On trying to blend in. Or not.

We are staying in a residential neighborhood - very Roman, very little English, and I haven't met another tourist yet.  So we're having to learn quickly how to get by.  Wayne gains an advantage when he finds someone who speaks French.  It's a humbling (but very educational) experience to feel clumsy in the grocery store trying to figure out which milk might taste "right" to us (turns out it's the Parzialmente Scremato, part skimmed) or when you learn (a little too late) that you have to weigh and tag your own fruits and vegetables before taking them to the checkout (which makes a lot more sense to me than wasting time having the checkout person doing the weighing), or in the cafe you have to take your receipt to the "bar" where they will then make for you whatever you paid for at the register.


We wonder what the merchants in this little section of our neighborhood think of us.  Do they already know who we are?  Do they comment to one another about us?  "There go those Americanos who order watered down coffee and only know how to say Non parlo Italiano..."


I have found that if I can make them smile (sometimes it's easier to try to be entertaining rather than just try to blend in with the crowd), I can make a little more progress.  Une Metro Ticket, per favore.  Tre (point to the croissants) de portar via (to go).  Grazie!

This experience has already changed us...and we still have two more weeks in Rome.  La Dolce Vita!