When in Rome, eat Indian?

We've been eating a lot of Italian food on this trip. Shocking, no? I mean, it's not really Italian food as much as it's the-food-people-eat-here-cuz-duh-we're-in-Italy food. And the food, well, it's been amazing. From the seafood extravaganza Peter wrote about below to Zia Nanelle's homemade pasta (please note that the spelling of her name is my own invention, that's just what it sounds like when people say it). Zio Bruno made a fantastic feast of seafood salad (mussels, cute little octopus, squid, olives, peppers, and some other things)

linguini with clams and mussels

and then an ENTIRE trout-like fish (spigola maybe?) for each person.

So full all the time.

We've been eating and eating and eating for days. I don't think I've gained weight, but only because the intense eating has been balanced out by the hills, stairs, and cobblestone roads.

So, Peter and I arrived in Roma Thursday night. Dinner time drew near and we both looked at each other and quietly whispered "do you want to eat, I don't know, not Italian food?" Sighs of relief. Tonight was a night without pasta.

We walked past various promising places, the Chinese looked good, and scouted out an Ethiopian place a bit further away. In the end, though, we ended up at an Indian restaurant.

It was SO GOOD. Well, I'm not exactly sure it was the best Indian food I've had.... but last night, it completely hit the spot. It was spicy (most of our food has been rather mild) and contained multiple green vegetable (which we haven't seen in at least a week). FANTASTIC!

For lunch today, we decided to continue the anti-Italian food trend and stopped at a halal kebab and falafel place near the Termini train station. Falafel and kebab sandwiches, and not a bite of pasta!

And tonight, well, in a few minutes, after we leave this internet point, we're headed for Chinese. Right near the Trevi fountain.

Bella Roma indeed.

I am an Idiot Sometimes

Here's a good story to illustrate my point:

When Mom and Sissy were here, we went to visit a City called Sulmona. I spent many summers of my youth about 50 km away, but the only things I remember are that we went there to buy gold and they make confetti there, which, it turns out, I'm not that fond of. Turns out, its a beautiful little Italian city, where everyone walks throught the City center between 5 and 8, the food is good and cheap, and the people are friendly.

We stayed at the Hotel Italia, just off one of the many piazzas, which turned out to be a friendly place run by a super friendly father-son tandem.

While there, the first time, we took out a bunch of Euro's from the bank, so that we wouldn't have to keep going every couple days. However, we didn't want to carry all that money with us, so I had the brilliant idea of hiding it under the mattress. I figured we were so close to where my grandparents were from, I would use the same method of hiding my money.

As we left the room the first night, I said the fateful words: "Let's make sure we don't forget this."

Fast forward to Fano, our next destination. As I unpack to go for dinner, I ask Kimberly where the money is. She says I have it. I'm convinced she has it. Turns out neither of us have it.

I was in a full panic. I ripped apart both our bags. I called the Hotel Italia, but they couldn't find it. I sulked around beautiful downtown Fano. I was miserable. I just lost almost $1000 in Euros.

As I sulked in the City center, next to the fountain, Sissy came up to me: "Didn't you say something about putting the money under the mattress?" [lightbulbs popping]

Um, yes, yes I did!!! I frantically called the Hotel, trying my hardest to explain to them what happened, where it was. 10 minutes later, they called and found it. They were putting it in the family safe. A great weight lifted from my shoulders.
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On our way to Sant'Eufamia, we stopped at the Hotel Italia again, and we got our money. All of it was there; I think they may have even added a $100 bill. I tried to give them a reward, but they wouldn't take it, of course not.

We ended up eating a great dinner, buying fabulous pastries for the family in the Village, and getting picked up in Sulmona by an Uncle, rather than trying to navigate the bus system up the mountain.

Sulmona, as it turns out, is a pretty cool place.

quick fix

I added the picture to the post about the gas strike. Much better now. Enjoy again, if you would.