Barefoot in the Park with You-Know-Who

I keep telling myself how lucky I am that Murphy didn't make much of an appearance on my trip so far.
Weather has been remarkably good almost everywhere. No lost luggage, no delayed flights or missed connections, no unfortunate accidents... Hardly any tummy dramas...
But I guess I knew all along that he will eventually show up. And show up he did. With a vengeance.
So I booked the ticket to see Liza in Rome, knowing that it's literally a once in a lifetime opportunity and that she's not gonna be with us forever. (I actually had doubts she was going to make it to the end of the week).
And that's when things started to go horribly wrong.
The Italian government has done something to really anger the public. Had to do with how they pay uni professors or something along those lines. As a result, the entire student population took to the streets to protest. Every day of the week. And pretty much every street.
That made getting to the concert (or getting anywhere really. Rome doesn't have much of an underground) a truly royal pain.
Then it started raining. It hasn't rained at all until then. It hasn't rained afterwards. But on that one day it rained the entire monthly average. It was absolutely pouring down.
If that's not enough, the power to my block was cut the night before. I assumed it would be resumed within an hour or so. God was I naive. I can only imagine the Italian Electricity company people going: "Out?? To fix what?? Can't you see it's raining??? We fix when spring arrives". So I was without power for a good 36 hours...
So there I am, in the pouring rain, after having a cold shower (cold!!!) walking to the concert.
At some point I thought I'd outsmart the rain and get an umbrella. Wrong move.
As soon as I got it, the rain turned from annoying to horrendous. It was like walking through a huge fishtank. My umbrella went "You're kidding me, right?" and turned into a useless piece of you-know-what.
The concert was taking place in this enormous complex. The rain was so heavy it was actually almost impossible to find - you just couldn't see anything.
By the time I got there I was soaked. And I mean soaked.
Not just the obvious. Everything. All the way to my undies. Inclusive. Every single piece of paper in my wallet. My shoes and socks were just a joke (at some point you stop avoiding the puddles because, quite frankly, what's the point).
So there I am, not only soaked but also visibly under-dressed (the rest of the crowd stuck to suits, ties and evening dresses, and was surprisingly dry).
But hey - what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?
So I took off my shoes and socks, which doubled the looks opf distaste I got from the fancy Italians and sat down soaked amongst the creme de la creme of Roma and had an awesome night.
Trying to find a way to upload the video. Not sure I can...

Men (and Women) of God

One of the first thing to strike you in Rome, is just how many priests and nuns you see everywhere. Young and old, of any race, any age and wearing any imaginable colour (well, any imaginable grim colour).
There are HEAPS of them.
They are also very well respected, especially the nuns. They are the only thing that would make an Italian driver stop and give way. Red lights are only recommendations, but a nun - a nun can cross the road anywhere, anytime.
And Rome's men and women of God are different than the priests you see back home. Back home you see priests (on the rare occasion that you actually do see one) pretty much on their way to church or on their way back. That's about it.
Here they are all over the place.
Eating a slice of pizza in some hole-in-the-wall pizzeria. Slurping spaghetti at a restaurant... Going out at night in a pair of Armani Exchange Jeans (where do priests go when they go out??)
There's this one priest who seems to have a bit of a... ummm.... problem. I have been spotting him at this one bar pretty much all night every night, always with a half empty bottle of cheap red.
And if you ever wondered where priests buy their clothes, you obviously never been to Rome. They have priest shops here with everything – from the fancy collars to a myriad of accessories, to pretty flashy socks. Not sure why, but priest socks are very vibrant – red and purple!
But my favourites are the Roman nuns. Especially the ones that you see around street corners having a quick smoke before they have to go back to class (or whereever it is that nuns spend their time). You can just imagine their gossip... Who said what to whom and who is behaving like a tart at class... Love it.

Crazy Old Lady

It's time I mention the crazy old lady.
The crazy old lady is old. Very old. If I had to guess I' say she's ninety-plus and doesn't look a day younger.
I'm not sure where exactly she lives, but I think it's actually just across the road, with the nice nuns.
The crazy old lady loves her strolls. I see her probably twice a day (at least) every day, always dressed up, with a fancy hat, usually with one of those 1950's nets and flowers... Not sure it's what she should wear, the look is a bit too revealing for someone who was born around the first world war, but she does have style. Imagine ummm maybe a really old Blanche Dubois, or Bette Davis on steroids...

When I just got here, she would smile at me whenever we crossed paths, and say something that sounded nice (I want to think that she offered to have my baby, but I have no evidence to support it).
Anyway, after a few times that she said those nice things, I thought I should greet her myself, and the next time I saw her I uttered a Buongiorno... Just a nice hello, you know.
It didn't go down well. She screamed something and tried to get as far away from me as possible.
Ever since, our encounters have been really tense, Sometimes she just gives me dirty looks, sometimes she yells something. The other day as I was returning home, she started yelling AIUTO! AIUTO! (which I think means HELLLLLLP!) and pointing her umbrella at me. The other day she told the dude that works downstairs that I drove past her and got her all wet. Which is obviously untrue, seeing that I have never driven in Rome (and never will...)

So yeah – I don't know how I can fix my relationship with the crazy old lady. Maybe I never will...

Receipts

Italians are obsessed with receipts. Apparently it is not only mandatory for them to GIVE you a receipt, it is also mandatory for you to TAKE it with you. If a policeman chooses to stop you carrying your groceries back home, and you don't have a receipt... Well, that could be trouble.
That's why every food shop has two layers of people- the ones that do something (like make your coffee or give you your pizza) and the ones that take your money and give you a receipt.
And this is how it works. You walk into a store. You decide what you want – say... a piece of cake. Then you go to the till. Obviously you don't know the name of the cake you like, so the till lady yells at the cake man something to the affect of “what does the crazy american want?” the cake man tells her and she then takes your money and gives you a receipt. You then go back to the cake man, with the receipt and get your cake.
It's a little bit of a pain, but I guess it keeps unemployment low.