I specifically went into Frankfort early so that I could participate in a walking tour of the city. I suppose I had been expecting an English tour, but when I got there I heard everyone speaking different languages, and I thought, well, I don’t know, maybe it will be in German, there seem to be lots of languages here. When the tour started it was all in can you guess Italian . . . yeah that makes sense. Well, I just followed along to see what there was to see (not so much really)

There was an Australian girl there too, so we got called up to the front of the tour for translations periodically. We saw a building where Shindler (the one with the list) lived for some undisclosed amount of time. She pointed down a street light up with neon and said (I quote, but I cant find the quotation marks) This is the street of sexy shops. When the lights go out, it is not busy, but . . . the lights they do not go out.

The tour started at the train station, now here am I silly American that I am thinking, It will be a circular tour, they will bring me back to the station . . . no ! Those crazy Italians in Germany walked me 40 minutes into the center of Frankfort and left me!

So, like a blind person I carefully felt my way back to the station, I ended up following some more Australians, (I love you Aussies!) back to the station.

So, I got my bus to the airport and waited there for the plane, which naturally was late. I met some Americans in line who naturally complained about the plane being late. We got the airport in Rome and we had already missed the bus which runs to the metro station, so we had 2 hours at the airport in Rome to kill.

Some observations:
Italians are very animated it seems to Americans they are always fighting, while actually they are just discussing.
The cleaning lady at the airport was not just animated she was livid. She mopped the steps and attacked everyone who dared step on her clean steps!
That’s when you need a sign that says stay away from me crazy Italian lady!

The Americans I had met in Frankfurt were like a walking comedy routine. It was a young couple and the husbands mother. The mother was reading an Italian phrase book, and loudly practicing important phrases like, "Don’t touch me there!" (non toccarme lí)
"F*ck off!" (sorry, I can't find the translation)
"Will you hold my dentures?" (farà lei tiene le mie dentiere) and "Would you like to kiss me?" (farebbe lei ama per baciarme)
The husband was standing off to the side muttering something about how this was National Lampoons Eurotrip, but older, Italian people were turning to stare, and the little wife had her nose stuck in about five different Rome tour guides.

There was a little girl across the airport carrying around what appeared to be an overgrown Strawberry Shortcake doll. It was more like a Strawberry Tallcake doll, the girl was probably four feet tall, the tall was at least three feet tall. It was only wearing underwear and its flaming red hair was sticking up in all directions. It was frightfully like Chuckie!Chuckie! Chuckie! (Euro) Chuckie!

When the bus finally came they told us it would be 40 minutes to 1 hour before we got to the station, by then the station would be closed, we would have to take a cab.
Fantastic.

The drive must have taken us though the seediest part of town, Ive been some scary places, but I feared for my very life in as we slowly drove through the darkest dirtiest part of Rome at 1:30 am.

Thank God those crazy Americans were still there. They led me down to the taxi stand and let me share a taxi with them. I got to my hostel and rang the bell, and stood there in dark cold (slightly less scary) Rome for 10 minutes before The Fonze came down to open the door and lead me down the block to his apartment (not the hostel I booked and paid for). More on that later.