Excerpt:

Arriving from JFK we walk to the front of the taxi line and in no time are riding very fast toward Rome. Our hotel, IQ is steps from the Opera House and a supposed fifteen minutes from The Spanish Steps. We would learn what that means in Italy time soon. The boutique hotel was all about their breakfast, vending machines (espresso, beer, and wine), and their internet tracking. For a country so lax on security it was a surprise to find that they track who, what, where, and when logging on to the internet.

With multiple maps and books in hand we head off toward The Spanish Steps. We are lost within minutes. Not “we missed a street” lost. We have lost all sense of direction lost. We hail a taxi and she drives us (fast) to The Spanish Steps. We take pictures and then find a wine bar where I attempt to practice my Italian and order a Cappuccino and two glasses of wine. “Un Cappuccino y due biccheire vino de bianco?” It is an utter failure; the waiter corrects every word and repeats my order in English. I have a minor anxiety attach, drink my wine, and grade myself an F.

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