Roma, Italia
I think when people say, "I went to Rome," they really mean, "I saw the Vatican." It is a spectacular tribute to what two thousand years of power and money (and, yes, religion) can accomplish.


At the bottom of the stairs, we met a fun little bundle of trouble.

When travelling through Rome, I have some advice: don't talk to the men - they'll be rude; don't talk to the women - they'll be less than helpful; talk to the kids. The kids haven't learned, yet, to hate you because you are from North America. They don't feel disdain for you because you are different. No, the children are fascinated with the ridiculous clothes that you wear, your fundamental inability to speak Italian without sounding particularly retarded, the way you keep your money in a funny belt under your pants. The children also know everything that is going on, every nook that you want to see, unless you happen to have a penchant for bordellos or libraries.

The kid we met was named, and I shit you not, Giuseppe, Gi for short. He was about eight years old and was frightfully intelligent. His english was definitely far superior to our italian, and he had a tendency to attempt deliciously awful puns that made no sense. Of course, he had to tell us that they were puns. I'm not entirely sure he understood the concept.

Gi was so engaging that we went with him and his father for a trip through the city. His father (whose name I absolutely cannot recall) spoka almos' no da anglaish, which was okay, since his son was such a willing interpreter. "It's okay," Gi told us. "I keep everybody, in the loops." At this he went off in gales of laughter.

We went through the city in a roundabout fashion, enjoying Gi's colour commentary, and eventually ended up at the Colliseum. It's hard to describe the majesty of the big C - everyone sees pictures of it, and it looks huge, but it's really not all that big. The reason it's special is because it's so old. There's a feeling about the place, which reminds me of the elacticity and thinness in the skin of the elderly, if you know what I mean. It's like it's stretched and it's reaching the end of it's term here, but there's still a strength underlying the surface that comes from years of standing. It's like a blacksmith at age 80, but made out of stone.

Gi took us to the Colliseum and, well, screwed us pretty royally.

We were walking along with Gi and his father, laughing and chatting and enjoying Gi's "puns" ("The stone here is so old, it's like a white eggshell! Get it?") when Gi started chatting with 2 police officers. He seemed to be in good humour, and we thought nothing really of it - Gi had been chatty with many people in the course of our journey, including half a dozen other police officers - until the police officers slipped the cuffs around our wrists and started speaking to us in italian.

My italian is pretty bad, and my girlfriend's was worse, but I kind of got the gist; they were arresting us for thievery. They took my girlfriend's camera (which was a pretty decent SLR) and gave it to Gi, who grinned. "Sorry, mei amichi," he said. "I had to go very far to find police who didn't speak English." He waved as we were led away to the police car. "You're very nice peoples! Thank you for an afternoon as fun as the beach!"

The rest of the afternoon was mostly filled with paperwork and phone calls to the Canadian Embassy. The Italian police were all very polite (and somewhat apologetic after the situation was explained), but we never saw that camera (or Giuseppe) again.

I guess I was lucky that my digital was full and I'd been too lazy to move the pictures to my laptop...

And if you ever read this, Gi: siete il vincitore - voi piccolo bastardo.