The main reasons for our move to Portugal include, in no particular order, the desire to use it as a home base to explore Europe, to get away from our kids (just kiddin’), a burning desire to learn another language (Again, just kiddin’. It’s as difficult as I feared it would be.) because life is short and when we’re on our deathbed we want to feel as if we’d done as many things and gone on as many adventures as possible (not kiddin’), and, last but not least, to be able to retire early. Indeed, there is no way we could have retired in the US when we did, mostly due to its exorbitant health care costs (definitely not kiddin’).

In fact, just in case our positive view of European health care has been tainted by Portugal, we were excited to be exposed to another country’s health care (just kiddin’) after Carolyn popped something in her hip (Uh oh, a precursor to breaking a hip! We better get all this sightseeing done before our bodies give out!). She had to be taken to a hospital in Spain because she couldn’t walk on it. Turns out hips are pretty important for walking.

Anyway, she was seen immediately, they took X-rays (and even gave us the film as a souvenir), and announced that she had only three weeks to live. Oops. Wrong X-ray. Actually, she’ll be fine, but the whole visit, including the souvenir X-rays, was just north of 200 euros. In the U.S. the total billing would have probably been, oh, about one million.

I’m sorry, but anyone who still believes the propaganda that we need more freedom for the insurance companies to line their pockets with cash in order to provide proper health care, well, tell you what. Move to Europe, get sick, and see how they do it. You might just change your mind.

In any case, this particular road trip validated all of our thinking because we were able to hop in the car (This is before the hip problem. Hopping for Carolyn will be a bit problematic for another week or two.) and drive all over Spain and even into Morocco. We also were able to confirm that health care costs here will allow us to stay retired no matter where we go in the EU, and we even knew a little more Spanish because the Portuguese and Spanish languages are very similar.

I just had to get used to saying “Grathias” because in Spain they pronounce the “ç” like a “th.” For a while, I was saying “grathiath” because I thought it was only because everyone had lisps. Speaking of which, what numbskull decided the word for “lisp” should be “lisp?” Talk about adding insult to injury!

So we had four main stops on this particular road trip. First up was Grenada, Spain, the home of The Alhambra and (gre) nada else. And no, I’m not talking about Al’s ham bra you’ve heard so much about.

The Alhambra is a palace and fortress complex located in Granada, Spain. It was originally constructed as a fortress in AD 889 on the remains of Roman fortifications, and then was largely ignored until its ruins were renovated and rebuilt in the mid-13th century by the Nasrid emir Mohammed ben Al-Ahmar (Nasal for short) of the Emirate of Granada, who built its current palace and walls.

The Alhambra was the last holdout of the Moors in Europe until it was conquered by the Christians in 1492. Ironically, the whole thing started out as a big celebration because Christopher Columbus, who no one liked, had just sailed off the end of the earth, and they were ecstatic to be rid of him. The party turned into something of a riot, and the next thing that happened, moor or less, is that the Moors hightailed it back to Africa. But honestly that was mostly because they missed their camels and they were tired of the Spanish anyway.

My many rabid readers (okay, there’s only one, and it’s you! Wait! Don’t leave! I mean rabid in a good way!) may recall that I visited Grenada and the Alhambra with my two good friends Cale and John Lee back in January. I knew Carolyn would really appreciate it, so this, for me, is round two for Alhambra. I wanted Carolyn to see it, but I also wanted to see if anything had changed in the last six months. You know, just in case.

So without further ado, here are the pictures of that portion of our trip (if I had invented Twitter, it would’ve been limited to 144,144,144,144 characters), but yay! Here come the pictures!

The sun rises over the hills of Spain. Once in a while we accidentally take a shot that’s actually kinda pretty, so I thought we’d start out with that. It goes downhill from here.

I mean, immediately downhill.

Because first up is this shower shot from our hotel room. But it might help you understand why I’m so stupid. I keep hitting my head on all these low things. That bar went right across the middle of the shower.

And to complete the bathroom portion of this blog, below is an actual shot of our sink after we’d moved in. Notice anything unusual? Remember that I’m traveling with a woman. Unbelievably, she leaves no trace in the bathroom ever: no make-up, no curlers, no piles of bottles and gadgets whose use is a complete mystery to men. She’s awesome to room with, especially for a woman. Ha!

I guess they moved Elvas’s body to Spain after he died. Okay, I know it’s “Elvis,” but the Spanish have never been known for their spelling prowess. Otherwise they’d be called Spainish.

Grenada gets pretty hot. They erect shades in the summer to keep the sun off the tourists. On the other hand, these could be someone’s sheets being hung out to dry, I dunno.

Since I’d already been to Grenada and Alhambra, Carolyn took most of the photos. Sometimes I’d get tired of being in them, so I’d hide.

Grenada is a nice town with a vibrant touristy area. But the main reason to visit is the Alhambra.

So first up from said attraction is a short slideshow presentation of some roses from its many gardens. A rose by any other color is still a rose you know.

Now on to the rest of the Alhambra, presented in a mosaic, because there’s no way I can come up with interesting things to say with that many pictures. Not that I ever do, but hey; write your own blog if you’re gonna keep complaining. You might be rabid, after all.

So that’s The Alhambra after I edited out the 142 pictures with me in it. It’s a beautiful palace, with lush gardens and amazing architecture. Definitely worth a visit if you’re headed out Granada way!

For some reason, signs like this are like crack to an addict, as if cajoling me, “Go on! Go on! There must be something cool beyond this sign!” On the other hand, maybe they just don’t like El Paso, Texas.

After our tour of Alhambra, we took a walk up a big hill in Granada in very hot weather. That’s the Alhambra behind us. That’s us about ready to die in front of it.

As you can see Carolyn had become a bit overheated during the walk. Ninety-plus weather and a 40 (or was it 80?) degree uphill slope will do that to ya. The Sangria was just what the doctor ordered. Really. The Spanish medical system is that awesome. Anyway, we were treated to some of the best Sangria we’ve ever had, plus there was no deductible!

For you youngsters, “roger, wilco, and out!” is an old military term. But Wilco, our friend from Holland, elected to bring his partner Astrid instead of his other partner Out, so we have to make due with what we have, at least as far as headlines are concerned.

In any case, we were honored to receive a visit from these two royals from Holland. At least they said they were royals. We had to believe them because we don’t speak Dutch, so there was no way to confirm it.

Speaking of which, the combination of The Netherlands, Holland, and Dutch confuses me. Three completely different words. How do people living in Holland become known as Dutch? It’s like saying, “I’m from America, so I’m an Oopa Loompa.” They tried to answer my question as best they could, but in the end, they just threw me in the pool.

Here we celebrate their successful landing in Lisbon. We’ll only tell you how dangerous Lisbon’s airport is if we don’t want you to visit.

Here we serenade Wilco by belting out an aria from our favorite opera. He’s smiling now, but after a few more verses, he was ready to jump off the wall.

This is the scene from the aforementioned wall. The Sesimbra Castle dominates the skyline over Sesimbra, and affords impressive views, capture-able even by lousy photographers like me. And of course, we still like castles.

If that doesn’t look like the wave of a royal, I don’t know what does. His Secret Service agent is offering protection.

Carolyn’s gonna hate this picture.

The Dutch, at least insofar as one couple represents all of Dutchendom, seem to enjoy kissing a lot. I took to carrying around a spray bottle and would douse them anytime they got too carried away. The Portuguese are a shy people, which is why you don’t see a lot of Dutch people in Portugal.

Lunch by the sea with Sangria. Or is it Astrid? I’m bad with names.

Astrid enjoys a morning swim with her coffee. She was the only one brave enough to jump into the chilly water. Or maybe she warmed the water up by pouring her coffee in; the pool did seem a little darker when she got out.

There they go kissing again in front of the Cabo Espechel lighthouse.

One thing no one warned us about in regards to the Dutch is that shortly after their arrival, the city rushed in and began laying sewer pipe. I think the septic tank guy called them begging them to do this after getting tired of being called back to the house four times in one day just to empty the tank. This may be why they call all their territories The Netherlands: the Dutch do some weird things with their nether regions.

Wilco demonstrates his masterful pool cleaning skills. He is a very handy (and energetic) guy to have around. If Astrid ever dumps him, we’re gonna have him come live with us. Actually, we’ll take ’em both anytime!

This is the Pantheon (Panteo) right by our apartment in Alfama. Wilco pretends to be Rocky here, but he actually only ran up the last step.

Wilco is an aspiring model and Astrid is an aspiring photographer. Since it was a warm day, I was just a perspiring tourist.

Kissing again. And with the tongues now! Oh for heaven’s sake! Get a room!

Finally, a shot where they’re not kissing. Good God! Anyway, this is at Sao George Castle, which is one of the main attractions of Lisbon. In the background is the 25 de Abril bridge, which used the same blueprints as the Golden Gate Bridge. The Portuguese like to name things after dates, but they kind of messed up because there’s only 366 of those, which is why they decided to keep the country relatively small.

Still at Sao George Castle. While the castle dates back many centuries, it was in the late 14th century that the castle was dedicated to Saint George. You thought the “sao” (pronounced “sow”) was a pig, didn’t you?

Here Wilco demonstrates how to pickpocket a purse. We can’t show the next picture because there was too much blood. Don’t try and steal from Astrid, that’s all we’re sayin’.

I just had to take a shot of this electric car being charged by an extension cord dangling from the third floor.

We were in the middle of Lisbon (actually Commerce Square) before the World Cup match between Portugal and Iran was to be played. The mood was festive!

All in all, we had a wonderful visit with this delightful couple. In fact, I think Astrid and Wilco should write a book entitled, “How to Be a Perfect House Guest.” They were charming, interesting, funny, unobtrusive, helpful, easygoing, and Wilco sweeps a mean pool. Plus they offered to pay good money for each positive adjective.

We were very happy to have shown them around Lisbon as well as just chill out by the pool. They both work very hard, so this wasn’t just a visit to sightsee, they enjoyed the relaxing aspect of just sitting on our patio, soaking up the sun, and enjoying the company.

We also went to the nearby beach for an afternoon. The ladies insisted that I not take any pictures of them in bathing suits, but being the scoundrel that I am, I made sure we posed for a friendly passerby who took our shot. I’m sorry, ladies, you’re just gonna have to deal with it.

That’s it.

That’s all I got for this entry. There’s nothing more important anyway.

Good.

Aside from sex, food is probably humanity’s greatest physical pleasure. While people are understandably reluctant to ask others how the sex was in other countries, they certainly ask about the food! So I took pictures of an array of foodstuffs (don’t worry, I won’t publish any sex pictures) we encountered during our trip to Italy. Well, there is in fact one sex pic below. Apologies in advance to my Mom.

Speaking of which, this is about as sexy as chicken gets! Actually, the reason for this picture is that this is a “chicken salad” as ordered from the menu. Granted, it was in an inexplicably inexpensive restaurant on the outskirts of Rome, but still. Technically it is a chicken salad, if the recipe for one is as follows: Dump some lettuce on the plate. Throw a piece of cooked chicken on top. Voila! Even I can follow that recipe!

This was part of the menu of said restaurant. Yes, two euros for a Pizza marinara and three for a Pizza Margherita, which is pretty much their pizza staple. And they were of decent size as well. Although after the chicken salad I wondered if the Margherita pizza simply consisted of some dough with a margarita placed on top. Which would have been a great deal actually, but I was still throwing up from my hangover so had no desire for another margarita.

You can’t go to Italy without eating some spaghetti. I think it’s illegal, actually. So Carolyn enthusiastically stuffs her face to prove she didn’t need to be hauled off to jail.

This is how you store leftovers while in an AirBnB. Plus it’s further proof that we ate spaghetti in case they raided our apartment to check.

By the way, after you eat spaghetti, do you refer to it in the pasta tense?

Our companions were on a quest to find the best gelato in Rome, even being willing to brave this madhouse. The jury is still out on which was the best. Guess we need more tasting.

Speaking of madhouses, welcome to the asylum! Actually this was a very nice Michelin-rated restaurant (although none of the food tasted like tires, for which I was grateful) with rain forest decor and the finest group of traveling companions we’ve ever had the pleasure of being with. At least in April of 2018. In Italy. In that particular restaurant anyway.

Just like the two euro pizza restaurant, their servings were actually pretty generous.

You’d be a cuddle bunny too if you’d just imbibed two gallons of wine (which is 1.15 stones in metric, which is also 11.5 pebbles, or 11,111,111.5 grains of sand).

I can’t tell if this is before lunch, but it’s definitely after the two gallons of wine. Our Dutch friend Astrid is checking with me to make sure Carolyn’s really going to be okay.

Pastries are a big thing in Rome. After a polite sharing of the pastry by Wilco (he’s from Holland, so of course we went dutch on all the food), I demonstrate the advantages of sporting facial hair. You get to taste whatever you ate for a long time.

Unless it’s fish. After one unfortunate experience, I learned that you shouldn’t keep fish in your mustache. Anyway, if this handsome dude had a mustache, it would be like a Hitler mustache, only sideways. He’s better looking than Adolph either way.

On a tour we were told that Rome is like lasagna due to all of its archeological layers. So I made sure to order lasagna at the next restaurant we went. Here, our friends are comparing the photos they took of their own food.

I think the food you’re raised on may be the most important determiner of what you’ll like to eat for the rest of your life. I mean, I ordered frickin’ lasagna in frickin’ the heart of Rome, and I still like my Mom’s better. Even if she did make it with 30% fat hamburger, tomato juice mixed with flour (because sauce was more expensive), and lasagna noodles she rescued from the dumpster. Just kiddin’. But I do love my Mom’s lasagna. And my Mom.

Burro soap. Who would’ve thunk? I thought maybe it was good for cleaning, you know, your ass. Except burro means butter in Italian, which I quickly discovered the first time I washed my hands with it.

Now for the sex pic! These are the penis cookies I was so generously given for kissing a bride and giving her two euros. I promise I won’t make a joke about the dark one being bigger.

Aperol is an Italian apéritif made of bitter orange, gentian (which is a flower), rhubarb, and cinchona (which is another flower), and a secret combination of herbs. So with all those ingredients taken from a garden, it’s an essential component to a healthy diet. Here Wilco demonstrates a typical nutritious Dutch lunch.

After enough Aperol you’re about ready to kiss anyone. Although who could resist a handsome dog like Wilco?

Wine with dinner. A must in Italy. Along with being with a woman who doesn’t object to having her butt pinched. By me anyway.

The Italians must like their sweets. This is a shop filled with nothing but clever ways to make sugar look better, because of course the taste is otherwise so bad.

And that’s no yolk.

Are my puns driving you bananas?

I’m not sure what these are supposed to be. But it’s either a barrel o’ fun or 450,000 calories, or both.

There’s no doubt that eating sugar in the shape of a pizza slice gives you all the nutritional benefits of, um, sugar.

If you throw these in your mouth you get to claim exercise points while eating sugar!

The gorilla wasn’t licorice. In fact, it tasted a lot like plastic (and the store clerk didn’t appreciate me licking her ape).

Gelato. The King of Desserts as far as I’m concerned. In Rome, there are one of these shops every twenty meters or so. I think it might be by law.

The Romans eat so much fart-inducing food that they have hotlines you can call if your partner’s farting (or confartigianato in Italian) gets out of hand.

This puffy pastry looks delicious but it ain’t no gelato.

For the holidays, such as Easter, they go all out with their confections. In this case, these go in like a lamb, but out like crap. Actually not like crap, just crap, just like everything else you eat. My Mom still thinks crap is a swear word. At least I didn’t use the word shit.

Carolyn, honey, this should’ve been our wedding cake!

I think a sugar alien popped out of that egg.

It takes a lot of bread to live in Rome.

Cappuccino. The King of Hot Drinks. As demonstrated here by my queen.

Now you can say you’ve seen a plate of authentic spaghetti as served in Italy. The next day we took a tour through the spaghetti groves where we watched them harvest Angel Hair Pasta.

Carolyn demonstrates the proper way to eat spaghetti in Italy. You have to be careful because the pasta police can show up unexpectedly at any moment and give you a ticket if you’re not eating it properly.

This is supposed to be a one-person pizza. Between that and stopping at a gelato shop every twenty meters, it’s no wonder we gained 2 stone! (That’s 27.8 pounds.) Okay, maybe not two whole stones, but plenty of pebbles.

I haven’t got quite enough in my mustache for the rest of the day yet, although I’m saving the whipped cream on my nose for Carolyn.

Unlike many of our travel companions, we aren’t “foodies,” although I’ll try just about anything. Except I don’t really care for bleu cheese (they can’t even spell it right), green peppers, panda, siamese cat, and anything that tastes like you’re licking a pier. Carolyn likes most anything too as long as it’s been cooked to blackened perfection (her mother overcooked everything, so there you go). But Italy was filled with tempting offerings, and we enjoyed virtually every one of them, even the burro soap.

Although I have to now give a shout-out to the pastries of Portugal, lest Portugal become jealous of our love for Italian food. Click here for The Prettiest Pastries in Portugal, and How to Recognize Them.

And that wraps up our Italian adventure!

What a rip off! They say it’s a leaning tower- but just look at this picture. It’s almost as straight as an arrow!

Of course, they say perspective is everything.

The production of the Tower of Pisa began in 1173, and took almost 200 years to finish. That’s why they named it Pisa, because it takes a lot of pizzas to feed two centuries worth of workers.

The structure began to sink in 1178, after construction had progressed to the second floor. This was due to a too-shallow three meter foundation which was set in weak, unstable subsoil. The fact that they used all those leftover pizza boxes for the foundation didn’t help either.

Ironically, the flaw that created the lean is what makes it an enormously popular tourist attraction. Which just goes to show you, sometimes it’s the flaws that make you beautiful!

Okay, now do you believe the thing really leans?

So here’s the real deal with the actual lean. It’s quite a remarkable-looking building, especially with its lean physique.

I suppose the residents take the tower for granted, but it’d be a pretty cool structure to see on your way to get groceries every day, even if it doesn’t look like it’s leaning from every angle.

They were kind enough to provide parking for jet fighters, so you can get there in any one of a number of ways apparently.

I don’t know how many of these people arrived via jet fighter, but there were sure plenty of ’em. Tourism in Italy seems to be thriving just fine.

Fortunately, Carolyn arrived just in time to keep the building from leaning further. Or is it “farther.” I hate those two words. Leaning “more.” That’s good enough. In Portuguese we just say “mais.” Mais leano.

Psh. Everyone saw what she was doing and so started posing for fake pictures to look just like it. But Carolyn is the only one really holding it up, as you can tell by comparing the two photos.

Those who haven’t visited Pisa may not realize that the area, called the Piazza dei Miracoli (Square of Miracles) doesn’t only consist of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but also features the Pisa Cathedral, the Pisa Baptistry, and the Camposanto Monumentale (Monumental Cemetery), as well as a couple of museums. I can attest to the fact that the Square of Miracles works, because it sure seems like a miracle that we live in Portugal and can hop on a plane to Rome and Italy and Pisa and points beyond for the price of a nice dinner. Okay, maybe with a nice bottle of wine or two included, but that’s my kind of miracle!

The baptistry is in the foreground. Construction was begun in 1152. It is the largest baptistry in Italy.

This is the Pisa Cathedral, construction of which began in 1063. It is the largest cathedral in this picture.

This is Moses, or at least someone as old as him. Oh wait, the statue is of Moses. Ah, I thought you meant the other old bearded guy.

This piece is entitled Fallen Angel, and is a temporary piece of contemporary art on display in the square. It was original simply entitled Angel, but then, you know, it fell.

Inside the Cathedral.

These are the stairs that take you to the top of the baptistry.

We swear they were this worn down before we stepped on ’em!

And these are the views that greeted us once we made it to the top. That’s a lot of space just for sprinkling water on a baby’s head!

Although the other buildings are beautiful, the Leaning Tower of Pisa is the main attraction of course. You have to pay extra and make a reservation to climb up the tower, and so we did. Security was pretty tight; not even any little old bags were allowed. But they let Carolyn in. Phew!

This isn’t the way to the top.

This is.

Heights aren’t necessarily my thing. Actually, I’m not afraid of heights, per se, I’m just nervous about the landing.

Although I love the views you get from above. It’s like practicing being in heaven.

I don’t remember going into the tower the first time I visited Pisa, but the top of it sure rings a bell! Note how the bells look like they’re hanging a bit crooked, they’re actually hanging straight.

Bucket list: Check!

Generally, when we travel, we plan ahead for some of the major things we want to do, but then allow timing, mood, weather, luck, and whimsey to guide us in discovering other things to experience and see. Such as it was with working in an unexpected trip to Pompeii. We found ourselves with an extra day to kill while in Rome, and so decided to take a day trip bus tour down to Pompeii.

The bus drove through Naples, the sum total of which netted four –count ’em- four!– usable photos and a fairly lousy lunch. Naples isn’t a city that’s doing all that well, led by an unemployment rate of about 28%. It was once a busy industrial city, but many factories have shut down in the last few decades. Naples is also characterized by high levels of corruption and organized crime, which often starts with serving very bad lunches to tourists driving through on busses.

We did get to see some waves crashing on the shore. It looks like a city that will be affected by climate change, as the waves regularly surged onto the main boulevard that borders the water. This was pretty much the highlight of our drive through town.

Although there is an interesting castle right on the water, called The Castel dell’Ovo, which literally means “The Egg Castle.” There’s a whole story behind that name I won’t bore you with. Besides, I have no yolks for it. Anyway, it is the oldest standing fortification in Naples, dating back to Roman times. The first castle on the site was built in the 12th century by the Normans. Speaking of which, how could everyone tell who was who if they were all called Norman?

This is the volcano, Vesuvius, that made Pompeii famous. If it hadn’t blown its top and buried the town, we might never have heard of Pompeii. The mountain doesn’t look like much, actually, so its understandable why they weren’t worried about it when they built the town. Besides, the land is very fertile due to the volcano, so the town grew because of the volcano, and then was destroyed by it. Reminds me of Stormy Daniels.

It’s amazing all that ash didn’t ruin their great lawns. Obviously, the technology the Romans had for keeping grass green was way ahead of its time.

There a couple of auditoriums, one of which was played in by Elton John, another by Pink Floyd. So they still work!

If you love old ruins like we do, Pompeii is a special treat. Because normally when you visit old Roman ruins, you see the “skeletons” of the walls only. It’s truly amazing to see an entire town in 3D, very much like it was in its heyday.

With just a little imagination, you can see how colorful and decorative the city was.

Not that you can tell from this painting, but many artistic and scientific skills were lost for a thousand years after Rome fell. Artists from the Renaissance actually got excited digging up old Roman ruins because they were able to see quality, style, and skills that were long since forgotten, and so resurrected them for their new art.

To accommodate wheeled carts but keep pedestrians feet out of the mud, they built sidewalks and placed these stepping stones between them. Note the groove where the wheels wore down the rock.

This was an entrance to a house. You can tell this isn’t a Roman-era photograph because she’s wearing glasses, and no one wore glasses back then. They all had contacts.

Again, when you realize that most of the Roman ruins we’ve seen don’t even have walls, when you see an entire city so well preserved, well, it makes you want to add another “i” to the end of Pompeiii! Actually, nowadays they’re writing it as “Pompei.” I’m guessing that with all those eyes, people thought the word looked like a potato.

AD 79. That’s when Pompeii was buried. I’m not sure we can build any better columns today.

The city was full of fountains, running water, and gardens. Plus they even predicted the shape of the United States, with the red, white, and blue included! Those Romans were really ahead of their time!

This is a picture that decorated one of the brothels. Despite zooming in and poring over every pixel, I still couldn’t quite figure out what kind of hanky-panky these two were up to. But it probably cost him ten dēnāriusses, which is 100 asses, which has to be where the term “piece of ass” originated. I’m just making that up, but it sounds right!

Just imagine hordes of people walking around in togas, carts clattering on the stones, and big neon signs advertising fast food hanging on every other wall.

Amazingly well preserved tile flooring. We want this for our shower.

At the time of Pompeii’s destruction, it was thought to have a population of about 11,000. Today, about 3 million tourists visit Pompeii every year. What Vesuvius didn’t destroy, all those tourists might. They’re now talking about regulating the number of tourists because it’s starting to get a little out of hand.

Despite the treasure trove of historical riches, Pompei (or Pompeii or Pompeiii, whichever you prefer), could be placed on the List of World Heritage in Danger by Unesco. Hundreds of millions of dollars are needed to help preserve, restore, and investigate the ruins, many of which are still buried.

Carolyn thought there’d be a bad smell from all the dead people.

Actually, it was kinda chilly there on that day.

One of the rooms where various artifacts are being held. The glass cage holds the skeleton of a dog, who was buried right as he was licking –um, ah, well. Anyway, at least he went out with a smile on his face.

A view to die for (literally), and a bronze guardian.

1,000 years after this was painted, this little bathroom fresco might have been the most formidable painting in the world. The painters at the time were still struggling with perspective and realism; the Romans had techniques that were completely lost until the ruins were dug up. If Rome hadn’t fallen, I still say you might be reading this from your pod on Mars.

These people were buried by ash, dying almost instantaneously. How many times has it happened that someone was going about their daily life, thinking of plans for dinner or whatever, only to have their lives upended, or even dying unexpectedly? This, actually, is one of the main reasons we’re tootling about the world seeing this stuff. You only got one life to experience what you want to experience, so get out there and start experiencing it. You never know when a Vesuvius might reach out and get you!

Venezia!

After my first trip to Venice about ten years ago, I decided that it can be conquered in a day, more or less. That said, this visit was full of new experiences and surprises, including listening to an opera on the street, getting accosted by criminals in chains, planting a smooch on a gal who had cookies in the shape of penises draped all over herself, and chasing down a fox (the animal kind, not the aforementioned genitalia-adorned lady) with our rental car.

So maybe it’s two days.

We decided to drive up from Florence instead of taking a train just so we could see the sights, stop when and where we want, and get a chance to run over animals. Turns out we had to settle for two out of three.

The loser of the three ideas mentioned above are the sights. The drive between Bologna (the next closest city… or maybe that’s what we had for lunch) is rather plain. As you approach, it all looks rather industrial, offering little evidence of the incredible beauty and uniqueness of the city that sits –perhaps floats– across the bridge.

Parking isn’t cheap, and you have to find your way to a water taxi from the large parking structure in order to get into town. The train would certainly make things easier, and if we were to do it again, I think we’d take it. So I guess you could say that in the future we’ll be better trained. Bah-dump-buh.

One of the most popular and iconic areas is St. Mark’s Square, which is dominated by “The Great Church of St Mark,” which you can’t see here because I don’t like things or people that call themselves great. If it was humbly called “The Pretty Good church of St. Mark” I could get behind the whole thing.

As you might imagine in Venice, lawnmower sales are in the toilet, which I hope this whole water system isn’t a part of.

Gondolas are everywhere on the water, but serve no purpose other than as a tourist ride.

Carolyn made me promise her to take her on a gondola ride while there, but after I saw the 100 euro price tag, I made some minor adjustments. So, uh, here we are on the gondola ride. I know you might not remember this well honey, but we’ll always have this photographic evidence that we took one! By the way, have you seen my coat with the white fur collar? I can’t find it anywhere!

This is a scene of some water, buildings, and boats. I have a feeling that most pictures taken by tourists in Venice can be described thusly.

This is the aforementioned domineering and really great church of St. Mark, who, for whatever reason, is the patron saint of attorneys. No wonder it goes about bragging all the time. And the cost per hour just to visit! They probably bill in fifteen minute increments. We decided not to go in because of the lines and just in case they really took the patron saint stuff seriously and sued us for smudging the tile.

Even though it was March, a time we thought would be at least a little off-season, the crowds were pervasive. In the foreground you can see a young pickpocket sizing up his prey.

This is a scene of some water, buildings, and boats.

This is a scene of some water, buildings, and boats.

This is a scene of some water, buildings, and boats.

This is a scene of –oh, sorry. Obviously this is a famous bridge because a lot of people are on it. It has one of those names you take very seriously while there, but completely forget as soon as you walk away.

And in case you missed it the first time.

The story behind this unique art is that a set of parents grew exasperated with their young son who kept telling the joke about the Swiss mother who took her daughter Heidel and son Hans on a hike in the alps, and when her brother fell off the cliff, Heidel cried, “Look Ma, no Hans!”

The young boy would laugh uproariously each time he told it, even the one hundred and forty fifth. So his parents built this artwork next to their house in order to prevent him from ever telling that joke again, because now there are always hands.

She sticks with me despite the bad dad jokes, for which I’m eternally grateful.

We thought this street was incredibly interesting only because it had no people on it! We wandered far afield to get away from the crowds, and were rewarded with views of the daily life of Venetians as well as some other cute surprises.

This is a scene of some water, buildings, boats, and a gondola.

Again, no crowds! Woo hoo!

The obligatory this-door-may-be-a-bit-too-short shot. We thought maybe they only had hobbits in Portugal.

In some of the back alleys we wandered, we saw occasional craftsmen and artisans doing their thing. This man is a toilet seat artisan. Or not.

We were amazed to see that they memorialized Carolyn’s birth year in Venice! And she hadn’t even been there before! As they say in Portuguese, “Inacreditavel!” Still, despite our insistent banging on the gate, no one let us in. Tourist trap, obviously.

Well, my birthdate door pales in comparison to Carolyn’s. It’s probably a prison or mental hospital.

Just call me De Mezo, which means “Taller than your short-ass tunnels.”

This is a scene of some water, buildings, and boats.

Carolyn sitting back admiring her freshly painted graffiti.

We were shocked to see prisoner transfers were done with very little security. Seriously, it turns out this is a sort of a pre-wedding tradition. The soon-to-be-prisoner/groom is paraded around by his friends who sing lustily and generally have a good time. When they confirmed he was getting married, I said, “Oh, I’m so sorry!” They got a good laugh out of that.

I’m sorry, but few men can see a woman walking around with penis cookies draped all over her and not be driven to kiss her. It’s kind of like when Spock went all crazy on Kirk after getting doused with lust hormones. It’s just not his fault, man!

Actually, this is the female version of what the men were doing. If you plant a kiss on her cheek (and more importantly donate a euro or two to the cause), you get a penis cookie! It’s a win/win! You can tell she was really getting into it.

Although when we got back to our apartment, Carolyn decided they probably weren’t her thing; her hair’s even shocked.

These guys couldn’t (or wouldn’t) play the theme song from The Flintstones as requested, but I gave them a euro for gamely trying to play Stairway to Heaven.

This is a selfie in front of some water, buildings, and boats.

A short video of this incredible singer is posted here. Now I’m no fan of opera, but this woman was amazing. As far as we could tell, she was just passing by and encountered this group of men all dressed up in period costumes doing some sort of fundraiser. So she steps up to the mike and goes all Pavarotti on them. What a delightful little treat we encountered just by wandering the back streets of Venice!

Churches everywhere, and they all cost enough to feed the people for decades. But hey, who needs food for the body when you’re getting food for the soul?

The actual reason the Catholic church made their churches so gaudy –or is it goddy?– (sorry), was to make sure church-goers felt humbled and insignificant. I could have saved them a lot of money just by pointing out that I feel exactly that way every time I look up at the stars. Build churches with no ceilings and have the services at night!

This is a scene of some water, buildings, and boats. And you know, the shape of that dome is a lot like the shape of an astronomical dome. If you’re not going to do the no-ceiling thing, at least retrofit a nice telescope in there.

This is an entirely different and amazing scene of… some water, buildings, and boats.

Carolyn goes all artistic with her camera. Three doors of the day in one!

I took this photo to give us some ideas for our own outer home decor.

Another Door of the Day. Actually she was just monkeying around.

The sun began going down and the lights in St. Mark’s square began lighting up. We were hoping it would be real dramatic and awesome, but…

It looked like the same square except with some lights. Oh, well.

Lining the street level of this arcade is a series of high-end shops. The kind where if you have to ask how much something costs, you either can’t afford it, or, you know, just didn’t know what the price was.

When the sun went down and the lights came up, the band started playing, just like in the Titanic movie. I wasn’t sure if that meant the city was now sinking and I should push all the women and children aside during a mad dash to the boats or not.

I opted to play it cool.

Photobombing our own travel pictures.

And this is the hair of the dog… or fox as it turns out.

About a half hour outside of Venice I spied a blur that ran right into the driver’s side tire. We heard and felt Thunk! followed by a pair of Clunks! as the tires rolled over the hapless animal. It had moved so fast I had no time to react, which was probably a good thing. We stopped at the next available rest stop, and I pulled this lock of fur out of the bumper. Once we got back to our apartment, we did some research and decided it was a fox, which are very common in that area. Fortunately, I’d read that buying the extra car insurance they always try to foist on you is actually a good idea in Italy. So for the first time in my life I bought it, and it paid off. Because boy howdy, she came out an inspected the car with a flashlight like she was a teenage girl looking for a zit on her face right before the prom. She went over every inch of the paint until she spotted a small scratch in the car door, whereupon I mentioned that we’d hit an animal, although I was not even close to being positive that the tiny scratch hadn’t already been there when we rented it.

“So sorry, we will have to charge your credit card 300 euros.”

That’s a pretty blatant rip off (even if my separately purchased insurance will cover it), so I didn’t bother to tell her about the broken mudguard on the front of the car that really was the result of that impact. She got so caught up in the thrill of catching the scratch that she didn’t look over the rest of the car. The 300 euros is plenty for ’em anyway. Scoundrels.

 

The Uffuzi Gallery in Florence Italy is one of the most extensive and beautiful museums you’ll ever visit, with works by Botticelli, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, and Rembrandt, as well as important paintings from luminaries such as Vivalderi, Papposcoopa, Ricadanaldo, and Memoraldi. It is one of the most famous art galleries in all the world, as well as one of the most visited, including the top gallery draw in all of Italy. Also, the last four names listed above I totally made up. I like to punk the skimmers.

Every piece in the gallery is a genuine Florindian, or whatever you call “being from Florence.” Florencial? Fluoroscopian? From the Flo? Anyway, more than seventy percent of the paintings were painted by Florentine masters. No word on how many slaves were forced to paint too.

We used a tour guide, which is a really good thing to do in a museum like this because if you spent even just five seconds looking at every piece of art you’d be in there for months, and then find yourself arrested for eating a painting just to survive, especially if it was a Papposcoopa.

Our guide is pictured here next to a portrait of Galileo Galilei (who was born in Pisa but didn’t have anything to do with trying to topple the tower) and lived most of his life under house arrest by the church for being a really awesome astronomer, physicist, philosopher, engineer, mathematician, and occasional Mel Gibson impersonator.

The conflict between science and religion continues to this day, as evidenced by how thoroughly disdainful religionists often are of the findings of virtually every climatologist on the planet who are convinced that climate change is human-influenced. I think it’s amusing (if it wasn’t so dangerous) that many conservative politicians’ talking points have evolved from, “There is no climate change” –the mantra from just a few years ago– to “Sure, there’s climate change, but we don’t know what’s causing it, so let’s pump even more coal and oil into the air just in case it’s not that!”

The science-y people have always seemed pretty smart to me, especially in comparison to people like Mel who thinks it’s all the fault of the Jews. Mel. What a weird name. Sounds like what you’d say about a bad odor when you have a cold. “Wad dat mell?”

Anyway, our guide hailed from Russia –where their science is very hard to understand because it’s all in Russian– and was very informative (thankfully she spoke in English). One interesting bit of trivia she taught us was that the word “bankruptcy” comes from the Florentine dialect: banco rotto, which means broken desk (this is all true btw). Bankers typically just set up desks in offices, and when a banker couldn’t pay for his debts, soldiers would arrive and break the desk. If you don’t have the desk, you cannot continue your business. Today in America when someone goes bankrupt we say, “he’s broke,” or “too bad he got sick.”

I won’t comment on each piece of art below, but will instead simply let you gaze upon all their beauty in literary silence, except to say that I was particularly excited to see Sandro Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus,” which was made popular by Adobe Illustrator’s use of the image on the cover of their software. She’s not a bad-looking fetus even if I do say so myself. Which I just did.

Now Adobe is using a logo that’s just “Ai” instead. Oh, how that Ai logo inspires me! Not.

They didn’t even get the capitalization right on the “i.” Bring back the adult fetus!

Anyway, without further ado, the Uffuzi Gallery:

I read that during the summer the wait times to get into the Uffuzi Gallery can be as long as five hours. It was still very crowded, but I’m glad we didn’t try visiting it then!

Beautiful Firenze stole our hearts!

But we need them back Firenze… Lisboa is starting to get very jealous!

Known as Florence to Americans, it is the capital and most populous city of the region of Tuscany. It is also famous for helping The Brady Bunch become as popular as it was. The popularity of that show helped save television in America, which was in dire straits because it consisted mostly of Gilligan’s Island reruns interrupting 16 minutes of commercials.

You doubt this? Well, here’s all the proof you need: if the late Florence Henderson (her real name, btw) parents had named her after any of these other Italian cities (and I’m not making any of them up, honest), I’m certain she wouldn’t have been hired, and the producers would have gone with Jane Fonda or Twiggy instead, and the show would’ve bombed because everyone hated Jane back then and no one could have seen Twiggy when she turned sidewise, and the recurring joke of “Where’s Mom?” while she was standing right there would have gotten very old very fast, just like many of my own jokes.

Anyway, here is a list of actual Italian city names:

• Troia (which means “slut” in Italian)
• Belsedere (“cute butt”)
• Ramazzano-Le Pulci (“they sweep away the fleas”)
• Orgia (yes, it means “orgy”)
• Foggia (I haven’t the foggiest)
• Bastardo (a city with no founding fathers)
• Casa del Diavolo (the devil’s house)
• Capracotta (cooked goat)
• Bra (ironically located just beneath two large mountains)
• Caccavone (“cacca” means “shit”)
• Puglia (it sounds like the name for a female pug)
• Purgatorio (purgatory)
• Pisciotta (you’ll have to ask Trump what that means. I’m too polite to write it).

I think we can all be happy her parents went with Florence.

While saving early ’70’s American TV is easily its most important accomplishment, Florence is also considered to be the birthplace of the Renaissance. It was one of the wealthiest cities of that time, and was famous for its garments and cloth.

The name was changed to Firenze near the end of World War II after the Germans lit the river on fire while retreating. The tactic didn’t work, however, because the Allies simply waited for the river to carry the fire away. No wonder they lost the war.

Actually, the name comes from Latin “florens,” which means “blossoming.” Just like Florence’s hair, or cheekbones.

Anyway, it is a gorgeous city with lots of history and art… and tourists. Holy moly are there lots of tourists. Plus you don’t want to try to park a rental car downtown. We braved it once just for the heck of it (the bus ride wasn’t that bad, but Carolyn’s butt got pinched eight times and mine only once, so in a fit of jealousy I wanted to try a different mode of transportation). Finding a big parking garage wasn’t too hard (although I think there’s only one), but when we left, it took us about 45 minutes to move thirteen meters. I saw a snail on the ground that was maintaining a good lead on us until it got squished by a weaving motorcycle.

As for the pictures, I’m going to be perfectly honest here. There is a plaza area that not only has two piazzas: Piazza del Duomo and the Piazza San Giovanni (three when all-star catcher Mike Piazza visits), but also three big buildings, and it’s all a little confusing for the uninitiated. Plus we didn’t take a tour and all that research on funny Italian names kind of exhausted my desire for doing more research, so I’m not really sure which is which.  They’re just all pretty to look at so we settled for that.

This is probably either the Florence Baptistery, the Florence Cathedral, or the Campanile di Giotto.

This is probably either the Florence Baptistery, the Florence Cathedral, or the Campanile di Giotto.

This is probably either the Florence Baptistery, the Florence Cathedral, or the Campanile di Giotto.

This is neither the Florence Baptistery, the Florence Cathedral, or the Campanile di Giotto. I know my wife Florence when I see her.

The Ponte Vecchio, (or Old Bridge in a charming example of clever name-making), was built in 1345 after the previous bridge (named The Really Old Bridge) was destroyed in a flood. During World War II, it was the only bridge across the Arno that the retreating Germans did not destroy. Instead they blocked access by demolishing the medieval buildings (or Old Buildings) on either side, which obviously didn’t work because we won.

There have been shops on Ponte Vecchio since the 13th century, although much of the bread they sold back then is now pretty stale.

This bridge is called Ponte alle Grazie, but unlike the Ponte Vecchio, it was destroyed by the Germans. Reconstruction was begun after the war; it was completed in 1953. For that we say, “Grazie!” which means “Go let the cows out to feed” in Italian.

Nice knockers!

This is what we generally looked like while walking around Florence, especially if we lucked into an area without crowds. Unfortunately, that means many of our photos are of streets like this.

I couldn’t find a name for this massive waterfall –okay, maybe it’s more like a watertumble– across the Arno River. So I named it “Ld.” That way, when Mr. Schwarzenegger visits, he can say to it, “You complete me.”

I took a video of this as well but I’m too cheap to spring for the WordPress version that allows video, so you’ll have to settle for written sound effects: “SSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH!”

This is Claudia and Henri. We don’t know them. In fact I just made those names up. I didn’t mean for them to be the centerpiece of this picture, I was just trying to show that there were lots of crowds around Florence. Maybe Claudia and Henri are professional photobombers.

Another look at the Old Bridge, just because it continued to be cool an hour after the previous shot.

This is near the entrance to the Uffuzi Gallery, which I will be effuzive about later. These are replicas of the original Statue of David and a Guy Holding A Man’s Head to His Groin.

This is a really famous guy, and a statue.

This is a really famous building. Look it up if you want to know the name of it.

The river Arno. Florence wouldn’t be nearly as beautiful without that river running through it, just like A River Runs Through It wouldn’t be nearly as beautiful without Brad Pitt.

Trust me, we have 100 more pictures of the river, and these aren’t even our best. You’ll have to fork over the $9.99 a month subscription fee to see our real award winners. But as a special bonus, you’ll get 696 pictures of a very buff naked guy. I know what you’re thinking… they’re not of me (I say as I chuckle abashedly).

We visited two museums in Florence, one is the Uffizi Gallery (which will get its own entry), and the other is Galleria Dell’Accademia, which is most famous for housing the Statue of David and Nothing Else Anyone Cares About.

If David weren’t in there, this gallery would be next to a Burger King offering a three euro discount coupon for entrance with every Whopper. And the entrance fee would be three and a half euros. Just kidding. There were a couple of other interesting things, I just don’t remember what they were and our phones filled up with pictures of David.

Still, it’s worth the price just for him, which is as impressive a marble statue of a naked man with huge hands who just got done killing a giant as you’ll ever see.

When you enter the hall where he lives, you have to give the museum curators kudos for really making it the centerpiece. Seriously, give them a Kudos bar. That thing was heavy!

As you approach, you may find yourself amazed that you’re actually in the same place as one of the most famous pieces of art ever. And then a naked guy photobombs you. Sheesh.

And so you start snapping the first of 700 hundred photos, 650 of which look almost exactly the same.

So you desperately try to find photographic angles no one else in history has ever taken before. And that’s when you notice his hands are huge. I mean yuuuuge! These are not Trumpian hands, I can promise you that!

Something else might be Trumpian, but not the hand. It all looks like it’s in the same proportions as when I changed my one-year-old son’s diaper!

Just sayin’!

This is called the Rape of Sabine. There are a lot statues depicting rape around Italy. Obviously the MeToo movement was looong overdue.

These are unfinished works by Michaelangelo, which provided some insight as to the process. I just marvel at how someone could use only a chisel to create such ideal masterpieces.

As for me, I’m lucky enough to be married to a different kind of ideal masterpiece.

 

After visiting the Colosseum, a plethora of beautiful monuments beckon within walking distance, or, if you were a Roman Senator, a XXIX denarii chariot ride, usually hailed via an Uber stone tablet.

True Roman Trivia: a denarius was equal to 10 bronze asses (I don’t know if the coins were shaped like donkeys or butts).

One of the most striking buildings, as more or less described by Wikipedia, is the Altare della Patria (“Altar of the Fatherland”), also known as the Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II (“National Monument to Victor Emmanuel II”) or Il Vittoriano (“A Sick Vittoriano”), or Grande Edificio Bianco con Molti Nomi Diversi (“Big White Building With a Lot of Different Names”), and is a monument built in honor of Victor Emmanuel, the first king of a unified Italy and the inventor of the stick shift.

The monument, the largest in Rome, was controversial, especially since its construction destroyed a large area of the Capitoline Hill with a Medieval neighborhood. The monument itself is often regarded by residents as conspicuous, pompous, too large, and really, really, white.

It has also been described as being “chopped with terrible brutality into the immensely complicated fabric of the hill,” by someone who was a little full of himself. What the average Italian usually says is, “Mama Mia! What the hell is that shit?”

It is clearly visible to most of the city of Rome despite being boxy in general shape and lacking a dome or a tower. The monument is also glaringly white, built from “corpse-white marble” imported from Botticino in Brescia, making it highly conspicuous amidst the generally brownish buildings surrounding it. For its shape and conspicuous nature, Romans have given it a number of humorous and somewhat uncomplimentary nicknames, including la torta nuziale (“the wedding cake”), la dentiera (“the dentures”), macchina da scrivere (“the typewriter”) and la zuppa inglese (“English soup dessert”), and una grande pila di merda bianca (“a big heaping pile of white shit”).

It was inaugurated in 1911 and completed in 1925.

Regardless of many modern Romans’ feelings toward it, it’s an impressive building and a sure stop for tourist photography. We didn’t go inside into the museum because at some point you can only see so many museums before going into museum overload.

However, our group gladly posed for a picture taken by a Japanese tourist, who then emailed this photo as well as 3,204 others he took of the structure. We only kept this one.

 

Next up is the Trevi Fountain, which was completed in 1762. The origin of the name is unclear, because Trevi isn’t actually a word, but it has something to do with “three streets.” It uses water sources originally used by the ancient Romans and in fact is one of the oldest water sources in Rome, the others being the Tiber and the water in our rented Roman apartment.

It’s made from the same material as the Colosseum and spills about 2,824,800 cubic feet of water every day, all recycled. Roughly 3,000 worth of euros are also tossed into it daily. Legend says that a coin thrown into the fountain will ensure a return to Rome. It must have worked because I threw a coin in it ten or twelve years ago… and now I’m back! However, I didn’t throw a coin in it this time, but as we sat contemplating the flowing water I looked down and saw a hundred dollar bill at my feet. No joke. I picked it up, thinking it might be some kind of scam, but lo and behold, it was all mine! Just visiting the fountain apparently brings good luck!

The monument has been featured in many films including Roman Holiday and Three Coins in the Fountain (who can forget Steve Martin’s comically aborted sing-a-long on the bus in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, one of my all-time favorite movies. Okay so you forgot, but I didn’t). The fountain is also replicated at Epcot in Walt Disney World. The rumors that Walt’s body is cryogenically frozen beneath the water are untrue. He’s embedded in one of the statues. It’s the one that looks a little goofy.

We took pictures both during the day and at night just because we thought it would look cool at night. It didn’t really, and here’s proof. You can see the differences though, it’s like night and day.

Near the Trevi Fountain is the Pantheon, which is so-named because you must wear pants into the building. While free today, it is being converted to a pay-to-get-in location because of its popularity (over 6 million visitors a year, which is written as MMMIIIXMMXCCVVVCCMMM in Roman numerals) and because Italy needs money.

The Pantheon is a former Roman temple (now a church) on the site of an earlier temple commissioned by Marcus Agrippa during the reign of Augustus (27 BC – 14 AD). The present building was completed by the emperor Hadrian, with estimates that it was dedicated about 126 AD (which I always remembered as “After Dhrist”).

The building is circular with a portico of large granite Corinthian columns (fun fact: there is no such thing as Corinthian Leather. They made that up because it sounded cool, especially when spoken by Ricardo Montalbán). Almost two thousand years after it was built (the Pahtheon, not Ricardo), the Pantheon’s dome is still the world’s largest unreinforced concrete dome. Almost sixty years after it was first built, my dome is almost back to the way it was when I first came out of the chute.

It is also one of the best-preserved of all Ancient Roman buildings, in large part because it has been in continuous use throughout its history, plus they used to have plastic sheeting over everything just like your grandma’s couch and carpet.

Six heads are better than one when you’re trying to figure out what’s wrong with your camera. But at least we got a shot of the opening in the dome.

Here I welcome the news that we were still able to get in for free.

Here are a couple of panoramic shots taken by spinning around. Trust me, the thing is round. Either that, or the LSD you swallowed is starting to work.

Next to the Pantheon are the famous Spanish Steps. These are famous and popular really only because lots of people go to see them because lots of other people go to see them. They’re just stairs people! There are 135 steps and no wheelchair access, unless you “accidentally” push Aunt Matilda from the top because you just found out you’re in her will. They are called the Spanish steps because it was built in order to link the the Trinità dei Monti church with the Spanish square below. I wish Trump would visit the site so he can see that the Spanish (many of whom immigrated to Mexico, despite the native peoples’ protestations that “They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists. And some, we assume, are good people.”) also brought with them very good step-building capabilities.

The sun was certainly shining in this photo in front of Trajan’s Column. The column was built to commemorate Roman emperor Trajan’s victory in the Dacian Wars and stands 115 feet (35 meters) tall. It is located in Trajan’s Forum and was completed in 113 AD.

Nearby is a museum dedicated to Trajan’s Market, which was long thought to be the world’s oldest shopping mall. Recently, many scholars decided it actually might have been administrative offices for Emperor Trajan. I like the mall idea better. Although they may be right because I looked all over for an ancient McDonald’s or Claire’s sign and found nothing, although I did find a petrified Pizza Hut-a box next to a couple of bronze asses, so who knows.

You have to look closely to see Carolyn on the bottom left. The lower doors are for chariot parking. The middle doors were the destination for shoppers deposited by small catapults, which pre-dated the escalator.

Statues like this are on display throughout the museum. We only took pictures of the headless ones.

This is the view from the market, giving us another look at the Altare della Patria (“Altar of the Fatherland”), also known as the Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II (“National Monument to Victor Emmanuel II”) or Il Vittoriano (“A Sick Vittoriano”), or Grande Edificio Bianco con Molti Nomi Diversi (“Big White Building With a Lot of Different Names”), plus some ruins.

This is another view from the market except without the Altare della Patria (“Altar of the Fatherland”), also known as the Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II (“National Monument to Victor Emmanuel II”) or Il Vittoriano (“A Sick Vittoriano”), or Grande Edificio Bianco con Molti Nomi Diversi (“Big White Building With a Lot of Different Names”), plus some ruins, Trajan’s Column, and some bald dude.

Trajan’s Market. I still think it was a mall. At least there’s no Altare della Patria (“Altar of the Fatherland”), also known as the Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II (“National Monument to Victor Emmanuel II”) or Il Vittoriano (“A Sick Vittoriano”), or Grande Edificio Bianco con Molti Nomi Diversi (“Big White Building With a Lot of Different Names”) in the picture.

Here’s a panoramic shot from the mall, including the Altare della Patria (“Altar of the Fatherland”), also known as the Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II (“National Monument to Victor Emmanuel II”) or Il Vittoriano (“A Sick Vittoriano”), or Grande Edificio Bianco con Molti Nomi Diversi (“Big White Building With a Lot of Different Names”).

By now you’ve probably nodded off so I’ll just throw a bunch of pictures of and in the Borghese Gallery down below without comment. You’re asleep anyway, so what do you care? Although the very last one is of you in the shower.

We loved the sculptures, they are simply magnificent. Especially the one of you in the shower.

Now on to the rest of Italy!