After a few days of jet-lag, I'm finally on Midwest time. And in two days I fly back home to Alaska. Plenty of snow here, but no skis or snow bike to take advantage of it. Instead, a pilgrimage to the cheese store and dinner last night with my parents & my brother at the KofC fish fry. Another Midwest Catholic thing.
Back home in Alaska, Jon told me the trails are fantastic, so I'm anxious to get back and get on my bike again. It already seems like Rome was weeks ago. I promise to go back. Next time with him.
I also promise to learn more of the language. Though I was adept at ordering a couple of espressos, my phrasebook didn't help me interpret to a store clerk that something had "caught my eye." I was rarely without the book or the now mis-folded map of central Rome with its narrow, bending streets. The non-grid system of streets made each turn a study in map-reading and offered the possibility of surprise and thrill at any corner.
Look up, and discover that we are at our destination. Listen and know we're close to the fountain. Turn a corner and spend the next minutes studying the map to learn which direction we're going. Arriving back at the hotel my aunt claimed to never doubt my navigational skills.
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