Wet

Must be quick, as I’m at an Internet cafe in Florence, Italy, using an Italian keyboard, and working against the clock.

Loved the transit from Rome to Florence, which included stops in two charming little towns. I would have loved to roam the streets on my own, with Clyde in tow, but, as we’re with Gate 1, we were compelled to follow the guide with all the other passive guests.

Today, took in the original David and had a good time shopping in street markets on our own. The weather, alas, turned foul — much cold rain — and Clyde and I found ourselves wandering the streets of Florence … lost. The rain soon soaked my jacket and his shoes. All the streets looked alike. The landmarks didn’t help us. Worse, we didn’t even know the name of our hotel.

All’s well that ends well, I suppose, as we found our way back to the Grand Covour and to this Internet cafe … but not before spending two hours in soggy clothes in near-freezing temperatures over unfamiliar territory.

Don’t misunderstand: I’m loving the trip … but in a foul mood just now, and more likely to focus on, say, how miserable I felt earlier than I am to write about our great lunch or last night’s surprisingly enjoyable dinner at a touristy "farmhouse," where we enjoyed all-we-could-eat pasta, chicken, pork, and lamb, downed with several bottles of wine.

Tomorrow will be a challenge, as many shops and museums close on Jan. 1st, and, at this point, we may be sitting in the hotel lobby playing poker with my Tarot cards.

PS: While I’m griping, I might as well get everything out of my system at once. The folks at Gate 1 should recognize that almost everyone keeps in touch by means of a remarkable invention called The Internet. Booking us into hotels without wireless Internet service or an in-room high-speed connection is cruel, but booking us into hotels that don’t even have a terminal in the lobby is practically criminal.