So I could speak like an Italian so long as I had a script on hand, and I could comprehend bits of cryptic metre-high inscriptions on the walls of churches. Hey, it's something. However, linguistic advantages, or lack thereof, notwithstanding, we went to Italy. Allow me to apologise in advance for potential incoherency. Besides, the interesting tales aren't about all the museums and galleries and things you can read about in books.
Experience makes the best storytelling.
Getting to Italy is an experience in and of itself. Mother, Owen, Mallory, and Emily all converged on Houston, flew to London Gatwick, and flew into Rome. My trip was somewhat more involved. D and Arielle, out of the great goodnesses of their hearts, came up to Massachusetts to drive me into Boston. Logan International Airport took a ridiculous amount of time to navigate.