Wonder Daze

On the plane from Frankfurt to Rome, I had a panic attack. I awoke to a German woman with watery eyes shoving a cheese sandwich in my face. I smiled and shook my head. I walked to the back of the airplane and stood near cheap curtains feeling sick with nerves; a kindly stewardess with impeccable bone structure poured me a cup of coke. Twenty minutes we landed in la bell' Italia. And this is where the story begins.

My travel sickness has subsided while my serotonin has continued to surge. Each day I walk the forty five minutes to school. I jet past the colosseo, through Piazza Venezia, and along the Tiber. I look like an asshole, dark hair plastered to my forehead, power-walking, a huge grin on my face. I can't help it. I really can't.

The Goddess Roma has welcomed me into her arms and now I never want to leave. Make no mistake: I miss dependable public transportation, feeling 'exotic' amongst my blond fat Americans, and air-conditioning. But these are small losses. And baby I'm only getting richer.

The loot thus far:

*laughing in Vatican City

*a daily panino con salami from my favorite cafe

*dancing on the riverbank at La Maison

*swimming in Sorrento

*learning to cook pasta carbonara

*the phrase 'che cazzo'

It's been three weeks and I feel myself transformed. Am I being dramatic? Ridiculous? Eccentric? To these charges I have one thing to say: when in Rome.

A presto, blogosphere.