Un'Altra Luna Nuova, Per Favore
After moving into the flat and being handed a list of the 1,000,000 things that I'm not allowed to do, me and rents decided to go for a celebratory 'you-arrived-in-one-piece' meal in Piazza Garibaldi. Who shows up? The land-lady, obviously - clearly stalking me already. Fabulous!
A very awkward half english, half Italian discussion then takes place, followed by the overwhelming need to down a bottle of wine. Either I'm terrified of my landlady, or my brain's natural reaction to hearing Italian is to turn to s***. Either way, as it currently stands, Italy is making me appear like a gormless idiot.
However, that was one hell of a pizza...
On the 2nd evening, we went to another restaurant.
NOTE TO SELF: Always check the menu before sitting down!
We found a pretty cute-looking restaurant down a side-street off Via Farini, and in a state of pure confusion whilst attempting to get a table, we forgot to check that the place didn't just sell weird s***.
It sold nothing but weird s***.
After standing infront of everyone awkwardly for what seemed like an eternity, we find ourselves flicking through the pages of the most retarded menu ever created.
Horse-meat hash!!? Im sorry, what!?
What's our excuse for having to leave? How will I say it in Italian? s***.
A quick glance around, and... we legged it. Standard.
Won't be showing my face there again...
Now, on an alcoholic note, I appear to already be gaining a reputation. After going to 'La Dolce Vita' bar for the 2nd night in a row, the barman recognised me and remembered the drink I ordered the night before: "You got a Luna Nuova yesterday, yes?"
I then proceeded to order to the most alcoholic cocktail on the menu, and he laughed at me and said "of course, alcohol!".
I don't know if this was a joke, or if he actually just thinks I'm an alcoholic, un-cultural mess from Yorkshire... either way, I got a 1 euro discount.