So I'm in Italy. I speak virtually no Italian. Good times. As soon as I got here I tried to call Enrico, the landlord, so I could get the keys and get set up. I bought a phone card but could not reach Enrico. So I took a taxi to Piazza Strozzi 2, the British Institute of Florence. Thankfully, they took care of getting hold of Enrico (the number I had was wrong... go figure), and I then proceeded to march my belongings to Via Montebello 7. Welcome home.

The flat is actually quite nice. The building is probably 4,000 years old (only a slight exaggeration....), but it is quite roomy. I do miss AC, cable TV, ubiquitous internet access, and being able to call anyone I may need, but I'll adjust.

Cole arrived two days ago. We went to the grocery store and he decided it would be a good idea to drop a grocery bag full of wine and beer in the entry way of Essalunga, the supermarket. Oh boy. Time to go. Did I mention he doesn't speak Italian either? I waited outside. I was really embarrassed, but I guess they were nice about it and replaced his lost booze.

I miss my family, and I especially miss Natalya. Everyone says Italian women are beautiful, but I think Russian girls are way more attractive.

Italian TV is like Mexican TV, except there are way fewer ridiculous costumes, scantily clad women, or that announcer guy that's way too excited about everything.

Nobody in Italy can drive. If my father were here, he'd have a thing or two to say to those Italian drivers!

There are so many things I could go on about, but enough for now- my internet is about to expire.

Ciao