Italy

I am fully rested after the eight day trip around Italy, for which I am embarrassed.  When I came back from Portugal my host parents, although being very nice, could not hide the surprise and fear they felt when I first walked back in the door.  Over that trip I had walked uncountable kilometers and gotten an average of four or five hours of sleep per night, in short, I lived it up when I was supposed to be living it up.  In Italy I don't believe there was a single night when I was asleep for less than seven hours.  Bed time was 11:30 every night, so I'll skip over the night life of Italy, because I have no idea what it's like, I did however get a heaping helping of the day to day life that is living in a world full of hit men, con-artists, and other mafia related professions, so just Italians in generally really.
I say hit men because there is absolutely no reason to drive like the Italian people do unless your goal is physical damage inflicted upon whoever happens to be in your path.  I thought driving in Spain was crazy, and it is, but if an Italian heard me say that he would laugh and run me over for comparing him to a people who have less crazy in their terrorist organizations than he does under the hood of his Ferrari.  Sidewalks are considered legitimate parking spaces, people blow past red lights, and mopeds drive through gaps in pedestrian foot traffic , but that's pretty standard as far as crazy goes.  No, I'm talking about details like three lane roads with zero markings on them, cross walk lights that turn green and are red before you reach the other side, and other conflicts on the road that made me feel like I was back in Sri Lanka.  Also it would be entirely understandable to assume that fifty percent of all Italian traffic is people in road rage chasing one another, hell we even got yelled and cursed at by drivers, and we were on the sidewalks.  Bands of aggressive mopeds roamed the streets which to me seemed incredibly ridiculous.  A band of Harelys are threatening because the people on them are covered in tattoos, are most likely armed, and have that 'I don't care if I go back to jail, if you scuff my boot I will stab you' attitude about them.  Meanwhile those on scooters, with their perfect posture, might start off with a harsh confrontation if you anger them but would most likely invite you out for vegan coffee before the end of the day. 
Another paragraph on something general in Italy before I get down to the specifics.  There are people trying to take your money at every corner.  I don't mean in a mugger, beat you up, sort of way, more in a sleazy, used-car dealer sort of way.  'You want cheap knock off bags, we got cheap knock off bags, how about balls that splat but reform back into balls, maybe some play dough that you can shape like a certain male organ, none of that, well then how about I just tie this piece of string on your wrist, gift straight from my fatherland, looks good don't it, now you going to pay me mother fucker?'  Oh silly locals and or immigrants, please don't stab me when I turn around.  On the plus side we were never offered any drugs, except for twice, and even then it was only marijuana except for when it was cocaine. 
The food was hit and miss.  With such a huge population of tourists who have no idea how to choose a decent restaurant many cheap crap slinging joints are all over the place.  I will give myself a little bit of praise (even though I deserve more) on the point of food for where I choose to eat.  I'm not saying I chose well, but I took chances, only one time did I eat at a Hard Rock Cafe.  This is in comparison with some people who had Hard Rock three times and McDonalds upwards of six times.  In Italy.  Seriously.  I can understand because no of our meals were covered (I spent at least €150 on food alone), but then again, really? 
So now you have some background on what will be in the posts to come, I'll try and put them up quickly because April 12th or so I'm off to Madrid.  Birthday party followed by a trip with my family, I can hardly wait, San Sebastian just seems to love raining on me, literally.  Every time I come back here the storms come in force, but if that's how my city is going to play it fine, I'll just run away, Madrid gives me sun whenever I want, I never liked your stupid beaches anyways... (I know that in a week it will seduce me back with promises that now that winter is over it will leave precipitation for good, for real this time, not another drop will touch these shores, and maybe this time it will be telling the truth)