A Word About Italian Dessert

For the most part - it's not worth your time.

In general (excluding gelato, of course) it's just not very good. So far, most of the "cakes" I've tried are actually more like cookies with too much baking soda (which any good baker will tell you yields very "cake-y" cookies...but they're still just cookies - and bland ones to boot). Most of these are dipped in chocolate or have some kind of fruit compote on top, which is fine - but in the land of delicious food, it's like there is no creativity left for dessert. It's just there; completely lacking gusto. (Perhaps after all the gelato and sugar they put in coffee, they have no need for sweets?? I don't know.)

But this week, all that changed: I finally met a dessert worth writing home about.

Imagine, if you will, one of those red beer cups (just go with me on this), only in miniture size. Now take that cup and fill it to the brim tip-top with what is probably a sugar, eggs and cream cheese mixture. Then take that cup, turn it upside down, and excavate the contents onto a plate, sandcastle style (so all the cream cheese is still in the shape of the cup).

Now, instead of cream cheese, imagine the texture to be something wetter and creamier like pudding...only it's firm, like jello. But, it's not translucent (or that jiggly). Flan! It's like the texture and consistency of flan, only it tastes good and it doesn't have that clear liquid layer of "sweat" flan always seems to have. With me so far?

Next imagine thick, creamy, liquid chocolate poured over the top and rolling down the sides in huge, slow, fat rolls until it reaches the bottom and pools on the plate. Then sprinkle cocoa powder on top.

THAT, my friends, is panna cotta (pan-uh-coat-uh). It. Is. INCREDIBLE. I kid you not.

I should have taken a picture (sorry!) but I was so intrigued when it arrived, that I dug right in and gobbled up the deliciousness. And I didn't think showing you a picture of a mostly eaten dessert would be too appealing. I'll try and find it again for you though.

I realize I haven't really described what it tasted like, but I'm having a hard time putting my finger on it. I can tell you what it didn't taste like though. Despite only listing cream cheese and chocolate as ingredients, it wasn't like cheesecake at all (plus, it's not baked like cheesecake is...probably just refrigerated). And even though I mentioned it, no, it did not taste like flan. At all. I hesitated to even make the association, but it had to be done. (Flan = bad, panna cotta = good.) It must have had vanilla in it....but it's hard to say. Sigh. This is really outside my area of expertise. You're just going to have to trust me on the delicious part and we'll leave it at that. :)

P.S. I know I'm in the middle of blogging about Cinque Terre right now, but just in case you're curious, I actually had this dessert on my second time through Florence.

P.P.S. Sorry Kristen, this probably is not helping with your "unattainable foods" craving the blog seems to inspire - heh heh. And I know you don't like cheesecake, but you'd like this. It was amazing.

You’re Not From the Northwest, Are You?

The next morning I enthusiastically rap on their door at 10am (as previously agreed the night before), but the only one out of bed is Philip. So he and I head out for some breakfast while the others get with the program. Since breakfast is an über-low priority meal here in Italy, we’re pretty excited to have found a place with cereal, yogurt, OJ, and pastries to choose from. I choose yogurt and milk. Philip goes for OJ (fresh squeezed!) and croissants. Mmm, mmm! Good eats!

When we get back to the room, Patrick is still in bed and Ellen and Matt have gone to breakfast. We wait around for a while, but it becomes evident that they won’t be back anytime soon (and we get the impression from Patrick that no one else is really keen on sight-seeing today; the weather was a little on the grey side…) so we decide to go explore another city on our own.

We decide to walk the brief, 10-minute paved "hike" to Manarola. Despite being one of the sleepier towns of Cinque Terre, it is (in my opinion) the most beautiful. We arrive and immediately head toward the waterfront. This is where Rick’s self-guided tour begins, but I knew there were a couple good views not included on the tour, so we wandered around and check those out first.

Soon though, we get back on track with Rick and are directed to the city center. In the mean time, it has started to drizzle. I am completely unfazed because it is the light, airy, hardly noticeable rain we’re more than accustomed to in the Northwest, but Philip is slightly put out so I try to reassure him that it won’t last. I’m sure I was in the middle of one of these little "keep-your-chin-up" pep talks when, as we head down a small, brick staircase, my feet slip right out from under me and before I know it I’m flat on my ass. I kid you not, it was like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel: one second I was standing and the next I was not. I pop right back up and the worst of it seems to be that I now have a wet butt. A little further investigation, however, reveals a scrape on my arm, but all is well. Philip is kind enough to not laugh at me (at least immediately) and we get back to the tour.

The next stop is a “museum” which consists of one room and a 15 minute video about wine-making in CT. We decide to get out of the rain and enlighten ourselves, but the video proves difficult to follow (technically it was in English, but the accent was so strong, half the time I had no idea what she was saying). Aside from the difficulties associated with actually understanding the video, my forearm is really starting to smart. It seems the scrape has bled a little and is actually starting to swell. I’m such an idiot; I can’t believe I fell down.

We finish the rest of the tour with no more hiccups (read: I don’t fall down again) and decide to head to Monterosso. There seems to be more food options there and this will give us the opportunity to check out another city. We head straight for a Rick Steves recommendation and quickly order two foccacia sandwiches. About 5 seconds later those were gone and we were still kind of hungry (not that they weren’t delicious; because they were…they just weren’t big enough). So I suggest that we find one of those places where you order a semi-expensive glass of wine and get free little eats along with it (since we’re not really looking for a whole meal).

We find a place with relatively little trouble and order two glasses of actual Cinque Terre wine (since we had just learned all about it, it seemed terribly appropriate) and a plate of cheese. The wine serves to naturally slow the go-go-go pace we had been setting and we get to swapping stories about life. The conversation is quality and the weather changes from light to legitimate, so we sit for quite some time. It ended up being one of those savory experiences. The kind where, had you planned it, would’ve felt contrived or cheesy (heh - cheesy), but when they just happen are fun and memorable. It was one of my favorite parts of my trip so far.

Since the rain showed no signs of letting up, we decide to head back for a weather appropriate wardrobe change before exploring the next town. Besides, perhaps by now we can get the others to join us. Unfortunately once we get back, it becomes immediately clear that no one wants to go out (they’re already in the middle of movie number two (three?) for the day…sissies). And while originally Philip was game for staying out in the rain, now that he’s inside….notsomuch. Sigh. I guess there won't be any scales falling from their eyes today. To me, the rain is nothing; certainly no reason to change my plans or complain. But to them, it’s definitely something. So I try to keep the eye rolling to myself, accept that I am outnumbered, and just agree to stay in.

When it comes time for dinner, Matthew and Ellen want to stay in and cook (which if I were at home would seem totally normal, but here??). The rest of us want to eat out. Looks like we’re splitting up again. But Patrick decides eating immediately is more important than eating together and grabs a pizza and beer from the place around the corner before we can say Jack Rabbit Slim. So that leaves Philip and I (which seems to be a common theme on this trip) and we decide to try something new and head to Vernazza.

We choose a Rick restaurant (of course) and decide to order two dishes and share. We try fried seafood and lasagna al pesto. The seafood was meh (more like a la Red Lobster) the lasagna al pesto was di-vine. It was creamy and cheesy without being too rich and with just the right amount of pesto – SO good! (Write that one down for later…)

After that we called it a night. Tomorrow is hiking day (no, no one wants to join us - Philip seems to be the only one of the group who sees what I see here) and we figured we’d get an early-ish start (9:30). I returned to my room relieved to find that it was still uninhabited by anyone other than me. So far this has been the best 20 EU a night I’ve spent.

Welcome to Cinque Terre!

Today my new friends will arrive from Rome and I’m excited because a) they are going to experience Cinque Terre for the first time and I get to be a part of that and b) now I will have some companions with which to explore some of the niches of CT that I didn’t before. Really, it’s a win-win.

The L’Abri peeps have scheduled three nights in CT, giving them only about 2.5 days of sight seeing. Based on my previous experience, I intend to recommend they spend the first day and a half exploring the towns by train and the last day hiking the towns. That way they’ll be able to see all they want to see of each city and when it comes time to hike, they won’t be tempted to loiter in any given city (the hike is about 7 miles from start to finish and a tendency to explore would only prolong the approximately 4 hour trip).

And this is exactly what I tell Philip when he arrives that afternoon. He had been more excited about the prospect of CT than the others and, in turn, opted to take an earlier train. Everyone else would arrive in the early evening, but the general plan sounded good to him. As he got settled in, we swapped stories over the last few days (me with my lousy picture taking of David and he with a blitz tour of Rome) and then I took him on Rick’s self-guided tour, alla me. His reaction to CT was pretty much what mine had been originally: eyes popped wide, jaw permanently dropped, simply unable to absorb all the beauty. (Seriously, if you haven’t been, you really must come visit.)

Before long it was time for everyone else to arrive, so we headed back down to the train station. After a brief wait, Matt, Ellen and Patrick showed up on the platform looking tired and a little bedraggled. Turns out it had been a long day for them and the only thing they wanted today, was a little rest before dinner. That seems fair enough. Patrick decides he is game for a mini-tour of a city, so he, Philip and I set out to see Vernazza and plan on meeting Matt and Ellen* in Monterosso for dinner.

The walk in Vernazza is a brief one, but the boys can see that it is a city with quite a bit of charm. For me, it’s like coming home. This is where I not only met my traveling twin Erin, but where I spent the bulk of my time alone in CT. It’s silly, but I’m nostalgic.

We pop into a foccaceria for a little sustenance before dinner and explore all around the breakwater and “beach” (a.k.a. huge rocks on which one can lay in the sun). Before we know it, it’s already time to catch the train for dinner and we’re on our way.

After the two-minute ride, we head back to my favorite pizzeria (where I had been skunked the night before), this time to happily discover it is open for business. Unfortunately we don’t see Ellen or Matt anywhere…perhaps they missed the train? We settle in and order two pesto pizzas and one 4 cheese. Mmm, delicious! From there we venture over to one of the bars and chat over some bevies.

Eventually we head back home and learn the others did indeed miss the train (bummer) and settled for pizza from a nearby shop. Then the five of us huddle on two beds around one small MacBook and watched Anchorman. I haven’t watched tv in almost a month, but was nice to have a little mindless entertainment. By the end though, I’m completely exhausted (as are the others) and we call it a night.

On the whole, they don’t seem rapturously overcome with the wonderful magicalness that can only be attributed to Cinque Terre. They’re just tired. (Pshaw! What gives?) This perturbs me a little bit, but they have been traveling all day, so I decide to give them the benefit of the doubt. (Even though all I really want to do is shake them and say, “Are you freaking SEEING this!?!”)

Perhaps tomorrow the scales will fall from their eyes…

*Metsker, I just realized that it sounds like I’m talking about you and your mom – hahhah! That didn’t occur to me once in real time – probably because this Matt is from the UK and has a cute accent and they mostly call this Ellen “Keller.”

**Second photo courtesy of PBJ

In Cinque Terre (again)

After three train rides and half a day of site-seeing in Pisa, when I arrive in Riomaggiore, I’m plumb tuckered. I had contemplated seeking out a single bedroom for the night (I was craving the privacy of my own room and the luxury of my own bathroom), but when I came through the pedestrian tunnel and the sign for Mar Mar Rooms (where my friends would be staying) was right there…I’ll be honest, I caved. At this moment in time, simplicity was taking precedence over everything else.

They had a bed for me and I checked right in with no problems. The gal at the desk gave me great directions to find my room (despite being “dorm room accommodations, the rooms are all still spread out in the small city) and I was all set to head out the door when she says, “Oh, there will be two beds in the room: a double and a single. Be sure to take the single in case anyone else checks in.” At first, my reaction is – well, sure. I wouldn’t hog the big bed when others might need it. But then it occurs to me that “others” might be a married/dating couple. Me. And a couple. Sharing a room. Well that would just put my third-wheel dinner party story to shame. Augh.

But for now, I have a room with an attached bathroom to myself and I’m only paying 20 EU a night. That’s a major steal. I’ll take it. I quickly settle in and decide food is a must. Now last time I was here, I pretty much only took the time to do the Rick Steves’ recommended walk around town – and not much more. I’m not familiar with good places to eat or where to find internet access. I start to consult Rick, but that involves reading and decision-making and all I really want is a quick, filling, cheap meal. Immediately a pizza joint in Monterosso comes to mind and I wish I could eat there. Then it occurs to me, I can just eat there! So I hop on a train (for the low, low price of 1.40 EU) and I’m there in a snap. Woo hoo!

I quickly walk myself to aforementioned pizza joint (congratulating myself all the way there for this absolutely brilliant idea) and when I arrive, I see that it’s completely dark. Hmm, maybe they just open late…?? (You can see how desperate I was for them to be open – they are clearly closed.) Sure enough: closed on Wednesdays. Boooo! Who’s not open on Wednesdays?? How am I supposed to know it’s Wednesday? I have no concept of time here…

Miserably I turn around and try to summon the willpower to make a decision (I’m quite hungry by now and we all know that’s just a recipe for grumpy). I march myself over to where I remember a couple of places that looked inexpensive and interesting the first time around, when I spot another pizzeria. Perfect. Done deal.

I quickly sit and order a pizza – the first one that comes to mind – and then patiently wait. As I do so, I notice that all the other patrons of the restaurant are tourists. D’oh! Usually that’s a surefire indication that the food won’t be great. I decide to get over it – too hungry to care. When the food finally does arrive, it’s not too bad. My biggest complaint was that the olives were whole and still had the pits (who puts whole, unpitted olives on a pizza anyway?), but in terms of feeding me, it gets the job done, so I’m a happy camper.

After that I head back home and take advantage of my newfound privacy/bathroom by soaking my feet and painting my nails – two things I haven’t been able to do for ages. Ahhh, the small perks of life. Sometimes they make life worth livin’.

Alright, that was PRETTY good*...

Not too shabby peeps! I know you have lives of your own and more to do than respond to my blog (shockingly), but I'm only considering it a good start. Heck, you even got a first-timer to comment! (Way to go Clare!) We've still got a habit of commenting to establish...

I'd say you earned two posts for that effort.

But you'd better keep it up, or you'll be reading about Italy for months after I'm home...

*I'll send a post card to the first person who can correctly name what that quote is from. It's a toughie!

Blog Strike

Alright people. There is a SERIOUS lack of commenting happening on the blog. I know you're out there reading it (I'm tracking it), but you're not responding.

While that's all good and well for you the reader - I need feedback! It's the only way I feel connected to you...and not just the other way around.

So. I'm officially holding the next three blogs ransom. They're about Cinque Terre and my new friends and I know you want to read them...

But until I get some action - you're not gonna!

How do you like them apples? ;)

P.S. - Cory thanks for your comment about David, I appreciate that.

Pisa and the Field of Miracles

On my way to back to Cinque Terre, I decided to make a pit stop in Pisa. Rick says it’s worth seeing, but not worth staying. I’ve got a whole day to travel about two hours, so it makes for a perfect little filler for my day.

When I arrive in Pisa, I check my bags and decide to walk through town to reach the Field of Miracles (where the town’s meager four sites are all held). I stroll through the streets and note that it looks pretty much exactly like Florence. There are even a few intersections that make me do a double take and I have to remind myself I’m not in Florence.

I follow Rick Steves’ guided tour through town and enjoy a local fresh fruit and veggie market (where I picked up a pear both for the calories and the romanticism) as well as a historic view of the “old town” and a small, quaint, often overlooked church near the city center. Soon I arrive at the Field of Miracles and, as promised, it is a conglomerate of tourists and the junk people try to sell them.

The four main structures of the Field are the church (Duomo), the bell tower (the famous leaning tower), the Baptistry, and the Cemetery. Rick contritely points out that these building represent the main events in every Pisan’s life: christened in the Baptistry, married in the Duomo, honored in ceremonies at the Tower, and buried at the Cemetery. It’s a whopping 15 EU to climb the leaning tower, so I decide that it’s not worth the price of a month at the gym to climb the stairs – I’ve done plenty of climbing and I’m sure I’ll do more. The 5 EU combo ticket to see the Duomo and the Baptistry is more in line with both my budget and my mood.

I see the Duomo first and am again impressed with the elaborate art that decorates the interior; they sure take that responsibility seriously. This time pictures are allowed, but I’m not particularly inspired. I snap a few anyway, because I know if I don’t I’ll regret it, and am soon ready for the Baptistry.

At first glance, the Baptistry is comparatively dull. It’s one room with an enormous dome capping the top – but there is a serious lack of frescos or paintings of any sort on the walls. There is an elaborate pulpit carved from stone, similar to the one I had just scrutinized at the Duomo, only a bit simpler to understand, as well as a baptismal font. The echo in there is incredible – Rick said it lasts for 10 seconds. So even though there are only a few people in the Baptistry, it feels crowded with all the scuffling noise. I soon notice that I can climb a flight of stairs and get a bird’s eye view (see? I told you I’d climb more stairs!)

After I’ve done a few laps, I decide to take a seat and see what Rick actually has to say about this joint. I read the info a little more clearly and am surprised to see that at every half hour a guard sings in the dome to demonstrate how acoustically perfect it is. He says that by singing three notes, a person can actually sing a chord by him/herself, creating eerie harmonies. Now that is something I’d like to hear! Unfortunately, I must have just missed it, as it’s about 10 after the hour (of course). So I find a spot to hole up for 20 minutes and wait it out. What else have I got to do?

Sure enough, 20 minutes later I’m rewarded with 5 minutes of some of the most incredible accapella singing I’ve ever heard. About half way through, an Asian couple near me starts “whispering” to one another and I try to give them the look of death to get them to shut up, but they don’t see me. A-nnoying! It then occurs to me that I have video on my camera and I could be recording this incredible phenomenon for all of you to hear for yourselves. But of course the minute I hit record, the final echo dies out. D’oh! Well, it’s the thought that counts, right? Just take my word for it – if you’re ever in the neighborhood, you should really check it out. It was definitely worth the 20-minute wait.

Florence – The David (and more…)

In all my gallivanting around town with the peeps from L’Abri, I’d forgotten to make a reservation to see the David the following morning. Thus, if I stood any chance of seeing him without standing in line all day, I was going to have to head there first thing in the morning. So at 8:30, when the doors opened, I was in line outside the Accedemia. This plan actually worked out exceedingly well, as I only had to wait 10 minutes and I saved myself the 3 EU reservation fee – score!

After blazing through the metal detector (and maneuvering around several tour groups) I was just starting to wonder where the heck they were hiding him, when I turned the corner and There. He. Was. I’m sure there was art lining the hall toward the David, but I didn’t see one bit of it. I was completely transfixed. My eyes widened, my jaw dropped and I walked in a straight line directly toward him. (This is much like how I figure seeing my husband for the first time will be – ha ha.)

Since I had obviously seen pictures of the David before, my first feeling was one of recognition: oooh, I know him! But like so many of the most beautiful things in this world, a camera is simply incapable of capturing the true beauty of what you are seeing with your own eyes. And this was no exception. He was simply, so much more.

I stood and stared at the David for nearly 30 minutes. I took in every point of view possible and just stared. I simply could not get enough of it. Something about it was so remarkable. SO much better than all the other sculpture (hell, all the art) I had seen. For one, it’s enormous. Apparently when it was commissioned, it was going to stand on top of a building, so Michelangelo made it large for that purpose (he also made the hands and head slightly oversized for the same reason). But when it was finished, it was deemed so fantastically good, that it was put in the center of Florence’s main piazza instead (where it stayed for over 400 years).

But its size is not what really makes it remarkable. The only word I can think of to describe it is…intense. When you look at David, you can see the readiness in his face, you can sense the tenseness of his body, and you can feel the intensity of that stare. He is studying his opponent in the distance and his adrenaline is building. He is vulnerable in his nakedness, yet simultaneously….completely confident. He is just an ordinary man, but he believes in an extraordinary God. He is the dark horse opponent, but he will fight, and he will win. And he stands calm and ready with that perfect knowledge coiled within him.

I felt sure that if I watched him long enough, I would see the slow rise and fall of his chest as his breath passed through it, or that at any moment he would suddenly take off from that platform, sprinting full bore toward the giant. It may sound a little silly, but I kid you not. I’m telling you: intense.

(Now as a side note, my new friend Philip talked me into taking a picture of the David. As it turned out, he had almost exactly the same camera as me (one version earlier) and by turning off the flash, the volume, and the display – you can be quite sneaky and take pictures in places where technically it’s not allowed. I don’t know how he did it, but he got me thinking this was a good idea. So before I entered the museum, I prepped my camera, turning off all the dead give-away signs that it was on, and most importantly, the flash.)

After about 30 minutes, I was ready to try and sneak a photo. Philip had already scouted out the most discreet spots, but unfortunately his recommendation was occupied by a gaggle of museum security – that’s not going to work. However, a similar spot on the opposite side of the room was open – I was going to give it a try.

As soon as I get over there, I hear the shutter click as someone else is taking a sneaky photo and I think – this is gonna be perfect. So I get my camera out, but a gentleman with a hippie beard and 1970s glasses (Kristen, he looked just like Pete at work) at the back end of a tour group sees my plan and starts swinging his bag in front of me in an effort to ruin my picture. I ignore him and let ‘er rip anyway. As I press the button, the flash goes off. Oh no!! (Since I had turned my camera off after changing the settings while outside, it had reset itself.) Crap!

Now one of the guards was definitely onto me and sternly warned me “NO PHOTO!” I had already shoved my camera back in my bag, so I put on my best doe-eyed look and nod obediently, trying to give him an innocent “Who? Me?” look. The hippie man stood right in front of me, staring directly at me until I made eye-contact with him. I finally look and he doesn’t say a word: he just slowly and solemnly shakes his head no.

So that didn’t exactly go well. I should really kill Philip for talking me into that. What was I thinking?? I’m a rule follower, not a rule breaker! I actually felt really bad about the whole thing, but there wasn’t much I could do about it now, so I tried to just let it go.

From there I loitered a bit more (so as to not give away that I was a knowing rule-breaker), then blitzed the rest of the museum. Nothing else can really compare after David, I mean really, why do they even try? Besides, I had a 10:15 date with the Uffizi Museum.

On the whole, Uffizi was only o-kay. I had already seen quite a bit of art and there was so much in the museum…it was overwhelming. I simply couldn’t absorb anymore. It was also during this experience that I decided I hate tour groups. They’re big and in the way and since they have a live guide, they seem to think they have exclusive rights to view whatever it is they’re standing in front of (and consequently, they don’t let you near it). It’s terribly frustrating. On top of that, I probably should’ve gotten the audio guide, so I didn’t feel quite so clueless and overwhelmed, but to be honest, I was just spent.

After that, I headed back to the hostel for a night in and some serious blog update time. I met a few interesting people in the hostel common room (this place was like a friggin’ gold mine!), including a guy from Argentina who had been touring through Italy with a band that (apparently) is quite famous in Europe. They had just finished the tour and the other members had gone home already, but he stayed behind to check out Italy. We shared a bottle of wine as we both wrote home until the wee hours of the night.

All in all it was a good day, and with the prospect of Cinque Terre Round Two ahead of me, I slept well that night.

Florence – A Day With the L’Abri Peeps

The next morning I am, of course on time. My new peeps are, of course, late. We wait for another gal we met last night from Holland (Greka??) and head off to the museum. After a quick pit stop for breakfast (yes, cappuccino and a cream brioche) we arrive at the museum and learn two floors are closed. Boooo! We can still go (for a reduced price) but obviously, there will be less to see.

We go anyway and spend about an hour learning just how much of The Man Galileo really was: unbelievably smart. Seriously. What it must have been like to make so many discoveries that changed the way we viewed the world...I can’t even really contemplate that; only peripherally, at best.

From there the group was going to the Duomo, so I decide to tag along (and they were kind enough to allow me). Comparatively, for a church it was quite plain – there are actually white, unpainted walls lining the nave. It was almost weird. But there is a large painting in the dome (last judgment), plus for the low, low price of 6 EU we can climb to the top for a view of the city. Unfortunately the line is considerably longer than we want to stand in, so we forego the stairs (for now) and decide to pursue lunch instead.

We find a market and grab some grapes, mixed nuts and have paninis made and picnic in a nearby park. We lay low for quite a while, until a park guard gets mad at us for sitting on the grass (weird) and scoots us out. So now what? I tell them about Piazzale Michelangelo (with the great view) and we decide to head up there. Even though I’ve seen it already, I stay with the group. It’s nice to not have to make any decisions, not to mention to have some company.

After several pictures we head back down. The stairs at the Duomo will be closing soon, so we make our way toward the church. However, Matt has to file a report for his stolen phone in order to claim it on his insurance. So we split up – Philip and I check out the Baptristry while Matt and Ellen find the polizia and Patrick does some people watching. We meet up after an hour and climb the many, many stairs to the top of the church. About halfway up we’re greeted with an up-close view of the painting in the dome. Yes, it's another last judgment, but it’s interesting because at the very top of the dome, it looks as though there are people sitting on a ledge up there, watching the whole thing take place. I particularly enjoyed that touch.

We tackle the rest of the stairs and are rewarded with a 360 view of Florence at sunset. Pretty sweet. Unfortunately we don’t have too long before the Duomo closes and we’re forced to go back down. From there we decide to actually have the gelato we set out for the previous evening, before my new friends have to catch a train to Rome.

We find the gelato with relatively little trouble and Philip and I both order vanilla (and I thought Dad and I were the only classic vanilla lovers out there. Huh). We walk back to the hostel so they can grab their bags and we can say our good-byes.

There are renewed invitations for me to join them in Rome, but I’m paid up in Florence for the next two nights and I haven’t seen David yet. Can’t leave without seeing David. However, they’re headed to Cinque Terre in two days…now that is tempting. Three days in my favorite spot in Italy with a new group of friends? No brainer.

P.S. - Photos courtesy of PBJ

Florence – Getting Acquainted With Others

I wake up from my nap to discover no-pants-plastic-bag-rustler has moved out, and ferocious sleeper is napping right along with me. I begin to stir and I can hear ferocious sleeper coughing and sniffling a bit – does she have a cold? I fold up the extra blanket I was using and as I pass her bed, I decide to be bold and ask: Are you alright?

Oh yes, she says, I’m fine. And we’re off and chatting. Her name is Barbara and she speaks with an English accent, but is actually from Germany. She asks me about my travels, etc. and I share that after this trip, I’m not really sure what lies on the horizon. She asks me what I wanted to do as a child and I suddenly have a clear memory of wanting to be a writer as a kid. I haven’t thought about that in a long time and I am surprised to recall that I can actually articulate the moment I gave up on that dream. It was during a guest speaker class activity in 8th grade. We all had to pick a profession and then we were given salaries accordingly. The idea of the project was about learning to budget money and living expenses, etc. But I distinctly remember that most other kids had picked lucrative jobs and that as I looked at my piddly allowance, I felt like I had chosen wrong. And it wasn’t that I was ashamed, or afraid of not having money, but that I felt distinctly like I had made a wrong and foolish choice. After that, I never said I wanted to be a writer again. So I share this story with hear and soon I hear myself saying, but really – it would be cool if I could just write my blog and somehow support myself.

But the kicker is that I have no formal training in writing, and who would want to hire some Joe Schmoe who thinks she’s hilarious and interesting enough for the world to read? Answer: no one. Thus I’d have to go back to school….and I’m not so sure if I’m into that. But my new friend Barbara tells me that in Germany, it’s possible to get internships or jobs with papers or publication companies, etc. and get your feet wet. Hmmm, this is quite interesting. Then I learn that Barbara herself has just published her first book. This is really interesting. So I ask my new friend if she’d like to have dinner with me. She accepts and we agree to meet in 30 minutes after I do a little quick emailing.

I bust down to the common room to do said emailing and I recognize a guy (among others) that I had seen the previous night, who was also using his nifty MacBook. Since we both have such a rad computer, I sit next to him, open my laptop and enthusiastically say hi (I’m feeling quite bolstered by my unexpectedly fun conversation a few minutes before). He responds in kind and we quickly get to chatting – another American, yay! He is from South Carolina (cutest little accent, btw) and is on a break from a study center in Switzerland called L’Abri with a few other students (other peeps in the room). It’s just about dinner time and they ask me to join them, but unfortunately I have just made plans with my roommate (why does it always work out this way? It seems as though it can never be a steady flow of people; always all or nothing). But we agree to meet up for gelato at 10 instead. I’m so excited – more friends! And these ones speak English as a first language to boot – woo hoo!

I head off to dinner with Barbara, thankful I don’t have to sit through a repeat performance of the third wheel tonight and we wander until we find what she deems as an “authentic” ristorante (apparently Rick Steves’ opinion doesn’t mean much in Germany). Fine with me – I don’t care. We continue to chat about writing and as I’m telling her about my dissatisfaction with Venice (feeling more than simply lost but absolutely disoriented) and she asks me, “Is it possible that how you feel about Venice is really just a projection of how you feel about your life right now?” Whoa. Great question. I sit on that for a while and realize that, though she’s right….why did I feel that way? Why only in Venice? Hmm, food for thought.

We continue to chat about writing and even though I’m encouraged about the whole notion of actually pursuing a job relating to writing, I’m also simultaneously deflated. The kinds of questions she asks me and the way she is able to see and apply literary techniques to my own freaking life, is just so far above my head I think – there’s no way I could do that. I’m far too logical. Things go from point A to point B for me and the small, somewhat interesting non-linear observations I manage to come up with (like the bit about Michelangelo’s unfinished Pietá) seem to be just ideas that are plopped into my head, not really of my own volition. I don’t know if I could cut it.

Soon it is 10:00 before I realize it and I have to quickly depart from the ristorante to race back to the hostel to meet my other new friends. I am at least 10 minutes late, but thankfully, he is still there – whew! I internally cringe about the first impression I’m making, but (shrug) at this point, there’s nothing I can do about it. Turns out he had to leave the group early to meet me in time (d’oh!) but we run into them on our way out, so all is well.

We head out in the direction of Rick’s recommendation for the best gelato in town (did I mention he is also a Rick fan?), but unfortunately when we get there, it’s closed (it being late and on a Sunday and all). We pop into another shop, but it doesn’t have what we’re looking for (good cones and vanilla gelato), so we move on. Everyone is getting restless at this point, so most of the group heads back to the hostel and Philip (my new buddy) and I continue the search.

We end up unsuccessful in the hunt for gelato, but we are satisfied with forgoing the search in lieu of continuing our walk for good conversation. Before long though, it is chilly and quite late, so we head back to the hostel. We again run into the rest of his group and they invite me to go to the Science Museum with them tomorrow morning. I have no plans and the two things I know I want to do are closed tomorrow: seems like the perfect solution to me.

Florence – Getting Acquainted With the City

I share a room with two other women, one of which sleeps with no pants on and likes to rustle plastic bags around (a lot) at 6am and the other I can only describe as a ferocious sleeper; she doesn’t move for minutes (hours?) on end, but when she does, it is a torrent of movement, flopping over, practically catching air on the turn, then spending the next several seconds violently “getting settled.” Not quite on par with the Vicenza-over-groomer-roommate, but seriously: am I ever going to meet any normal people on this trip??

Of our trio, I am the last to get up and out the door. Thankfully, this hostel has only a brief lock-out period of four hours. I should be able to tour around the city and come up with a plan in that time. This may require some divine intervention because for some reason, I just have no idea what to do with myself in Florence. Obviously I want to see the David, but there is so much available to see here, and I know so little about it all, I’m overwhelmed at the options. But I’m sure something will come together; it always does.

So with at least four hours on my hands, I decide to do a little educated wandering and try to get a feel for the city. I head out and quickly find myself in Piazza della Signorina – one of the city’s main squares. Directly in front of me, I see a copy of David, but it’s surrounded by a scaffolding – must be in the middle of restoration (which is okay by me, I don’t want to spoil my viewing of the real David anyway). On my right is what I can only describe as an outdoor museum. There is a large covered area, a few steps above the level of the main piazza that houses several sculptures. I quickly note the lack of graffiti and observe the sign asking patrons to treat this loggia with the same respect they would any other portion of the Uffizi Museum. Hmmm, I guess there are limits to Italian defamation of public property. I find I really enjoy the sculptures, but wish I had some sort of audio guide to tell me more about what I’m seeing (as I have absolutely NO idea). Unfortunately Rick isn’t much help, other than confirming where I am and that the bronze statue in the front is holding Madusa’s decapitated head.

I head out from there in the general direction of the Accedemia (where the David is kept), but also in search of cappuccino. I find both in a reasonable amount of time, but note that the line to see David is quite long. Rick tells me there are two other places to make reservations (and thus, skip the nasty line), so I head off in search of both of those. The first is around the corner – closed on Sundays. Boo. I seek out the second option, but it too is closed (on the 1st, 3rd, and 5th Sundays of the month….which I guess this is). The Accedemia is closed tomorrow, so it looks like I’m staying until at least Tuesday and I’ll have to see about making a reservation tomorrow. I consult the map and look for the Uffizi Museum (the other big attraction here). Turns out it is RIGHT where I just was near the outdoor statue center (which, in retrospect makes complete sense with the sign I read). It’s seems too inefficient to simply walk back to where I just came from, so I cop a squat and study the map and my book for other options in the general area.

One of Rick’s recommendations involves a bus ride to a piazza outside of town with a view of the entire city. Since I’m all about resting my feet these days, I decide this is definitely what I’m doing. It takes a few minutes of some serious concentration to figure out what buses I need to take to get to my destination, but I eventually figure it out. I hop on the first bus and make my first connection with no problem (I just love it when travel works out how I plan). I’m not exactly sure where my stop is from this second bus, but I’m hoping it will somehow make itself known to me. Sound ridiculous, I know, but that probably would’ve happened, had I not preemptively gotten off the bus when some other guy sitting near me did. My destination is called Piazzale Michelangelo and when I do finally get there, a gi-normus bronze copy of David is standing in the center. Makes sense, eh? But as I said, I got stop anxiety and jumped ship early. Thus, I had to walk about 20 minutes to my destination instead. So much for resting my feet.

But the walk is enjoyable with my ipod to keep me company and the view is only getting better and better as I approach the piazzale, so in the end, I’m not too bitter about it. When I do finally arrive, I see that Rick wasn’t kidding – it’s incredible to see the whole city from here. The duomo is visible, as well as the bell tower and the famous Ponte Veccio (Old Bridge). Gorgeous! Beautiful! Wish you were here!!

While I’m enjoying the view, I notice a young man about my age reading a Lonely Planet – in English! So I stop to take in the view not too far away and think: I should talk to him, I could make a friend. But what should I say? I’ll just stand here for a minute, maybe he’ll talk to me. Hmm, he’s still just reading his book. Okay, I’ll have to say something. I guess I could say something about the guide book, since technically I have that one too. Umm…hmm…okay. How about, Have you seen the David yet? Nah, that’s stupid. How about…oh no! He’s getting up to leave. Uh, er, ahhhh…! And, he’s gone.

Well, that went well.

Unfortunately the bus connections going back into town don’t go quite as smoothly as I’d hoped and I have to do a fair bit of walking. I make a pit stop at the Uffizi and make a reservation for Tuesday morning. There – I finally accomplished something – that feels good. I’m pretty low energy at this point, so I head back to San Spirito (near the hostel) because it requires no thought and I can easily navigate my way home from there. I return to the trattoria from lunch the day before, only today it is quite busy. I grab a seat inside and wait for someone to come get my order. But I wait forever, and no one comes, so I gather that the waiter service is for only outside seating. Fine. I go up to the bar to order, but she wants me to pay first, then I can get my order. Fine. I finally get this all figured out and get my stupid panini. I eat it in about .2 seconds and instantly feel better. In fact, I feel so much better that I decide to treat myself to dessert. I had seen this yummy looking tart-ish thing with slices of apple on top when I was choosing my panini and now it was calling my name.

So I approach the woman at the cash register and attempt to tell her what I want. But she doesn’t understand me at all so she gets the attention of the woman at the bar. I try to describe to her in English, but she just looks at me like I’m an idiot. I try to kind of point over there, but the bar is full and I’m not able to maintain eye contact and make my way over there to point. The two women speak back and forth to each other in Italian (probably about what an idiot I am) meanwhile, I have no idea what is going on, they have no idea what I want, and soon I am too frustrated (and feeling too much like a dunce) to see this through to the end. I tell them to forget it and march out. What a failure that was.

I stomp back toward the hostel feeling completely upset at my inability to communicate and get a bit down on myself. But then I remember I have Nutella in my room and that perks me up a little. I polish off the jar and take a nap, that ought to fix it, right?

Florence – Day of Arrival

I arrive in Florence and make it across town to the hostel no problem. After I settle into my room, I decide that lunch and a nap are both in the near future. The hostel is not too far from Piazza San Spirito (where Rick recommends quite a few places) so it seemed like a good direction to head.

I choose a café and when the waiter comes by, I’m too tired to make a decision so I just ask for a panini. When he asks me what kind, I just tell him: Bring me your favorite. This ends up being a great idea as he returns with a toasty little sandwich on foccacia bread with some kind of meat and cheese. De-licious!

I head back to the hostel a happy camper and settle in for a nap. I wake up a few hours later and decide: time to eat again! So I take myself back to San Spirito (again, really into what is easy) and sit at a different trattoria. Even though I am alone, they seat me at a corner spot at a table for four. Hmmm, that’s interesting. I hope I don’t end up as the third wheel on a date. That would stink.

Oh well, can’t really control that – so I order the gnocci with a cheese sauce. I’ll just enjoy my food. Sure enough though, shortly after ordering the waiter brings two people over to share my table. Augh. Fortunately, it was a mother-adult daughter combo, but it was still a little strange. I mean, it’s hard to not listen to their conversation and watch their faces, even though I have no idea what they’re saying. They order so much more food than I do it makes me think, Man! People here either a) save up to eat out, b) make considerably more money than their American counterparts, or c) just spend more on food and are okay with it.

Whatever the case, I watch them share food and conversation and start to miss home a little bit. Fortunately my food arrives soon after and my plate of gnocci is so hot, I have no choice other than to simply look at it and breathe in its aroma for a while. (Which was an enjoyable few minutes, btw.) Immediately it reminds me of the homemade style macaroni and cheese from Pastazza (Kristen you would have loved it!).

When it finally cools, it’s good, but I discover it wasn’t really what I wanted. Bummer. Dinner, overall, has been a bust. On the way home, I hit up the grocery store next to the hostel and buy a small jar of Nutella to ease my pain. After a few (okay, several) spoonfuls of deliciousness, I feel MUCH better. I spend a little time in the common room with my computer and Rick Steves and soon realize, tomorrow is Sunday and most attractions are closed (as is the case on Monday), d’oh! Could’ve planned that a little better, but oh well. I guess I’ll spend tomorrow acquainting myself with the city, so come Tuesday – I’ll be ready!

From Bologna to Florence

When I wake up the next morning, partially in the interest of avoiding my new "friend" Mike for a few days, and paritally because the weather was rainy and terrible for additional sight-seeing, I decide that I will in fact take the whole day to make the short, one-hour trip to Florence. I'm tired, the constant travel is starting to wear on me, and my whole body could just use the rest.

I wake up early so I can shower and try to pack all the presents I bought into my ever-expanding bag. I am only semi-successful before I have to go to "breakfast." I take a break to go eat my crunchy roll and make-shift cappuccino and guess who's in the common area? My 19 year old puppy. I say hello, follow up on his pizza experience from the previous evening, and then choose a seat on my own - a few tables away from him and the Argentinian girls.

Apparently this was non-verbal behavior for: come over here, tussle my hair and sit down with me. Augh. (Hair tussle? Really? Uh, invasion of my space!) Inevitably the conversation turns to "the plan for the day" and I tell him I've decided to head to Florence today. He looks at me shocked and says, You jerk! To this I reply - Why am I a jerk? I've already seen Bologna, it's a terrible day to be walking around, and I'm ready to move on. He says, You're going alone? And I say, Well Mike, I've managed these three weeks before I met you on my own, I think I'll be alright. He's miffed, but gets over it instantly. Perhaps he has realized I'm not clingy?? I don't think so, but one can only hope.

The rest of the day went smoothly, other than a tiny mishap with my bus ride to the train station (remember earlier when I said the bus stopped at the main station and I followed the Swiss dude to the tracks - yeah that was my plan, only the bus didn't stop at the station. That must have been the "strike special." When I noticed we were leaving Bologna and getting near the freeway, I dinged the "let-me-off-now bell" and crossed the street for the next bus going the opposite direction. Yeah, it took me over an hour to make a 15 minute trip. Arg. At least it was the middle of the afternoon and I was in no particular hurry. Those are ideal conditions in which to be lost). Once I finally made it to the train station, I booked my ticket, made it to Florence and even found BOTH the TI and the hostel with no problems. I just might be getting the hang of this...

Bologna - My What Interesting Peeps You Have

When I get home, all I really want to do is eat. I learn from the hostel reception dude that there is one restaurant within walking distance of the hostel. Yes! I'm heading for it! As I make this decision, a very skinny, very pale, very lispy kid named Mike asks if he can tag along. Sure, I think - why not?

As we attempt to find the restaurant I learn that Mike is 19, Canadian, and has recently read On the Road by Jack Kerouac. He's traveling all over Europe but doesn't have a guide book, he doesn't ever get a map in the city he's in....he just meets people in hostels and then does whatever they are doing. He is currently with a group of 3 Argentinian girls. I don't think he realizes he's not actually having an adventure, he's simply leeching onto others. But I've no doubt got my own blind spots in personal growth, so who am I to judge?

We find the restaurant, but it doesn't open for 30 minutes, so we decide to see if we can find anything else. In the mean time Mike continues to chat my ear off on topics ranging from Audrey Hepburn (and how he doesn't think she is classic - pshaw!) to rolling his own cigarettes and getting pick-pocketed. The more we talk, the more subjects we disagree on, but young Mike doesn't seem to notice. I certainly do.

We find nothing else and decide to head back to the restaurant, only when we get there, we discover it's booked for the night - reservations only! D'oh! So it's back to the hostel and take out pizza* for us.

I can tell Mike is trying to prime me to be his next cling-on, but I'm not having it. I order my own independent pizza and let him figure out his own dinner with the Argentinian girls. I sit down to enjoy my pizza, semi-avoid Mike, and possibly post a blog when I meet Elena. She is from Rome, but has a weekend class in Moderna (the town just outside of Bologna). She was unable to stay in Moderna for the night, thus here she is. She tells me her English is not very good, however, we end up chatting for over two hours (I've noticed this is common with non-native speakers: they are essentially fluent, but claim to only "understand a little"...I guess that's European modesty (or insecurity?) for ya...) She is kind enough to explain the bus strikes to me and how they are frequent and usually only last one day. I point out that despite the strike, I still saw buses running during the "strike" hours. Yes, she says, that's Italy. (So does the strike actually accomplish anything? That I'm not really clear on.) She also tells me that the students were demonstrating against a reform of the school system. Huh, that's interesting - wouldn't have guesssed that.

She also tells me that both phenomenon were national events today, so even if I hadn't been in Bologna, I would've seen them (there goes my theory on "political Bologna"). I make a similar comment to Elena, but she verifies that despite the nationality of the two events I witnessed today, yes - Bologna is much more political than other cities or even other regions. Well, what do you know?

She also shares with me about the differences between the north and the south and how they are two completely separate cultures. The north feels as though it makes all the money and the south spends it all. The south thinks the north has lost all the tradition and is disgraceful. She told me there are still people who want a separate government or federality for the north and the south. I can hardly wait to get south of Rome and see for myself!!

Eventually Elena has to shove off to bed and I get a little QT with my computer. I tell Pete over IM about how "my new friend/cling-on" Mike wants to piggy-back on my plans to go to Florence, but that I've had about as much as I can handle of the kid (and beginning to really appreciate the merits of traveling alone). I was thinking of just quietly peacing out in the morning, but Pete informs me this is mean and I have to tell the kid I don't want to travel with him. Augh. I tell Pete, if the opportunity presents itself....

But between Pete and what I think is Arnold Swartz in Total Recall (in Italian), I don't really accomplish anything. (BTW - The scene with the man-baby growing out of the other guys chest was disturbing...particularly when he/it/they die. Lost my appetite for my proscutto pizza right about then....) So I decide to call it a night.

I go to the bathroom to get ready for bed and who do I see? Weird Vicenza roommate! (Unfortuantely she did not make the blog originally - how was I to know she'd be a repeat character? Here's the story: During my brief stay in Vicenza it was she and I in a 3-bed room. When I got there, she was sitting on her bed in her underwear and silk nightgown, brushing her hair and looking through fashion magazines, fililng her nails...she had quite the beauty regimine goin' on. She only speaks Italian and was only vaguely interested in trying to communicate with me. In the morning it took her like 3 hours to get ready (and not quietly) and still more hair brushing and hair spraying (spraying!) and grooming this and grooming that. It was quite the spectacle.

She finally left for "breakfast" and when I made it down to the eating area about 30 minutes later - she was still there!! I don't know what the heck she was doing, we only get a crunchy roll, one jam packet and a cappuccino for breakfast. How that occupies 30 minutes is beyong me. I'm usually done in less than 5. She doesn't acknowledge me in the breakfast area, so I just keep to myself (whatever lady). So back in Bologna, I'm shocked to see her and I enthusiastically say hello... nothin'. She doesn't even respond. Ooo-kay. It was nice chatting with you weird,-overly-grooming-but-still-has-bad-hair-lady. At this point, even though the coincidence is beyond coincidental and kind of creepy, I'm too tired to care and I just hit the sack.

Besides, tomorrow I have to deal with my 19 year old puppy dog and that pretense is none too exciting.

*Normally pizza (even take-out) is good in Italy...but I had this same take-out pizza the night before when I arrived at the hostel and it was not that great...even by American standards.

Bologna - Strike! Strike! Strike!

So I'd heard Bologna was more "political" than other cities, but I had no idea what I was in for. (Oh and did I mention there was also a bus strike?) Yeah.

Shortly after checking into the hostel, the receptionist informed me that all the buses would be on strike tomorrow from 8:30-4:30 and from 7:30 on. That meant I had to be on my A-game tomorrow. I had to be prepared to catch a bus before 8:30am, otherwise I was spending all day at the hostel. Additionally, I had to be sure to catch a bus back to the hostel between 4:30 and 7:30 - or it was going to be a loooong walk home. But I was up for the challenge.

Fortunately my roommate, Sara*, was working in the city in the morning and would be up early, so I had a safety net to be sure I didn't oversleep. (Which, for the record, my internal clock has been serving me quite well thus far on the trip, thankyouverymuch.) Thus come morning, I was on the bus before 8:30 with no major hiccups.

When I boarded the bus, I had only been able to nab a seat facing the rear, so this afforded me the opportunity of observing literally everyone else on the bus. After I time, I noticed a blond gentleman observing me, so I smiled politely, but thought nothing of it. Soon after it occurred to me, I had no idea where to get off the bus. I still had no map, no tour guide, and no idea what there was to see or do in Bologna. I'll just shoot for something near the train station - I know there is a tourist info office there. Seems like a good place to start.

The bus soon arrived at the main station and everyone got off. Oh right, there's a strike - the driver isn't going to finish the route. Everyone piles off the bus and I find myself next to the blond gentleman I had smiled at earlier. You speak English, don't you? he says. Yes, I do! Are you headed for the train station? I ask. (He had a bag in hand.) Yes, yes - worked two days and saw the sights for one in Bologna and now headed back home to Switzerland. Well I hope the trains are running, I say - there's a bus strike today, and I heard a rumor the trains might strike as well! He thought this was hilarious. Then he started looking around and noticing ALL the people on the streets and not on buses. I was just thinking, whatever dude - I'm following you to the train station; just keep walkin'.

At the train station I picked up a map and a suggested tour. I studied for a bit and then decided to head for the main piazza. There were supposed to be several free sites there and it was a main drag for the city, so it seemed ideal. On my way I discovered a city part and decided to take the scenic route. I again noted the abundance of graffiti on everything and wondered what that is really about.

Eventually I made my way to the piazza and shortly after I arrived, I was greeted with whistles being blow and clapping and shouting all around me. I turned around and a student demonstration was right behind me! They were carrying sheets as signs and marching all around the square. There was a leader with a megaphone and the crowd would respond....too bad I have NO idea what it was all about. It was all in Italian and there were no subtitles.

So I pulled over to a café on the piazza and ordered a cappuccino to watch all the action. Soon the students settled down and congregated in groups, but it was interesting people watching in any case.

After that I checked out a few statues and I contemplated going into some of the free buildings, but honestly, I was pooped. I just didn't have it in me to "site-see." People watching was much more fun. So I wandered around the streets and discovered some great architecture. It felt like there were towers and arches down every lane; what a town for a college campus!

After that I scored the most delicious sandwich-y thing for lunch and enjoyed a coke from a super skinny can (so chic). I was feeling ready to go home, but it was only 2:00pm and the bus strike wasn't over yet, so I hit the streets for some more drifting.

Soon I wandered into another market (how do they find me?) and blew a wad. (What? I'm Christmas shopping, lay off me.) As I left, I was feeling quite satisfied with my purchases and giddy with excitement to deliver them. I began to review them in my head and was wondering how much more I should buy during the trip both for myself and for others when suddenly, I heard the little green monster say: Hey I have an idea...why don't you just keep it all for yourself! Evil little thing. I'm not going to lie to you; I was tempted. But then I dismissed the idea and firmly committed: Note to self, must give presents to intended recipients.

After that I headed for the bus stop, anxious to put my dogs to bed (sit down and take off my shoes). I had a wait forever for a bus that was running to my route (which, since I was hungry and tired was highly irritating in the moment) but all was well. I got to the hostel by dinner time.

Now...where in the heck am I going to eat??

*Sara worked for a company that was studying way to find more sustainable and renewable energy and buildings and such. Nick - you would be so proud!!

My Bologna Has a First Name...

...it's H-O-M-E-R! My bologna has a second name, it's H-O-M-E-R!

(If you're not a Simpson's fan, then just ignore that. Mark, that was especially for you; hope you enjoyed it.)

In general, it's just not a good idea to do things that aren't "Rick Steves" approved. It really just makes my life so much more difficult.

After my final day in Venice, I boarded a train bound for Bologna. Even though it wasn't a Rick Steves stop, I'd heard good things about it during my travels thus far, so I thought it was worth the gamble.

I estimated that it would take me 2 hours or less to get from Venice to Bologna, so I figured I had plenty of time to get to the Bologna Tourist Info office before it closed at 7:00pm. Unfortunately, I was wrong. (Sampsonite, I was way off!)

So, when push came to shove, I arrived with no map (nor the means to get one) and only a vague idea of where the hostel is (which may or may not have room for me). Gar.

Thus, I put my best thinking cap on and decided to try and call the hostel. That way I could see if they had any beds available, as well as get directions. Brilliant! (I was actually quite pleased with myself for this little gem.) So I get on the phone and get the answering machine. Hmph. I don't like that one bit. I decide to use the facilities while I wait it out to make another call, but then discover it costs .80¢ to partake of said facilities and I wasn't about to pay for a toilet (what is it with Italian cities having weird quirks like that? Venice = no place to sit. Bologna = pay to pee...??). So I tried using my phone card to call again, and discovered that listening to the first 10 seconds of the voicemail on the previous call had cost me 3 minutes of time. Boooo! This meant that now I had to hang up before the line connected to the answering machine, otherwise I was going to be out of time in a hurry. My second attempt again yielded no answer.

Now I was getting frustrated.

I decided that really, really having to go to the bathroom was not helping the situation, so I swallowed my pride and parted with the stupid 80¢. I felt marginally better after that. I tried the hostel again - still no answer. Augh! It was getting late and I wasn't going to spend all night calling the stupid hostel when I could be on my way there; I was just going to have to risk it.

So I located the tabbacheri shop in the station and purchased a bus ticket. I asked the woman (in italian, no less) where the stop for the 21B bus was (Lonely Planet had given me this much information, but it represented all I knew). She had no idea and used several words that were unfamiliar to me and lots of hand gestures to communicate it. Okay - I get it; you don't know. Thanks lady.

So I trudge around outside the station, towing my bag behind me like an unwilling child or a disobedient dog, fruitlessly searching for the covered bus stop with 21 printed on it. I can't find it anywhere.

This whole situation is really starting to try my patience.

I start to get frustrated with myself for choosing a non-Rick location, but I take a deep breath, remind myself that this is what travel is about (sometimes) and that I'm going to eventually figure it out.

Then I notice a bus parked at one of the stops and I get the best idea I've had all night and I ask the driver where the stop is. Surely he will know. And he does. It's one block down and on the opposite side of the street. (No wonder I couldn't find it...)

So I thank him, and march off with my errant dog in that direction. Sure enough I find the stop - only the schedule says I have just missed the bus by 8 minutes. Gah. That's really frustrating. While I was making erratic circles around the bus stops at the station, my bus was leaving. Suuuuper.

I walk a bit further down and give the hostel one last phone call. Still no answer (which, in itself, is slightly disconcerting, but whatever. I don't have time to even begin to worry about that one...). So now I have 45 minutes to wait and a grumpy attitude. What do I do? I go in search of food. I begin marching back down the street, toward the station, and lo and behold - there's my bus! It's just patiently sitting there, waiting for me, no where near the time indicated on the sign. Thank you Lord!!

I confirm with the driver this is heading to the hostel stop (per ostello, si?) and he says si, va bene. I'm so relieved I just give him a huge smile of thanks. As I validate my ticket, I ask him which stop I'm supposed to take, but unfortunately, he does not speak English. However, I get the distinct impression from his hand gestures it's the last stop. That seems easy enough.

As I take my seat, a young man asks me if I speak English and indeed confirms the hostel stop is the last stop. Another young woman nearby overhears and says, yes - it's the end of the line, very close to the hostel. I thank them both and feel considerably better.

For the next few stops, I chat with the young man and learn that he is here from some country I'd never heard of and is studying here (it's so impressive to me when people do that!). He is friendly, but his stop comes up quickly and he is gone. But soon after a nice looking black woman and her 5 year old son get on the bus. She guides him to the seat across from me (recently vacated by the woman who helped me out earlier) while she stands in the aisle. He soon begins to pout and in a very whiny voice ask her something repeatedly. She ignores him until she can take it no longer and then responds back with some kind of chastisement and a question of her own. They go on and on like this and I can't help but watch this whole italian scene unfolding in front of me with a huge smile on my face. I have no idea what they are saying, yet, I know exactly what they are saying. Their tones of voice and faces say everything. I love it.

In a few stops more seats are vacated and they are able to sit together. The boy is swinging his feet and as happy as can be. (Ahhh, so that's what it was about! That's kind of sweet, actually.) Another young man gets on the bus and sits across from me. I ask him if he knows where the hostel is and he again confirms it is at the last stop, and he thinks, right across from the bus stop. Yay! He speaks very good English and we chat about Bologna. He tells me that though he was born in Germany, he is Bolognese through and through - he loves it here! I ask him why he loves it so much and as he is thinking about his answer, when suddenly he perks up and says, Oh! This is my stop! I'm sorry, but I must go. It was so lovely to meet you. And then he shakes my hand and departs. Wow - so far, I have met some of the nicest people. I'm totally astounded.

Eventually my bus does arrive and I ask the driver (as it's practically just me and him at this point) what direction I should head in to find the hostel. He and his friend enthusiastically jump off the bus and show me. Go that way. Right over there. On the other side of the field. Right over there. You go! I thank them and head off, that's right, through a field. I can see a well worn path, so that's at least some indication I'm heading the right way...and sure enough by the time I reach the other end of the field, I can see the signs for the hostel. Ahhhh, I've made it.

It was a far more stressful journey without Rick, but it turned out to be a good one. Hopefully I'll come to discover that the rest of Bologna is as friendly as the people I met tonight.

I Have These, But in Black

I...snakes? They're....but.....1000 EU? I just don't get it.

Real Life Fiction

For all you Stephanie Plum fans out there:

I know Morelli isn't a Pharmacist - but I was still excited to see his name on a big sign nonetheless. I did see quite a few italian cops and I even considered stopping to ask them what their names were, but I wasn't that brave.

Especially when it came to trying to explain myself.

P.S. Holly, I told you not to get your hopes up...

Venice - Last Day

For my final day in Venice, I decided to give the sights a chance. So far I had mostly spent my time being lost in the city and/or shopping. I figured, several million people love this city, perhaps I ought to see what some of the infamous hub-a-bub is all about.

I got up early and out of the fosterria (church-hostel-y-thing I was staying at) by 9:30 so I would be among the first of the day to be let into St. Mark's. Even though I had visited the church already, the experience was less than satisfying. Besides, after a particularly good email description from my mom about how it seemed "the walls were steeped in prayer" I felt a return visit was mandatory.

As I stepped out of the fosterria and into the narrow walkway I discovered it was a foggy and nearly rainy day. This cheered my mood instantly. It's counter-intuitive, but having spent my entire life in the Pacific Northwest, a little downcast weather is always good for my soul. Suddenly, I felt right at home.

The weather was doubly advantageous as it significantly decreased the size of the crowds. Yes, things were definitely looking up. And look up I did, right into the golden mosaics that St. Mark's has to offer. This time (without the mobs of people thrusting me forward) I was able to see what Rick Steves (and my mom) were talking about. I discovered both the story of Adam and Eve as well as the depiction of Noah, which I had been unable to find* the first time around.

The interior was still roped off in a one-way, brief path through the church, but this time I opted for the 4 EU detour to see the original bronze horses and "museum" in the upper level of the church. What I didn't know was that this detour also offers you bird's eye views of both the interior of the church as well as of Piazza San Marco. Well worth the price of a spendy cappuccino and a steep stair climb. So this is what everyone was talking about....

From there I headed over to the Ducale Palace (or Duke's Palace). This was a bit pricey to enter, but relatively fun to tour. I saw the world's largest oil painting (Jesus and Mary surround by 500 saints in heaven), a revolutionary sculpture of Adam and Eve, and a whole other host of priceless works of art.

The Correr Museum (included in the cost of the Ducale Palace) ended up being a total bore (not worth it at all, in my opinion) and after about 10 minutes I made it a speed-walking tour (too bad it's not like Ikea with those convenient short cuts....). As planned, from there I headed for the Accedemia Bridge and settled in for a quick lunch before setting off again to find the Frari Church. Unfortunately, even after asking for directions three separate times, it eluded me. In fact, I somehow ended up back at the train station. (If you've been to Venice before, you know that St. Mark's is NOT near the train station.) So I gave up, hopped on a vaporetto (sans ticket - forgive me!), successfully navigated my way back to the fosterria, grabbed my bags and got right back on a vaporetto (with a ticket!) to the train station. Whew! It had been a full day.

All in all - Venice was a tough one for me. The feeling of complete and total disorientation was uncomfortable and I certainly didn't adjust well to it. However, I came to appreciate the nooks and crannies of Venice. Each "neighborhood" (for lack of a better word) had its own distinct pulse and personality. I can appreciate that. And as I began to learn my way through the twisty, turn-y lanes, I caught a glimpse of how tourists must appear to the natives: both a source of amusement, as time and again you watch them take a few steps in one direction, scratch their heads, consult their map, and then determinedly change course; as well as a source of frustration, as they walk in gaggles two or three deep in a three foot wide ally effectively blocking your passage, or slowly, slowly...slowly coming to a stop and becoming a speed bump right in front of you. They make you smile knowingly as you casually walk past, as well as grit your teeth as you (hopefully) politely walk around. And in fact, all of this I liked more than what people usually flock to Venice to see. However, I can't say I particularly liked Venice. But then, I can't say I didn't like it either. I'm not sorry I visited, but I'm also not sorry to go. My feelings about the city are completely luke-warm; a strange and completely unanticipated conclusion. Let's hope the other big cities on my itinerary don't leave me feeling similarly unfulfilled.

*Largely because I was looking in the wrong place. I still blame the crowd.

Venice - Pub Crawl! (a.k.a. Cicchetti)

After my taxing day of laying on the beach and trying to control the impulse to scratch all my mosquito bites (which, when you have there everywhere, really is a full-time job), I decided it was finally time for my pub crawl (for some reason Peter - I feel like you would be excited about this).

Ideally, I would have liked to do this with a group of friends. But seeing as I don't have a group of friends on this continent, I had to suck it up and go on my own. However, I was hopeful that I might make some friends along the way.

Rick (Steves) says that the stand-up progressive pub-crawl dinner is a Venetian classic. What is known as "cichetti" bars have a standing zone where you can order mini eats and drinks and socialize with the crowd. After sampling a few of each, you move on to the next pub and sample a few more. It's a cheap, social, fun way to have a meal. Other than the part about standing, I was quite excited.

Rick listed several cichetti places for me to try, so I decided to dive right on in. The first one was called Osteria al Bomba and was supposed to be one of the cleaner, slightly better options. I decided this was a good place to start so I could see what I was getting myself into. It was tucked away, "near" the Rialto Bridge, so after some significant wandering, I finally found it.

I walk in and there isn't a soul in the joint, save for the bar tender. I panic and ask to use the bathroom instead of ordering. As I wind my way through the entire restaurant...still no one to be found. Hmmm. Rick says this place is usually a great place to go - lots of locals. Go figure.

After using the facilities, I decide to give it a go anyway. I've been alone for three weeks, what's another few minutes in this joint? I order a Proscecco (the native wine my friend from Mozambique taught me about) and casually sip as I check out the eats (which are all on display under the glass bar). While I'm perusing, a woman comes in and orders some wine and food, eats in a blaze of furry and peaces out before I have finished my tiny wine. That was weird (and the exact opposite of what I thought this was supposed to be). I still don't know what to get and now my wine glass is empty, so again I have a moment of mini-panic and just order the house red. Oh well, might as well get a little loopy while I try and figure this local custom out.

I end up not getting any food because, I want to meet some people, dangit! And hangin' around this joint isn't going to help me accomplish that goal. So I pay my bill (a whopping 3 EU for two glasses of wine - so cheap!) and head to the next establishment. This one has got to be better, right?

This second choice isn't nearly so off the beaten path and I find it quickly (which is good because with no food and two glasses of wine in my stomach - I'm a little wobbly). This place has a bit more of a "chain restaurant" feel. The service is quick, it's brightly lit, and the wait staff all match. I step up to the bar and order the house red (because it's just easier that way) and promptly pay my 1 EU for it. I try to "casually stand" and feel local, but I just feel like I'm in the way. So under the pretense of perusing the food, I walk around a bit. But then I spy that yummy squid in the black ink again and my eyes light up and I'm suddenly starving. I grab a stool by the bar (not too far from a cute employee taking a break), catch the waiter's eye and order my black deliciousness. He asks me something I don't understand and I just shrug and say yes. Whatever.

I try to somehow connect with cute-employee-on-break, but he is looking only at his food (which I know is amazing and all, but com'mon - throw me a bone here pal). Fine, whatever. In the mean time, a cute boy from Australia and his mom come in. I watch as they try to figure out how to order and comically miscommunicate culturally with the bar tender (lots of repeating the question and giving different answers every time).

As I'm doing this, my food arrives and I'm surprised to see it with a side of polenta. Ohhh, so that's what he was asking me! Alright then - a side of polenta it is; I'm game. I dig in and notice the Australian is just standing there, waiting for his food, so I give him my opener: Hi - :) Like any red-blooded English speaker, he responds with "How's it going?" and we chat for a bit. I end up telling him about the black delicousness and all its glory and to not be scared, but to just try it. I think he looks skeptical, but figure, well - it's up to him if he wants to expand his horizons, all I can do is give him some good advice.

When his food comes, he pulls a very suave, "And could you give me some of that squid with the ink?" in a very I'll-have-what-she's-having kind of way. I smile and am flattered he is so boldly taking my advice. Alright, now we're talkin'! He takes his food back to the table where his "mum" is sitting in two trips and on the second one he says, "Well, bye then," and doesn't even give me a second glace. Pfffft!

So I hop off my stool (mildly put-off) and head for pub number three. (Third time's the charm. This is gonna be great. Here we go!) I stumble off in the direction I think I should be going, but quickly realize I've already passed it. Retracing my steps, I discover it's practically next door to the second place - d'oh! I boldly walk in and finally discover what I had been anticipating: a local pub full with the sounds of people eating, plates clattering, drinks clinking and a subtle murmur of laughter amongst it all. The air is warm and thick with the humidity of so many people in a small place and I'm relieved (and excited!) to discover the whole scene.

Again I order the house red and the bar tender asks me if I want to drink it outside. It's pretty hot in there, so I say, Sure! Why not? He hands me my wine in a plastic cup and out I go. There are at least three groups of people standing around, chatting and enjoying the cool night air. But I quickly realize, most of them are smoking - d'oh! That's probably why they're out here. Obviously I'm not gonna smoke, so now I feel kind of dumb for going outside, but oh well. I keep my chin up and try to get a feel for who might be friendly.

But in the end, everyone seems pretty involved in their own dialogue. I'm too shy with my italian to go up to any of them and start a conversation and apparently putting out the "Hey! I'm cute and nice, come talk to me!" vibe isn't very effective in this scenario. So I finish my wine, toss my cup and navigate my way through the windy, narrow streets back home.

It wasn't exactly what I had been hoping for, but it was a good night nonetheless. I ventured out; I tried something new. And really, that was my goal. I didn't really meet any locals, but that's not really in my control. I still felt the night was a success.