the Pantheon, which was built in the 2nd century AD and shit, and as such is awesome. And domey. After that, we walked a couple of blocks south and saw this excatvated half-block pit in the middle of the business district called Area dell'Alexandra (or something close to) that houses some of Rome earliest ruins; of four temples in there, the oldest dates to the 3rd century BC. Oh yeah, and it also contained the actual, exact spot where Julius Caesar was murdered on 14 March, 47 AD (or is it 44 AD? It's been a while since Classics). This was great and all, but the best thing was that the ruins double as a sanctuary for Rome's homeless cat population, which meant that there were hundreds of really lazy kitties lounging around, stretched out in the shade amongst all this awe-inspiring history. I don't know what it says about us, but we probably spent more time just watching this one young cat trying to get this old, angry cat to fight with it than we did staring at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel today. What can I say? Cats are rad.

So Rome is a crazy place, so much different than London or Paris--it's mostly the sheer amount of street peddlars that give it that sense, I think. They're everywhere here, selling knockoff Burberry and D&G handbags, fake Prada sunglasses, and most annoyingly of all, roses at night by the monuments. Seriously, these guys are the worst: they walk up all happy and thrust a rose out towards the girl, and if she says no, they're like, "no, it's okay, it's free. Just take it." And then you do and walk away, but then the guy's following you, making small talk and then he starts saying that you bought the rose and asking for pretty much anything you have. And the more you say no, the more they persist, until they're insulting you for being cheap, but really you just don't want their shitty flower you just watched them soak in the Trevi to keep from dying.... Fuck. There's no reprieve. Except the old fork in the eye. That gets 'em every time.

But this is a trifling detail, and otherwise it's been a phenomenal trip. It's hard to believe that we've been doing this for two weeks already and that we'll be back on Saturday--made even harder to believe by the fact that we have a hard time remember what we've done from day to day, but hey. It'll be nice to be back, in a sad sort of way. But one way to make it way less sad, Dave, would be to have a BBQ. Hell of an idea; let's do it up--we're back in the early evening Saturday, so we could use a few beers later that night if that's okay. Just tell us what to bring.

And speaking of bringing, Dad, what do you want me to bring you back? I was thinking of grabbing a bottle of limoncello (a liqueur they make out of the leaves of lemon trees that we just tried at dinner tonight); if that sounds like something you'd like to try, let me know. It doesn't get much more Italian than that, really--unless it's delivered to your door by a sweaty guy with lots of chest hair and a $4000 suit, but I don't think I could sneak him through customs.

Anyhow, we've been drinking a metric shitload of wine over the last couple of days, and I really, really want a pint of beer. So we're going to go find that now. Talk to you all later, and if you run into the guy who keeps burning Edmonton the fuck down, tell him to quit it. Jerk.