The most amusing thing I've done lately is carried around a small monkey in my bag and been using the useless French I've been learning (in part thanks to my multi-language Eddie Izzard DVDs, thank you Eddie Izzard for being educational as well as funny) to ask waiters (forgive my spelling):

Me: "Ou e les sange?"

Them: "Eh?"

Me: "[repeating] Where is the monkey?"

Them: [uncomprehending]

Me: "Le sange e sur le table."

Other variations include:

"Ou e le festival?"

"[I don't know]"

"Le festival dans mon pantolons."

That's my particular favorite. I'm probably hated in France, which is really only fair.

Why am I amusing myself this way? We've been repeating a lot of ports. I'm not sure if we'd been to Florence yet by the time I posted last, but last time we went to Livorno we took the train to Florence. I love the city, for many reasons, though not to the extent that I enjoyed Malaga. I don't know why, but I loved Malaga.

In Florence we saw stuff, and I bought something that, at this point, is perhaps the best bargain in the history of bargains. I'm having it checked again at the next port with an accreditted... checker of such things. Hint: Something I bought on the street that should've been fake, I was sure WAS fake, but apparently isn't according to the jewelers I've taken it to.

Hmm.

Anyway, the only new port we've hit since last I wrote is Sete, which was... eh. Nothing remarkable. They call it the "Venice of France" which is sort of ... well, I mustn't say anything more or I'll be even more hated in France.

Next time, perhaps: A story about strong body odor in the places where you buy deodorant. NOT a helpful sales tool.