I am in this tiny village of Badolato, a very, very characteristic mountain town. It’s kind of an odd arrangement. I arrived in town around 4:30pm, and called my host, Vincenzo. He is a very nice man, but doesn’t speak hardly any English. In a cruel twist of destiny, I believe I left my Italiano-Inglese dictionary at Francesco’s home in Lauria, so it appears to be time to purchase another. In any case, I called Vincenzo, and he came to meet me at the piazza just a few minutes later. He had generously set me up at a Bed & Breakfast only a few blocks down the road. After Badolato, I will go to Bianco and look for a possible room to rent there. Then I plan to go and start knocking on doors in Sant
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