I had planned to visit the Colosseum and Roman Forum today, so I got up with my guidebook and camera all set. Met my new best friends from the night before downstairs at the bar for our 2 euro cornetto/yoghurt/fruit/hot drink breakfast and off I went. About ¾ of the way to the Colosseum I realised that, wait, I was hungover...got to the Colosseum...looked at it...looked at the line...had to sit down...nope, not today. So I walked around the Colosseum, past the men in Roman soldier costumes flogging tours or photographs or something, got all the way around, said "yeah I'll do that another day" and decided to take a parallel street back to the hostel for a change of scenery.

Italian navigation observation #2 - there is no such thing as a parallel street in Rome

I wandered through some beautiful areas, taking photos of wisteria and other lovely flowers in bloom. I had a rough idea of where I was, until I decided to double check a map and realised I was nowhere near where I thought I was*. But all part of the fun.

*Not the last time, or the last city, where this would occur

It was today that I learned my favourite Italian word. Wandering by a grocery store en route between Where I Was and Where I Thought I Was, I thought I'd have a quick look. Picked up some bananas, green olives, muesli bars and, ahem, powerade (x2) - LOVED going through the aisles and seeing things you could find in the special sections at Foodland...white anchovies, tinned tomatoes (no salt added), prosciutto and other pork products as far as the eye can see. Happiness is, no doubt, an Italian grocery store.

So I brought my purchases up to the counter. The checkout lady looks at me, looks at the bananas...

Checkout lady: [rapid italian] [rapid italian] [gesture] [gesture] [throws bananas back at me]

Sarah: ummmmmmmm...

I wander back to the fruit and veg section - now, I would have figured out after a bit of observation that I needed to weight the bananas. But before that could happen, an old Italian man comes up behind me, takes me by the arm, and guides me to the bananas section.

Old Italian Man: Prego, prego, prego

Sarah: Grazie!

Old Italian Man: Prego [takes bananas, points to sign with price of bananas]. Tre!

Sarah: [thinks, um...no...quattro, there are 4 bananas not 3]

Old Italian Man: Prego, prego [walks to electronic scale and places bananas on the scale]

Sarah: Grazie, grazie!

Old Italian Man: Prego! [puts number 3 into scale, which I now realise is the code for the price of bananas, and prints ticket]

Sarah: Grazie, grazie

Old Italian Man: Prego, prego!

Sarah: Grazie!

Old Italian Man: Prego!

Prego is an all-purpose word that essentially means 'you're welcome' but in the literal sense. Prego is what people say instead of "next" or "yes please" when you're standing in a queue, it's what the waiters say when they arrive to take your order, and it's what you say in response to "thank you".

Later that evening, after naptime and a walk around Rome's centro storico (historical centre, main part of town with the key shops, fountains, piazzas, etc), I headed down to the bar in the hostel and caught up with people whose names I couldn't remember at the time, having met them sometime between 1 and 4 am the previous night. Bram, from the Netherlands, Ryan from NJ, Victoria from Sydney and Travis from Florida. We ventured out to the bars again at Campo di Fiori and once again proceeded to spend 4-5 euro on each beer. I remember looking around and being hit by the fact that this was to be my life for the next year - naps, powerade, occasional 4 am finishes, and all amongst ancient ruins/beautiful scenery/buzzing cities/tranquil beaches.

How absurd, really!