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It was the first thing I was told by amused suitemates who had arrived four days before me. Prostitution is illegal in New York— Seinfeld has a great episode on just that—so how could it be legal in Genoa, a city without its own television show? Nor did this doubting Thomas believe it during his first two days in Genoa. If prostitution were legal , I thought , then surely there would be prostitutes.
Well, where are they? As my italics show, I think nearly always in English. Fun, but true, fact: Prostitution is legals in Genoa. Unlike the American system, where states regulate many laws, criminal law is national in Italy. So prostitution is as legal in Ostia as it is in Genoa.
And I learned that the hard way. It was now my third day in Italy. I had woken up from a strange dream. It is irrelevant in all respects to my travel experiences, but it is interesting, so I shall tell it to my readers anyhow. In the dream, I stared fixedly at a friend—look: I am becoming an Italian—for what seemed like hours, but nothing was happening. As soon as I realized that nothing would, in fact, happen, however, a giant, fury rat leapt out at my unsuspecting friend, propelling her back-first onto the pebbled ground.
Shocked, and then terrified, I turned around and bolted away. But I had left my friend with a giant rat—not a good idea. I charged around and shouted Italian vulgarities at the rat. It, however, must have been a rat from North Africa, or from Asia, or perhaps even from some other non-Italian place in Europe, say, Britain. It was a no-go—the hungry rat ignored me entirely and continued its sitting on my panting friend.
I could only watch as the Rat King chewed in triumph. Not long after the dream, classes started and classes ended. Our first weekend had arrived. Could I get cheap Ray Bands from the etnoci stores near the highway? The port, the aquarium, the sea—why had I not visited any of these before?