No more Italian?

Italian class ended last Thursday, and now I have an afternoon full of... nothing planned. Nothing scheduled. Wow. I'll have to find something fun to do this afternoon.

Life got a little better when I was handed back two assignments from Celebrating the City, and I found out that I did better than expected. That's one major sigh of relief right there. I don't know why I stress so much about grades, they usually turn out fine in the end.

I had a quiet weekend. Rachel, my roommate, went to Pompeii, and she seems to have enjoyed it as much as I did when I went a few weeks ago. I tried to go out on Sunday and find something to do, but I ended up getting soaked in the rain and decided to head back home. I was standing at the station waiting for Bus 13 (which, I figured out later, wasn't running because of the marathon... brave people, to run a marathon in that weather), and I probably looked rather pitiful, and so this nice man, probably in his late 20s/early 30s, came over and handed me his umbrella. He wasn't creepy about it either. It was more a gesture of "Here, you look pitiful. Stop looking pitiful."

I stood there awhile longer, and when the bus never came, I decided to try an experiment and get on 22L, even though I had no idea where it was going. Maybe it would bring me closer to where I needed to be, and I wouldn't have to walk as far.

Turns out 22L went in exactly the opposite direction of Via Masaccio, and when it looked as if we were headed in the direction of the Autostrade (the highway), I quickly hopped off and tried to navigate where I was. I walked back in what I was pretty sure was the direction of the station, getting considerably less drenched thanks to Mr. Nice Italian Man and his umbrella. I ran into a main road called "Via Porta Nuova", which I was pretty sure would take me back in the right direction. And it would have, eventually, but just then, I came upon a tram stop.

There is one tram route in Florence, and all trams end up back at the station eventually. I figured I'd hop on one and hope it was going the right direction. The one that pulled up about 2 minutes after I got there was labeled "Stazione," and I hoped that meant it was going to the station, not coming from the station. Either way, I'd find out soon enough.

Sure enough, after standing on the (heated, thank GOD) tram for about 2 minutes, I ended up back at the station. This time I decided just to walk home. I had an umbrella, how bad could it be?

When I was crossing Piazza del Duomo, the wind flipped the umbrella inside out. This seemed to be a final "screw you" from the weather, and I made the 30-or-so-minute trek to Via Massacio bare-headed and drenched.

Gabriella gave me some chamomile tea when she found out about this. Though I'm looking forward to returning to my family in the U.S., I'm going to miss living with her. She and Nino are such nice people.

Moral of the story? Well, I guess there is none... except possibly, don't forget your umbrella. And bring an extra one. Maybe two extra ones.