When James returned, laden with anti-biotics and his foot in a compression bandage, he cooked us a budget-appropriate tuna and pasta casserole. We wrapped up the night by watching "Horrible Bosses" on my Ipad, laughing our asses off the whole time.
The following morning, James awoke bright and early to pick up his friend Ciara from the airport. I, on the other hand, slept in and lazed about the hostel until 1pm or so, at which point I headed out to catch a tour of Teatro Colon, one of the most famous opera houses in the world.
The Colon was beautiful, inside and out, with a gilded salon room modeled after the hall of mirrors in Versailles (of which we were not allowed to take pictures, lavishly carved columns and ceilings, and a gorgeous stained glass dome over the foyer.
The theater itself reaches an astounding height, with a chandelier so huge that a small choir can be hidden inside of it.
Our tour guide allowed us to take in the view from the president's box. I, however, barely got to take this picture because two ignorant people on the tour decided that they were so important that standing dead center in the box for almost the entire allotted time taking picture after picture, as well as illegally videotaping the scene, outweighed the value of the rest of us getting a turn. Tourists. Sheesh.
I arrived back at the hostel and met up with James to have a farewell drink, as he would be staying elsewhere with Ciara for the one night the hostel could not accommodate her and I would be staying up all night anyway.
That evening, I hopped the metro to Palermo to meet Lisa and Tarl for dinner and drinks, passing the Teatro Colon once more on the way.
The three of us enjoyed yet another sumptuous meal of their choosing, complete with wine, mineral water, three appetizers, and two steaks, all for less than 70 US dollars in total, thanks to a connection of Tarl's. Midnight had come and gone before we finished, and I had laughed hysterically the whole time. Tarl, an English actor with an Italian family has the outsized personality to match that pedigree and entertains as thoroughly off the stage as I'm quite sure he does on it, whether he's speaking an impassioned blend of Italian and Spanish to the waiter or relating a story at the table. And Lisa I just adored as well. Sweet, funny, smart, and worldly. And quite talented with languages, being a Swedish emigre living in London and traveling South America, and adapting to each tongue with ease, although she is far too modest to admit her skill.
Lisa and I arranged to meet again in Brazil a few weeks later; I promised to send Tarl a list of suggestions for his upcoming trip to the US, and I said my goodbyes. When I arrived back at the hostel at quarter to 2am, I loitered on the roof deck with Aussie Alex and Kiwi Tia for a bit too long, and suddenly realized that my cab would arrive in fifteen minutes, and I hadn't packed. At that, I ran down the six flight of stairs, threw my belongings into my bag as quick as I was able, left a note and a special alfajore that I had bought for James, and climbed into the waiting car. And then, a whole debacle ensued. But that's another story.
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