(28 Ottobre 2001) Lucca. Sunday. It was quite grey this morning when we got up. My first mission today was church, Pete accompanied me. The Duomo has this incredible painting of Christ. Called the Voto Santo, it is a crucifixion painting, allegedly painted by Nicodeums. In it, Christ's face has amazing humanity. We were confused when mass did not start at the posted time. Only as we had given up waiting for it to begin did I remember that this was the Sunday when Daylight Savings time begins. We were an hour early. And we could have slept another hour. Much less confused, and still undaunted, we did the most Italian thing we could. Caffé. Italian coffee, I know I've said this before, is one of the most heavenly things around. A frothy cappuccino on a grey and rainy morning is an amazing way to start a day. And it costs less than a dollar. After our caffeine craving was satiated, Pete and I wandered back to the Duomo. Mass proceeded as scheduled. The rest of the day today was quite relaxed. We visited the tourist office, went for a walk on the wall, we didn't make it all the way around before we paused and took naps. We encountered an art exhibition in a little building on the wall; everything in it was a reproduction of the Voto Santo, obviously part of today's theme. Sunday in Italy is really a day of rest, and stores simply aren't open. We climbed to the top of one of Lucca's multiple towers, square brick affairs, 10 or 12 stories high. The one we climbed has a tree at the top. The clouds made seeing the Tuscan countryside difficult. However, we could see the planned streets and the surrounding wall. As evening drew near, this non-profit bar-caffeteria-internet point opened, and I did a bit of typing on the journal. I joined Malcolm and Pete for dinner at the hostel. Also joining us was a guy from Taiwan that lives in Ireland. A quiet evening. Gelato.

(29 Ottobre 2001) The sun was out when I woke up today, early. We left the hostel quickly, and grabbed an 8:05 train to Firenze. There had been some sort of train strike or "industrial action" over the weekend, and things were not operating at full capacity. Several trains were very late, and others were cancelled. We grabbed café while waiting, but we didn't have long. Our train was almost on time. Firenze is about 45 minutes from Lucca. I finished my terrible Dominick Dunne book while on the train. I left it behind. Arriving at statzione Santa Maria Novella, I was a little bit unsure what to expect from Firenze. For years I've heard about the beauty of Florentine art and architecture. I've heard about the sculptures, the Tuscan sunlight, the romantic streets, the Duomo. My initial moments were unimpressed, but that is natural given the neighborhood of most train stations, and the whole hostel booking effort. However, the first glimpse of that majestic red Duomo was pretty breathtaking.

Basically the first thing I did in town was to visit the Duomo. Firenze is a city that rotates around its cathedral, and it seems that it is on the way to everything. The facade of the Duomo is incredible colored marble, more shades and shapes than the mind can grasp, rising of the piazza for several hundred feet. Hundreds of columns and crenellations, statues and gargoyles cover the surface. Like in Pisa, the front of the church faces an octagonal baptistery, with a pair of massive bronze doors by Ghiberti. The doors are extremely detailed scenes from the Old Testament. Each image is probably 18-24" square, and tells a different story. The images are so precise and clear, a cursory gaze lets the causal observer see the action. If you have a bit of background in the Old Testament, you immediately recognize and remember Abraham and Isaac, David and Goliath, the Great Flood, Babel, and on and on.

The inside of the church is surprisingly spare, given the facade. A long elegant nave with white walls leads to the dome, the interior of which is as surprising as the austere walls. It is a painting, a fresco, full of color, full of people, a riotous mass frozen in place. Very high off the ground, the painting is more of an idea pressing down, than any kind of narrative. Off the transept, the sacristy has beautiful inlaid woodwork; not as amazing as in Urbino, however. Also, Urbino had far fewer tourists, and you didn't have to admire it through an inch thick glass door. Oh yes, the tourists were out in force here, but on the whole, less obtrusive than Venezia. Firenze is a much smaller city than Roma, and it feels like it; but it isn't so small that tourism over runs it, like Venezia. After touring the interior of the cathedral, Pete and I climbed the stairs to the top of the Duomo. Not unlike the climb up San Pietro, this started with regular stairs, and changed to smaller and smaller passages. Unlike San Pietro, we were allowed to walk around the inside of the dome. Right where the painting began, there was a narrow catwalk where you could gaze at the altar below or the painting above. At this height, we were shocked by the painting. The figures are enormous, presumably to help the perspective from the floor, and they are violent. A whole section depicts Hell, with graphic images surprising to see inside a church. Continuing the climb, the stairs got ridiculously small, but you are able to see the genius of Brunschelli's engineering, the brick arching high over head. At the top, blinking in the bright sun, one is able to observe Firenze from above. The impression I had was of bright red terra-cotta roofs, white buildings and domes. An extraordinary number of churches with beautiful domes. The Tuscan hills rise green in the distance.

I began to see why Florence has such a reputation for beauty. After descending the steps, and resting a bit, Pete and I wandered to the Ponte Veccio, the famous bridge crossing the Arno. Here, upriver from Pisa, the Arno is a bit more attractive, and flowing. Scullers propel their light boats around the graceful arches of the bridge, lined with more jewelry shops (giolleria) than one would think useful. While it isn't quite the Rialto, it is certainly pretty. After admiring the bridge, we walked in the general direction of our hostel, pausing at the church of Santa Maria Novella. This church is much more decked out inside than the duomo, with a beautiful marble floor and great frescos. Renaissance painting at its finest. We passed the train station, and headed to our hostel. In Firenze, as in Roma, there is a large HI (Hostelling International) hostel, but it is a fair distance out of town, and my recent experience in Milano didn't encourage me much. However, Firenze has lots of private hostels and one star hotels. Based on the recommendations of other travelers, Ostello Archi Rossi gets my lodging money. A friendly place squeezed onto a street filled with low-budget accommodation, it is very popular. Part of the reason we left Lucca so early this morning was to arrive early and secure places. The lobby is entirely covered with paintings, the walls and ceiling aglow with the effort of countless backpackers. After checking in, we climbed up the stairs. Every surface up here is covered with graffiti. I counted 4 languages, just glancing; it provides very interesting reading. After getting unpacked and cleaned up, I took off alone, following the Lonely Planet's directions to the "Paperback Exchange" an English-language used bookstore. Unfortunately, even used paperbacks prove to be expensive. However, proper reading materials are necessities, not luxuries, so the going rate must be paid. I picked up Andrew M. Greely and Elmore Leonard novels. I walked back to the duomo, to meet Malcolm and Pete as scheduled, at the Ghiberti doors. Dinner was the next order of business, but finding an appropriate place to eat took an inordinate amount of time. There were four of us, and no one was decisive. The problem was a little bit compounded because I'm traveling in a slightly higher financial league, and there were more options I was happy with, but few that fit everyone's budget. We ended up eating at a nice restaurant across the Ponte Veccio. I had the fixed menu, an excellent pasta with alfredo and peas, and a lovely Beef Fiorentina. Caffe rounded out the day.

(30 Ottobre 2001) Firenze. I was awoken this morning by the noise of the street below. In an effort to have some fresh air (always a good thing in a hostel room) we left our window shuttered but open last night. Early this morning, the noise of deliveries and trash collection began. It was surprisingly loud. There is also a caffeteria bar (coffee shop) across the street, and loud greetings and conversation made its way into our second floor room.

Downstairs, the hostel breakfast, not included with the bed price, was excellent. It was the first time I've seen eggs and bacon available, much less for 4000 lira. Pete and I were encouraged by this, and took our time eating. The coffee was decent, but not up to my Italian standard. Around 9:30 we left, me laden with a bag of which I was eager to be rid. Our first stop today was to visit the Mail Boxes Etc. While expensive, I was happy to send my 3.88 kg package home, full of new clothes, some CDs, my Venetian watercolor. I also included my first three cameras. It will take nearly 3 weeks for my package to arrive home, but it will almost assuredly beat me there. I was also very glad to have made my backpack lighter, by almost 9 pounds. Pete sent a package home as well, a birthday present I believe. From the shipping place, I walked to the box office (bigletteria) of Teatro Communale, Firenze's main opera house. I obtained a 50,000 lira ticket to see Verdi's "Attila" tonight. I met Pete on the Piazza outside Santa Maria Novella. We walked back toward the hostel, to San Lorenzo. Another magnificent church, in a city filled with them. The streets outside around the church were filled with street vendors; people selling leather, football jerseys, rugs, statues, and every manner of souvenir seemed to have established a somewhat permanent presence here. We walked back towards the Duomo through streets clogged with shoppers and sellers. Behind the Duomo is a relatively small museum called "Museo Opera del Duomo" (opera in this sense means "works"). Essentially this museum preserves the original sculptures and paintings related to the Duomo. The works on view in the church and on the facade are generally reproductions. The magnificent Ghiberti doors of the baptistery, for example. One thing that's amazing is how old some of the reproductions can be, two hundred years seems about average. In any case, this is an amazing museum, beautifully designed, extremely well lit, and housing a breathtaking collection of art. The sculptures which used to be mounted in inaccessible places are brought down to eye level. Of note were massive seated statues of the Evangelists. Proving how much artwork I've seen recently, I was able to identify all of them without reading the legend. The four are almost always portrayed in poses and with symbols that give their identity. Peter always has keys, for example. The most amazing work here is Michaelangelo's "Pietą." Not the one with Mary holding a dying Jesus on her lap, though that is also a Michaelangelo "Pietą," it is in Roma. This one is much larger, and also has Mary Magdalene and Nicodemus. Michaelangelo originally intended it for his tomb, but stopped work on it well before he died. The face of Nicodeums is allegedly a self-portrait. Even unfinished, it is still an amazingly powerful work. After wandering around some more, examining beautiful models of the Duomo and its architectural plans, we moved on. Walking to the Galleria dell'Accademia, we passed an amazing looking take-away restaurant. The smells inside were unbelievable. Not hungry at the moment, I jotted down the name and address so we could return tonight for dinner. Outside Accademia, we found a relatively long line, and settled down to wait. Pete had a recent copy of the International Herald-Tribune that we shared, I also read quite a bit about Firenze in my Lonely Planet. Accademia is an important museum of 13th to 16th century Florentine painting, but the star attraction is Michaelangelo's "David." The street outside is full of little models, postcards, and really tacky knicknacks all depicting the famous image. After a wait of less than an hour, we were admitted to the museum. The first room is interesting, filled with large canvases. In the center sits a statue, the figures seemingly frozen, a vortex stopped. Stepping out of that room, I was totally unprepared for the sight that awaited me. At the other end of the room, probably 100 yards away, stood David. The icon, the image so present everywhere is no preparation for seeing the real thing. I felt like I was magnetically attracted to the thing. I was propelled quickly down the length of the room, passing sculpture that I'm sure was interesting. Standing in a massive quarter dome, on a tall pedestal, is the white marble man. It is huge, more than 5 meters high, absolutely undamaged, a single piece of the purest white marble possible. The sight is indescribable. Everyone there is transfixed; tears came to my eyes. Slowly moving around the statue, you see different views than the classic icon. In real life you can see veins in the hands, tendons and muscle. How could such a thing possibly have been extracted from a rock from the ground by the chisel and vision of a 24 year old sculptor? The sculpture is 500 years old this year, and it brings tears to the eye of beholders. The crowd of tourists moved around me, but I stood, amazed. I think it is as close to pure Beauty as I've ever come. The rest of the museum, when I was able to move on, was a blur of paintings, very many of them altarpieces from Florentine churches. On the way out, I did stop to examine the works in the room with David, they are indeed interesting, unfinished sculptures by Michaelangelo, described as "trapped." Part of the thing that amazes me about sculpture in marble is the idea that the final project was created when the rock was formed. It remains inside until someone with a special kind of vision can release it. The unfinished works, the Pieta and the trapped works still contain the final product, just unreleased by the master. Pete and I left the museum. I headed off to a familiar internet cafe, The NetGate. At seven, Malcolm, Pete and I were reunited at the Ghiberti doors. We took off toward Il Pirata, the restaurant we'd cased earlier today. Described as a Rostisseria Gastronomia, it had cold and hot dishes behind glass. Everything from salads to potatoes to pastas was sold by the kilogram. The end result was an excellent meal for little money. There was a counter along the wall, a place to stand and eat. I had one of the most incredible pastas I've ever had, a salmon ravioli, served in a light pink sauce. Heavenly. Combined with a perfect caprese salad, for just about $5. After dinner, I parted company and walked to the Opera House. It is a fair distance from the duomo, along the Arno. I arrived at about twenty minutes after eight, ten minutes til curtain. The theatre was surprisingly modern, I was sitting in a the second balcony, everything was sweeping curves of white plaster. I imagine the original Teatro Comunale burned down at some point. This version of the seating area couldn't be much more than 25 years old. The production was good, with an enormous cast. I counted 68 men in the male chorus. The postmodern staging was interesting, but took away any historical elements of the plot. The music was excellent. Verdi isn't highly regarded without reason. Since the Ostello Archi Rossi wasn't being run by a bunch of fascists, and had a 2:00 curfew, I was able to see the entire performance. As I went to bed tonight, I sighed and shut the window. No sense having fresh air if you lose sleep in return.

(31 Ottobre 2001) I awoke to my alarm this morning, instead of to traffic. It doesn't seem very much like Halloween today. Italians don't really celebrate it. It seems like greeting card stores are trying to get people into it, but here, it seems especially manufactured. Eggs again at the hostel. Bacon too. Such luxuries at breakfast. Pete and I headed off relatively quickly, to the Galleria degli Uffizi. If every major city needs a superstar museum, Uffizi (it means offices) is Firenze's. The line this morning was shorter than the one to Accademia yesterday, and we were prepared for a very long wait. It is an amazing museum, not overwhelmingly huge, but full of riches. Unfortunately, the museum was crowded. I wouldn't normally complain if the people there all were appreciating what they were seeing, and were people used to being in art museums. As the superstar attraction, everyone comes here, even if art museums are low on the list. Some pieces stood out from others. There is an incredible Bellini painting, almost black and white, that hangs in the Duer room. da Vinci's annunciation is also amazing. The Botticelli room is beautiful, except it was crowded. "The Birth of Venus" looks like you expect it to. I got surprising pleasure out of exploring "Allegira du Primavera." All of this is the real thing, although it is generally poorly lit, and subjected to huge crowds. Pete and I had separated, meeting up later we decided to leave, and return another day to see the rest. The art is indeed overwhelmingly beautiful, eventually I felt like I was just walking, not appreciating. On the way out, the marble busts of Hadrian and Antinous caught my eye. The two are placed so they are locked in a perpetual stare. Pete and I grabbed a slice of pizza, and mailed off some postcards. We crossed the Ponte Veccio, to the Boboli gardens. A beautiful spot, formal gardens, with white sculpture scattered. There are no open fields of grass here, but pathways and surprisingly forbidding forests. Near closing time, a mist descended on the place. Now it felt like Halloween, the growing darkness with dark forests punctuated by white marble sculpture and small clearings. Pete and I began to create a plan for a fabulous murder-mystery adventure in the darkened garden. Fiction only, of course, the eeire atmosphere inspired the imagination. Escorted firmly from the park by a guard, we sighed, crossed the Arno; at the Ghiberti doors, we met Malcolm. We returned to Il Pirata for dinner, I think it will become a regular spot. An evenings wandering, complete with gelato and caffe. At the hostel, we met our new roommate, Adam, a gym teacher from Vancouver.

(1 Novembre 2001) Firenze. This morning Adam, Pete and myself headed off to the Museo Bargello. The Lonely Planet said the museum is a "must see," so we gave it a good shot. Uncrowded, the best room in the whole place was the first one. Michaelangelo's "Bacchus" is frozen in a laugh, and a Madonna with child is a round wall sculpture. Another highlight of that room was a bronze Mercury, delightful ankle-wings ready to take flight. The third floor contained other "David" sculptures, these by Donatello and Vassario. These works make David look much more like a conqueror; Michaelangelo's "David" is criticized for being a bit too fem. However, I think putting him with a foot on Goliath's head (Donatello) makes him look foolish. So there. After leaving Bargello, we attempted to return to Uffizi. Unfortunately, we did not calculate correctly. Today is a holiday, Tutti Santi (All Saint's Day), and many people have the day off. The line outside the building was very long, and we were unwilling to wait 3 hours. We parted ways, and I walked up to Chiesa della SS Annunziata, a Marian church with a painting that's supposed to have been finished by an angel. I joined the mass in progress, and poked around a little bit after. The ceiling is beautiful gold, and the painting is indeed very good. I'm always amazed though, Mary always looks like she's in her early thirties in these paintings. Very few of them make her look like a 15 year old girl that has just had an angel appear in front of her, telling her she's pregnant. I walked from the church, down streets of closed stores (Italians take their holidays seriously), across the river, and up the hill to Piazzele Michaelangelo. There is a full size bronze replica of David, on a piazza overlooking the city. The magic is missing from the statue in bronze, and birds sitting on his head don't add any mystique. Pretty view, but there is a chill in the air. I descend, the sun must be setting somewhere, but thick clouds obscure the light. At the bronze doors, we are reunited a growing party; Adam joins us, along with a French guy named Stephen. I lead the way to our regular restaurant. Yet another excellent meal. The hot dishes are all entirely different every day, and tonight I had something with eggplant. Stephen had a bizarre dumpling thing called strozzapreti. We wander for gelato and caffe. A bizarre chain of events occurred, resulting with me the only one of our group being served gelato, and Pete getting angry and walking away in disgust. We all followed. The exact sequence of events is unimportant, and would require way too much typing. Later, we are standing outside a different gelato store, this one on the corner near the hostel. Adam is recognized by a girl that he met in Siena. She is American, travelling with another girl, from Montana. They have no place to sleep tonight. They have tried several places, but the holiday weekend has filled up the city. They were intent on sleeping in the train station, but we dissuaded them. I don't think they were fully comprehending dangers that such a course of action might entail. We concocted a plan to sneak them into our hostel room. Hostels, especially full ones in crowded Italian cities, have a vested interest in keeping nonpaying guests out; appropriate sleeping spaces simply don't exist. Don't get any ideas about people sharing a bed either. A good deal smaller than a normal twin bed, usually on a delicate frame, a hostel bed isn't a two person device, regardless of their intimacy. Our room had four beds; Pete, Adam, and Me have three of them. The plan relies on the fourth person, who could easily alert the staff and have us all thrown out.
The challenge upon us, I simply say that I've been thrown out of better places than this, and we engineer our plan. Adam and Pete had met our fourth roommate, an Irish woman named Sibbohan. Normally, Italian hostels don't mix sexes, but the place was sold out. From the gelato stand on the corner, Adam and I shoulder the girl's backpacks. They wait with Pete and Malcolm on the corner, we go inside, show our keys and go up the stairs. Sibbohan isn't around. It was early yet; we had to let things quiet down. We headed to the steps of the Duomo, and passed around a bottle of local wine. The beautiful piazza, the warm red wine, a little bit of chill in the air, interesting conversation with 6 other travelers. November started off just fine. Later, after midnight, Malcolm and the Frenchman returned to their hostel, Pete went back to ours alone. Adam, the girls, and myself finish the bottle(s) of wine, and walk back to Via Faneza. The plan was to just storm the gate. Many people were returning to the hostel at this hour, and just by keeping moving, we passed the desk and climbed the stairs. The girls waited in the hallway, no one was inside the room except for Pete. Using all available jackets and towels, the girls found a spot on the floor at the far end of the room. I fell asleep, but when Sibbohan came in, Adam used his charms, and she just nodded at the girls.

(2 Novembre 2001) Firenze, my last day here. I intend on catching a ferry to Sicilia tonight. This morning, the girls were awake before the rest of us, probably due to the fact they were sleeping on a tile floor. Anyway, I pointed out that they were alive, and all of their stuff was still here, neither thing molested by crazy people in a train station. We all had breakfast, eggs again. The girls were able to act like new arrivals, and secure beds for tonight. With Pete, and Adam, I walked back to Uffizi. Apparently this holiday is one where people take a four day weekend. Seeing a trend, Pete and Adam were able to buy reserved admission tickets for tomorrow morning, I resigned myself to skipping the rest of the gallery until another trip. I did a bit of map-reading and navigated us back toward the Basilica di San Lorenzo. There was a separate entrance to the Capella Medici, which we had missed on our previous visit. Adam left us, heading back to the hostel to see the girls; Pete and I went inside. I am so glad Uffizi was crowded. A truly amazing place, it is the final resting site for a bunch of Medicis, the family that ruled Firenze for almost 400 years. There is a chapel with a soaring dome, in marble; more colors than I realized existed in stone. Attached, is a room designed by Michaelangelo, containing more crypts, topped by sculptures by Michaelangelo. Even though there was construction scaffolding in the center of the room, it is a breathtaking place. Michaelangelo may very well be my favorite artist now. I remember being shocked and awestruck by his painting in the Sistine chapel a few weeks ago. His Pieta in San Pietro is astounding, his David made me cry two days ago. Everywhere, his works have such a humanity, a perfect grace that evokes emotion. In the Capella Medici, his reclining figures look like they might sit up and walk away any minute. After spending far more time than anyone else, Pete and I passed through the inevitable gift shop. My eye was struck by a beautiful calendar, stunning reproductions of Michaelangelo works in Firenze. Sighing at having to carry such a large rectangle, I happily bought it. We returned to the hostel, passing by the Mercato Centrale, which was closing for the day. Americans have no desire to know where their food comes from, it's all boneless, skinless, certainly it doesn't have a head. Italians aren't shy at all. The butcher shops here in the central market have more stuff staring at you than you can believe. At the hostel, I packed my bag, making room for the calendar, and bid my good-byes. I walked to the train station, and caught a local train to Livorno. Firenze to Livorno isn't a long ride, perhaps an hour and a half. Livorno has a reputation for being industrial and boring. I found the town active and interesting for the few hours I was there. My ferry didn't leave until eleven PM, and it was only six now. I knew that I should board near 9 PM, and that this boat left from somewhere quite far from the regular ferry terminal. I walked from the train station to downtown, and found the usual Italian weekend night in full swing. All kinds of people were out walking the shopping district. I love the atmosphere at these times. I did a bit of window shopping myself, and I visited a grocery store and filled up my bag with food for the crossing. A river passes through town, it was filled with small pleasure and fishing boats docked along the sides. I sat near a fountain on a piazza and watched life go by. One part of the culture is very like the dirt track at Thirlby field during a game. I made a particularly good decision, to engage a taxi to get out to the ferry dock. The way out to the boat was nearly 5 km, through a rough neighborhood, then through industrial harbor areas, on some poorly lit and unsigned roads. It was about the best 30000 that I've spent. I was early to board the boat, but I bought my ticket, a bed in a shared inside cabin. At 8:30, I was allowed on board the boat. Grandi Navi Veloci has tried to make this ferry a luxury experience. They have gone to a lot of expense and effort to make the place nice, but the whole atmosphere comes off like an Econo Lodge. My room is small and smells of mildew, but it has a private bathroom and since almost no one is traveling tonight, I have it to myself. I take a brief nap, but wake up to watch us leave the harbor. Things happen slowly at a shipyard. Livorno, and Tuscany slip away into the night. I returned to my room, and fell asleep soundly.

(3 Novembre 2001) On board the "Victory." This morning I woke up to my alarm, since there weren't any windows in my room. Not having anything to do, I dozed again. Eventually I got up, shaved, and used the shower in my bathroom. I didn't fell the ship moving very much, but by the time I was getting dressed again, I was feeling terrible. I felt like I had a hell of a hangover, bad enough to lay right back down. My upper lip was sweating, and I was just feeling ill. I realized that I wasn't feeling any better laying in bed. I threw on some clothes, and very unsteadily walked out onto the deck.

The moment I was outside, my nausea passed like a wave. It was extremely windy, but relatively warm. The sun was shining on a whitecap laden sea of blue. Seeing the waves and water made me feel so much better it was ridiculous. I sat for a while, admiring the empty horizon. I walked around a bit, developing my sea legs. Shortly, I was able to walk around without looking like a fool, and I went back inside. The moment I was out of sight of the water, I began to feel the seasickness again, so I merely collected some lunch fixings, my book, and my writing material, and returned to the deck. I ate my lunch, wrote, and read. I spent most of the afternoon here, on the top deck of the boat, windblown but warm. I moved over to the port side to watch the small island of Usicta pass by. Sicilia appeared in front of us very suddenly.

The cliffs west of Palermo rose directly out of the water. For an hour, we drove directly at the cliffs, without them appearing any larger. Suddenly we were in the harbor, but docking the boat took an inexorably long time. I was eventually allowed to disembark, it was nearly 5 PM. Suddenly I found myself in the middle of a big city, in not the most savory neighborhood. Palermo has three-quarters of a million people, subways and highways. It is also a town without a hostel. I am still not particularly good at finding lodging, and I had to try several places before I was able to find a room. Although it cost more than I really wanted to spend, it was safe and clean, on the fifth floor above the noise of the traffic. When I don't know where I'm going to stay at night, I have a hard time relaxing or taking in anything. It is a great relief when the task is over, and I am able to stretch out on tonight's bed. I descended in the elevator, an added-in affair, up the central atrium of the staircase. I was careful to remember exactly where my hotel was, since it wasn't in my guidebook. I was able to wander streets full of people tonight as well. Palermo has a distinctly different beat than any other place I've seen yet. The population is noticeably more African, couscous a menu feature as popular as pasta. I was surprised by the grandeur of Teatro Massimo. I would love to get inside and see the building, however I decided that I simply couldn't handle the concert of chamber music scheduled for tonight. I found an inviting pizza place for dinner. I sat down at 8:15, and the place was relatively empty. By the time I left, every table was full, and a crowd had formed at the door. Sicilia obviously runs on a little bit later schedule than I do. The table in front of me was enormous, probably 16 people, mostly related there were 7 kids probably between 10 and 17, sitting at the end near me. I counted 7 cell phones sitting on my end of the table. I found my way back to my hotel, and summoned the elderly elevator. The bathroom was down the hall, but I did have a sink in the room. I got ready for bed, listened to the quiet traffic below, and fell asleep.