I live above a toy store

And I don’t mean Wii or Xbox, or even Transformers. I mean hand-carved wooden toys, like Pinocchio. My apartment is on the first floor, which means that I only have to go up three flights of steps to get to it. Nina, my landlady, gave me the three keys; including one big skeleton key that only fits in my pocket because I’m 6’3 (shorter folks must wear theirs in a sheath, like a sword). One room, three huge windows with flower boxes of plants, a platform futon, sofa bed, table and four chairs, and the kitchen in a closet (the only closet). The bathroom has a hand-held shower whose hose is, of course, too short for me, so I have to wash my hair and head standing bent over the tub before I get in to finish.

Trastevere is excellent, although an absolute zoo. The native trasteverini compete with boutique owners, left-over hippies, neopunks, shop keepers, and artists of all types to see who can put on the biggest spectacle. It’s relatively quiet from about 3:30-6 am; the rest of the time it's crazy. Across Via del Moro (meaning nine feet away) is a pizzeria with the most amazing display of pizza laid out like jewelry. There is a bar, caffè, pizzeria, restaurant, gelatoria, or other place to eat every twenty feet. In between are the shops, which alternate between the ever-present tobacco shops to exotic boutiques of all types. Piazza di Santa Maria in Trastevere is the local hangout. It’s one of my favorite churches in Rome, both for the amazing mosaics and for the historical interest (re-use of classical marble, and a nice epigraphic collection inset into the portico, like many churches have here).

Luckily my international roaming works well, just not cheaply. Talking and texting with Gary, who assures me that the library hasn’t burnt down.