Last Day in Italy: Part 4

Even though I didn't think it was possible to feel more tired than I had when I went to bed, I now realized it was not only possible, but it was a matter of fact:  I felt like complete trash.  

But there was no choice in the matter.  I HAD to get up and I had better get moving.  There were two shuttle buses I could possibly catch, one at 7:00 and one at 7:15.  I figured if I shot for the 7am one, I'd make the 7:15.  Sure enough, as I said my good-byes and headed out the hostel doors, it was 7:05.  

I asked the taxi drivers where the shuttle bus was and they were kind enough to point me in the right direction.  As I approached the bus though, I noticed that the sign said "Ciampino" and not "Fiumicino" where I needed to go.  So I asked the driver, and he points me in the opposite direction (from where I had just come) and told me there were two buses, and I needed the other one.  It's now about 7:12 and I'm a little worried I might miss it, but it's only about a hundred yards away.  

So I hurry my biscuits back toward the other bus and as I do, I pass the cabbies again.  They look at me confused and I say: Wrong airport.  This stimulates lots of words, of which I only get - two buses, same place.  They're saying I have to take the train.  Hmm.  Well the other driver seems to know what he was talking about, so I'm going to at least walk down there and find out.  

When I get there, the driver confirms that he's going to Fiumicino (yay!), but then quickly follows that up with, "I'm taking a private group."  So I can't get on?? Nope.  Not even if I pay??  I'll pay!!  Nope.  Auuuughhhhh!  Turns out the cabbies were right; I am going to have to take the train.  

So I double back (again) for the train and head over to track 24 where I know the airport express train is (one benefit of "living" near the Metro is you learn your way around).  The train is still there and scheduled to leave in about 2 minutes - yikes!  I've got to hurry!

I see a little booth with a man in it and ask him if I can buy a ticket at the electronic machine (I know the ticket is 11 EU and since I only have 8 on me, I'm hoping to just put it on a card).  No he says, you can only buy it from me or at a ticket booth.  Gar!  Okay, okay.  Then I remember I have some change the pocket of my bag - perhaps I have enough to make up the difference and I can just buy it right now.  So I reach my hand in and...empty.  Crap!  That's right, I was robbed.  Forgot about that.  

I frantically search my brain for the nearest cash machine (because the booth doesn't take cards) and I'm in a desperate hurry; this train is leaving any minute.  I run to the bank a few feet away, but it's not open yet.  Augh!!    As I turn around, the train doors shut.  It's too late; I'm not getting on.  

At this point, I'm so tired, and so frustrated, and convinced I'm going to miss my flight home I just begin to soooob.  A man nearby is coming to unlock the door to the bank and thinks this is why I'm crying (which I am...but not really) and explains to me that it's now open; everything is okay.  But it's not okay - though I don't bother to explain to him.  

I go in to use the cash machine, but (as I had learned on a previous attempt) this machine won't do foreign transactions.  So I glumly head over to the other side of the stupid station where I know there is a cash machine that will work for me and get 20 EU cash, the smallest amount I can get out.  Then I pathetically walk back to the man in the ticket booth and purchase my ticket.  In a voice thick with tears, I ask him when the next train is.  7:52 - in 30 minutes.  

My flight is at 10am and with a half hour travel time from the station to the airport I'll be getting there with only an hour and a half before my flight.   That's cutting it REAL close for an international flight.  What am I going to do if I miss my flight?  I have no way to contact my family to tell them I won't be on it, plus, since it's an award travel ticket - how do I even change it if I need to?  

I can feel another wave of hysteria coming on, so I head to the closest café in the station so I can find a corner to crawl into and mentally collapse.  But it's commuter time and the place is packed.  I decide to get a cappuccino (perhaps the caffeine will clear up my thoughts a bit) and sit down.  It's probably good that I gave myself a task to focus on, but in the end, the coffee made me feel physically even more terrible (I wasn't in the greatest shape from the night before).  I now felt even more dizzy and like I had a terrible coffee buzz.  Augh, I hope I don't ralph on the train; that would just top this nightmare off.  

The thirty minutes pass quickly and I soon make my way out to wait for the train.  Since my coat was stolen, I only have a thin zip-up to keep me warm in the early morning chill.  As my teeth chatter, I try not to think about the fact that I got robbed and concentrate on not throwing up and just continuing to move forward to the next task.  I need to get from here to the train.  From the train to the airport...

The train ride is uneventful and (thankfully) even though I've never been to this airport before, I locate my terminal and find the United check-in desk with no problem.  Since I'm flying first class (thank you Dad!) I get to skip the line and head straight for the desk.  I'm worried I'm not in time for my flight, not to mention that I'm 99% sure my bag is over the 50 lb limit.  I'm convinced she's going to deliver either of these pieces of bad news to me at any minute, but the ticket agent just continues at her regular pace, and appears to be checking me in.  

Suddenly though, she begins speaking in rapid Italian to the agent next to her.  For some reason, this alarms me and prompts me to say, "Is there a problem?"  As I wait for the answer, my whole body is tense.  I am tired to the point of sheer weariness, I don't know how many more hurdles I can jump in my state of exhaustion; I'm legitimately afraid that I'll dissolve into unending tears if there is a problem.  

The agent looks up and smiles and says, "Oh no, I was just answering the other agent's question about something else.  Here is your boarding pass.  Head around the desk to security and then a shuttle will take you to gate C."  

I expel the breath I'd been holding and simultaneously say, "Oh."  I explain that I'd had a rough morning and I was worried I was also going to miss my flight.  She doesn't reply, but just smiles at me.  I pick up my bags and decide that lingering longer only gives her more of an opportunity to tell me my bag is over the limit, so I get out of there.  As I approach the security line, I check out my ticket: departure time is 10:30.  Huh, how do you like that?  I guess I hadn't seen the most updated itinerary the last time I checked.  It slowly dawned on me...you're going to make it.  

I spent 14 of the next 19 hours in the air and despite my exhaustion - I didn't sleep.  I knew if I could stay awake until I got home, I would be able to take the fast-track to avoiding jet lag.  Fortunately, flying first class is a great way to do that.  I had hours of movie and TV entertainment on demand at my finger tips.  I know I've said this before, but if you're going to travel internationally, first class is really the only way to go.  I highly recommend it.  

Last Day in Italy: Part 3

After the aforementioned time, we headed to a nearby club. Unlike American clubs a) there was no cover charge and b) there was smoking inside. It was, however, packed inside. We made our way to the edge of the room and I set down my coat and bag at a nearby table and then we danced it up. I quickly noticed that most of the waiters and bar tender from the restaurant were there, so I said hello, but tried to stick with Romeo. Despite the club being packed, people didn't seem to stick to just one spot - or one person. Everyone was switching partners and moving all across the room. I think I danced with some of the waiters...? But it was so dark (and they all look alike...) so it was kind of hard to tell.

And let me just say that in clubs in Italy (or at least in this one) people are...I guess I'll say, friendly. There were a lot of roaming hands and I have no idea who any of them belonged to. I felt like I spent half my time evading "hands." But that's the difference between an American hands-off culture and an Italian grab-life-by-the-horns attitude (if you know what I mean).

Soon though Romeo says to me, "Where is your bag?" I'm busy really dancin' it up to Rihanna at that particular moment, so I look at him like, "Duh, it's right there - remember?" But he pulls me over to right next to the bench and says, "I don't see it - where is it?" Uh oh. We look for it, but I already know that it's not there. Okay Lord, please take care of me...

As we continue to look and not find it, I tell myself, "Okay. It's okay. No matter what, they're just things. You can always get new things. You have copies of your passport, you should still be able to get home. It's going to be okay..."

Romeo is asking me what was in the bag and the only response I can think to give (in this very loud and crowded atmosphere) is, "Everything." As I'm standing there trying to think what to do next, I see someone pass my bag to someone else and then that person sets it down on the floor. It does not even occur to me to see who these people are or to go after them in pursuit of what is most likely not in the bag, I am just so relieved to see my bag.

I sit down with it and take stock: my passport is still there as well as my credit cards (for which I'm so relieved, I hardly even care about what else is not there); but as expected my camera, ipod, cash, sunglasses, coat, and scarf are all gone. Bummer.

Romeo takes me outside and we go over the contents. He is extremely apologetic and feels so bad, but I reassure him that it's okay. "It's just stuff. I have my passport, I can get home; it's okay." But he has a feeling he might know who has my stuff (classic) so I write down where I'm staying for him and while he goes off in pursuit, he hands me off to one of the waiters from his restaurant to get me a cab to go home.

The waiter walks me to a cab and gives me a twenty to get home. When I arrive, I have 8 EU left to get me through tomorrow. My shuttle bus is only 6 EU so that leaves me 2 EU for breakfast, which is basically perfect.

As I head upstairs to the hostel, it occurs to me that I might be able to make a claim on my travel insurance for the stuff that was stolen. Is this pretty much exactly the reason I bought it? But, based on when Matthew had his phone stolen in Florence, I'll have to report it to the police in order to file my claim. Augh - that means I have to do it tonight. Booo.

When I reach the hostel reception, I get directions from the night duty guy (who was the Pakistani guy who tends to be a chatty Cathy) to the Police Station. He tells me it's not far...but that it's really not that safe right this time of night (it's about 4am by now). I understand what he's telling me, but I also don't really see any choice in the matter. I need to be at the train station by about 7am tomorrow to make my flight and there is no way I'm going to be able to tow all my stuff to the police station and back in the morning (we all now how I'm NOT a morning person), so even though I'm dead on my feet, it's now or never. Besides, I figure pretty much everything of value is stolen, and Italy doesn't really have an violent crime, just theft. What could happen?

So I head back out to the other side of the train station (which is closed, btw, so I have to walk around the bugger) and find the police with relatively little trouble. They let me in and I fill out my paperwork (which is two identical, one-sided dittos) and after I hand it in, the guy on duty stamps them, signs them, and hands one back to me. That's it? Don't I get a claim number or something? Turns out they don't speak English and without my ipod dictionary to help me translate this sentence, I have no way to communicate what I'm trying to say. Nevermind. At 5:00 in the morning, this will have to do.

I make my way back to the hostel with no problems, report to the reception dude, and ask him to make sure I'm up by 6:30. I CANNOT oversleep today and after the night I've had, no amount of paranoia is going to wake me up in about an hour. He kindly agrees and I finally, finally head off to my room.

Unfortunately I am now sharing my room with some dude. So I do my best to quietly get ready for bed/pack up the few belongings I still had out. By the time I crawl into bed (quite literally) it's 5:30. I am the personification of exhausted, but it's my first real opportunity to intellectualize the events of the last few hours and I'm in a state of minor shock. Someone stole from me. They stole my things. Why did they chose my bag - there were several there? Could they tell mine was not Italian? Did they know it was mine in particular?

Round and round I went in my head. But just like earlier today, I had to remind myself that I can't change what has happened, I can only deal with it and move on, so I tried to let it go. I concentrated on what I was thankful for instead. I'm thankful I have my passport. I'm thankful I downloaded all my pictures onto my laptop only two days before (I was only missing one picture: Me and Romeo). I'm thankful this didn't happen earlier in the trip - at this point I can definitely survive without all the things I've lost. I'm thankful I'm going home. I'm thankful I'm safe. I'm thankful I got to be in Italy for two months...

Before I knew it, there was a soft tap at my door: it was already 6:30. Had I even slept? Or had I maintained that state between sleep and wakefulness the whole time. I had no idea if I'd drifted off, but it didn't really matter: I now had to get up.

Last Day in Italy: Part 2

So, after I spiffed myself all up and whipped up a better mood, I actually felt pretty great.  I was going to have gnocchi for dinner, I was going to hang out with my cute waiter, I'd had 8 great weeks in Italy...who wouldn't want to be me?

I made my way back to the bus station (a wee bit humbly) and bought two tickets: one for the way to dinner and one for the ride home.  No way was I risking a ride without a ticket again (despite the extreme unlikeliness of running into the "bus police" again in the same night).  I put my ipod in my ears to keep my mind focused on the fun night ahead of me and NOT on my earlier humiliation.  

Plus, to be honest, I was a little nervous about meeting Romeo again.  What if he thought I was stupid?  What if he laughed at me when he saw that I had really come back?  What if he saw that I was dressed up and thought I was trying too hard or expecting something he wasn't? What if he didn't really want to go out with me, he just thought I was coming back for dinner?  Eke!  

I don't know why, but I was on the verge of freaking out a little bit.  I'm not really sure what that was about (I mean, after tonight, I'm probably never going to see this guy again - or at least, I don't have to if I don't want to), so what's the big deal?  So I took a deep breath, concentrated on exuding confidence, and let Rihanna work her magic in my ears.  

It was nearly 10pm and I was starving, but the Rolling Stones (Dr. Dre remix) of Miss You was in my ears, so I slowly walked to the beat toward my destination, letting my confidence build as I went.  Ultimately, it doesn't matter what this boy thinks of me; I'm excited to eat what I know will be a good dinner; and hopefully, I'll have a good time tonight.  I can handle that.  Besides, it's like Mick Jagger says, "Boys* will come and go; they're just like street cars and I been standin' here too long."  As part of this Italian adventure, this boy is merely a street car - what am I so worried about?? 

As the song finished, I approached the restaurant doors.  Romeo was outside (on a smoke break - his one downfall, I'm afraid).  I gave him a European kiss on each cheek as a hello and went in to sit down.  Yeah, this was going to be no problem.  

I took my time enjoying my gnocchi and wine (which this time was not little potato dumplings, but little turned pasta shells: interesting).  Romeo wasn't off until 1am anyway (assuming we were going out; he hadn't said anything, so neither did I), so I had some time to kill.  When I finished my food, I ordered more wine and just sat enjoying the ambiance.  

At around midnight, a guy named Lucca (a regular I had met the night before) came in, so I moved to the bar to chat it up with him while I waited for 1:00 to roll around.  We had some good conversation (he spoke excellent English) and before I knew it, Romeo was telling me he just had a few more things to do before we could go: 15 minutes.  Oh!  Excellent!  I am leaving with you - sweet! 

*Mick says girls, but you get the idea.

Last Day in Italy: Part 1

I woke up the next morning and thought: Wow, this is my last 24 hours in Italy; I can hardly believe it.  Have I really spent 55 days here already?  It's all been just a minute....

But I don't have time to dwell on that, time is tickin' away!!  

So I got up with a spring in my step and a readiness to make the most of my last day in Rome.  The biggest item on my agenda was to finish my shopping.  Honestly, I had been brainstorming my gift ideas for the fam, but I'd largely been procrastinating the actual purchasing of said gifts.  Thus, today I had a date with Via Corso and Via Nazionale: the two biggest and best shopping streets in Rome.  

After a quick stop for a standing cappuccino and a doughnut to go (creme filled, of course) I started my way down Via Nazionale, the closer of the two streets.  I began my stint with a lot of window shopping, but quickly reminded myself: This is no time to be iffy about decisions.  Despite being intimidated by shopping in general, let alone in a foreign country where the women are skinny and beautiful, I've got to step up to the plate and, well, get 'er done.  

Thus I had my first Italian fitting room experience.  As I'm sure you well know, at home, a person simply picks out their items off the rack, requests a room, and then tries on the clothes and makes their purchase decisions at his/her own leisure.  Why wouldn't it be the same here?  Well, I don't have an answer to that question, but I'm here to tell you: it's not the same. 

For some reason (and I have NO insight as to why), the merchants baby-sit you through the whole shopping process.  As soon as they notice you are interested in a specific item, they're glued to your hip.  Do you want to try it on? If yes, they take it from you (because of course, you can't be trusted to hold it yourself) and put it in a dressing room.  Do you want to try on anything else?  Again, if yes, they guide you to the possible options and then take them from you as soon as you give the affirmative that you are interested.  Once you've collected all the items you want, they not only escort you to the dressing room, but they help you try things on.  No, I'm not kidding.  Fortunately for me, what I was trying on was not to, um, intimate, but they seriously wad up the sleeves and hold them there for you to stick your arms through.  I felt like I was about 6 years old, when my mom used to help me get dressed for school.  It was weird.  

Then of course they scrutinize you in the item and I felt compulsed each time to ask if I looked okay (like I needed to get permission to think I looked good in the item and could then buy it.)  Honestly, it was a bit stressful and intimidating, but I really didn't have the time to dwell on it, so instead of internalizing and processing the whole thing, I just moved on right passed it and purchased my items anyway.   

After a few hours, I was ready to break for lunch, however since I knew the dreaded "dead zone" was coming up, I pushed through.  Every moment those shops were open, I needed to be shopping.  There was literally, no tomorrow.  

Eventually though, the shops began to close and I was so tired I could hardly think.  I hopped on the Metro and made my way back to my room to evaluate how I'd done so far.  After a little rest (and some creative cramming in my suitcase) I took a deep breath and headed back out there.  Just a few items left, and then I was good to go.  

At this point I mostly knew what I was looking for and just returning to find the previously spotted items.  In the mind's eye, this task is easily and quickly accomplished: no problemo!  But in real life....yeah, it takes a while. So after another two and a half hours, whether I liked it or not, the shops were all closing for the day: I was done shopping.  I had done pretty well and gotten almost everything on my list, so I felt pretty good.  But mostly, I was brain-dead and tired.  I just wanted to get back to my room.  I figured a shower and a little rest would do me right before I headed out for my final dinner (and date-ish?) in Rome.

I was near a bus stop, so I got on the first bus that went by that listed the Termini station as a stop.  It briefly occurred to me that I had forgotten to buy a bus ticket, but I was so tired and just wanted to get home....I promised myself I would make up for it on my way to dinner and buy an extra ticket so I wouldn't technically be stealing the ride.  

Unfortunately one stop later, the bus ticket security dudes got on the bus and asked me for my ticket.  Uh oh.  This, is NOT good.  He firstly asked me in Italian and I indicated that I didn't understand what he wanted.  Unfortunately he switched to English no problem.  I made a show of looking through my enormous bag for my ticket (and all my pockets in my coat and purse...) but he did not tire of waiting.  I told him I couldn't find it and he promptly issued me a ticket.  I attempted to talk him out of it, but he wasn't having one teeny, tiny bit of it.  He said there was a 50 EU fine and I needed to pay immediately.  At this point, I began to get distressed in earnest.  Well, I don't have 50 EU, I said.  (After all the shopping, I only have 40 left in my wallet.)  It's no problem, he says, I give you this and you go to the post office and pay double.  Double?!? But...but...butbutbut!!

I get off the bus at the Termini station with a heavy step and a long face.  How could this have happened?  Why didn't I buy a ticket?  What was I thinking?  I am usually SO GOOD at following the rules, and now I've been caught and penalized for abusing the system.  I felt so ashamed of myself.  I found that I kept rationalizing what had happened and replaying the scene with the bus authority, but this time I vocalize my excuse, or I explain the disgrace away, or I find a way out of it.  

But after several moments of this, I had only made it about 20 feet away from the bus stop and I snapped myself back to reality.  The fact of the matter was, no matter the reason or the circumstances, I had broken the rules and there was a price to pay.  And I was going to pay it.  After all, that was what I believed, wasn't it?  That there were consequences for my actions and I was responsible to them?  Yes, there is certainly room for grace, but I had received plenty of it thus far on my trip and this simply wasn't one of those times.  If I demand grace for my inequities, as though it were my right, aren't I kind of missing the point of grace?  So I decided it was only fair that I pay the ticket and that was that.  

I made it back to my room feeling slightly better about this resolution, but I still had to lie down and allow myself some time to deal with my feelings on the subject.  Despite accepting the circumstances, I still felt pretty crappy about it.  But after a little bit of processing time, I decided that I wasn't going to let something like this ruin my last night in Italy.  Besides, I had a fun dinner and going out with my waiter to look forward to.  And I didn't particularly want to show up with a long face and sour mood.  So I plugged in my ipod to the speakers, pumped some good tunes, put on a cute outfit, and freshened up my make-up.  If that doesn't make a girl feel better, well, then, I don't know what will.  

(Don't worry, there is much more to come - but I figured it was better to post it in pieces.  So stay tuned!!)

To Napoli or Not Napoli...

...that was my question. After a semi-late night of free wine with my new friends from the English Inn Pub, I was pretty tired. (Plus, I had figurd at the onset of my trip if I could make it through 56 days in Italy without getting crapped on by a pigeon or pickpocketed, I'd consider that a success. So with over 50 days under my belt...I kind of didn't want to jinx it.) But in either case I was going to have to check out of the hostel and make my way to the train station.

Unfortunately, this proved to be a bigger task than I might have originally anticipated because I now had 5 bottles of wine to cram in my already very full bag (not to mention the limoncello!). Hmmm. After some significant rearranging, I managed to squeak it all in...although now I could hardly lift the dang bag. Something told me I wasn't under the airline 50lb weight limit. But for now, it was all in one bag; I'd deal the weight-limit issue when I got there...

In the mean time, I tightened up my money belt, loaded & locked my bags, and began towing my now boulder of a bag toward the station. I figured I would see how I felt when I got there and decide if I was going to store my bags and do the three-hour-RS tour, or just head straight through.

Once I boarded the train, I was quick to set up camp with my bags crowded protectively around me (theivery is more prevalent on this commuter train from Sorrento to Napoli) and then immediately whipped out David Copperfield. I think I've mentioned that I've been reading it, but lately I've had the strangest sensation that I've read it before. It's the most unusual thing! Normally, this does not happen to me. To my mom: yes, all the time. But to me?? Nooo! But I'm over 100 pages into this 700 page book and I still can't decide if it's new to me or not. (Although now - in real time - I think I've decisively concluded that if I have read it before, I didn't finish it.)

In any case, the 75 minutes to Napoli went by in a snap! and when we pulled into the station, I tried to act like I knew where I was going and what I was doing and to walk with a certain confidence. I don't know if this particularly had any effect or not, but I did notice there were quite a few more people begging at the station than at Rome's Termini station. This was my first red flag.

From the commuter train I headed upstairs to the "real" trains and based on the number of people approaching me for money - I just wasn't comfortable. I wanted to get out of here (and with my wallet contents in tact) more than I wanted to "taste and see" the real Napoli. It was just going to have to wait until I had either a) a travel companion or b) a local to guide me through the chaos. Rick said to listen to my gut in terms of my own safety and I wasn't feelin' it.

So I made a bee-line for Fast-Ticket automated machines (the quickest and easiest way to get a ticket), but unfortunately, this involves getting money out; and this attracts attention. The first person to approach me was a haggard looking old woman. She murmered to me in Italian, but I told her I didn't understand and just kept doing my thing (a little bit quicker...) in the hopes she'd get the picture and go away (which seemed to kind of work).

As I was finishing my transaction (and thus tucking my funds away) a man came up to me. I tried the same routine on him (only this time it included walking away as I was finished), but he didn't seem to like that none to much. In fact, as I quickened my pace, he too quickened his pace! So I ducked into a café in the terminal and thankfully there was a policeman/security guard in there, so I stood right next to him. My next course of action was going to start making a big deal with lots of pointing and explaining, but fortunately it didn't come to that. When creepy guy saw the "cop" he gave me a kind of dirty look and kept on walking. Needless to say, I stayed in that cafe, close to the security dude until I could board my train. I'm happy to report, all possible catastrophies were avoided (whew!)

I passed my ride to Roma with David Copperfield and upon arrival found that I was not only relieved to finally be in Rome (it's about a 4 hour excursion from Sorrento), but that I was actually kind of giddy about it. I knew my way around, I knew how to use the transit, and compared to Napoli, it seemed like the safest place on earth when I got off the train.

Upon reflection on my way back to the hostel, I decided that even though Sorrento really appealled to me, and I thought I'd really enjoy the downtime there...something about it was off. Either I was in a funk, or it strucky me as funky, or I don't know what. But I did know that it felt really, really good to be back in Rome and I actually wished I had come a day earlier. But I wasn't going to dwell on that little fact; I was just going to enjoy my last 36 hours.

After checking into the hostel (only 18 EU this time!) I had the energy, so I completely rearranged all of the contents of my bags so that the weight was (hopefully) more evenly distributed. Then I made a plan for the rest of my stay: tonight I would have dinner and do the last RS stroll and tomorrow I would really, truly spend the day shopping and finish off my gift list.

So where did I head for dinner? None other than my favorite hole-in-the-wall father/son duo pasta joint near the Pantheon (where the Dad kept cupping my face and I thought the son would ask me out). Excellent decision. Not only did I get another good meal, but this time Romeo was much more flirty (and I was much less of a goobery-idiot). I didn't get my meal for free, but I went home giddy with an invite to go out with Romeo after his shift tomorrow night. Sounds like the perfect way to end not only Roma, but Italia, eh?

There Was a Time…

Anyone know what that quote is from?? I’ll give you a minute; it’s one of my favorite movies.

(Waiting...waiting....patiently waiting.)

Do you know it yet? How about if I say, Kansas City Shuffle. Or Bruce Willis. Do you know it now? (If you don’t, you’re not going to get it.)

It’s from Lucky Number Slevin. Why do I bring that up? Because last night, as I was getting ready for bed, my brain solved a problem I had no idea it was working on.

You know that scene when Bruce Willis says, “There was a time…” to the guy in the train station and explains the entire concept of the Kansas City Shuffle? The guy he is telling the story to (and then kills right after) is "Dennis" from Catch and Release with Jennifer Garner (the friend who is in love with her but she isn't into).

I suddenly realized the connection (with no preamble or warning ) and was so excited I had to tell someone. And that someone is you.

And by Capri, I mean Pompeii

When I wake up the following morning (today!) I am determined to make something of the day. While it was kind of nice to not have an agenda yesterday, I can also tell I’m feeling restless. So I pry myself out of bed at 10am (aren’t you proud?) and am out the door by 10:30. I’ve actually planned enough time to a) get breakfast b) get cash and c) get to the ferry on time.

However, when I walk outside, it’s raining. Booo. This does not bode well for riding a chair lift over the island to see it in all its glory. I head to the TI to confirm that it’s a bad idea to go to Capri today and the girl there recommends I try tomorrow instead. Besides, I can take all my bags with me and go straight from Capri to Naples. Seems like just as good of an idea as going from Pompeii to Naples (which was my original plan), so I decide to just switch them around. I will see Pompeii today and Capri tomorrow.

If you don’t already know, Pompeii is an ancient city that was completely engulfed when Mt. Vesuvius blew and covered the entire city in lava and ash, killing all its residents and freezing the moment in history. They have since excavated it, and the product is quite the sight to see.

I wasn’t necessarily interested in ancient remains, but Rick gives it three triangles (his highest rating) so I figured it was worth a shot. When I arrived, I opted not to get the audio guide as a) I was already paying 11 EU just to get in and b) Rick had a self-guided tour. And I’m learning that as long as I have some information about a place, I’m usually satisfied. It’s when I know nothing about it I feel like it’s a waste. So RS is good enough for me.

The self-guided tour is actually excellent (except for one navigational error that lasted at least 20 minutes) and I take my time combing through the ruins. The tour even finishes with a big theatre, a little theatre and an amphitheatre; you know I loved that. (Here are some highlights for your viewing pleasure.)
Check out the volcano in the background: that's what decimated the city in the first place.

After the ruins, (which I’d only rate as two triangles, btw) I was feeling so good about being such a good tourist (and the day had gotten so nice!) I contemplated trying to squeeze Capri in today. But alas, it was almost 4:00 and I only had about an hour of sun left. There was just no way to make it work.

I kill some time in the afternoon with the internet, getting some gelato as a pre-dinner snack and some free munchies at a nearby bar. Finally I head to Luigi’s for dinner (Franco told me the day before he would be closed today). But when I get there (a full hour after his opening time) there is no one there. Rats. Do you mean to tell me I have to find someplace new?? Boo! (Hiss, even.)

So I try the next place on Rick’s list, but it’s only okay. I have the pizza, but I don’t finish. I head back to Luigi’s and now he’s there. (Augh.) So I pop in to say hello and buy a bunch of wine from him because, well, I like him and Franco, and it’s a good deal. I take the wine home, check my email to see if my Positano friend has responded (he has, but isn’t sure if he is available – so basically, he hasn’t), and feel like it’s too pathetic to spend my last night in Sorrento in my room with my computer, so I head back out.

I don’t know what I’m going to do or where I’m going to go, but I’m starting to feel a little sorry for myself as it’s been two whole days without any social interaction (I think I scheduled a wee bit too long in Sorrento…either that or I’m just ready to come home).

I find myself at the English Pub where I had my tea way back at the beginning of the week when I was feeling terrible. The waiter (Ali from Morroco) remembers me and immediately, I’m already glad I came.

Turns out I’m the only person in the bar, but I don’t care. I chat it up with all three of the people on staff and spend a few hours laughing the time away. They educate me about how Italian men think (only about sex) and inform me that I’ve been “wasting my time” while in Italy (because I’m not having sex at every opportunity). I try to argue that I’ve been enjoying the food and the company, but Raffale (the old man of the group) isn’t convinced: I’ve wasted my time. Hahahhaah!

In the end my two glasses of wine and toasted sandwich are free. They make me promise to come back when its warm and I tell them I’ll do my best (I would certainly love it!) I saunter back to my hostel and watch the end of Gladiator* in Italian with the concierge. All in all, a pretty good day.

*Speaking of Gladiator, did you know that the little boy who plays Russell Crowe’s son in the movie is the same little boy from Life is Beautiful? True story.

Oh Bother…

When I woke up after 12 (!) the next afternoon, all I can think is, “Oh bother.” Something is definitely off with my sleep and it’s affecting my motivation. I think perhaps in reality, I’m ready to be home. I’m ready to see familiar faces. I’m ready to…sit on a couch and watch a movie. I know I only have a few days left here in Italy and I really ought to enjoy them….but something in me is just ready to come home.

Nevertheless, I set about trying to visit Capri. I consult the timetable but since it is off-season, the ferry is so infrequent, I’d hardly have the chance to enjoy the island before the sun set. Thus I resolve to go tomorrow and hang around Sorrento instead.

As you can imagine, this being my third? fourth? day in Sorrento, it yields very little in the way of adventures. I walk around, I mope because none of the stores are open (it’s during the dead zone) and berate myself for not getting up earlier.

I try to make the best of it by listening to some Britney Spears on my ipod while I walk around town, pretending that I too am famous with an entourage doing choreographed steps behind me and that everyone wants to be me, but this only servers to perk me up for a little while. Eventually, I’m Jonesin’ for some company.

Unfortunately there is not much to be done about it tonight, so I resolve to email my new friend from Positano to see if he wants to hang out tomorrow and I spend the evening with David Copperfield instead.

The only real thing worth mentioning about the evening is that when I went back to Franco’s for dinner (I had missed two nights! How did that happen??) I met not only some other Rick Steves’ travelers (they were doing his recommended 3 week tour) but I a also met two gentlemen from Russia. They were in Italy for a work event, but doing some traveling on their own. They were actually the department head and a student teacher of laser technology at their university.

After briefly chatting, they invited me to sit with them during their meal and share their wine. When I told them I was from Washington, the department head said he had only been to a small town in Washington, perhaps I had heard of it: Bellingham. Hahahahhahah! Yes, I’ve heard of it ☺ Just when you’re feeling the world is so big and too much to contemplate, you’re reminded of what a small place it truly can be.

Positano

I don't know if the chronic thinking-about-home I've been doing this week is messing with my sleep patterns or what, but suddenly I'm finding that it's hard to peel myself out of bed before 11:00. I guess I'll just chalk it up to preemptively adjusting to PST, but sheesh! It's sure making short-work of my days left in Italy...

In any case, the next morning I wasn't sure if I had it in me to see any other towns near Sorrento. I was just...so tired. I convinced myself to at least get out of bed and have breakfast; that I could do.

After a mediocre cappuccino, a meh brioche, and 20 minutes of the café owner talking my ear off, I was motivated to walk around. I reasoned today was a good day to do the Rick Steves' self-guided tour (I know, I've been in town three days and haven't done it yet - for shame!). Predictable for a small town, the walk was brief; enjoyable, but brief. I was near the train station, so I thought I'd check the bus timetable, just in case.

After talking with Luigi the night before, he told me that the three places I had to see while I was here were Capri, Positano, and Pompeii. Originally I'd thought perhaps today would be Capri day, but since it is off-season, the ferry schedule is infrequent and with my inclination to sleep in...there weren't many options left. (Besides, it's kind of expensive to get out there and back, so if I'm going, I'm gonna get my full day in!) Thus, my option for the day was Positano.

After consulting the bus schedule, this time I chose a departure time that got me to Positano as the dead-zone time was ending. (Genius, I know.) Even though I was getting there a bit late in the day, I reasoned that since I had already seen the drive, I could afford to come back a bit later and I wasn't really missing anything.

So I boarded the bus (this time without having to make an emergency trip to the bathroom thankyouverymuch!), popped in my ipod and watched the scenery fly by for the second time. I wasn't exactly sure where my stop was though, so I asked the bus driver and he said he would tell me. Sure: I've heard that before...

In the mean time, I made friends with the two women behind me. They were American and beautiful in a non-intimidating way. Turns out that one had been a student of the other in 6th grade!! and they were still friends. I thought that was just amazing. They too were getting off in Positano, so we stuck together.

This time the driver was good to his word and we got off at our stop no problem. As we made our way down the hill toward town, I chatted with the women (Maureen and Jane) and they gave me their remainder lunch fixin's (bread, proscutto, cheese and olives - yum!). Soon though Jane was distracted by some of the small shops and a New Yorker living in Positano who was offering his services as a guide. I was more inclined to simply wander, so I said my good-byes and continued down the hill toward the beach.

Positano is known for two things: it's beach and it's fashion boutiques. So I stopped in at a few on my way into town, but at 100 EU a pop, I decided it was too rich for my blood. Once I made it into town, I was rewarded with a fantastic view from the beach. I can see why people flock here in the summer; it must be heavenly. I copped a squat to eat my newly acquired lunch and a friendly dog nearby became my new best friend. I tried to tell him he wasn't going to get any scraps from me but, I don't think he spoke English.

So I ignored him and enjoyed the sun and the beach and the people. Since most of the shops in town were either ridiculously expensive or closed, this was pretty much my only entertainment. The next bus wasn't for a while, so I made use of the expensive internet access (with my new dog friend still at my feet, despite no food) and then gathered my things and prepared to leave.

As I was leaving the café, a group of four or five boys said, "Hi!" as I walked by. I thought this was particularly funny because they didn't say "Ciao," they said "Hi." I laughed and said "Hi" back, but I kept on walking. I snapped a few pictures of the beach (as the sun was getting close to setting) and then started to head back up the hill.

But as I went by, the same group of boys again started talking to me, asking me if I was Italian. I told them No, I'm American. One of them pipes up, "But you are a little bit, yes?" I raise my eyebrows at this and say, "Well yes actually - about 25%..." This creates a flurry of Italian comments I don't understand. The same one pipes up again, "You are also Irish, no?"

This time I'm downright shocked. "Yes, I am..." Then I smile and say, "There is one more nationality - do you think you can guess it??" Then there is a whole host of guessing from all of them: German! Spanish! English! When I feel they have exausted their resources I finally tell them, Noooo - Francese!!

The out-going one says, "No! I said that first! I said: French-German!" I laugh at his effort to be right (because he clearly said nothing of the sort) and when they invite me to sit and have a drink with them, I can't refuse.

It seems as though they are gathered because one of them (the ring-leader, as it were) is leaving for Spain tomorrow for a few months. The nature of life in Positano seems to be that you work for 12 hours a day, six days a week for six months a year: tourist season. Then....you travel. So tonight is a bit of a good-bye party for Matteo. Since they all speak English, they are kind enough to joke around in my native language so that I can at least follow the conversation. At times they switch to Italian, but I'm content to just listen.

Soon the minutes pass into hours and as I'm contemplating how Italian boys weave the concept of a fib into their flirting, I realize if I'm not careful, I'm going to miss the last bus. I express as much outloud, but they are not worried. They don't know when the bus is, but they tell me not to worry. I check the timetable anyway and there is one in 15 minutes and one in 90 minutes. I'm pretty tired, so I'm more inclined to catch the next one, but the boys are not happy to hear it. They tell me it's probably not running anyway and I should just stay.

But I make my good-byes and HAUL IT back up the hill. I do not want to miss this sucker. My lungs are burning when I make it to the top, but I don't care. It's 2 minutes before the bus is due to come and I'm happy about that. But after 15 minutes....still no bus. Rats. I can hardly rationalize that it is late, as there are essentially no passangers/stops to make it late. Well that stinks.

Fortunately the boys come up the hill in a few minutes time (I think they knew there was no bus) and offer to give me a ride. So I hop on the back of a motorbike and prepare myself for an adventure. But instead of Sorrento, he takes me to his house - he wants to get his car (too cold on a motorbike). Okay, fine by me. When we get there he says - I'm still feeling "the drink," let me just get something to eat first. Augh. Can't really argue with that, so upstairs we go.

We chat and he is kind enough to share his food with me. I can tell he is not too keen on the idea of driving to Sorrento and back, so I offer to just catch the next bus. He says he will take me to the stop and wait with me, just in case. This seems like a wise plan to me, so I agree and we head out. We're there in plenty of time so we park the car and wait. And wait. And wait. Noooo bus.

It takes some convincing (he really doesn't want to drive there and back) but I finally talk him into giving me a ride. On the way he tells me I should take his hand and tell him some nice things. I think this is hilarious, (and tell him as much) but I do it anyway - I'm thankful to be on my way home. Once I'm finished with my showering of praise he says, "Yeah, that was o-kay. I've had better." Again: hilarious.

We make the trip he claims is going to take 35 minutes in about 15 (I also got my first REAL experience of Italian Driving: scary/exhilarating. He drops me off, gives me his contact information and a very European kiss on each cheek. If I want to hang out again, I should call.

They were a fun group of guys and I think, maybe I will.

Amalfi Coast...

The next day I do indeed talk myself into visiting the Amalfi Coast...unfortunately I'm so tired, I'm hardly able to get myself out the door by 11:30. Nevertheless, I make my way to the bus station and learn that I've missed the bus by about 17 minutes. Rats. The next bus isn't until 12:30, so I have no choice but to grab a quick snack (tomato and mozzarella sandwich) and wait.

As I'm eating my sandwich in the sun, enjoying the relaxed nature of my day, I notice an uncomfortable pain in my gut. Hmm, this is new...I figure it can't really be good for what I hear is a white-knuckled ride of the coast but...not much to be done about it. I keep eating my sandwich and just try to ignore it.

But by 12:20 it becomes apparent to me that I simply cannot ignore this new pain and I MUST make haste to the nearest restroom. With teeth and cheeks clenches (both sets) I go straight for the train station. I ask the gentleman at the newspaper stand where the bathroom is and he tells me it's upstairs. I RUN up the stairs but don't see it. I ask the waitress in the café and she tells me it is on the other side of the platform. Dilemma: don't have a ticket; NEED to use the restroom. In the end, I sneak through the turnstyle and hustle to the bathroom. I have to pay 50¢, but don't care in the least. I walk/run to the stall, close the door and take a look at my throne. Oh my gosh, I'm having an actual nightmare. I am on the verge of very literally (prepare yourselves) crapping my pants and not only is there no toilet seat, there is also no toilet paper. However, I very quickly rationalize that it's either deal with no toilet paper in a moment, or deal with some nasty-ass pants right now. Obviously, I choose the former.

After a few horrifying moments (when I can again think clearly) it occurs to me that I have kleenex in my bag (thank you Diana!!). That seriously could have been the worst day of my life, but fortunately, it's now okay.

After my nightmare-come-true experience, I have to run back through the station to make my bus on time. When I get there the driver is chatting outside the bus with some kids - whew! I'm good to go (in all senses of the word).

The drive there (as promised by Rick Steves and my friend Erin from Cinque Terre round 1) is absoultely wonderful. The first stop is Positano, but I'm so enjoying the scenary, I decide to stay on the bus until Amalfi Town (town #2). Total ride time is about 90 minutes and when we pull into Amalfi, it's not a moment too soon. Again I make a bee-line for the toilet. There's another 50¢ down the pipes, but I DON'T CARE (this time they have toilet paper and soap at the sink, woo hoo!)

After acquainting myself with the facilites, I wander around town. Unfortunately, I did not think about the fact that my arrival time (about 2:00) was during the heart of the dead-zone. Only a few shops are open. But truthfully, I wasn't in a shopping mode anyway, and I'm content to wander. I check the schedule for the next bus, make YET ANOTHER trip to the bathroom (I've never had troubles like this before; to all of you out there with chronic butt troubles, you officially have my heartfelt sympathies), and get back on the bus. I'm slightly nervous because my last round between trips to the loo was less than an hour, but I figure I can make it by sheer force of will, if nothing else.

The trip home was BEAUTIFUL (and uneventful, if you know what I mean). Check out some of the views:


Once I'm home, I decide to hit up Franco's son's wine bar for dinner. He has a deal where you get tastes of 5 wines plus snacks. If he's anything like his father, I'm sure I'll be well fed. I arrive not long after 6:00 and I'm his only customer. Luigi talks my ear off and indeed keeps the food coming at a steady rate (including not only a quiché, but a plate of meats and cheeses, a salad, bread AND a full plate of pasta). By the time I leave, I'm not only a wee-bit snockered, but stuffed to the rafters. Perhaps all this good food will fix my, ahem, digestive issues....

Takin’ It Easy

The next day I decide to wander around town and get a feel for Sorrento during the day. I try to scout out a place for my breakfast, but the decision seems overwhelming and I find myself just stopping at a particularly nondescript bar simply because I’m tired. I try to spend a little time with Rick, sketching out my final week, but I lose interest quickly. I just can’t do it. What’s with me?

I try to find the TI, but discover it is closed on Sundays. Hmph. I wander a bit further down and find a spectacular view. Ahh, now this I know what to do with! I sit and enjoy the water for a while, but I am soon restless and heading back to the main square. Along the way I find a park, so I snap a few pictures. But all the while, I’m just becoming more and more exhausted.

I spot an English pub and decide it would be a good place to camp out with my computer for a while, so I order some lunch and some tea and stay put. This suits me well and after a few hours, my mood has definitely improved. I decide to head back to my room to drop off my computer before venturing to dinner.

But by the time I get to my room I’m really not feeling well. And when I walk in, I discover someone else’s stuff is also now in the room. Great – a roommate. Fortunately she’s not here at the moment, so I head to the bathroom to see if I can instigate feeling better. Unfortunately I don’t accomplish anything other than positive self-talk and eventually come back out.

Shortly after I do, my roomie, Patricia comes in. She is from Singapore and speaks excellent English. She too is on a long holiday (seven weeks) and is spending one week in Italy. She’ll be in Sorrento for two nights. We chat for a while and she tells me she is going to check out the Amalfi Coast tomorrow. I internally cringe because I know I should be doing some sight-seeing as well, but I just don’t feel like it. But perhaps I can talk myself into seeing Amalfi tomorrow….

In the mean time, my stomach has relented a bit, and even though I don’t “feel” it, I know I’m hungry. So I tell Patricia bye-for-now and head out for dinner. Before I know it, I’m at the doorstep of last night’s restaurant. Might as well give it another shot.

As soon as I walk in, I’m glad I did. Everyone is surprised to see me again and very excited that I’m back. This time I really do order the gnocchi and my waiter friend brings me TWO toasty, tomoato-y bread things instead of one. Yes, a very good decision. After the meal comes my limoncello again and this time my waiter (Franco) chats with me for about 30 minutes. I learn all about how this is his restaurant, his son runs a wine bar downstairs, he also rents out rooms, and how he loves Rick Steves (“Very good man!!”). His English isn’t perfect, but where it muddles into Italian, I definitely get te gist of it. He asks about where I am staying and why am I traveling alone (this is actually a popular question). When I tell him I might venture to Naples this week, he gets very protective and gives me some very serious warnings about how to be safe while I’m there. I ask him if it is better that I don’t go. No, no – he says, you must see Napoli, just be safe.

After this I know I’ll be eating dinner here every night, how can I not??

Dinner in Sorrento

When I arrived in Sorrento and got off the train, I was so relieved I hadn’t been mugged (Naples has a terrible reputation and I had to switch trains from the main line to a small commuter) that probably any town would have looked like gold to me. But I stand by my original analysis: Sorrento is a clear winner.

From the train station I walked through town, taking in the zillion picturesque shops along the main drag, until I found the hostel. Technically this place calls itself a hostel, but when I walked in, it was more like a 4-star hotel. The glass door slid open to reveal a marble-tiled reception area complete with plush couches and a suit-wearing concierge. “Uhh, do you have a bed available for tonight?”

A few moments later I was standing in my new, tiny room complete with its own bathroom and a list of the spa treatments in my hand. My 20EU had really gone a long way! The bed was a bunk bed, but, at least for tonight, I had the luxury of the room to myself. So I settled in, made my bed, and directed my steps back toward town. It had been a long train ride and even though my stomach wasn’t 100% yet, I knew I needed to eat.

I set my steps directly toward the first non-splurge food listing Rick had. When I find it, I know I’m in the right place. A short, slender, fatherly-type man greets me immediately and lets me choose a table. As soon as I’m seated, he brings me bread, olive oil, vinegar, and balsamic vinegar. I’m in the mood for gnocchi, but when I see seafood risotto on the menu, I order it on an impulse instead. I throw in a fresh salad of tomatoes as well and eagerly await my food.

I keep myself more than occupied with my bread and cute, old man brings me a fat slice of soft, toasted bread with minced tomatoes and garlic hot on top. Mmm! Soon my food comes out and I dig in. Everything is delicious and my enjoyment of it is hindered only by my observation of a table of two Italian gals not far away.

Part way through my meal, I notice that one is speaking in a lowish voice, while the other is laughing and laughing and all the while they are stealing looks at me. Even though I don’t know what she’s saying, it’s clear they’re laughing at me. I feel extremely self-conscious, but I don’t know what I could possibly be doing that would solicit such malicious attention, so I try to ignore them. But at one point I look up and they’re both looking intently right at me. So I stop and look back. It is almost to the point that I’m about to say, “What is your problem?” and walk over there, ready to start a cat-fight, but they finally look away.

Needless to say I was a little uneasy for the rest of my meal, but I tried to simply ignore them. I was in Italy with a great meal in front of me and I wasn’t going to let two stupid girls ruin that (especially because I had NO idea why they would be so interested in me). Eventually they finish their meal and leave and I’m so relieved I can actually feel my body relax at the lack of their presence. But I too am essentially finished with my meal and before long I request the bill. When it comes, it is served to me along with a small portion of limoncello – a lemon liquor that is a favorite in Italy and made right here in Sorrento.

Being as this was my first taste ever, I was quite excited. I took a sip and as I held it on my tongue, I was surprised to find it quite sweet: delicious indeed! But then I let it roll to the back of my mouth to swallow and – yow! Boy is it ever sour! The experience could not be any more authentically lemon. In fact, it is such a thorough demonstration of flavor, I felt as though I could taste the peel on my breath as I exhaled.

On the whole I’m pleased both with dinner and my first limoncello and tell my waiter as much as I make my way to the door. Despite the mean girls, it’s been a good first night in Sorrento.

Sorrento: Safe Arrival

I’ve only been here about 10 seconds, but I love it already! Woo-hoo!

And, I want a Vespa.

(More tomorrow! And we're almost to real time, yea!!)

Dinner at Mickki’s

I figured I could probably stomach a simple pasta, so I headed to a small, international-student joint that Rick said was cheap and a good value near the Pantheon. I arrive and a surly looking, what we would call in the States “construction worker,” Italian seats me at my table for one. I ask him (in Italian) what the pasta of the day is. Without saying a word, he leaves the table and walks outside. Hmm, that was interesting…is my Italian really that bad??

A moment later, a much younger, better-looking waiter reports to me and I repeat my question (in English because now I’m self-conscious). He starts listing several options and I’m still a little too tired/weak to listen to this kind of a list so I cut him off and say, “Why don’t you just bring me your favorite, okay?” He accepts this answer and I tune out to Italian TV while I wait for my food.

A short while later, the construction-worker comes back with my food in hand. He sets it down in front of me and as I say grazie he takes both his hands and cups my face, looking at my tenderly, fatherly, and then leaves without a word. I could cry the gesture is so sweet. I frickin’ love it here.

I happily eat my food (which is a fat spaghetti-type noodle in a Bolognese sauce) and enjoy the easy ambiance. Predictably the cute waiter stops by to make sure the selection is va bene. I assure him I’m quite happy with it and he brings me a glass of the house wine made from strawberries (my perk for mentioning Rick Steves).

In the mean time, construction-worker dad waiter either gently touches my cheek or acknowledgingly squeezes my shoulder as he walks by. He must like me. One of these times I tell him I’m ready for my bill. He is clearly unhappy with this input, why I go? “My son, Romeo, (Ro-MAY-o) asked about you…” he says. Somehow I doubt this, but before I can explain or inquire further, he shouts to the bar for my bill.

But instead of my bill, cute waiter (presumably Romeo) shows up with a dessert (maybe he does like me…). Never one to turn down food, I thank him and eat it in it’s entirety. So construction-worker dad thinks he can keep me here with more food, eh? Well, heh, he’s right. But I am so stuffed at this point, if he doesn’t stop sending food my way, he’s going to find out exactly why I was inclined to go in the first place.

This time though, I wait it out for quite some time before I ask for the bill again. In the mean time, the ambiance has taken on more of a club feel. The lights have gotten dimmer, it’s suddenly full to the brim, and the music has gotten louder. I take a look around and indeed, Rick was right: everyone here is in an International School program. I decide that at 27, I’m too old for this place and beckon cute waiter to my table with my eyes.

It’s so loud that he leans down close to me to hear what I have to say. He leans so close, in fact, that I can feel myself nearly blushing at his proximity to my face and as I say, “Il conto, per favore” my voice unintentionally comes out low and kind of husky (how does it not when someone is that stinkin’ close to you!?). He moves to respond back (what I’m sure at this point can only be either a protest at my leaving so soon or an invitation to meet up later) and says, “Seven euro.” Oh. Heh heh. Sure thing! (Oh I am such an idiot…)

As I’m digging for my cash, he comes back with yet another glass of the house strawberry wine. Interesting…wasn’t expecting that. I take my time drinking it, rationalizing that if he wants to come and talk to me, he has certainly created the opportunity. But when I finally finish it, I haven’t seen hide or hare of him and when I take a gander around the room, he’s chatting with some club-bound student at the bar. Oh well, it’s probably for the best. There’s at least a 50% chance I’d throw up on him anyway.

Three Days in One Blog

I know you’re shocked at what appears to be my brevity, but you’ll soon understand why.

I awoke in the middle of the night and immediately thought, “Uh oh, this isn’t good.” I never wake up at night and when I do, bad things usually follow. Despite all the extra blankets I had piled on me, my skin was crawling with that particular tinglyness that comes with being sick. I tried to ignore it and continue sleeping, but it the morning, it wasn’t any better.

In fact, it was worse. My head was foggy and I felt unable to form clear thoughts. But the cleaning lady was going to come in, so I had to get up. With anvils for arms and legs, I managed to pull myself out of bed and “get ready.”

I popped into a café on my street for some tea, but even that didn’t warm me up. I felt like all kinds of non-specific awful. My head hurt, but I didn’t have a headache, my stomach was bothering me, but I wasn’t nauseous, I was cold, but didn’t have chills…augh.

When I got back to my bed, I realized just how much energy it had taken me to be “out and about.” I was completely drained. I spent the rest of the day in fitful sleep, with delusional waking moments. At around 7, since I was feeling NO better and didn’t know what else to do, I decided to go try and throw up. If you know anything about me, then you know how much I abhor throwing up. I had a constant pain I my stomach, but didn’t really feel queasy per se. Nevertheless, I didn’t have any other ideas – and I was getting desperate.

But alas, it was a no-go. I fell back on my bed and passed out for another 3 hours. The next time I woke up I thought, “Enough of this crap. I’m gonna go throw up and I’m gonna feel better, dangit!” So I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste in faith that I would barf and headed back down the hall.

(Warning: we’re about to get personal.) This time I had success. And I mean real success. My stomach was wringing itself out like sopping wet laundry. I nearly cried I felt so much better after I was done. In fact I was a little giddy. But that was also about the time my head started pounding like I was having a lobotomy, so I just brushed my teeth (twice) and drunkenly walked back to my bed. One advil and 12 hours later, I woke up feeling MUCH better.

The next day I was pretty weak and a little weary about my stomach so I laid very low and looked after a few practical details (arrangements for Sorrento, calling the Assisi hostel back about my sweater, etc.) I was bummed that I had foregone my third day of free-ness with the Roma Pass, but not much to be done about it. Sick happens.

I do want to tell you about my dinner though (not because I threw it up or anything, it’s just a good story – see next post).

The next day I wrote and mailed my postcards (which I traveled all the way back to Vatican City to do and was going to finally take my pictures of St. Peter’s…but realized I had left my camera at the hostel – d’oh!), did a load of laundry, and boarded the train for Sorrento. It’s 4 hour travel time from Rome to Sorrento, so that was pretty much the whole day.

Michelangelo or Bernini?

It has occurred to me, with all my big talk about sculpture, you might be wondering, who is better: Michelangelo or Bernini? You ask a tough question, my friend.

Michelangelo stimulates an emotional response. His works actually move me and create a feeling in me. Bernini, on the other hand, is captivating. His works make me want to touch them and explore all the angles to fully understand them (which is why it is considered baroque…but still – he does it exceptionally well). Michelangelo’s pieces are intense and still; Bernini’s are dramatic and active. Both are terrifically life-like and demand your attention. I’m afraid this one is simply too close to call. It’s like asking me, what is my favorite food? That answer to that is largely dependent on my mood at the moment; I think the same applies here.

Roma Pass – Part 5: St. Peter’s Basilica

Okay, so you caught me: St. Peter’s is not part of the Roma Pass deal. By definition it cannot be, since Vatican City is technically its own country. But it was still free (they don’t charge entrance because it’s a church, which is understandable, yet unbelievable because this is where the Pietá, among so much other art, is housed) and it makes a nice final part to the little series I’ve got going on here, so you’ll just have to forgive me the literary liberty.

After Borghese I took the metro (for free!) to the stop closest to St. Peter’s, which left me with an easy 10-minute walk. I decided to rest my feet a bit and grab a bite to eat along the way and ducked into a café just as it began to sprinkle. Moments later it poured, complete with thunder and lightening. I guess I really will be taking a little break…

But like all the other rain I have experienced so far in Italy, it didn’t last for too long and by the time I was done eating (and lingering) it had let up to less than a sprinkle and I was ready to tackle St. Peter’s.

I don’t know if you know this, but St. Peter’s is HUGE. I mean, I had stood outside before and I knew the courtyard was quite generous, but the church itself was beyond what one can conjure upon first imagining. I think the most appropriate word for it is extravagant. It’s astronomical in proportion and everything about it is extravagant. As a whole, it’s quite overwhelming.

Again I rented the audio guide and obediently went where it directed me to go. It was slightly long-winded, but narrated by a voice that seemed to genuinely invested in the content (which was mostly interesting information about the basilica, but also largely evangelical).

Again, I won’t hold your hand and repeat the tour to you (there are some things you are going to have to come here and experience on your own), save for one stop: Michelangelo’s Pietá. Here, I simply must comment.

After you walk through the mighty doors of St. Peter’s, the Pietá is immediately on your right: no beating around the bush here. You walk in and BAM! there it is. As with the David, I was firstly shocked at so abruptly seeing such a great work of art (as though we had not been properly introduced), which was immediately followed with a feeling of recognition; as though I were seeing an old friend.

But whereas the David demands your captivation, the Pietá demands your reverence. It is so believably life-like, it feels as though you are intruding on an intimate, solemn moment between mother and son. Yet, Mary’s face and open hand beckon you forward. Through her sorrow, she invites you to join in the worship of her son.

This alone was enough to command my attention, but listening to the earnest audio guide describing Mary’s emotional state nearly broke my heart. It finishes with this message of hope from Psalm 23: “Yea though I walk though the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” If that’s not enough to make you cry, well, then, I don’t know what is.

After that, I considered everything else a frickin’ bonus. I had seen the ginormity of the church; I had seen the Pietá, what more could I ask?? I persevered though, patiently listening to the audio guide in its entirety before I returned it just before the deadline. Truthfully, by that point I was thankful to turn it in; I was simply over-saturated. I had seen a lot of truly spectacular art today.

In general it was too dark for pics (largely due to the lack of natural light from the stormy weather), plus I couldn’t muster the strength to be a “proper tourist,” so other than the Pietá, I didn’t bother. I was too late to take the elevator to the top of the dome anyway, so I figured I would come back tomorrow to snap a few pics and tour the dome.

Since I was so tired at that point, I decided to eat near home at a pizza joint Rick recommends. I finished my meal with a slightly different take on my favorite Italian dessert: ricotta panna cotta. Predictably, it had a little more texture, but was equally good as its predecessors. After that, I gleefully hit the sack.

Roma Pass – Part 4: Borghese Gallery

Probably if you are anything like me, and only have a basic, cursory knowledge of foreign countries (like, Italy for example) then you haven’t heard of the Borghese Gallery. Fortunately for me, I have a mother who has not only studied art, but has also visited Italy in order to see it. Thus before I left, she told me it was a must see. Best Advice Ever.

The Borghese Gallery is on the north side of Rome and houses a collection of works of art that were obtained through painstaking research, high-priced commissions, a little pillaging, a bit of corruption, some coercion, and good ol’ fashioned manipulation. I’ll let you rent the superb audio-guide for the more specific details, but it’s got a dirty little history to go along with the dramatic works of art it houses.

I made my way to the gallery via the metro (for free!) and my own two feet. The subway takes you as far as the entrance to the villa it resides on, but then it’s up to the art lover to walk through Rome’s version of Central Park to arrive at the Borghese’s doorstep.

Despite being less known worldwide, it’s still a popular site. Entrance is limited to 360 people every two-hours and they keep a tight watch on the time. Reservations are usually mandatory, but since it’s off-season, I waltzed right in at 12:30, skipped the 2 EU reservation fee and flashed my Roma Pass for free entrance at 1:00. Le me tell you, it is simply euphoric when plans go smoothly in a foreign country.

Since I had a half hour to kill, I decided to make use of the payphone in the gallery café. I had realized that morning when I was getting ready that I was missing a beautiful, gray, sweater-wrap-thing-y I had bought earlier on the trip. By process of elimination, I figured I must have left it in my locker at the Assisi hostel. Now seemed like an opportune time to see if they had it.

I managed to decode my phone card (and the payphone) and actually connect with the hostel. However, the husband of the woman running the joint answered the phone and he had no idea. He said he would look for me, but I should try calling back later. It wasn’t the, “Yes! I have it right here!” I was hoping for, but I was relieved to have just made contact.

Soon it was 1:00 and armed with my audio-guide, I made my way to the entrance. Even though I would love to take you on a room-by-room tour (which I could almost do by memory I enjoyed it so much), I won’t. But let me just say, Bernini is the frickin’ man. It seems as though every room featured a stunning sculpture by his hand (there were 7 rooms of sculpture and 5 of them featured a major work by Bernini – it should really be called the Bernini Gallery…). And when I say stunning, I mean that you walk in the room and are stunned. I think my mouth dried out from letting it gape open for so long.

Predictably, I was not allowed to take pictures, but I encourage you to find some online so you can connect a few mental images to what I’m talking about. I’m not sure why Bernini isn’t as famous as Michelangelo, but fame he surely deserves. (Perhaps it’s only that I haven’t heard of him and the rest of the world is in the know – I’m not sure.) In any case, I was absolutely captivated by his artistry.

Now, I will freely admit that I am quite green in the ways of appreciating art and often quite unable to name admirable qualities in specific works (in fact when it comes to paintings, often you have to tell me what is good…and why). However, when it comes to sculpture, I feel like I “get” it. Or at least, more so. Perhaps because it is three-dimensional and so easily comparable to real-life, it is easier for the layman to understand; I don’t know. But whatever the case: I love it. Paintings I could take or leave, but sculpture – lead me to it! So you can understand why I toured the main floor (sculpture) twice and blitzed the second floor (paintings), making a bee-line for the audio guide highlights and then immediately moving on.

I used every moment of my two-hours in the museum and it was free money well spent. Rick Steves also rates the site extremely high, but I’m not sure I would have made the effort to see it had it not been for the solid recommendation from my very own mother. So thanks mom; that was definitely one of the highlights of my trip. I left the museum extremely satisfied and dying to talk to you. I can hardly wait to debrief when I get home!