For roughly the last month, my quiet, stoic Prague has been completely overrun by hordes of young Italian tourists. Like an invading army of the South, they have descended upon Prague wearing traditional uniforms (oversized sunglasses, tight jeans, fur-collared puffy jackets, pouty lips), brandishing threatening weapons (the flying hands that wildly accompany any and every conversation), and issuing forth their battle cry (harsh staccato laughter and loud soccer chants in the otherwise silent metro stations). Tan and trendy, they are - for better or worse - walking stereotypes. With this image of our Italian brothers in mind, we departed for Rome, expecting to find a city of boisterous hipsters. Rome has not disappointed in this regard. After a generally uneventful flight, my first real view of the city came in the form of a cross-city cab
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