It's gorgeous and sunny, and I'm hopeful that I'll be able to rope up and at least jump on one or two routes.
We traipse up to a crag called Carva, a half-hour walk up a steep grade to meet up with friends we'd seen in town in the morning. Peter spies a lizard and becomes happily sidetracked from his upward ascent. Timi retorts, "keep marching, we're not here to hunt for reptiles."
I'm doing more reading than climbing. These Austrian boys are so starved for entertainment that they're absolutely thrilled to listen to me read about a giant sandcastle in English. I look longingly at the sun across the valley and wonder how we managed to wind up in the shadiest spot in all of Northern Italy.
Peter's hanging out. Don't hit Agatha! I'm out of picture books and Parker is screaming, "back home, back home." I hike down to the car to give Parker his nap. I hadn't even so much as touched the rock. Ahhh well some days are just like that, even in Italy.
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