I’m weak and tired as my train rolls into Vienna.

A storm would blow me right over.

But a beer and burger help.

But wait, Vienna? Oh no, I’m going to Ravenna!

20 hours later, at 5 in the morning, I roll into la stazione.

I wonder what this town has to offer?

Eyyyyyy, it’s Alé!

And he granted me access to his rock’n’roll basement!

He teaches me the house rules using props and simple words.

And he teaches me how to rock using simple beats.

He’s experienced in the ways of rock.

But we’re hungry and 35… inches?… of vending machine fries won’t do it.

So he takes me out into town.

To show how a real italian gets his food.

He provides a visual guide to what we’re hunting.

We find an enemy platoon.

We get one cornered!

But Alé loses a shoe in the ensuing battle.

So we follow Jesus Christ.

And we follow the cowboys.

And we follow the crowds.

And finally we are fed.

Content, we head down to the saloon to kick back and relax.

And do some shootin’.

In the morning, Alessandro somberly picks fresh eggs from the fridge chicken.

And I teach him how to poach an egg.

He kicks me out into the dangerous streets of Ravenna.

Well, not too dangerous. The fortress protects us.

Protects us from invaders.

I silently pace the streets.

I silently admire their leaning towers.

I silently glance into some sepulcra.

It doesn’t look too infernal.

I never knew Dante was such a pixelated guy.

Alé wants to show me some ceilings.

And some pastas.

And a Fiat Panda.

With a Fiat Panda, you can reach any photography exhibition within 50km.

We reach this photography exhibition.

It is held in one of Italy’s finest palaces.

Built by the finest craftsmen.

We ring our friends to brag.

They are jealous of the fine art we have seen.

Exhausted from a day of art, Alé’s mom gives us sustenance.

We feel sustained.

Sustained enough to inspect more fine craftsmanship.

Which calls for yet more sustenance.

After some rest, we have the standard morning routine.

It’s pasta.

And he sends me off again.

To see the tall horses.

To see the tall towers.

To see the tall arches.

The see the tall mosaics.

To see the tall ceilings.

To see the translucent stone walls.

To see the brickwork.

To see the local wildlife.

To see the local citizenry.

I see these things intently.

And am highly impressed by the local tilework.

It certainly must have taken some time.

But I’m getting hungry.

“Feeeeeed me, Seymour!”

The pigeons will have to remain hungry.

But I will not.

The standard breakfast is ready again.

This time with coelho.

The day is festive.

And filled with pasta.

We give thanks for the gift of grapes.

I give Alé some gifts from his real home.

It is his birthday, another festive day.

The tortellini macaw guides us to his birthday lunch.

It’s beyond the pumpkin patch.

It’s pasta.

And sustenance.

The restaurant doggo wishes him happy birthday.

His friends wish him happy birthday.

And his friends eat all of his supersalt.

There’s a fight.

Regarding pasta.

But all is forgiven.

And all are sustained.

Come morning, we need doughnuts.

He shows me one last thing.

The train station.

I pack my piadina and I’m ready to go.

Through Austria.

Which is powered by Porr.

Through Germany.

Which is powered by beer.

Homeward, homeward I go.

With a bag full of prizes.

A piadina.

A guanciale.

And some newfound skills.

Thanks, Alé!