The wife and I are in Rome now, and we had terrible pizza last night. Someone needs to tell these foreigners how to make a pie! That said, I was glad to be so close to the Vatican where, as I recall, Jesus fought the lions. Or the bears. One of those NFL teams. The stadium is in terrible condition, and these people do not speak English very well.
On the subway today we watched an Italian gentleman get his camera stolen by Gypsies. He was pretty mad and animated, but we figured there was nothing we could do, so we headed up the stairs. Behind us, however, there was a sudden chorus of cries and it appeared someone had been caught and maybe was getting a good beating. Suddenly, around the corner, came two grim-faced young Gypsy women, one carrying a baby (or more likely a camera swaddled to look like a baby). They high tailed it up the escalator as we, the fat Americans, were on the stairs that ran parallel.
My wife asked what was going on, and I explained how the Gypsy gangs worked, with a pusher, a blocker, a lifter, a juggler, and a deposit person. The voice of a seasoned court reporter responded back: "Oh, just like in a drug deal."
Bingo!
Suddenly, I did not look so stupid for pinning my pockets shut that morning -- a move that had already defeated two Gypsy boys who pushed on to the subway car behind me, and then dropped back and out of the car as I turned around to confront them. A busking violin player in the car turned to me and said, in perfect English, "pick pockets." I gave him a Euro.
On the upside, outside of the Colosseum, we filled our water bottles from a continuos stream of water coming from the mouth of a bronze wolf's head. It was just like back home.
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