I’m writing from the Hotel Caravaggio in Florence, where we just checked in. We got here by an uneventful 2 hr train ride aboard the Eurostar from Venice, which is where we disembarked this morning after a weeklong cruise along eastern Europe, ie southern Italy, some Greek islands, and Croatia. There, all caught up? And jealous? Well, don’t be. This trip so far has been basically me struggling along the crowded rainy streets of various parts of Europe hugging my umbrella and coat, watching the husband’s tall form dart effortlessly between people 10 paces ahead (he can see over peoples’ heads, you see), trying to follow his disappearing form while getting cut off by rude Europeans, turning a corner and finding myself completely among strangers, looking wildly down different streets and alleys cussing in my head, fighting the anxiety attack and butterflies as the minutes wore on, hoping he’d finally turn around soon to realize I was nowhere in sight. Okay, so that only happened 3 or 4 times, and he did eventually come irately looking for me only to find an even more irate me in return, but the rude Europeans and rain has been a constant theme. Venice flooded the weekend we were there before the cruise, and welcomed the cruiseship back with more of this pathetic fallacy. Earlier walking in the wet square which was busy with dripping umbrellas and Italians in galoshes and leather boots, I saw a homeless man in the rain holding a white plastic cup with both hands to his salt and pepper beard. He came to us where we stood under our single umbrella eating some cookies we’d just bought from a bakery, and murmured something in Italian with pleading eyes. I didn’t know if he wanted money for his cup, or if he wanted food as he eyed the cookie in my hand, and I only had the one half-eaten cookie and none of the cash, so I just stood there wondering what to do. Mr W didn’t respond either, and within seconds the man walked away. I watched him turn a different direction, hold his cup up and plead with his fingertips touching as if in prayer, and heard another voice. A priest said warmly to him, “Un caffe?” and held his hand up as if to say to wait a moment there. Then the priest turned and went quickly toward some storefronts.
“That was nice,” Mr W said.
I was haunted after that, and remain haunted. I wanted to stop right there and cry. The image of his wet form holding the cup wouldn’t leave me and I looked for him as we passed through again, hoping I could give him the half of my cookie which I’d immediately lost the ability to eat. I felt like such an ass. Mr W said he wouldn’t want a half eaten cookie, and we didn’t find him anyway.

Siiiiiiighhhhh so anyway, we started with rain and technical problems galore (including my bank card locking me out, my inability to connect on Skype to call them about it, the social networking site locking me out, inability to find free wifi or even a spot that offered wifi whom we could pay, then finally having wifi for the iPad but having the communication app crash) and I cried waiting for the cruiseship to board us because I thought Dodo was gonna die at home and daughter had no experience caring for a cat, not to mention a sick vomiting cat which refused to eat, but then things started looking up and I sent Ann a pleading email and she went above and beyond any bounds of friendship to save the day and save Dodo. More on that later. Meanwhile, my husband is eager to explore Firenze in the early evening rain…

Ciao for now.