It’s been a bit hectic in my little bubble of the world. Amidst the non-stop, thrill ride that is my life, I’ve been missing the entirely different kind of exhaustion I experienced on my trip to Europe over the summer. It seemed as though people encountered in Portugal were walking a completely different pace. Very simple, humble, kind people that just go about their life and take it as it comes. The weather was optimal, the atmosphere is calm, the historic scenery is beautiful (in it’s crumbling ruins sort of way), and I just really miss that.

Nice kids just loitering around a marvelously, partially-graffitied fountain in one of the many public squares. It actually upsets me that I cannot remember what it’s called because that means it’s been far too long since departure. Old men chuckle amid a Portuguese conversation. Siiigh.

On a side note: lack of updates is caused by intense workarhea combined with relentless, rigid apartment foraging with my super awesome boyfriend (signed a lease Monday – woohoo!) with a side of need for sleep. Dam you, Winter, with your short days and inducing of melatonin.

Rome’s street beggars were a peculiar and entertaining folk. It was hard to discern whether these people were legitimate vagabonds. The hobos I’m accustomed to are gruff, dirty, raggedy-clothed types, whereas Roman hobos were considerably well-dressed, awfully put together and appeared to pick up a cup for the hell of it.

I found it a bit suspect when the archaically old ladies bowed their heads to the ground, convincingly dressed in tattered garb, but would quickly glance around to see if anyone was coming before they sured up their act.

We sought vengeance for real vagrants; we gave one woman an American nickel in Euro-laden territory. Muahaha.