Buon Giorgno, from Italy's Cinque Terre!

Finally, a fully functional keyboard! Seeing as I now have no excuse, I'll do everything in my power to make this entry easy on the eyes.

Italy, for one, is nothing if not easy on the eyes. Katie observes that it is impossible to take a bad picture in this country; as such, she manages to take about three or four photos every minute. And so, we move like snails, but hey...come August 6th, we're gonna have one super stop animation film to show you guys.

But backing up...

When we last left off, it was Wednesday night...Katie and I, having fully acclimated ourselves to the Spanish pace of life, were in Barcelona, munching on heaping (free) plates of peas and jasmine rice and wandering through the moonlit Las Ramblas del Mar w/ a group of our fellow hostelers. On Thursday morning, we bought trays of fresh fruit at a huge streetside mercado and dragged our smarting, sunburnt selves up several flights of stairs to Gaudi's wacky Parc Guell, home of one of a kaleidoscopic array of colored tile and one of the world's longest benches. After freshening up a bit, we proceeded to wander through the labyrinthine Gothic Quarter for a long, long time in search of the Holy Grail of Spanish department stores, El Corte Ingles, where we'd be sure to find the object of our questing -- Aunt Jen's paella pan. Find it we did...but only after visiting the wrong Corte Ingles. Turns out there's loads of 'em...a fact we should've inferred from the metro walls, where, day in and day out, we beheld miles and miles of sheer square yardage devoted to naught but the store's very own poster boy, a sterotypically Latin cheeser w/ killer dimples, bleached teeth, and a mane of flowing, blowing hair. Doh.

Later that night, we attended a "cooking class," which was light on the cooking and heavy on the sangria-making (and drinking...but you probably guessed that much). We did, however, pay next to nothing for the chance to learn how to make a very tasty paella from a very sassy chef and meet a lot of very fun Aussie/Kiwi lasses (Kiwi means New Zealander, something I learned only after asking them whether or not they flew out of Kiwi. Again, doh).

Speaking of paella, the second part of our mission-- the part in which we had the thing shipped back to the states -- began in earnest on the following morning, Fri. the 17th. After saying goodbye to Mambo Tango (I, for one, was sad to go), we commenced to haul our 10 kilo backpacks through the sweaty streets of Barcelona for north of an hour, looking (and asking...in bad Spanish) for a post office, or oficina de correos. After checking into another hostel, we found one at last...and, after taking our numero and waiting patiently (and optimisically!) for a good while, we were told by the bubbly cashier that we'd need a box. And no, heavens no...they do not sell boxes at las oficinas de correos in Barcelona. We'd have to get our box at a box store...a tienda de las caixes, if you will.

And that is what we did. We found the box store and descended the stairs to the basement, where we took another numero and watched as the box guy measured a stroller (sans baby) for a good fifteen minutes. After another fifteen minutes of deeply serious conversation w/ the owners of the stroller, he smiled, handed them our box, and turned to us. Needless to say, we were there for a long time...but, in Spain's defense, everybody is very friendly, even if everything happens manyana. After finally leaving the box store (we had to package the thing ourselves) we returned to the post office and finally had it shipped. Special thanks must be given to our friend and fellow Mambo Tango-er Melanie, who stood shoulder to shoulder w/ us through the whole ordeal. I, for one, am happy to have done my part in bringing good paella to future Kamperman family cookouts.

After the post office, we hit the beach, which was very public. I'd close my eyes to listen to the waves lap against the shore to hear nothing but the voices of solicitors (the Indian men sell beverages, the African men sell purses, the Chinese women attempt to rub your feet...it's a very exact system...no Texans, yet). Regardless, much fun and sun was had. Later that night, Katie and I did more tapas and watched the magic fountain show, which, as far as I know, isn't magic...but it sure ain't far off.

On Saturday morning, we did our laundry before leaving Barcelona for Girona Airport, where we ate more McDonald's and caught our flight to Venice. Venice, Venice...decadent, cheesy Venice, an antique city of winding canals full of water taxis and decadent, cheesy Italinan men. Still...Venice, in spite of it all, is very beautiful, and we had a good meal (pasta and seafood...quite a combo). What's more, we happened to catch Venice on a very good weekend, that of the Redentore festival...as such, we got to see some pretty amazing fireworks explode over Piazza San Marco.

After only one night in Venice, we hopped back on the train and chugged toward Cinque Terre on the Italina Riviera, a string of five little fishing towns connected by a rocky sea wall and lush, green terraces where they grow just about anything and everything you could possibly imagine. Even the view from the train window was spectacular. On the platform at Vernazza (our own, little "hometown"), we got thoroughly bamboozled when a short, curly-headed Italian woman looked me dead in the eye and called me "Shon." In a flash, this lady referred us to a friend of hers standing off aways before leaping aboard the hissing train and disappearing for good. Her friend, Eggie (sounded like Reggie, but without the 'R') proceeded to cheerily lead us to her sister Ana's house. Ana, however was not available, so her teenage son Marco had to descend several flights of steps to whisk us away to our room, where we must've stood for a quarter of an hour trying to unlock the intricately locked door(s). It was a funny family affair...one that made the subsequent disappearance of my passport much more tolerable.

Which brings us to today, a day full of stunning panoramics and delicious pasta. But unfortunately, since I'm technically off the grid (it's like I don't exist!) I'll have to let Katie do all the lawbreaking. That's all for now...thanks again, and until next time.

Ciao!

K/S