I’m just waking up to sunny rays glowing through a double stone bell tower and breakfast prepared in the town square below my window. Siena is calling, and I need to get up and be like the travel journalist who’s been turning out fabulous video footage since he got here. I’m kind of ashamed to be enjoying my … suite? It’s like a tiny Tuscan palace, with a stone tiled bathroom, two vasque sinks, a leather sofa, a double bed. I could work here. I mean, really. Don’t they want to pay me to just stay here and write about how fabulous it is to work in their facilities? hmm.
This morning we’re heading to Siena, this afternoon spa treatment. I want to float in the salt pool. I saw the gastronomy journalist walking around in her spa robe, and I seriously want to do that. To walk through ‘town’ in my robe. But I can’t figure out whether I should go barefoot, wear my slippers, or throw on my Converse; and she is about as friendly as the pretentious food she reviews. I don’t feel comfy asking her, and yes, I forgot to look at her feet. This is my biggest problem today – spa etiquette. Egad.