Welcome to Rome. Ombrello?

Travelling to Rome from Florence felt a bit like a trip from Dawson to the big-city lights of GP. That is, if Grande Prairie were filled with men peddling umbrellas at every corner.

"Ombrello? Five euros?"

I stepped out from the protection of my umbrella to see the man eye-to-eye. He wants to buy my umbrella? How odd.

Nope. He wants to sell me one. "No, grazie."

Five steps later, a different man: "Ombrello? Five euros?"

"No."

Next street corner. "Ombrello? Five euros?"

We pass in silence. The salesman mistakes this for deafness. "Ombrello?" He gestures with the umbrella. "Five euros?"

I am reminded of the time in Florence when I fatally said "Non capisce" to an eager, non-English-speaking street peddlar rather than "Non capisce italiano," at which point the man went into a laborious explanation of the mechanics of sales transactions, miming the exchange of goods for money. I contemplate how to improve on that experience this time. We decide silence is best and keep moving.

"Ombrello? Five euros?"

At this point, I consider buying a spare. Surely there could be no crime in concocting a sphere of umbrellas around ourselves to fool the peddlars into thinking there are no wallets passing by. And if, from that sphere, an umbrella should occasionally emerge to smack a street peddlar...

Nah, Jenn would never be cool with it. Besides, then we might get into turfwars with the real peddlars.

We got in and checked into what we are fairly certain was an illegal hostel, then enjoyed a very nice walk around Villa Borghese, a large park in the north of Rome, where peddling requires licenses.

Luckily, our future days in Rome would be quite sunny. I distinctly recall the sense of relief on the second day as I put on my sunglasses and asked myself, "What could they possibly want to sell on a day like this?"