I'm sitting in a room in Denver, Colorado and experiencing a weird sense of déjà vu. I'm pretty sure I've been in this room before: the art on the walls all looks very familiar and I feel an odd connection to the DVDs and books on the shelves and the furniture and such. It's hauntingly familiar, like something from a half-remembered dream, or a movie I saw as a small child.
Or at least, that's kind of how it feels to be sitting in my own living room for the first time in nearly a month. We left Denver on the 20th of December, as astute readers may recall, and we've been living as vagabonds for that entire time, sleeping in friends' generously offered beds and guest rooms, in Emily's sisters' old bedroom, in a chain of hotels and creaky, barely tolerable hostel cots.
The "more photos than you can shake a stick at" are, sadly, not forthcoming - a tale of much woe. A few selections from my sketchbook are forthcoming once I can get the pages scanned.
But, in spite of the comedy of errors, Italy was truly magnificent. The food alone made the trip worthwhile. The pizza in Rome was to die for, we shared what was probably the single most perfect serving of lasagne ever and one near-perfect piece of tira misu, and ate lots of really, really good gelato.
Anyway, stick around, y'all, because we're back on schedule here after our brief hiatus. I'll have another post for you tomorrow, maybe even two. And if you'd like to hear (that is, read) more about our trip, keep your eyes on my better half's Pantalones del Fuego, as she's got big plans for trip recapping over the next several days (I think). And I'll be doing some of that my ownself, too.