So, at this point I should say that if I continue at this rate, I'll be writing this blog well into my forties. But, the first day was probably the most eventful and most shocking, so don't be surprised if the rest of the entries are just blurbs about this and that.

At 15:50 Gordon and I found the studio and came in with our bags. We briefly greeted our friends and quickly asked the director of the program where we could exchange money. He said that there were some banks that might be open, but I would have to hurry. I jetted out of the studio and headed to the main conduit of traffic in Trastevere, Viale Trastevere. There, I found a Banco di Roma. I looked inside and was met by a locked door. I looked at the wall, and the hours clearly stated that the bank closed at 15:45. I ran to one more bank and found the same results. Failure.

Still no sign of Joaquin.

Back at the studio Gordon had waited for me to depart. As I shared the results of my brief journey, Gordon recalled that the broker said not to come without Euros. We were going without Euros.

Guiding ourselves with a crappy printout of a GoogleMap, we ran through the cobblestone alleys. Making decisions on the fly, we eventually found our way to one gigantic stairwell which we would later come to know very well. In the old city, there are no street signs like there are in most modern cities, so I frantically searched for some kind of indicator to tell me where on the printout we actually were. Finally we realized that the streets were in fact communicated through stone plaques mortared into the actual surfaces of buildings and walls.

We passed through a large set of arches which announced that we were moving from Trastevere into Monteverde, or in other words, from the old city to the new. The roads were paved with asphalt, the sidewalks were wider, and the streets were straight. Via O. Regnoli, at last.

This is about the point where our hunger, jet lag, and sheer exhaustion from running up what will henceforth be known as the 'Stairway to Heaven' (seen on the right) really began weighing down on our shoulders. Unfortunately we had no way of knowing or predicting what could be waiting for us in the apartment we were hoping to make our new home.

We rang the buzzer and the female voice of an English speaker with an Italian accent informed us to go to the 4th floor. We went to the 4th floor. Couldn't find the right apartment, so we ran back down to the buzzer and asked where the apartment was. The voice then said that the door was open. We ran to the 4th floor again. No open doors. At this point I remembered that in Europe, the convention is to name what Americans call the 1st floor, the ground floor. We were only on the 3rd floor. We ran up one more set of stairs and saw the open door.

Due to events that have transpired recently, I may not be very kind in describing our broker. Thus I will henceforth refer to our broker as the broker.

Gordon and I entered the apartment. We were an hour late and didn't have the money. We heard two ladies chatting in Italian. We would soon learn that one of the Ladies, Marcella, was the owner of the land, and the other was the broker. The voice on the buzzer belonged to the broker as she would continue to be our translator and liaison with Marcella. Marcella was a short woman who looked in her late 60's but could easily have been in her late 40's at the rate she was chain smoking. She had dyed blond hair that and spoke with a raspy smoker voice reminiscent of Marge Simpson's twin sisters. However, beneath the rough first impression, I could still discern a sweetness that spoke the universal language of grandmothers.

The taller of the two was the broker who had wiry red hair, a kind smile, and a tired voice. She introduced herself and Marcella. We then proceeded to describe our predicament. Our broker, visibly frustrated translated our situation to Marcella who responded in brisk Italian. There was a verbal exchange which concluded with the ubiquitous phrase, "va bene."

Immediately after, Gordon and I found ourselves being escorted around the apartment with Marcella describing how to use everything from the teacups to the television. Granted there were many things we didn't know how to use, but for the most part she was merely being "old-ladyish." This continued for the better part of the next hour, Marcella speaking fast and our broker translating for us. Her translations were much briefer.

Finally, we sat down to discuss money. We spent another hour or so devising plans to exchange and meeting later on in the week and how to organize how much to pay in what currency. Gordon and I were stalling in order to give Joaquin more time, and not a moment too soon, our broker received a phone call from Joaquin who had arrived at the studio safely. Joaquin made his way to the apartment after another 15 minutes and bailed us out. We secured the deal and reached an agreement that didn't require any money exchanging at all!

Joaquin saved the day.