Back in the Sight-Seeing Saddle Again

The next morning I was surprised to see the two disrespectful late-comers were a grown woman and grandmother. What the….? 1.) Why are they staying in the cheapest room of a YOUTH hostel and 2.) You’d think they’d know better. Pshaw! Whatever, I’m over it – I’ve got Florence and Siena calling to me today!

I make my regular morning pit-stop to plan my day and find sustenance, but instead of planning, I end up scratching out notes for a cover letter to Rick Steves about why he should hire me. I figure, why not funnel two newly discovered passions into the possibility of a job? I’ve already done a wee bit of research and know that he’s not currently hiring, but perhaps if I can catch his eye with a truly sensational cover letter….

But that’s another story. After I’m done making my notes, I look up and notice that the rain has found its way to Florence. Dangitall! This rain is just going to follow me all the way south for my remaining three weeks isn’t it? I smile as I picture myself in a few hours again darting from covered location to covered location with my baggage in tow. (Sigh.) What will be will be…

But fortunately, it’s not the same rain I had in Lucca and it quickly lets up. As soon as I see a break in the weather, I’m on my way and I knock out two more of the sights on my list (Medici Chapels – which were fine, but not worth the 7 EU I had to pay because of the “special exhibit” and the Bargello – a collection of sculpture, which I really did enjoy but was crushed to learn that Donatello’s David had just begun restoration the day before and was unavailable for viewing! If I had only – or if the first time – augh. Boooo!)

After that I was ready to go. I wasn’t in the mood to possibly be disappointed with a third sight in a day and was ready for some change. Siena sounded good. So I made my way back to the hostel, picked up my bags (after a quick internet check – it was free there; so hard to pass up!!) and ventured to the bus station. Even though the two cities are connected by train, Rick says the bus is faster. Okay Rick – I trust you; to the bus I go!

Back in Florence

After a brief train ride (and an opportunity to dry off a bit) I arrived in Florence full of energy and ready to sight see. Even though I had spent 4 days here already, I decided to make a one-night pit stop for three reasons: 1.) There were a few minor sights that I felt like I still wanted to see, 2.) It was on the way to Siena (my next stop) and 3.) I realized I hadn’t done hardly any picture taking* while I was here and I wanted to document what felt like Florence to me.

First on my list was the Church of Santa Maria Novella, which was actually right near the train station. Supposedly it was packed with art and cheap to enter. I found both to be true, but wishing they had an audio-guide. I did my best to appreciate what I could on my own (and with a few notes from RS) but was soon back out on the street. (Sorry, no pics allowed – and I’m definitely all about following that rule again…)

Second on the list was the Medici Chapel, but before I could go in, I needed to make a pit-stop at a Bancomat; I was low on the cash-flow. So I stopped at one near the Chapel, but was refused funds because my pin number was “incorrect.” This was slightly disconcerting, but I thought I had remembered reading that sometimes European ATMs require 6 digits instead of 4. If that was the case, then I was supposed to just tack 00 (or something) onto the front…or the end…I wasn’t exactly sure, but I knew it was a solvable problem.

But first I simply tried my code again – perhaps I had entered it wrong. No dice. Fine, I’ll try this 00 thing. Still nothing. I decide to try a different ATM since I haven’t had a problem with my code before this; maybe this one in particular is just wonky. So I wait in line at another ATM, but the girl there tells me that the # 2 and 7 buttons don’t work, so if my pin uses either of those, I should go to a different one. Augh – that sucks, but okay. I walk another block and find another Bancomat. As I cross the street to use it, someone gets to it before me. Rats. I try to wait patiently, but now my hunger is starting to become a factor and this whole thing is kind of a nuisance. The person finally finishes and as they move away, a man who had been waiting on the other side of the ATM cuts me off and gets there first. A-nnoying! So I wait….again. When it’s finally my turn, I punch in my 4-digit code, but this time it tells me that my code has been tried too many times – contact my bank. Rut Roh Reorge. That can’t be good.

I try my card in vain a couple other places on my way back toward the hostel, but continue to get the same message. What is it with me and this dang card and having NO MONEY when it’s time to eat? This never happens when I am satiated and can think rationally. Booo! Anyway, I go to the hostel and dig out the fine print on the card and learn a) I can change my code online and b) that if my pin is locked, I’ll have to wait 24 hours for it to be unlocked, or the card-holder can contact the company and have it unlocked immediately.

Alright, this is good; options to fix my problem are good. I first try simply changing the code, but when I test it on a nearby ATM – no luck (I didn’t think it would, but it was worth a shot). I’m really starting to lose patience/get really hungry at this point, so I use my debit card to get a few bucks out so I can eat – at least I’m learning from my experiences, eh?

Next I try calling the card company, but I can’t get either the phone card I had or the one Philip left with me to work. Augh!! SO FRUSTRATING! So I decide to take a little break and check in with friends and fam online (besides, it looked like I was going to have to get my dad involved…my hands were pretty much tied.) Fortunately I log into my gmail account and begin to chat it up with Kristen. Being the awesome friend that she is, I ask her if she would be willing to call the card company for me and find out what’s up. Of course she is more than willing and calls immediately.

As she is dealing with the automated system, she too tries to change my pin to see if it yields a different result. Since she is leaving for lunch soon, I tell her I’ll go try the card in the mean time (and feed myself to boot) and let her know how it goes when she’s back online.

Of course, this does not fix the problem, so I head to the grocery store next to the hostel and buy a liter of milk, a pear and a small jug of Nutella. I eat ALL of these while I wait for Kristen and catch up on the blog (yes – there was a bit of binge/grumpy eating there…it happens to the best of us). I give Kristen the news when she gets back and so she calls the company back, this time navigating through the push-button labyrinth until she speaks to an actual person. She learns that yes, my card is indeed locked, but if the card-holder calls, it will be unlocked immediately. And for future reference, try 00 both before and after the 4 digit code…one of those will work. But I only have three tries before I’m locked out**. Lovely.

So Kristen offers to call my dad for me and tell him the situation so hopefully we can get it taken care of ASAP. What a great idea! Certainly easier than email. So she does and she does (call and get it taken care of ASAP, that is). Yay for super Kristen!! Miraculously my dad is at his desk and answers his phone (this is so rare…you just don’t even know). He is able to call right then (which he does) and then calls Kristen back to confirm (which he does) and she IMs me to tell me I’m in the clear – woo hoo! And I didn’t even have to spend a day hungry and penniless this time around! What a great friend and Dad I have!

So even though I binged on Nutella, Kristen tells me to go spend frivolously on a meal with my new access to funds. So I do. I find a Rick recommended restaurant and order the gnocchi – fantastic!! (I MUST learn how to make these when I come home, I’m obsessed. I probably order them every three days). While I’m enjoying my scrumptious pasta, I overhear at the table across from me that these three women are also here because of Rick’s recommendation. They start talking to the owner/waiter about it and ask him if Rick is a nice guy and did he know he was in the book, etc. Before I know it I’m chiming right in with there conversation and we get to chatting. This eventually attracts the attention of another gal sitting at a table kitty-corner to me (whom I recognize from the hostel last time I was here) and we begin discussing the differences between Italy and America.

In the midst of our conversation, the ladies have ordered panna cotta (which Rick actually recommends getting at this particular restaurant). I ask them how it is and about to order it….but I’m sooo full (stupid Nutella). So I decide I’m coming back here tomorrow at the very least for dessert, but maybe for lunch too.

Soon I part ways with the ladies and make my way back to the hostel. This time around I opted for a cheaper room (shared with more people) since it was only for one night (previously with ferocious sleeper and bag-rustler there were only 6 beds, this time there are 16).

When I finally settle in for the night, I think – this was a great idea; definitely saved a few bucks and for one night, it’s no biggie at all. Wouldn’t you know, I thought too soon. Honestly, about 5 minutes after I completed my thought, two people come into our room (its almost 1am by now), TURN ON THE LIGHTS (big no-no), put all their crap away, make their beds, talk amongst themselves in faux-whispers….augh! It was SO annoying. I was actually shocked at how rude they were being. No concern whatsoever for the other 12 or so people trying to sleep; it’s like we weren’t even there.

Perhaps I wasn’t very tolerant because I hadn’t slept well the previous night (Sally was a ferocious snorer – I spent half the night out in the common room on the couch with a blanket) and all I really wanted was a decent night’s sleep. But it just didn’t look like that was going to happen. Rats.

*Except for my illicit pic of the David, of course ☺

**With all the random ATMs I’ve been using in so many different cities, I can hardly believe I haven’t come across this 6 digit thing before. I mean, it’s been 5 weeks – that’s crazy!

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...