Happy Easter!

I'm in Rome, waiting 'til dinner. Got here Friday.

I booked a hotel for Rome and looked up directions to get there. The first time I looked them up, the metro stop was 4km from the hotel. The second time I looked them up, the bus stop was 250m from the hotel. I didn't look them up a third time, but I thought I did and I was reasonably certain that the metro stop was 250m from the hotel. This was not the case.

It was a little rainy when Isabel and I left Madrid, but nothing worth delaying our flight. We got into Ciampino airport in Rome 5 minutes ahead of schedule. And this is where the adventure begins...

After stumbling our way through the two things I could remember in Italian: 'where' & 'thank you' we got to the 40 minute bus that would take us to the center of Rome. It was hot and humid, but it was the most comfortable and affordable way to get into the city at 4€. However, it was a lot more than a 40 minute ride after our bus driver got into an accident and had to try three times to pull to the side of the road because of the traffic. While we waited, the bus got hotter and the passengers got crankier, especially when it took us 20 minutes just to figure out what was going on. But eventually we were on our way only mildly irritated. We got the the metro and made it to our stop with very little trouble. However, once we got to the right metro stop, all bets were off because my google map wasn't nearly detailed enough. Thankfully I still knew the word for 'where' and Italian women seem to be pretty nice. I went into a cafe to ask directions from a women who corrected my pronunciation of Pineta Sachetti, the street I was looking for, but then gave me detailed directions from which I gleaned the general direction. It took a bit more wandering, but I made it to the right street where I asked a women who was walking her dog where Via San Lino Papa was, the street on which our hotel was located. She looked alarmed, mumbled, and walked away quickly. So I walked on farther. Following my lack of a map, Isabel and I walked a kilometer or two before finding Hotel Beethoven which flew, among other things, a UK flag. 'Surely they speak English,' I assured myself and dashed inside even though this was not my hotel. Luckily they did speak English, although not very well, but it was enough to get me in the right direction once again. Another kilometer and a half later I was sure I had walked too far. Tired, hot, and irritated by the crass Italian men driving by, I found another Italian women, and one more time, asked for directions. She spoke neither English nor French, but she was very nice and could tell I only understood her marginally. French is helpful in Italy because there are so many cognates, but her wild arm motions went a lot farther than anything else. She explained that I would need to walk further, but that the road would curve to the left, but I should take the road that curved to the right and this curving would take place in a large area with chairs...or something like that. Her directions were enough that after yet another kilometer, sweaty and tired with luggage and sore feet, we FINALLY made it to the misnamed Pineta Palace. It's a perfectly decent hotel, but unless you're an executive on the 7th floor staying in "7th Heaven," it's no palace.

Anyway, it's dinner time, so that's all for now.