Random Thoughts that Don't Go Anywhere Else

Romeo
One night in Florence we saw an Italian man yelling up at a woman leaning out a window. "Elisa, let me in! I love you!" You can't make this shit up.

Slow Food
I saw a sign in Florence advertising a free bus from one McDonald's to another (hosted by McDonald's). Seriously.

On the Road
Americans have one of two reactions when they find themselves in front of other Americans while traveling:
1. Immediately make friends and ask where they're from. Like how dogs make friends with other dogs. (I'm not suggesting Americans are dogs. It's just the same kind of friendliness.)

2. Shamefully avoid eye contact and pretend you don't understand what the other person is saying, while still speaking in English yourself.

I generally opt for #2 until it becomes awkward, then launch into #1.

Canadians
What is it with the Canadians and their need to wear a flag all the time? I saw one girl with the flag on her socks. It's like they're desperate to make sure they're not mistaken for Americans.

Bars
I wish we had a bar on every corner that sold espresso, pastries, and sandwiches, and stocked a full alcohol shelf. I loved going into these bars for breakfast and seeing the regulars stroll in for their coffee and a quick chat.

Barbers
I highly recommend getting your hair cut in foreign countries. But you have to go to the old school barbers, not salons. I did this all the time while on our honeymoon trip, and once in Italy. For very little money, you're in a non-tourist zone, with the soccer team banner on the wall, the straight blade razors, the odd photos of whatever, the local sports rag on the bench, and gruff men hanging around. If you can get a shave, do it. This is always super refreshing and scary. It's particularly cool in Italy because you feel like you're going to get whacked as you're getting the shave.

Of course, even for me, the quality of the cut is a crapshoot at best, so there is some sacrifice involved.

Hard Work
Every afternoon, you'd see hordes of semi-conscious tourists collapsed on every available surface near the Fountain of Trevi or the Spanish Steps. Some actually dunked their tired feet in the water. I also watched one Spanish family self-destruct on the bus. The dad, an overweight sweaty fellow, threatened to beat his teenage daughter if she didn't shut up. He was stubbornly holding up some GPS device, so I'm guessing there was a disagreement about directions. "Ask the bus driver about it!" he yelled at his wife. The grandmother looked on stoically, as if wondering why she was with these idiots. Honestly, dragging your grandmother around Rome in that heat should be considered elder abuse.