That Business Class ticket was f-r-e-e, Kristopher, because they had no room on economy for me until next month. Jerk.

This is just a short howdy-doodee, and to let everyone know that all roads do indeed lead to Rome, since I am now roasting my toes in the Roman sun.

So far, I’ve gotten ripped off only twice, and gotten lost only about a zillion times, thanks to my guide book’s awesomely terrible maps. And this isn’t just me imagining things; the maps this guide book provides, although it is a National Geographic publication, has only major roads labeled. Which means that only one out of 20 streets is labeled, which means that I am lost only 80% of the time, but hey, the pictures are absolutely great. TimeOut Rome wasn’t in the bookstore, so I had to content myself with this, and I’m not about to buy a book without pictures, because then I won’t have anything to look at when I’m lost.

I guess I’m one of those tourists everyone hates, but more on that later.

So Digression 1: How Adrianne got ripped off, or No More Ms. Nice Girl

There was supposed to be someone waiting for me at the airport when I got off the plane. Since this place I am staying at temporarily is a converted monastery, I was expecting a football team’s worth of monks or priests to be present in full force, each one holding a sign for “Mrs. Gyorfi” (judging from their emails, the person I was communicating with from this place thought I was married) and with the holy communion ready to be administered. Not so! That would have been too simple! My plane was late, and then, surprise of surprise, my baggage didn’t arrive. Rather, I THOUGHT it didn’t arrive, because I waited at the CORRECT baggage claim for one full hour before giving up. So my plane was late 45 minutes, then I was an hour with the baggage, which turned into more since I waited in line for luggage service, then changed my mind to see if my luggage might not be at another baggage claim, and makes sense it would be at a baggage claim of an airplane that didn’t have the itinerary that I had.

So baggage finally collected, I went out to the waiting area. There were no priests. There were no monks. In fact, there was no one waiting for me, and I wasn’t too surprised, since I was pretty late. Therefore, I just went over to an ATM, took out some Euros, and proceeded to enlist the service of a taxi.

I love taxi rides, and this was no different. Although I had no enlightening conversation with the taxi driver, he did the usual creation of lanes where there would be no lanes, and the typical fast driving. By the time we reached Rome, we were getting along famously: me speaking in slow Spanish and him countering in very fast Italian. But we got the point across, and that point was mostly that he had no idea where the hell he was going, because he never went to this street, but well, he’d take me to the area and see what he could do.

So we got the street finally.

“Muchas fiestas,” he told me as he reversed in the opposite direction into the one way street where my accommodations were.

I don’t know if that’s just the same in Italian, or if he was speaking Spanish, but I got the idea. Lots o’ parties. The area, Trastevere, I’m in, according to my guidebook with the shitty maps, is a place where the Romans are the real deal since “the residents of this area consider themselves to be the true descendants of the ancient Romans,” and everyone knows Romans liked their banquets wild.

Then I had to pay him. I discovered I magically had 50 Euros less than I was supposed to have. I could see only 2 logical explanations for me not having as many Euros as I had gotten from the bankomat:

1. Someone had reached into my bag, had taken my wallet, fished out only 50 Euros, and had considerately put my wallet back.

2. I know I put all the money I got at the bankomat into my wallet and none had fluttered out onto the sidewalk, so I had received the wrong amount from the get go.

I stood there wondering what in the world I was supposed to do then, since he was looking at me expectantly with starved eyes. So what was I going to do? I gave him an obscene amount of American dollars. Hurray. Roman Rip off #1, and let me tell you, IT IS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN AGAIN.

Digression 2: How Adrianne Gyorfi Got Ripped Off the Second Time, or Adrianne’s Disillusionment with Religious Orders

Then I got to my lodgings. And I had to pay for the services of the shuttle I didn’t use, since these people are unmerciful and if you called for the shuttle, were late, shuttle left, and you didn’t use said shuttle, you still have to pay. I wasn’t about to get on the bad side of a couple of people who would have a say as to whether I’d get into heaven or hell, so pay up I did.

An American in Rome. I just got back from a sort of odd night out, but more on that maybe tomorrow. Let me just say that when you’re abroad, you run into a couple of unexpected people, and me mostly, since I have a penchant for attracting curious people.

This one's for you, Agi. My hair looks like that for about 3.5 seconds. Then I go outside. Sorry it's one of those pictures I took myself, but I had no choice.