This past week I’ve been asked my age by quite a few people, substantially older, younger and my contemporaries, and have been amazed by their reactions. I know I should consider it a compliment, but it’s difficult not to be confronted with ones lack of accomplishment and ticking biological clock when the seventeen-year-old sleeping on the hostel bunk above you responds “no shit!” to the number of calendar years in which you have partaken. The questioners of my own or an older age have given me this dubious look, as if I was about to be called a liar. I suppose this means they can’t imagine what I look like after a night of sobbing and I should thank my lucky stars that I complain about an emerging double-chin and stubby legs rather than crow’s feet or varicose veins. However, I think I always valued the latter as battle-scars or badges of honour depicting a life somehow lived rather than just experienced: My opinion is changing.

The nicest thing about having a month to spend in Perugia is knowing that despite feeling under-the-weather Friday and hiding from the outside world behind my shuttered windows, I have not unwittingly deprived myself too much of the experience. Around 8pm I finally left the house (there is so much to be said for the mid-afternoon nap) and sat in my new favourite cafeteria drinking hot tea and nibbling on a vanilla-cream filled cornetto. A cornetto may look like a croissant, but it isn’t nearly as buttery or flakey – which would be a problem were the filling not scrumptious.

Thursday was a weird sort of day. Because of the afternoon siesta hours and a late start, I didn’t make it out of the apartment to run errands until about 2:30pm. Within ten minutes on the streets, it started to pour and even the cover of trees next to the medieval wall and my purple umbrella couldn’t prevent me from getting drenched. I made a wrong turn at the piazza near my apartment and was lost for a good hour or so, but Perugia isn’t really that big and I later found what I was looking for: the post office, Umbrian Tourism Bureau and Coop (a grocery store). However, standing in the rain, watching the storm clouds move across the countryside as thick mist was… magical? The sun would pour out through a cloud in the distance as I was still getting soaked. The landscape is just incredible – softer than Tuscany’s.

The big adventure for Thursday, asides from getting lost, was figuring out how to use the washing machine (they are different in Europe, okay?) and trying not to burn myself lighting the gas stove with matches in order to make gnocchi. Although I like the taste, I find tomato sauce smells like someone has been sick. I imagine that I likely was sick a few too many times after eating spaghetti as a kid as no one else seems to have this olfactory association but me.

I rec’d bad news in an email from the tourism bureau in Narni – a tour of the Roman aqueduct requires five people. I will probably head out there at some point anyways – if I can figure out the bus maps and time schedules that I have acquired. An hour already invested has not gotten me very far, but this need be resolved before Bryan’s arrival. I am optimistic. Use of a dictionary might be a required.

Today (Saturday) I find myself yet again sitting at my favourite cafeteria of Via Garibaldi enjoying tea and a cornetto (this time filled with a hazelnut-chocolate - yummy). This afternoon, after devouring a good portion of Paul Auster’s New York Trilogy I went to the Umbrian National Gallery which has an outright impressive collection of medieval and Renaissance Art from the region of Umbria. I had an avid audience to share my thimble-full of knowledge with: I encountered a French student, Yvanov, of Congolese descent on my way over who decided to play dumb about not knowing Perugia (he has lived here for a year). He followed me to the museum where I sort of forced him to look at all the Madonna and childs and altarpieces. LOL. I was invited out for dinner, but chose to decline. He clearly thought this was going somewhere it wasn’t – and speaking to him was so difficult. He didn’t even know there were people who spoke French in North America! We might meet again to attend the daily outdoor cinema at some point. I have yet to decide.

Tomorrow I am going to try and find a different grocery store in another area of town that has been recommended to me – probably it will be closed on Sunday, but the walk will be interesting. I will likely get lost again.

As a last thought – my favourite thing about Italy may be that tea here is served in a CERAMIC teapot. I am SO tired of those metal teapots we have at home in which tea does not steep. It may be a country of espresso… but my beverage of preference is thoroughly enjoyable.

Bryan truly outdid himself in the arrangements for our apartment in Perugia and I am basking in the glory of his well-laid plans, sitting at the kitchen table with the sun pouring in through our window out onto the medieval streets and convent below.

After a 2.5 hour train ride broken up speaking to Alice, a Sicilian who has been going to school in Perugia studying Spanish and Portuguese for the past five years and who kindly gave me her email address so that we could meet up at some point over the next month, I was met by our landlady Jacqueline, who whisked me into her car and brought me to Via della Cometa – a tiny sidestreet onto which my bathroom balcony faces. The interior of our apartment is entirely new and bright, the bed(s) are comfy although sadly the kitchen is not as fully-equipped as I would like. I have been dying to make pesto! LOL.

After some administrative details, Jacqueline insisted on taking me for a walk through the streets of this Umbrian town pointing out the convents and monasteries still occupied by orders, the friezes on buildings pointing out the guilds with which they were originally associated, and stopping in the Temple San’Angelo where a marriage was taking place. We watched the bride and groom enter a perfectly round church that had been a Roman temple before being converted to its Catholic purpose. It takes a year’s notice to book the locale for an event.

We then wandered outside the tall, Umbrian walls and strolled through the Park where they were setting up for an open-air event that evening. Jacqueline is delightful. Although now retired, she is a professor of French at the University here and passionate about ballet and classical music. She has offered to take me on a drive through the country with her on Sunday and, obviously, I whole-heartedly embraced the opportunity!

I got back to the apartment with great plans for the evening: shower, a brief nap, some time spent at the internet café down the street, unpacking, a gourmet meal of tuna and crackers brought from home (LOL) – other than the food none of that was brought to fruition. I fell asleep by 8pm watching an episode of The Wire. Apparently, the past five days of travelling, touring, sun and late nights finally caught up with me. However, as you can see, this morning I am back on track and headed to get a quality map of Perugia, find the grocery store (Jacqueline provided graphic directions and should I not be successful in my mission will drive me to a different grocery store outside the medieval city (where there is parking!) after a doctor’s appointment late this afternoon. Isn’t that nice? I also want to stop in on the Umbria Tourist Bureau for information about the other cities in the area which I most definitely need to visit over these next four weeks. And that PESKY internet stick! I am excited. The birds are LOUD in the morning, but the shutters keep the light out and I think I will be sleeping deep for a while.

I had wanted to stroll up and down the Appian reflecting on the generals and footsoldiers who made this long, final march home – but I had to cut this part of my plan as it was already 11:30am and the last tour before Siesta was leaving. A Salitian monk led us into the Catacombs where the early Popes and St. Cecilia are built. It was a refreshing break from the incredible heat AND an opportunity to test my latin skills on the few marble inscriptions that hadn’t been destroyed.

After the tour, I spent a good hour chatting with Jim and his two grandsons, Tre and Parker, who hail from Dallas but are enjoying a European trek of which Rome is but one stop. They left me to go back to their hotel and I headed to the Vatican Museum.

The Vatican Museum is – interesting. You hear so many people spewing made up stories to anyone who will listen and the tour groups seem to think that they own the place. It is also laid out in such a way that to reach the Sistine Chapel you MUST walk through the rest of the collection (the maps and tapestries are just stunning and I need not mention the awesomeness of the Laocoon). While I appreciate this attempt at forced culturation (LOL), it made my feet sore. However, I DID manage to get some Vatican stamps and used their postal facilities. The Sistine Chapel itself is – a little underwhelming. Perhaps it was the crowd, but I find that much in one small space difficult to take in – may be why I prefer sculpture to painting, I don’t know.

After the Vatican, I rushed back to the hostel to shower, change and put up my feet before heading back out (in the drizzle – second night in a row!) to Trevi Fountain for my date with Niccolo. He was only five minutes late, which I believe is a compliment from an Italian, and we went for pasta and one of his favourite restaurants (I had spaghetti in a cream sauce with spinach and salmon – yummy!). After we walked to Trevi Fountain again so that I could say good-bye to Gianlucca – the maestro from yesterday) and come back to my hostel for what I thought would be an early night. HA!

I got back and one of my Scandinavian flatmates and the Irish gentleman bunking above me were playing some cardgame I still don’t understand. James, Philip and I proceeded to stay up into the wee hours of the morning talking about places we have been and weird stuff that we have encountered. It was very pleasant (and then I found out that Philip, the Swede, is not even 18 yet and I felt like I was keeping a baby up past his bedtime, LOL) and when the five other Swedes returned from the pub crawl, we had a good time listening to their drunken ramblings before bed. At 5:30am they woke up, still drunk, to get on a plane back home – I rolled over and went back to sleep – yeah to earplugs and a sleepmask.

I am all packed and ready to head to Perugia where I hope to locate a real grocery store and an internet stick. The Alessandro Downtown Hostel has been a dream - i couldn’t ask for better. The weather has been glorious except for about an hour of rain each evening. The people have been as friendly as warm as one hopes from Mediterraneans. Just a delight.

After the Colosseum I wandered the Forum and Palatine Hill enjoying the view of Rome and the strong sun. At noon about a dozen different churches started sounding their bells – the cacophony from atop the hill was glorious – if only the other tourists would shut up long enough to notice! Ah well.

Back on the Metropolitana I hopped to the Vatican. On a whim, I decided to stand in line for St. Peter’s as it was only 1pm and my guidebooks both recommended waiting until 2:30pm to head to the Vatican Museums when the lines are considerably shorter (they were right). I entered the square and, frankly, this year has been one of consistently challenging my atheism. First Jerusalem and now Rome… I was overwhelmed. I was a believer… for ten whole seconds – until I noticed the huge OBELISK in the middle of the square. Nothing to undermine a religion founded on chastity by having a giant phallus in front of its center.

I was genuinely astounded at the number of idiots who didn’t seem to understand the signs that you CANNOT enter the Church with bare knees or bare shoulders. After waiting in line for an hour (which was enjoyable as I like to people-watch), I would be pretty upset to be turned away. However, I had a shawl and was pulled towards Michelangelo’s Pieta with which I have a new-found love affair. It’s a beautiful church – the Pieta is awe-inspiring.

I walked part way to the Vatican Museums until I realized that the reason there was not a crowd heading their with me was because it was a bank holiday. This also means the post office was closed (if you’re wondering why your postcards are taking so long – I have only been able to post them today). Finally getting into my solo-traveller groove, I pulled out my trusty Fodor’s and came up with an alternative plan – one the bank holiday one continuously spoils, but still good fun.

I went to the Piazza del Popolo to enjoy the book-ended Baroque Churches. On the off-chance that another church on the square might reopen at 4pm as per its hours, I spent 45 minutes lounging gloriously in the Villa Borghese. Returned to the square, but no luck. By this time, I was starving. Using Fodor’s I tried to find Gina’s, but no luck. I DID however stumble upon a grocery store where I bought myself a peach, some fresh bread and prosciutto with the promise of getting gelato later. I DID manage to find the Augustus’ Arch of Peace, but it is housed in a museum that was - right… closed. There was some great street art outside its walls that made me chuckle though, so the trek was not a waste.

I ate next to the Spanish steps until it started to rain. I returned to my hostel for much-needed shower – did I mention it’s hot in Rome – and hopefully to wait out the rain. At 7pm, I put my shoes back on and walked over to Trevi Fountain to throw in a coin and make a wish – thus ensuring my subsequent return to Rome which was sort of guaranteed anyways as I have to come back to fly out – but there is no sense in taking chances. At Trevi Fountain I struck up a conversation with Niccolo, a police officer (yes, I saw his badge) who took me for gelato (new flavour! Blackberry! Awesome!) and then to hang out with two Russian friends of his – Anna and Daria on Vian Nazionale. After about an hour of chatting about the personality traits of different nationalities, Niccolo’s friend Lucca, who plays piano at one of the five-star hotels here, showed up and whisked us off in his car to the Zodiac Club at the Belvedere. It’s called the Belvedere for a reason – the most stunning view of Rome at night ever – made only better by our serendipitously being offered the use of the Zodiac’s piano which Lucca used to wow the socks of their musicians. He made fast friends and I wished I knew more Italian songs. They are so pretty.

Speaking of songs – Celine Dion was playing in the Ottaviano metro station that afternoon. It was a bit surreal.

I write this from my hostel room where I am again hoping to wait out the rain before meeting Niccolo for pizza on this, my last evening in Rome. Today has been another adventure – about which I will write when it is complete

Like all airports, Rome’s convinces you that you are lost when you are not. However, like Amsterdam’s, it is hooked up to the city’s main railways via an Express Train (the Leonardo Express) which brings you within a five minute walk of my hostel, the Alessandro Downtown Hostel, for 11 euros. I had been convinced that my luggage did not make it on the plane: We had to wait two hours to get someone who didn’t make our over-sold plane’s luggage out of the cargohold and as my boarding pass wouldn’t scan, I was convinced it was me. However, two and a half hours late with me in a middle seat we set off across the pond.

I didn’t really sleep very much on the plane despite two sleeping pills and a chugged glass of wine. After finding the hostel bed clean and inviting, I couldn’t help but partake in a siesta for two hours. Yes, I know – siestas are supposed to be short. At four-thirty I finally dragged myself into the shower, set off to the Termini train station in a futile search for an internet stick, and then used a map to navigate down to the old Jewish ghetto.

Rome’s streets do not map well. They aren’t really very straight and change names at just about every intersection. I got “lost” many times, but luckily there are lots of landmarks to help a poor tourist out. At one point I turned down an alley and was confronted with a view of the Colosseum – which was in the opposite direction I wanted to go (at that moment of course, I walked along the back of the Colosseum on the way home and intend to trek off to actual visit the site this morning). I finally arrived at my destination: the tortoise fountain. Then I meandered through the streets of restaurants selling kosher food (a little dismayed that the restaurant Frommer’s had recommended for a slice of pizza was no longer in business), walked by the old synagogue and stopped to enjoy the sunset over the Tiber.

I continued my walk following the river and enjoyed the view of the Temple of Venus surrounded by flowering bushes. I took a detour to the Mouth of Truth that was unfortunately closed for the evening and behind solid metal gates and, thus, not available for photographing. I have to admit that although its “kitchness” sort of frightens me, I am enthralled by this old sewer plate – likely because of its inclusion in Audrey Hepburn’s Roman Holiday.

At this point I had been on Roman cobblestones (albeit their impressiveness) for over three hours and I had forgotten how much havoc they can wreak on a girl’s poor feet. Yes Mom, I am wearing my knee brace and it is helping a lot. However, my feet are covered in pressure blisters. LOL. I couldn’t resist a little self-pity as I detoured to visit the Domus Aurea – unfortunately Nero’s Golden House (which figures prominently in my dissertation) is closed for repairs, but the gardens are… intimidating? Nero truly was a megalomaniac.

I made it back to my hostel by 10pm where a very loud card game between my Scandinavian dorm-mates was going on. I thought perhaps I might not get any sleep at all, but at midnight half of them when out on the town and the other half hit the hay. I can’t really complain about the noise if they self-regulate. This morning I did my best to get out of the room and come down for an early breakfast without waking them.

The gentleman opposite me in the breakfast room has just told me about an indoor market about five blocks from here and I hope I will be able to pick up some fruit. Last night I couldn’t be bothered even stopping for a bottle of iced tea let alone a meal and munched on rice crackers brought from home as I watched two episodes of The Wire. I will be better today – I promise.

I went for a walk at 11pm last night trying to clear my head and hopefully waylay the dreams of not being able to sleep that plagued me the night before. My parents have lived in the same house as long as i can remember - since 1986 to be exact. As i wandered the streets staring at the homes with new aluminium siding, the redone driveways, the larger trees, i felt a kinship to the sense of security only the most familiar of surroundings can provide. Of course, i then embarked upon a worried, panicked analysis of how many ways traveling alone can turn sour, but i digress. I thought of mornings spent waiting for the schoolbus telling tall tales to my younger brother. I have always had a fondness for narrative and a loose grasp on the truth when it harms the story. I remembered running around my grandmother’s house with my cousins, jumping in and out of the neighbour’s bushes (i can’t for the life of me remember the premise of the game). I missed the days when I would ride off on my bike with a friend and the only plan consisting of “finding something cool and being home before dinner.” Of course, i only walk at night now really - and suburban neighbourhoods are odd at night. I’ve lived in a couple actual cities, and if you cross other individuals at night, they are not ALL teenagers. There are couples walking home, elderly people who went out for an evening of card-playing (LOL - i played cards on Wednesday evening for about three hours - that’s a fascetious comment), etc. In suburbia, the only people roaming the street after 10pm are teenagers who are probably shocked to encounter a solo wanderer and bewildered that someone with a driver’s license would even consider hoofing it.

When i got home, i lay in bed and thought about the different incarnations of my bedroom - my personal space (my parents have never intruded and we weren’t forced to keep our rooms tidy as children, for which i am grateful). Transitioning from pink, to green, to its current cream. And the different layouts and actual pieces of furniture that have contributed to this radiating comfort. I wondered, “if i hadn’t moved my bed, and all the things that have kept me awake at night had been thought about staring at the wall in the living room rather than the wall in the kitchen - would i be a different person?” And oddly enough - the answer seems to be yes.

I’m heading to Rome in a couple of hours. Right now, i’m not really sure why i insist on leaving this little area of the world i call home. Oh right… it’s ROME!!! The city of Cicero, Caesars and Popes.

You know the BIG party was the night before when walking down the street you encounter beer bottles on people’s front lawns…

And you know you’ve found last night’s partyers when the 6pm church bells going off behind you don’t cause the nappers by the shore to stir from their hung-over slumber.

Despite the heavy fines, many business in Vieux Beloeil chose to stay open. We stumbled into this “petit coin de paradis” as Isa so nicely put it and nursed our frozen beverages from the Chocolaterie while watching the boats zoom up and down the river.

Faced with few distractions, i decided to terrorize my companions by forcing them to join me in “touristy” pictures. I love the grimace on Isa’s face in this one. Mont St. Hilaire is in the background.

Of course, no St. Jean would be complete without a fire around which to huddle and avoid the bugs. Sadly, i still haven’t figured out how to take pictures of fireworks.

[All photos taken on Canon Powershot SD550]

I don’t know why but i keep forgetting about the Sainte Elisabeth. Be this because it’s tucked away on an adorable sidestreet or because each of my visits have been so relaxing and hassle-free, i do not know. However, i have been both in summer and in winter and enjoyed myself immensely every time.

As with most of my Montreal favourites, what i like about this venue is its multiculturality. Located right next to UQAM but still just a hop-skip-and-jump from the Plateau and swarms of McGill students, the crowd is thoroughly bilingual and tables frequently switch between languages. What could be more typically Montreal than this?

The inner-courtyard is just fabulous. At least fifteen feet high, the walls are covered in ivy and at night the lights create a homey glow - i half expect little fairies to pop up at any moment. Even on windy days (like yesterday), one can enjoy the terrasse protected from the cool breezes but in the shade. Although yesterday i was cursing this (i am trying to stop smoking), as the courtyard is unroofed you can smoke freely - but the air still circulates.

Of course, we only have about three months of the year when outdoor drinking is feasible, but an excellent selection of beers with daily specials, friendly wait staff, clean washrooms and comfy benches make the indoor experience equally pleasurable.

A word to the wise, however - some online reviewers mention great food. There is no kitchen at the Sainte Elisabeth - they order in the food from the outside. Hence, i have never ordered the food myself. Too close to other great venues (like Frite Alors) to be worth chancing it!

Sunday i attended the marriage of Z’s two exes as his +1. It was a casual affair with maybe 20 people attending (including two kittens, a puppy and a five-month old baby), but good food and lots of laughs.

Memorable Moments

1. How awesome is it that as we waited for the other guests to arrive we sat around and watched So You Think You Can Dance?

2. Nick made it not even three lines into his vows before needing to stop for a tissue-break. This started the water works for everyone…

3. Both witnesses were ex’s… one managed to stab their once-partner with the pin from a bouttoniere as pictures were being taken of the signing… hehe.

4. Z couldn’t remember his postal code - the documents will forever be questionable in court!

Also great was the reverse suits and the generally chillaxed atmosphere - with less than an hour to go (or as yours truly kept declaring on the half-hour “until d-day”), the couple compared belts. A better caption is “yes, yours is definitely bigger.” See below

And to answer your burning question… there was no walking down the aisle. They stood in front of the fireplace and held hands after walking up the stairs together.