Got chewed up by mosquitos during the night. Nice lady at the drugstore gave me cream. Walked up and down the little streets wishing everybody I met a buon giorno. Their suspicious looks immediately disappear when we start to chat even though my spoken Italian is far from perfetto.
Woman of about my age, but looks much more matronly, who runs the dry goods store told me her father had published a book about his life. He spent a lifetime as a stone mason, marble mostly, and in his retirement spent his days hidden away in a little stone house (truillo) recording his recollections. She promised to show it to me.
On the other hand, as I hurried along trying to get to the various merchants before mid-day closing, a passing out -of-town vendor in a truck stopped to ask me if I wanted to buy any of the wood he carried. Perhaps I look like I belong after all.