Italia

I think I'm going to do Italy next, since Ann spent most of her time behind her camera there. Incidently, I did have other shirts, but evidently she thought I looked really hot in the red one.

Holland should really be classified under the Netherlands, right Emma? Unfortunately, we have no pot-smoking pictures, because we didn't, and no tulip pictures because we got lost trying to find the flower market.

In Germany, people would speak to us in German. Although we haven't spent our lives suffering indigestion from too much sausage and beer, we evidently look like we have. Not so in Italy. Ann got into a fight with a short, firey woman on the metro, Matthew was called Hitler, and I bought a fake Gucci purse from a one-legged street vendor.

Taken expressly for our own dear Mazzini . . .


The view from St. P's. Not to brag, but we WALKED all the way to the top. In the heat. On our knees . . .

The Roman forum, definitely where to go if you want to feel like an archeological ignoramus.

Caution: the Vatican museum will give you a neck ache, since the most elaborate art is on ceilings of the miles and miles of chapels (one for every pope, I swear).


Well, what d'ya know? Maybe I have some Italian ancestors, after all.

Trevi Fountain. Across the street from which one can purchase expensive, gourmet gelato (Food is important, but ice cream is paramount).

Pesto and bread at the hotel in Florence.


The Spanish Steps. We were far too afraid of smushing an Italian to try climbing them.


The pigeons of St. Marks. Ann was disgusted by our lack of concern for avian flu. What can I say--we were raised in the chicken coop.