All over the map

Venice So we've arrived in Siena, and we've seen some hints of a party so we shouldn't have been surprised as we headed up the street to the centre of the old town, on the cusp of evening, that the quiet streets would soon be transformed into something out of Pamplona during their running of the bulls festival - sans the sunburnt English and the rowdy Aussies of course as these are very much locals. We've noticed a few more people but then suddenly we hear chanting, the sound of over 100 male voices singing a supporters song in unison, then one man is clearing the way for a man leading a horse followed by the source of the chanting, man after man with his supporters scarf marching along. We both comment that its all men, but then after a while its all women. Another horse and another group but this time it includes teenage boys and girls. Each group of supporters seems slightly different to the other and I'm not sure if its regional but they're all here to suppo...

Would you like some truffles with that? (There's photos amongst the text, so keep on scrollin') We'd stopped for espresso and a gluten fuelled breakfast somewhere on a corner where the tables lean and wobble unsteadily on the cobbles and the young man with the apron who looks squeezed like the night bus on Harry Potter speaks English like we speak Italian. The toast is more like a cake, the fruit ad yogurt perfect and the panini a figment of Bens imagination. So later when we are navigating the spaghetti junctions and the crazy Italian drivers, who drive passionately but without a care for other road users Ben can't function any more and we head for McDonalds, where I get my second gluten free burger. Back in the hot car  we clear the  crinkly wrappers that litter the cupholders  as wed been sampling all the Italian lollies as we swerved lanes to avoid the impossibly slow drivers on the right and the incredibly fast ones on our left. We arrive 15 minutes before chec...

Fascinated with the spray paint artist Last day in Rome It’s going to be a long walk in the heat from the Roman Forum to our cool lofty room so the mist spraying over relaxed diners at the restaurant across the road is too alluring. Plus we hardly have a choice as the host waves his menus, wipes his sweaty brow and shows us a shady table squeezed between the others beneath the umbrellas. We plop down and order pasta wine and salad. I’m a bit nervous about the pasta but they assure me the gf pasta is cooked in separate water. As we wait for the bill we hear orchestral music blaring across the road and an elderly taxi driver enthusiastically singing and waving his arms to the music, he's still at it ten minutes later as we head down the side street in the direction of home. Near home we stop for refreshments I manage to bump the pot plant which tumbles onto the cobbles with a crack. Across the lane is a gelataria with a long line, people enter and reappear with fantastic looking ice ...