Let the Italy Stories Begin
While wandering around the back-alleyways of Venice (if you don't consider every street in Venice a back-alleyway, at any rate). . . .
Backpacker Guy 1: Do you know where we are?
Backpacker Guy 2: Sure I do. Trust me.
Backpacker Guy 1: Then where are we?
Backpacker Guy 2: Uh. . . .
Backpacker Guy 1: You don't know do you? How are we going to get where we're going if you don't even know where we are?
Backpacker Guy 2: We can ask for directions or something.
Backpacker Guy 1: Oh yeah. Um, do you remember the Italian.
Backpacker Guy 2: I think so. Just a second. Yeah. "Dové Bridge of Sighs?"
Backpacker Guy 1: . . . I don't think that's what they call it in Italian.
Backpacker Guy 2: Oh.
* * *
Of course this became in-joke #1 of the trip, and was the default response to the question, "Hey Matt? Where do you want to go next?"
Backpacker Guy 1: Do you know where we are?
Backpacker Guy 2: Sure I do. Trust me.
Backpacker Guy 1: Then where are we?
Backpacker Guy 2: Uh. . . .
Backpacker Guy 1: You don't know do you? How are we going to get where we're going if you don't even know where we are?
Backpacker Guy 2: We can ask for directions or something.
Backpacker Guy 1: Oh yeah. Um, do you remember the Italian.
Backpacker Guy 2: I think so. Just a second. Yeah. "Dové Bridge of Sighs?"
Backpacker Guy 1: . . . I don't think that's what they call it in Italian.
Backpacker Guy 2: Oh.
* * *
Of course this became in-joke #1 of the trip, and was the default response to the question, "Hey Matt? Where do you want to go next?"