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About Bari

So, escort’s this hidden gem—13,000 feet of pure “why am I doing this” vibes. Little-known fact: it’s named after some crusty miner’s mule that hauled gear up in the 1880s. Poor Escort the Mule probs died up there, and now we’re all trudging his ghost trail. I’m jazzed about it tho—gets my blood pumpin’! The scramble’s sketchy, loose rocks everywhere, like the mountain’s tryna shake you off. “You’re being watched,” I whisper to myself, channeling *Caché* paranoia, ‘cause those cliffs? They’ve got eyes, man.

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First off, I hit up Via Vittorio Emanuele. It’s like the main drag, ya know? Packed with people, cars honkin’, and me just tryin’ to find a decent coffee. I’m a forest dude, not a city slicker! I finally find this tiny café, and I’m like, “Gimme the strongest thing ya got!” The barista looks at me like I’m nuts. I mean, c’mon, I need my caffeine fix!

Carer goes on spending spree with elderly doctor’s bank card