It's been a long day. Or two. Three?

I made it! And yet again find myself delicately making my way forward with an odd keyboard where all of the puntuation symbals have resettled themselves somewhere else on the board. So. You've been warned.

Early in the adventure

Where to start? How about calling everything up to stepping off of the plane in Rome a wash. (We ended up leaving Newark around 11pm? I think.) Managed to get in, get lost in the train station, pay a ransom for some Euro and SHOWERED! It was one of the most beautiful feelings in the whole world. Note to self: expect swathes of blue lint all over yourself if flying in new jeans. Even if they've been washed once.



I spent the rest of my first real evening wandering near the Spanish Steps and all of the fancy pants shops therein. So many gorgeous things, so many Euro on the price tags. The more I travel the more I see our differences overshadowed by our similarities. Kids, everywhere, are crazy. Rambunctious, wear colorful and crazy combinations of clothes, squeel with glee when playing with siblings and amazingly, they really do know how to behave to preserve parental sanity in times of need (like sleeping at the airport and getting delayed over and over again.)

Waking up in Newark

I had the mini-revelation that Italians may love color in their home decor (this is something we speak of quite often at school, the European tendency toward full-throttle color in their home textiles v. Americans palettes of neutrals) but they don't seem too into it on the clothing front. Even Valentino shied away from colors outside of red, white and black. Pretty much every person I have seen since setting foot in Newark (and who could be identified as Italian) was wearing head-to-toe dark colors, well-crafted leather shoes and shiny, black puffer jackets. Stylish, perhaps. But there is a sameness, too. All that chicness creates a kind of uniform. It occured to me that Americans love of color in their day to day wardrobes is also a reflection of their stereotypical boisterous, loudness. Which makes a lot of sense.

Folks on carsousels. ON!

A plane tugger with it's lonely lights on

Although it is merely 945pm I am heading in to hit the hay. I can't wait to sleep in a bed. A flat, padded surface. With blankets that will really cover me. Without my bra on. It's gonna be bliss. I've also included some photos of my adventures in Newark. Rome itself coming soon.