What Light From Yonder Window Breaks?

I went to Verona yesterday.  That happened because the mysterious phone lady turned out to be the person who placed me with my host family.  She admitted that she did not tell me this over the phone; what she did tell me is still a mystery.  But she came over just to chat, and then she invited me to go to Verona with her and some friends.  Verona does not equal hospice visits, but incidentally this lady would be awesome at hospice visits.  Those people would probably end up living.


Here is me.  Savor this if you're interested in photos of me, because I dunno how many more of these there will be.  

We went to a portrait exhibit in the Palazzo della Guardia which included many of the most famous portraits that have ever been done--the most spellbinding of which were those by Caravaggio and John Singer Sargent, imo.  Lunch at a nice little trattoria: formaggio, buon vino, coniglio con polenta, sorely needed espresso.  Spent the rest of the day exploring the city, taking part in the Sunday passeggiata, in which everyone buys gelato and then strolls slooowly down the streets and checks each other out.  Someone said that the people in Verona were "very Italian" and I was glad I wasn't the only one who felt that way.  


The day was perfect, 55 degrees and warm sun.  Air smelled like spring and baking bread.  We saw the mythic homes of Romeo and Juliet and the main piazzas and streets, but my favorites were the empty narrow streets like this one, alternately lit up or in deep shade, always quiet and peaceful.  Everyone kept asking me if I liked Verona, and I hoped that "si, molto" was an appropriate response because apparently the Veneto region is kind of despised by the rest of Italy and harbors similar sentiments itself for said rest of Italy--something to do with the region's economic fortune and extreme political views (many support Lega Nord, which has off and on advocated for secession of the North).

Mysterious phone lady's friends were cool.  One of them was a guy from London who's been teaching English in Bologna for 8 years, so I interviewed him about teaching and he interviewed me about being an American and it was good timez.  At some point they decided that I don't have an ugly American accent, but rather a beautiful one (I disagree but hey, still good to hear), and that I sound like Meryl Streep.  Not exactly sure what to make of that but there are many actors they could've chosen and maybe I'm glad they think I sound like one of the most intimidating, badass ones out there.



I was so exhausted when we got back that I may have cried a little bit--thanks to spending all day walking, spending the entire 90 minute train ride home standing in the hot smelly compartment between train cars because the train was full (at one stop, a scruffy man walked by on the platform shouting "Siamo arrivati ad Auschwitz! Siamo arrivati ad Auschwitz!" and we weary passengers managed a grim laugh), and having spent the night before dreaming about plane crashes and being shot at (how's that for a peek into my subconscious?) and otherwise not sleeping.

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