What I thought I was signing up for when I dug my passport out of a dresser drawer was something along the lines of the movie “If It’s Tuesday This Must Be Belgium,” where you get on a bus with a bunch of strangers at the beginning of your trip and a tour guide shepherds you through all of your travels like Lassie and you make friends and sit back and wait for the next stop, your biggest worry whether your camera batteries will hold out.
Day One…we’re not in Wisconsin anymore.
As night fell, I checked out the “rooftop garden” of my hotel, which advertised a happy hour of drinks and hors d’ouevres on signs posted in the lobby. No happy hour seemed in progress, but I introduced myself to a few Californians and ordered dinner and a glass of wine from the bar, sharing my pizza funghi e prosciutto with them under a gleaming white moon. They were leaving Rome the next morning to return to their cruise ship. I sighed, and thought that I’d surely meet my fellow travelers the next morning.
Day Two…viva gelato!!
To be continued…