The entrance to Vatican Museum at closing time.

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Castel Sant’Angelo

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Before we left the states back in February I read Goose Girl and Princess Academy by Shannon Hale. Then I read Princess Academy again to Christian and Pascale. Francoise read them directly after and when we returned to France bought the books in French to read (just what we need to make our return luggage heavy—buy more books!). We had a chuckle about the translation for Goose Girl though: La Princesse qui n’avait plus rien. The Princess Who Had No More or The Princess Who Didn’t Have Anything Left. Translations are always funny that way. For a laugh, Francoise was reading Harry Potter in English when one of her friends questioned the title because apparently the book in French is translated: Harry Potter et la Chambre des secrets. Harry Potter and the Bedroom of Secrets. Obviously we had to chuckle about that title, but one can imagine what the French kids were thinking when the book first came out.

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Before I upload pics from our trip to Rome, here are some from this morning that I took on our way into Paris. We caught the train into Paris from Rome—it was an overnight trip and took fourteen hours (obviously not the TGV). Olivier left Austin Texas the same time as us and got into Paris the same time too, only we had a better night’s sleep because we had sleeping cabins. This was our first trip on an overnight train and we enjoyed the experience very much.

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I think Rome once belonged to the land of the giants because every time I stand in front of a building that was built during the time of the Roman Empire I feel small and insignificant. And I never thought I would use the word insignificant to describe how I would feel either. When a friend visited Rome a couple years ago and used the word insignificant to describe how she felt, I thought puh. But it’s true.

So I take a photo of one of them because that’s what a tourist does. I hate being a tourist though; I want to visit these places like one who lives here and after studying the locals I think “yeah”. I still prefer Paris, but if the Parisiens were half as smooth as the Italians.

In the distance it looks like a two story building with tall columns but measuring the building beside one built just two hundred years ago, it is like five or six stories high. I need to move back, way back to get the shot.

The Italians are beep happy. They beep their horns and they are happy. Our taxi driver beeped his horn I don’t know how many times, but I learned from him. I learned that it’s a waste of time to yell idiot at someone when you can use the horn and flash a smile. I think I’ll try that one when I get back.

I buy Christian salami to put in his bread rolls while the girls and I buy different kinds of breads, some with green olives in them and others topped with sesame seeds. I keep forgetting the names of them; maybe because there are too many to remember. We buy bottled water too and cold slices of pizza. This is our ritual each day for lunch and for snack. We begin each day with a bag of food that we take turns carrying and at the end return, tired from all the walking, with an empty one.

Edited to say that I can’t upload any photos until we return to Biarritz. And I have lots.