Caprese, Lattes, and Jockey Underwear

I am still in Rome, but am about to depart for the islands of Greece later tonight. My stay here in Rome has been longer than expected, but has been great. Shortly after arriving here, my travel agent (and soon thereafter friend) Stefano and his roommate Allesandro invited me to stay at their apartment, where i have been staying ever since and have become an honorary roommate, if not semi-permanent fixture. A true bachelor pad complete with near-empty refrigerator, semi-functioning toilet, cold-water shower and unpacked moving boxes, their apartment has a frighteningly familiar feel to it. That said, it took a few days to get used to the standard dress decorum of flip flops and jockey underwear. My attempts to mimic my hosts' Italian-bachelor skills were only marginally successful, with my clumsy red Crocs and baggy boxers shorts clearly showing my rookie status (despite my recent and slight improvement in skin tone from "pasty white" to "lobster red"). I have to say, though, it is nice to find a place where strutting around the apartment in underwear and flip flops is not only accepted, but evidence of cultural appreciation.

I suspect that my accomodations are unlike those of most tourists arriving in Rome and not readily available on the likes of Expedia and, with the exception of a 20 second cold-water bathing experience each morning, i have felt very lucky to have met these guys. (That is, assuming that Stefano and Allesandro's claim that my father is actually paying a hefty ransom for my safety and eventual return is indeed just a joke... Pop, please confirm).

Perhaps not surprisingly given the nature of my hosts, Rome has been a nice break for me, with more of a focus on simply chilling out than say, trekking after endangered animals or up imposing mountains. I dare say that some of the laid-back, relaxed attitude here has even rubbed off on me a bit, with me finding myself just going along with the flow, and not just because I wouldn't know how to change it otherwise. My laid-back days recently have been primarily filled with sipping lattes and eating caprese in my favorite piazza (Campo de Fiori) while writing profound thoughts in my journal (why haven't i been doing this all my life?) and snapping pictures of Pocket Wookie.

A couple of days ago, Stefano and Allesandro and I went to the beach again and there met two nice, sunbathing Italian women, Fabiana and Barbara. Now, the fact that most Italian women are topless at beaches is not a big deal for Italians, but i have to admit that i had never considered how this would affect basic conversation protocol. I quickly found myself either looking practically straight up into the sky, straight down into the sand, straight into their eyes OR drawing pictures, charts, maps, etc in the sand, basically doing ANTHING but let my eyes wander... Fabiana and Barbara, unphased by my color-coordinated red Crocs and skin, and upon hearing where Stefano and Allesandro had already taken me (i.e. The American Steakhouse and McDonald's), insisted on cooking a proper home-cooked Italian meal for us. And for anyone wondering about Italian eating protocol, the meal, an exceptional rigatoni pasta with bacon and cheese sauce, was eaten fully clothed, although Allesandro's post-dinner underwear-lounging was legandary (photo withheld).