We make our way down the windy cobblestone path and join the crowd at the taxi stand. My feet screaming at me for deciding on the 5 1/2 inch grey suede pumps, hair reeking of cigarette smoke, and my body exhausted from all the dancing, all I want is my bed. The night sky is growing lighter as we flag down a cab and I check the time - 5:30 am. Back in California, this was my typical wake up time during the week. Oh how different things are now.
Sarah and I say our goodbyes, complete with double-cheek kissing, and hop into the cab. Discussing the night we just had, all of our new friends, and swapping stories, the crazy taxi driver speeds down the narrow empty streets. He takes a strange turn down an unknown street. Confused as to why he didn't continue on the familiar former street, I use the little Italian that I know to question him. He quickly explains that the side street he turned on would lead us to Magna Grecia, the major street we live off of. "Ahhh, buona. Grazie!" I say.
During the next 5 minutes as he chauffeured us home, we exchanged conversation in Italian. I surprised myself with how much of the language I already understand. Even with my American accent and broken Italian, I feel as though I am beginning to get the hang of this. He drops us off and we bid farewell - all in Italian of course. Beyond drained, but content with my life in Italy, I crawl into bed as the sun begins to make its mark on the day.
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