what do I, a world-weary book nerd with an asian face, have to do with a traveling Taranta ensemble? I've just started grappling with this question, as I'm celebrating the fourth of july by following an entourage of Italian gypsy musicians (and a Brazilian percussionist) through five european cities.

I hope things are not as grim as I fear. i've been telling myself that if all communication and interaction breaks down by day three, then I am allowed to be a horrible American, hide in my hotel room, and get my way by throwing currency at locals. Moreover, during performance days, I am allowed to sit in the green room drinking complimentary San Pellegrino, avoid eye contact with the musicians' whose food I'm eating, and spend the performance in a dark corner, napping.

Mauro won't care as long as I am pliant and offer sex after the shows. This, I can do. I LOVE hotel sex.