I Feel Like Titles Are Going to Become a Problem

So the house is a little more full at present than before, since Joanne, the historian through whom I found the place, is here for a few days before she and Elsa go on a cruise.  I came out of the bathroom after drying my hair to find not only her, but also another woman, Rebecca, who works in18th century literature, in the kitchen with her son--she's another "graduate of Elsa's" as they said, having lived with her a couple times over the years.  They're leaving for a two-week cruise on May 30, so it kinda works out neatly that I'm going to Rome for five days on Thursday--it's not a big place.

This morning I decided to actually try following one of the itineraries in Lorenzetti, the guide suggested by Dr. Cooper that encompasses not only only history and the artistic contents of churches and museums but facades, bridges, points of interest, etc. The book was originally written in the 1930s and updated in the 1960s, so there are occasionally things that have changed, but on the whole it's accurate.  Mostly I did church-hopping, although at one point both my map and his directions were so unclear that I wound up in the city library's courtyard and not the Scuola di S. Giorgio like I'd intended.  I also went to Murano, the island of the glassmakers, briefly in the afternoon, before calling it an early day in favor of trying to go jogging, emphasis on "try."  Ugh.  How unpleasant.  Sean tells me it gets less awful, but I don't know if I'll have any willpower to keep doing it once it gets warm--today was another cool day.

I finally managed to do my scarf Italian-style this morning!  I was kind of proud of myself for that.  One less way I look out of place, which is something I've been weirdly obsessed with on this trip, and I think it's because I'm by myself; when you're with someone else, speaking English, not only is there no hiding your identity, but there's also a sense of safety in numbers that the solo traveler lacks.  Of course, my lack of skinny jeans (preferably with rolled cuffs that are stuffed behind tongues of poofy Nikes), and inability to wear a leather jacket on a warm afternoon in direct sunlight, will never stop marking me as an outsider.  Or, you know, I could just open my mouth and attempt to speak!

I did have brief conversations with two people today.  One was a fruit vendor who was selling, like most other fruit vendors, cherries as ciligie.  I asked him why the first cherries I'd bought here were badoere instead.  At first he had no idea what I was talking about, but when I insisted I'd seen this in Venice, he said it might have something to do with where they're from.  Treviso, the first vendor had said.  Ah!  Badoere is a place near Treviso.  Voila.  Not a Venetian nickname at all like I'd thought.  The other person I talked with was the guy monitoring the scuola of S. Giorgio.  I learned that the scuola still exists today and that you can only join if you're of Dalmatian descent (the scuola was S. Giorgio degli Schiavoni, or St. George of the Slavs).  Kind of like the Masons in doing charity, except they only meet once a year (and no word on elaborate dress-up costumes).