The 100 mL Airplane Rule

The next morning in Dublin, I decided to sleep in. I was on vacation, and I could use the rest. After I woke up and showered, I went to the supermarket. I needed new shampoo and conditioner anyways, and I was going to look for some more peanut butter. I walked in…it looked more like a Wal-Mart than what I’m used too! I grabbed legit sandwich bread (which is hard to find in Italy) and Italian soda bread right when I walk in. I peruse through the aisles and find peanut butter! Ironically, it was deemed “American style.”

I guess we Americans do peanut butter goooooood.

I make my way to the hair products aisle. Expecting to find something similar to Italy where every bottle is 1/3 of the size that I am used to in the States and twice as expensive, I was pleasantly surprised to find decent size shampoos and conditioners for a decent price!

Have I mentioned I LOVE Ireland?

Unfortunately, I have realized that Tresemme Blonde shampoo and conditioner is impossible to find outside of the U.S., which makes me even happier about being an American. So, I grabbed the next best thing: Pantene Pro-V Color Care. I used to be a Pantene-er before I found Tresemme, and it does smell lovely.

After grabbing said Pantene shampoo and conditioner, I walked the aisles to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything. And that’s when I saw them…REAL chocolate chip cookies. Similar to Chips Ahoy, only not as good. But real chocolate chip cookies, nonetheless. Not these poser-things Italy has.

I grabbed 2 packages.

Yes, I know that makes me a fatty. But I couldn’t help it! I hadn’t had authentic chocolate chip cookies since before I left. Plus, I could make them last. And it was a tiny roll; nothing compared to the packages of cookies we offer in the great United States.

I walked back to my hotel room, a successful grocery store run behind me. Please believe, once I crossed into my room I broke out those chocolate chip cookies. Delicious.

After I packed everything away, I decided to walk down to Trinity College. The campus was beautiful, and quite a walk from my hotel. I definitely got my exercise in that day. I sat in the park and played with my camera and my artistic side, then, at the cue of my growling stomach, I decided to get some lunch.

My tour guide from the other day had recommended this cute little Irish pub called Bennigan’s for a good lunch. I walked that way, and looked at the menu outside. After decided on a BLT for lunch, I walked up to the bar and told the waiter what I wanted.

“Oh, that’s the dinner menu,” he said. “This is the lunch menu,” and he nods his head to a piece of computer paper taped to the wall. Thank goodness I could still get a sandwich! He told me I could get whatever I wanted on it, so I got ham, cheese, lettuce and tomatoes. Most of the seats were taken, but I managed to grab one right next to the door.

The sweet barman brought my sandwich over to me, and I bit in. Oh. My. Gosh. THIS HAS CHEDDAR CHEESE ON IT!!! I hadn’t tasted cheddar cheese, my absolute favorite cheese, in far too long. And here it was, in it’s yellow-orange glory, on my wonderful Irish sandwich.

Have I mentioned that I LOVE Ireland?

After lunch I did a little more walking around the town. I was planning on going to the Guiness Brewery, but I didn’t feel like spending any more money, kinda wanted a relaxed afternoon, wasn’t planning on drinking the beer anyways, and couldn’t figure out the bus system. 4 valid reasons to just hang out for the afternoon.

I did a little more shopping around, just looking at things through the windows. I decided not to visit the Starbucks again, simply because their drinks are expensive. And loaded with calories. I did not need to be losing more of the first and gaining more of the second. That evening, when I arrived at my hotel, I asked the front desk to call me a cab. I had a 6:00 AM flight, meaning I needed to be at the airport by 4:30. Okay, 3:45 in the morning, please. Ugh.

I spend the rest of the evening eating chocolate chip cookies, figuring out to work the tiny kettle in my room (it was difficult!), sipping on Irish tea, and watching episodes of Gossip Girl. I had a whole season to catch up on. I packed, and debated about whether to put my make-up or my newly bought perfume in my carry-on. I decided on the perfume, because I would much rather have my make-up at risk of being crushed during travel than my perfume.

The next morning, my alarm went off at the butt crack of dawn. Correction: the sun doesn’t even get up this early, so no human being should have to. But, my cab awaited.

I have decided that cab rides are just awkward, unless you know the driver. My cabbie and I even speak the same language, and we didn’t say much the entire time. I guess their job is to drive you to your destination, not talk to you like your best friend. Good thing it was early; I wasn’t really up for conversation anyways.

Once I was dropped off at the airport, I made my way to check in and check my luggage. I swear, I can never escape the idiots, despite whether I’m in Arkansas, Italy or on an island (like Ireland). Maybe it’s just me, but I honestly don’t know what is so difficult about checking in at an airport. You bring your passport, you tell them your name, you give them your passport, you put your luggage on the weight belt, you get your boarding pass, you say “Thank you,” and you move on to security.

What is so hard about this process?

Apparently, everything. There was couple in front of me who took literally 10 minutes to check in. Apparently they had many questions. Ask those BEFORE you arrive, please!

I need to learn patience, apparently. Not one of my strong points.

After I finally got through my check in (which took about, oh 1 minute), I proceeded to security. I put my computer in its separate container, pulled off my coat, put my computer bag on another container, and walked through the metal detector. Nothing. Well of course not; I ain’t no terrorist.

They asked me if my computer was, in fact, mine, and when I said “Yes,” they asked me to open it. This is weird, I thought. I opened it, and they wiped the inside down with this cloth, and then wiped the outsides. I don’t know what they were looking for, but my MacBook passed with flying colors. Then the lady at the end of the rolly-pin things where all carry-ons come after being scanned motioned for me to come over. She pulled out my triple-combo set of my new perfume/body wash/lotion.

“It’s too big,” she says.

I thought, “What do you mean, ‘It’s too big’? It fits perfectly in my computer bag.” I think she saw the confusion on my face, because she took out the perfume and said, “This can go. The others can’t.”

Oh no. That 100 mL rule. My lotion and body wash were over 100 mL. You have got to be kidding me.

I asked what my options were. Obviously my bag was already checked and gone towards the airplane. And the box itself was too tiny to check. Meaning, I would have to check my entire computer bag for my body wash and lotion to make it back to Italy.

There was no way in Hades that I was checking my MacBook to have it thrown around like all the other luggage. I closed my eyes, said a secret goodbye to my lovely body wash and lotion, and told the lady to just throw them in “The Box” (where all other treasured yet banned items go to rest). It hurt me inside.

I wonder what they do with everything they confiscate? Some Irish airport security lady is probably LOVING my Love Etc. lotion and body wash. Good. I hope you enjoy it. Grr. I should have known, but it just slipped my mind. I was kicking myself, but I had almost packed my make-up in my carry-on instead. Which would have met the requirements. But no, I packed my perfume set.

I will never forget that dumb 100 mL rule again.

After those disheartening 3 minutes, I proceeded to look around at the overpriced airport shops then head to my gate. The thing with RyanAir: It’s incredibly inexpensive, but there are not assigned seats. So these crazy Europeans start lining up, in a single-file line, and hour before the flight so they can get there desired seat on the plane. If you are at the front of the line, you get your boarding passed checked first, and you get to go to the plane first.

What I don’t get is that most of the time RyanAir flights do not taxi into the airport gate, meaning we all get on buses and are driven to the jet. Of course, being a solo flyer is easier, but I was near the middle of the line and ended up being one of the first on the plane. The key is to get a good spot in the bus, not the line. The bus doors open, and these people literally start running to the plane.

I didn’t know plane seats were so different from each other. I’ve been proved wrong, I guess.

The flight was normal, I got into Rome Ciampino airport, grabbed my checked luggage, and asked the guy at the bus booth what the fastest way to get back into town would be. He said to take a bus to the train station, then a train to Termini. Then I could catch my usual metro to Tiburtina, and bus back to Teramo. Perfect.

The bus left right on time and dropped us off at the train station. I walked quickly to catch the next train. It had left about 5 minutes ago. The next train wasn’t arriving for another 30 minutes.

I thought the dude said this was the FASTEST way to get back to town?

I should have just taken the direct bus. I sat waiting for the train. I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, and in this tiny town outside the airport nothing was open. So I bought Peanut M&Ms out of the vending machine. Another thing about Europe: all their chocolate candy that is the same as ours in the U.S. tastes funny. I like the American ones better.

Finally after 30 minutes that felt like an hour I jumped on the train. I wasn’t sure if it was even the right train, so I asked around. It was. Thank goodness. My nerves were already frayed.

I got to the Termini, bought a metro ticket and headed down to the lines. This lady and man were telling people things that I couldn’t understand, so I just kept walking. It looked oddly empty.

“Ma’am, where are you going? There’s been an accident. You have to take the bus.”

I was stressed out even more. Well, at least I wasn’t on the metro when the accident happened. But, still, the bus system? Does that mean I have to buy a new ticket? Ticked off, I climbed the stairs back up above ground, lugging my 30 pound bag with me. I got outside to where the buses line up. Only, this is Rome, and there are 20 different bus lines. I had no idea where I was supposed to be going.

After wandering around for 5 minutes, I walked over to the information booth where about 50 other people were trying to ask questions. The gentleman gave me the bus number I needed and pointed me in the general direction. But there were no bus signs with that bus number. Great.

I turned and saw the bus I needed, about 200 feet away stuck in traffic. Apparently it had just left. And I had just missed it. Meaning, I would be waiting another 10 minutes for a bus. Yes, it finally did arrive. And about 35 people tried to pile on. I was squished between these two gypsy ladies, trying to watch my bag and my purse and not having much fresh air. It is the hottest day in Rome so far, and I’m wearing this huge red coat, because I thought it would be freezing in Ireland (which I was also wrong about).

In short, that was the most uncomfortable bus ride that I have ever had to deal with.

To make things worse, the stop for Tiburtina was the last stop on the line. And the crowd barely thinned on the way there. I guess this is what happens when the metro lines aren’t open. That means EVERYONE has to use the buses. Never. Again.

Hot, sweaty, and tired of lugging a computer bag, a travel bag, and a huge red coat around, I managed to make it to the Tiburtina. Come to find out, I had also just missed the bus to Teramo. The next bus stopped in L’Aquila and wasn’t for another hour and a half. Well, at least I didn’t have to change buses in L’Aquila. So I bought the ticket and headed for the bar to buy a water and a Coca Cola.

I downed the water, as I was completely dehydrated from that bus ride from hell. And I saved the Coke for the ride home. When the bus finally came, I got into my seat, after some moving of seats by other passengers. Your ticket has a seat number on it, but apparently people don’t follow that. But, I’ve always been one for following rules.

Once the bus started rolling, I decided I would break open my Coke. It had been resting in my computer bag the entire time, so I reached down to grab it. No Coke in sight. I looked around the floor trying to see a flash of red labeling. The gentleman beside me started looking for whatever I was looking for.

It was gone. And it was expensive too. And I was thirsty. This has NOT been the best trip home.

We finally pull into Teramo around 6:30. I throw everything down on my bed and plug up my computer, desiring some serious Facebook action. I get a notice from my Internet key saying, “Your credit is finished!”

No. Freaking. Way.

Thank goodness the store wasn’t closed. I got a recharge and sat down on Facebook to rant about the worst trip home ever. I wonder if I had just packed my make-up in my carry-on it would have triggered a better chain of events than what I had experienced. Nah. Probably not. I would have just made it home with my body wash and lotion.

After THIS afternoon though, I was starting to think it would have been worth it.

A Little Piece of Heaven and the Lack of Leprechauns

Sunday was Easter Sunday. I went for a run in the park and jumped on Facebook. Beverley had sent me a message wondering if I wanted to hang out. The family was out for Easter, and she was looking for some company. Of course I was game!

She came into town, and we decided to find a restaurant that was open. We went in the direction of the pub, hoping to eat burgers on Easter Sunday. The last time we went on a Sunday, the pub wasn’t open. But it wouldn’t hurt for us to check it out.

It was open! And full. I guess a lot of people eat burgers on Easter?

After dinner, we decided to eat chocolate and watch our favorite movie: The Princess Frog. We walked to the café we frequent after Italian lessons, and it was open too! It was turning into a very good night. During our tea outings, we had noticed that the café had a very large tub in it’s middle full of assorted chocolates. Bev and I went to the tub and picked through the chocolates, unsure of what each was and mainly picking out which ones looked pretty or not.

After getting enough chocolate to quench our craving, we headed back to my apartment. Cozying up with Prince Naveen and Tiana, we munched away at our chocolate. We had the lights off, so we could only guess to what each chocolate was. We did a pretty good job, considering that I enjoyed every piece I ate! When we finished the movie, Beverley asked if I wanted to come back to Colledara with her. She had driven the car, so I said, “Sure! I want to experience your driving!” They celebrate Easter Monday over here, so we didn’t have Italian lessons and I didn’t have class the next day.

I threw essentials in my backpack, and we headed out to the car. The next day, Danila comes down to Beverley’s room saying that the family was leaving in 30 minutes to go to her mother’s house. “Oh, hello!” she said to me.

“Hi!” I said, kind of embarrassed. I wasn’t sure if it was okay that I had spent the night. But she was very nice, and told Bev to bring me to her mother’s house.

So, after wetting my curly hair to give it a little more shape, we climbed into the car with Lidio (Danila’s husband) and their son Jama. Once we got to the grandmother’s house, I was introduced to everyone. I met the grandmother, grandfather, Danila’s sister and her husband, their daughter, and Danila’s brother. In total, there were 11 of us around the dining room table. We had a delicious lunch, and afterwards the family was asking me all about America and Arkansas. We Google Earth-ed Rogers and Conway and I showed them my house and my University.

Google Earth is legit.

Beverley and I wanted to go to the mall, but Lidio thought it might be closed because of the holiday. I can’t get used to this Easter Monday holiday thing.

Lidio was headed into town anyways, so he said he could drop Beverley and me off at my apartment. She and I decided to look into finding a bus out to the mall. We forgot that since it was a holiday, the ticket offices would be closed. Oh well. Come to find out, my Internet had run out of time since it was a new month. So we went to the store, got it reloaded, and just sat and talked until Lidio came to pick Beverley up. I was leaving for Dublin the next day and wouldn’t see her until the next Sunday, so we said our goodbyes and I started packing.

I had to catch a 5:00AM bus to Rome, so I went to bed relatively early. Again, I didn’t sleep very well because I freaked myself out about sleeping through my alarm. The next morning, I grabbed my bag, once again donned my big red coat, and walked to the Piazza Garibaldi to catch a bus. I slept on the way to Rome, and made it to Ciampino airport in one piece.

The flight was only 2 ½ hours long, so I read some of my Women’s History textbook on the flight. I love looking out plane windows when flying. I watched as the tiny isle of Ireland came into view, beneath heavy cloud cover. Go figure, overcast in Ireland. I had planned for wet and cold, thank goodness.

Once we had landed and I picked up my bag from the baggage claim, I bought a baguette for lunch because I was starving. I walked around the airport for about 20 minutes trying to find someone to ask about buses. I finally just went to the U.S. Airways info booth and asked them about finding a bus. When in doubt, I always go to the airline from my country.

They told me to take bus 747, and it would take me straight to the city center. My hotel, apparently, was smack-dab in the city center, so that was going to work out perfectly. I find the bus ask if it was going to O’Connell Street. The driver said he was, but I could save about 4 Euro by taking the bus right in front of him. Yes, it would take longer, but I wasn’t in any kind of rush. I thanked him and paid for a ticket on the other bus.

What was the best part about my first 30 minutes in Ireland? I could UNDERSTAND what people were saying! It was so nice to be in an English-speaking country again!

I sat in the back of the bus watching the grey skies, thinking about how I already loved Ireland simply because of the English-speaking fact. I was wondering how I would know when we got to the city center, and how close my hotel actually was.

We kept driving, and kept driving. I had no idea what I was looking for. We stopped for quite a few minutes on this big long street, and I just stayed in the bus waiting for a big central square or something. When the bus started again and continued down the street, I saw Cassidy’s Hotel pass literally 10 feet beyond where we started going.

I should have gotten off at that stop!

Luckily the bus stopped a little farther down the street, so I grabbed my bag and started making my way back up the street. They weren’t kidding when they said this hotel was in the center. It’s surrounded by everything!

As I walked, this scruffy-looking guy came up to me and asked how I was doing. “Fine…” I told him. Are you kidding me? Literally 5 seconds after I have put my foot down on O’Connell street, I’ve already attracted a creeper. Story of my life.

He started telling me a sob story about how his brother had gotten in a car wreck the night before and was in the hospital, but he needed money to stay. Thus, this guy was trying to raise money for him. I told him I was very sorry, but I couldn’t give him money. I do feel bad for those people. They could honestly be telling the truth. But I couldn’t be sure, so I wasn’t going to give him anything.

I checked into my hotel, and my room was wonderful. Big, comfy bed with fluffy pillows. Flat screen TV. A kettle and coffee and tea provided with white and brown sugar. I opened up my bag to start unpacking and saw the one thing that could ruin my afternoon.

My conditioner had exploded ALL over my clothes. Wonderful.

I washed some socks and my shirt in the sink, letting it air out. It was already late afternoon, so I decided to do a little exploring of the city. I would do a more extensive tour of the city tomorrow. Dublin was beautiful. And I could actually eavesdrop on conversations here.

Did I mention how much LOVE that they spoke English?

I went to be early that night, EXHAUSTED from being up since 4AM that day, and wanting to go running the next morning.

I worked out in the gym the next morning, took a shower, and headed out to find the tourist information office. Well, whadaya know?! It’s right next to my hotel! I went inside and asked the ladies about the two different bus companies that ran tours around the cities. They said they were essentially the same, but one had a live guide and the other was headphone based. I got the ticket for the red one, only because it was a red double-decker like those buses in London.

There was a bus sitting right outside fixing to start its tour. I hopped on and climbed to the top to get a good view. The tour guide was hilarious, and, even though it was a hop-on/hop-off style, I stayed on just to listen to him. I figured I could always ride again if I wanted to see something. We drove through downtown Dublin, headed through the Guiness Empire, made our way to the biggest park in Ireland, I got to wave to the U.S. Ambassador’s house, and then we passed by the biggest military barracks in the world. An hour and a half later, we stopped right outside the tourist office where we started.

I decided to get off and get some lunch. I said thank you to the tour guide as I was fixing to get off the bus and told him it was absolutely wonderful. He said, “Why you are very welcome. And I must say, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I hope you are going into modeling or something!”

I thanked him, smiled, and said, “Actually, public relations.” He said, “Well, you should be.”

I think that was one of the nicest compliments I have ever received. But the prettiest woman he has EVER seen? He has to be lying…

I headed out to get some lunch. I had looked at the restaurant listings when I was in my hotel, and I found a Mexican restaurant! Yes, there was only one. But I was bound and determined to find it. So I walked that direction, imagining the taste of enchiladas and salsa and trying not to drool.

I finally made it there and ordered my enchiladas. When then food came out, it was pretty good. Granted, it wasn’t even close to competing with the wonderful Mexican food I am use to back home, but it was Mexican nonetheless. I enjoyed every moment of it.

After paying, I explored the other side of Dublin for a little bit. I went into a tourist shop looking for a cheap T-Shirt. I had a hard time picking between a dark green shirt with “Ireland” across the front and one that said Irish Pub Crawl. It was a really cute design, but I couldn’t really see myself wearing a Pub Crawl T-Shirt. So I picked the other one. I walked out of the store, turned the corner and stopped dead in my tracks. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Right in front of me was a Starbucks.

The only reason I didn’t break into a full sprint to get to Starbucks was for fear of knocking someone over. So I picked up the pace and powerwalked to the home of my treasured Frappacino.

I got inside, and ordered my usual: Caramel Frappacino, cream no coffee, extra caramel in the cup. That first sip was absolute heaven. I don’t know how long it had been since I had Starbucks, but I could feel myself floating.

I carried my new T-Shirt and tiny piece of heaven as I walked around the town. I headed back to my hotel room, deposited my new purchases and relaxed to watch a couple TV shows on my computer. I went back to the tourist information booth to ask about getting a ticket to the Irish House Party. It was a traditional Irish dinner complete with folk song and fairytales. Unfortunately, they were full for the next two nights. And those were the only 2 nights I had left.

It actually worked out for the best though. The Irish House Party was pretty far from the center, meaning I would have to pay for a cab to bring me back in. They recommend a restaurant with a free Irish step show that would be just as authentic.

I walked down to the hotel that housed the restaurant and got a reservation for that night. Then I did some exploring of Dublin’s shopping area. In America, I am used to big shopping malls being entities within themselves. In Dublin, it is not so. Their shopping malls are hidden underneath seemingly separate buildings.

I walked into one store expecting to walk to the back, turn around, and walk back out the front. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that there was an entire MALL hidden behind that store. I walked around, and found a cute zebra towel with a fuschia border for only 5 Euro. I was going to be going to the beach, and I couldn’t take my bath towel with me all the time. So I reasoned that this was a significant investment in my future. Plus, it was WAY too cute to ignore.

I also found one of my favorite shops ever: The Body Shop. I bought a new perfume that I had been aching to buy before I left for Europe, but never got around to it. It was a better deal to get the combo pack with lotion/perfume/bath gel. So I was set. And beyond excited to have my new favorite scent now along for my European vacation.

Later that night, I headed back out to the restaurant to eat dinner and watch the step show. When I showed up, however, they didn’t have my reservation. No problem. The nice manager got me a table, right at the front of the stage. I couldn’t ask for a better seat.

I had traditional Irish vegetables, salmon-something, and goat’s cheese as a starter. Everything tasted great, except the goat’s cheese. Far too strong for my taste. For my main course I got a stew with this bread covering it. I don’t remember the exact name, but it was DELICIOUS. To wrap it all up, I had chocolate cheesecake for dessert. The entire time I was eating, a band was playing traditional Irish jigs and reels. Following them came the steppers. They were very talented.

The tall red head really got into it. And the other guy was super cute. The girls were normal. You can tell I was more interested in the boys. But there were only 2 of them. Of course they stuck out!

The band came back out after the dancers finished, but it was late, and I was full and sleepy. I walked back to my hotel, watched a couple more TV shows, and rolled over onto the incredibly soft pillows. Despite my conditioner covering my clothing with a great-smelling, oily yellow paste and my failure to find a leprechaun for my 48 hours in Ireland, I had had a very good time so far. Dublin Days 1 & 2: Success!

Finding the Holy Grail of Italian Supermarkets

The next morning my alarm went off, I showered, and I walked to the Uffizi Gallery. I grabbed a cornetto on the road, successfully saying in Italian that I wanted to take it with me. I am getting better at this language after all! I knew that the line would be long, so I left early. I had thought about getting a reservation the day before, but decided I had time to spare, so why spend the extra money.

Next time, I am SO spending the extra money.

Even getting there “early,” I was a good 500 feet from the door. It didn’t look that far, especially compared to how long the line grew while I waited. But, there were two lines: one swinging out to the right for the people who didn’t reserve, and one swinging out to the left for those who paid for a specific entrance time. Yes, even reservation people had to wait in line. They just got to go in more quickly than us lowly non-reservation people queuing to the right.

While I was waiting, a girl behind me asked if I spoke English. I told her I definitely did, and she looked kinda relieved. I thought this was funny, because I had found a limitless number of people who spoke English in Florence. We got to talking, and I found out that she was originally from the United States, studied abroad in Spain, lived there for another 3 years, and currently resides in London. Because London is incredibly expensive, she was telling me how surprised she was that everything seemed so inexpensive in Florence. I told her to move back to the U.S. She’d be SUPER surprised how cheap things seem over there!

We waited for nearly 3 hours to go into this U-shaped building, holding each other’s place in line while the other one checked on the progress of the line. Honestly, we both admitted that we were really only there to see one thing: The Birth of Venus. However, once I actually did get in, please believe that I spent a good hour in there looking at every piece of artwork. I did not stand in line for 3 hours only to spend 10 minutes racing to Boticelli’s masterpiece and ditching out the back stairs. No, I admired every piece of art, pretending to be an art history buff, nodding in appreciation and stroking my fake goatee at every Renaissance piece and marble bust.

Like I mentioned, the Uffizi Gallery is shaped like a big U, or a horseshoe, if you will. Somehow, I managed to walk all the way down one side of the U, and back up the other without seeing The Birth of Venus. How did I know? I reached the cafeteria. You know you’ve reached the end when you find the food. That’s how they always make their money; feed the art-filled, food-starved tourists.

I completely walked past one of the biggest, most famous pieces of art in the world. How did I manage to do that?

The way the Uffizi is laid out, you walk through rooms of art connected to each other, and come out 200 or 300 feet further down the big U than where you first entered. The entire building is a maze of tiny horseshoes in one giant horseshoe. I remember walking down the hall and seeing a room I didn’t recognize, wondering how I could get in there. The entrance was blocked by a sign and a security guard on the side. Is that a VIP-only spot? I had kept walking.

I bet that is where The Birth of Venus is!

I made my way back to the other side of the Uffizi, glancing at my map to see where I had gotten off-track. I looked into each room, determining if I had seen the pieces of art before or not. I found one room that didn’t look familiar, but at the same time did. Big art museums can do that when you have been walking around for an hour; for the untrained eye, everything starts to look the same.

I followed my gut instinct and went in. If it in fact turns out to be a room I’ve visited, then I’ll continue on my search. But as I continued, I had a feeling I was getting warmer. The number of people continued to grow as I made my way around the mini-horseshoe. A large room was ahead of me, with benches and a high ceiling.

I entered, and she was there to my left: Naked Venus arriving in perfect grandeur upon a pink shell, her long beach-waved hair floating in the wind (but still retaining its volume) just like in a Disney movie.

Regardless, it WAS a beautiful piece of art.

I took a few minutes to fight the crowds and get closer to the painting. It was a good 10-12 feet long, and protected behind a thick plastic case. I admired the painting and laughed to myself when I heard a gay guy freaking out to his friend next to me. “Oh my god! I can’t believe I’m actually seeing this! Oh my god! This is so amazing! I can’t believe it. That’s actually her!”

I would have liked to spend more time with Venus, but the room was unbearably hot. Italians like to keep their rooms warm in the first place, and the fact that this was the most popular room of the entire building, and thus had 10 times more human body heat being put off, didn’t help the heat. So I took one last look and hurried to the open air to gasp the air.

I made my way once more to the other side of the U to find the exit. When I got outside, I made my way to the bus station to get a ticket back to Teramo. It shouldn’t be that big of a problem, I thought. I am getting my ticket 2 days early, and who is going to TERAMO of all places?

I went to the ticket office and asked for a ticket to Teramo. The lady didn’t understand. I’m starting to think that these big-city Italians just don’t know there way around the tiny towns. I know for a fact, by now, that I am pronouncing my city correctly. This is their fault.

She finally understands where I am trying to go, types in her computer, and shakes her head “No”. I look at her in disbelief. “What?” I ask her. “Full,” she says back to me. “To TERAMO?” I ask her, not believing my own ears. “Yes,” she says. “Full.” She then directed me to the travel agency at the end of the bus terminal, saying that they may be able to help me out. I went down, praying that they had something available. The lady did a search for me and shook her head. I told her the bus ticket lady had sent me down here, and she said, “Only trains.” I sigh, said “Okay, grazie” and trucked back to the bus ticket lady.

I told her that the travel agency couldn’t help me with bus tickets, and she shrugged her shoulders like there was nothing I could do. She wasn’t much help. I went back to the travel agency and asked about the trains. I could get one at 9:00, so I said “Sure!” When she checked it though, she looked up at me apologetically and said, “Only first class…”

Crap.

I asked her what else was available. There were a couple earlier that were less expensive. Still out of the price range that I wanted to spend, but do-able. She could tell that I was hesitant and said I could check the other bus company on the other side of the train station. I told her I would go do that and come back if I couldn’t find something there.

So I close the door, fighting back tears. Oh my gosh. I am going to be stuck in Florence, and I have no place to stay. I’m supposed to get back in Teramo to rest up before my Dublin trip, and I may not be able to find a way home until AFTER Easter. I stepped outside.

Great. It’s freaking raining.

I pull out my umbrella. I’m already stressed and beyond frustrated. And now it’s raining. This does NOT help my mood.

Once I make it over to the other bus station, I go up to the counter and ask the lady for a ticket to Teramo. She repeats, “Teramo?” “Yes. Teramo” I say. “It’s on your board!” I say, pointing to the extra large bus map on the wall to my right.

She still looked confused. Fantastic.

She managed to figure out enough to put it in the search. Again, all I am met with is a shake of the head. “Full,” she says. You have got to be kidding me. “Thanks…” I say, and turn around and walk out the door.

By this point, I can feel the tears on the inside of my eyes. And my throat had that thick feeling that I always get when I’m trying to fight from breaking down. Now is not the time to cry. I brush back the few droplets that escaped, and walked back to the travel agency. Looks like I’m taking a train.

I go back in the doors, and tell the lady, “Okay, I’m taking a train.” She checks on the earlier trains, and looks up at me. The look wasn’t a good one. “I can get you a ticket, but you won’t be guaranteed a seat. You will change twice, and will have to stand from Florence to Bologna.” Not happening. That is a long trip. I could feel the waterworks building up again. Controlling myself I ask, “What else do you have?” “We have the high speed train that leave at 7:00, gets you there at 8:45.”

It was far more expensive than I had desired on spending, but what were my other options?

I sigh heavily, “Okay, I’ll do it.” A few moments later I had a significant amount of money gone, a ticket to Rome, and a full day of Florence plans gone. I was planning on catching a 3PM bus to Teramo and spending the morning market shopping and visiting the Pitti Palace. Now I get to wake up at 6:00 and hop on a ridiculously expensive train.

This was not the way I planned my afternoon going.

I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and it was well into the afternoon by this point. I grabbed a sandwich close to the travel agency, and decided to take a break back in my hostel. There wasn’t enough time to visit any other museums, and I honestly just wanted to relax, watch something on surfthechannel.com and vent to people on Facebook.

And I did just that.

But before that, I went on a quest to find the Holy Grail of the Italian supermarkets. The one item that couldn't be found anywhere else but the supermarkets of Florence:

Peanut Butter.

I went to the first supermarket I found, looked by the Nutella, and felt a sinking feeling in my stomach when there was no peanut butter next to the tasty hazelnut spread. I did quick math in my head. This one supermarket doesn't carry PB, meaning not all supermarkets do. With all the tiny supermarkets and individual branches, it could take me all night to find what I was looking for.

I was up for the challenge.

I grabbed a chocolate bar, telling myself that I had had a rough afternoon and deserved it, and munched on it while I searched for another supermarket. I instantly felt better. I walked around the town, peeking in small convenience stores and a couple other supermarkets. No luck. I was about to give up when I spotted a Conad supermarket down a side street. "This is the last one," I told myself. I walked in went to the first row and looked by the Nutella. My eye caught a turquoise lid that looked incredibly familiar...

OH MY GOSH! IT'S SKIPPY PEANUT BUTTER!

It was a ridiculously tiny container. And it was 5 Euro. But I didn't care. You could not put a price on Peanut Butter in Italy.

I grabbed 2 of them.

I walked around the store to see if I could find Oreos, and an employee asked if I was doing okay (in English, of course). I told him I was doing great, because I had finally found peanut butter in Florence. He said, "Yeah, but it's cheap in America." I told him I agreed, but I was willing to spend the money on it because I couldn't find it anywhere else. And I thought to myself, "How did he know I was from America? I must have it tattooed on my forehead or something." I purchased my incredibly expensive PB and headed back to my hostel a much happier American girl.

That evening I decided to hit the market and find a scarf. I wasn’t going to get to do the extensive market-perusing that I was reserving for Friday morning, but I could do a little looking around. I was on the hunt for one of those scarves you could wrap around your neck and have it look like a bandana-effect. My long, rectangle scarves don’t work; this one had to be square. I found a cute one in all sorts of colors. The hard part was choosing which color I wanted to buy. I finally decided on purple, because it would look good with a white shirt, and purple tends to bring out the green in my eyes more than any other color.

You are supposed to bargain in the market; prices are soft. However, after my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad afternoon, I just wasn’t in the mood. I took the overpriced scarf and headed to find some dinner. Guess where I ended up?

MacDonald’s.

Italy had not been nice to me today (besides the peanut butter). I was going to eat something AMERICAN, dangit.

The MacDonald’s in Italy are a huge deal. I’m talking, 2-stories kind of huge deal. I walk down the stairs with my tray and eat my meal in silence, surrounded by happy families. These are the moments when it sucks to be alone. It makes you appreciate family and company more.

I headed back to my hostel to pack, shower, and Facebook creep. I had to get up early in the morning. To catch a 7:00AM super-train. It had been quite a day.

I never sleep well when I have to wake up unusually early in the morning. I think I always freak out that my alarm isn’t going to go off, and I am ultimately going to miss whatever appointment I have at the butt crack of dawn. Regardless, I didn’t sleep very well, but I woke up and checked out of my hostel, making my way to the train station in the complete dark. Kinda creepy, but there were other people around walking to the train station as well. Strength in number, ya know? When the sun hasn't come up, I shouldn't be up either. But I did catch my train. I guess that is what really matters in the long run.

The hardest part about getting back to Rome was that I had no idea when the buses to Teramo were running. This is why I elected to get to Rome as early as I could, without it being too incredibly early. There was a train at 6:30 in the morning for the same price. I figured getting to the Tiburtina by 9:30 was early enough. Certainly I could catch a bus.

I got to the Tiburtina and went to the ticket station. The next direct bus wasn’t until 12:25. Or I could change in L’Aquila with a bus at 11:25. I remember the last time I had to change in L’Aquila when I first made my way to Teramo. I don’t think so. I got a ticket for the 12:25 bus, planted my rear end on the bench by the bar, and proceeded to watch 2 episodes of Gossip Girl before my computer battery threatened to die on me.

The direct bus was just that, direct. I slept on parts of the way home and got dropped off in the Piazza San Francesco, a 4-minute walk from my house. Have I mentioned that my apartment is in a GREAT location?

I came in, said hello to the roommates, and settled down to do some Italian homework. I woke up at 9:00 that night, with a tiny pool of drool on the front of my workbook. I must have been EXHAUSTED. I only drool when (1) I have allergies and must breathe through my mouth, or (2) I am utterly dead-tired.

This instance was a combination of both.

I skipped on dinner. I wasn’t hungry, and I obviously needed to sleep. Prying the dry, wrinkled contacts now suctioned to my eyeballs, I headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I didn’t even wash my face. I climbed into bed, still irked about the long trip I had taken that day, Then it dawned on me: it was Easter weekend. The buses weren’t booked to Teramo; the connecting buses I had to take were booked. The Florence-Rome, Florence-Bologna lines were full. Obviously the Rome-Teramo and Bologna-Teramo buses were not full at all.

This realization only made me wish for my own car even more. Curse you Teramo, for being so small. I’ve definitely become a seasoned traveler because of it.

But, hey, it’s Easter weekend. Jesus rose from the grave…that’s something to celebrate! Pretty sure crucifixion is worse than my having to pay for a super-fast train to Rome and waiting (with Internet) to catch a bus. That definitely put things in perspective for me.

Okay, Jesus. I’ll stop complaining now. I definitely didn’t have it as rough as you did. But next time, could you MAYBE make things a little easier for me? :)

"Ciao, Bella! Ciao, Bella! Ciao, Bella! Ciao, Bella!"

The next morning my alarm went off right on time, 7:30 AM. I looked at it, thought, “Forget that,” and rolled over to sleep another hour. When I finally did wake up, I jumped in the shower, grabbed my map, and attempted to find the Accademia. I knew there was going to be a line, but I didn’t expect it to wrap down one street, around a little piazza, and then halfway down the street perpendicular to the Accademia. Good thing I have time to kill.

I waited in line, my Ipod accompanying me, for about an hour and a half. Not too bad, since I was expecting a 2-3 hour wait. An American family was in front of me, each parent taking turns to chauffeur their son and daughter around the nearby streets to avoid boredom, while the other held their place in line.

Another thing that sucks about traveling alone: YOU always have to hold your place in line.

The Accademia is known for housing the famous statue of David and also boasts Michelangelo’s unfinished “Prisoners” statues, along with other paintings and statues of less importance (apparently). I walked in, bought a ticket, and proceeded to look at a room full of paintings. I wish I knew more about art. I can appreciate the picture and how old it is, but a more extensive knowledge may have made things a little more interesting. After you leave the first room, you turn a corner into a huge hallway. This hallway contains the “Prisoners” statues, lining both sides of the corridor. But what draws the most attention is what is at the end of the hallway.

Gigantic, standing regally in a huge atrium under a flood of lights, and breathtaking beyond words is the statue of David. It was hard for me to pay the “Prisoners” statues their due of my attention, because I was drawn to the statue of David. It was poor planning on the Accademia’s part if they wanted the “Prisoners” to be seriously looked at or appreciated. Quite honestly, David throws a dark shadow over that long corridor leading up to him.

After giving each “Prisoner”, oh, 3 seconds of my attention (I mean, they are unfinished. They don’t deserve much more…), I walked in a trance to David.

He was much bigger than I imagined. And he had EYES?

I’ve seen this statue in tiny pictures in art and history books. For some reason, I imagined the David statue as about 12 feet tall with those blank eyeballs characteristic of Greek and Roman busts.

No. This statue was HUGE. I can’t put a height on it, but he stood well above my measly 12 feet. And he actually had eyeballs. No blank creepy stare from Mr. David, reminiscent of the time when artists couldn’t sculpt pupils. He had a determined look in his eyes. The detail was amazing. The leather sling nearly hidden in his hand, the curls on top of his head, his 8-pack of abs (why are marble statues always ripped?), and his, well, you know. I am still amazed how Michelangelo can create such beauty and detail out of stone. It takes a truly talented artist to do that. The best thing I can do with stone is skip one across a river…

After walking around David a couple of times, I still hadn’t gotten enough of his magnificence. But, other people needed to get close and there was a room full of neglected marble statues just to the left. I decided to go in there to check things out. Nothing too fancy, but I’m sure there is more significance than what I could understand. I should have taken an art class.

The most amazing thing to me was how the sculptors could make marble look like pillows. They looked so soft, as the naked women seductively lay upon them. I wanted to lay my head on them, but it probably wouldn’t be as comfortable as it appears, and this tiny rope blocked my getting too close. Like it would stop someone who really wanted to touch the statues. I guess it’s the symbolism that counts.

After I had finished I took one last look at David and left the Accademia. For me, with paintings and other sculptures, I can see them once and be satisfied. But with David, I would willingly pay money to see him again. He was that amazing. I wish I could adequately explain how magnificent that statue really is, but words simply can’t do it justice. And they won’t let you take pictures. Bummer.

After I left the Accademia I decided to go inside the Duomo, instead of just up the dome. Plus, it was free, so why not? As I entered the large piazza, the wind picked up. I was wearing ¾-sleeves and a jacket, and I was still cold. This was not in the forecast on weather.com!

Entering the cathedral was a nice relief from the crazy wind. The inside was incredible. Florence’s cathedral is the 4^th largest cathedral in the world, and I can easily say it is the most beautiful cathedral I have seen to date. Stained glass windows surrounded the atrium, and a large altar stood out of reach at the front of the cathedral. I walked around looking at each stained glass window, and admired the impressive architecture. It’s crazy to think that this cathedral has been here since the 1800s. It’s still as beautiful as ever.

I left, hungry for lunch, but not willing to spend 8 Euro on a small sandwich and drink. So, I hop on over to Ben & Jerry’s for a milkshake. I know it’s not the healthiest lunch. But it was cheap. And American. I sat inside enjoying my milkshake, and watched the guy sitting against the wall across from me. He had thick black eyeliner, was writing in a book, and seemed to be talking to himself. He would now and then laugh to himself, only not welcoming. It was a creepy laugh.

Starving artist? I think not. Crazy man planning the end of the world? That’s more like it.

Luckily, he left before I did, so I could enjoy the rest of my milkshake in peace as I planned the rest of my afternoon. I would walk to the other side of town and find that restaurant I was looking for last night. Then I would go shopping for a new carry-on bag. I’m tired of having to either shove my clothes and toiletries between my backpack and my computer bag, but my 2 pink suitcases are almost too big to have to lug around everywhere for a 3- or 4-day trip. I wanted something smaller, less bulky, but not as annoying as carrying a too-full backpack and computer bag. After that, I would go to the Piazza Michelangelo. Apparently it was a hike but offered a breathtaking view of the entire city. With a slurp, I attempted to suck up every last bit of ice cream that I could, then I set off for my afternoon.

I walked, more closely following my map this time, and managed to successfully find the restaurant! Hopefully I’ll be able to find it in the dark tonight. I walked around the streets, trying to find my way back to the cathedral. As long as I could get back there, I knew I could find my way back to the hostel. The next thing I know, this guy was running up to me.

Oh no. Not another.

He spoke something to me in Italian. And I told him I didn’t speak Italian. “French?” He asked. “Nope,” I said. “English.”

He knew English. Go figure. It seems like most people in this town know English. It IS tourist-central.

He accompanied me around the streets. I couldn’t get rid of this guy. He asked me my name, what I was doing in Florence, where I was going. The same questions that most people seem to ask me. I purposely gave him the “I’m-not-comfortable-around-you-and-would-rather-you-not-talk-to-me” vibe, and for once my creeper seemed to get it. He said his name was Achmed, which made me think of Jeff Dunham and Achmed the Dead Terrorist. I laughed a little to myself. When I told him that I was looking for the market, he told me he would show me the right direction to go and then get something to eat.

Okay, this I could handle.

As we were walking he kept asking me questions, and I answered as shortly as I could. He told me I had a good figure and touched the small of my back. I said thanks and picked up my pace. That’s when I think he got the picture, because from that point on he just walked beside me and we didn’t say much. He pointed me in the direction of the market, and said he was going to get something to eat. I don’t know if he was hinting at me coming with him or not, but I said “Thanks! Bye!” and started towards the market. He said “Ciao, bella…,” and when I looked over my shoulder he was headed the other way.

That’s 1 creeper for each day. I wonder what tomorrow will bring…

I couldn’t find what I wanted in the market, although I did find some super cute scarves for 3 Euro. I’ll have to come back tomorrow. I remember a shop close to a gelateria on the other side of the city. This gelateria happened to be the best one in Florence, according to Kristen. Plus, I could use some gelato, so I decided to find the tiny gelateria on my way to find new luggage.

I successfully found the gelateria, and got a mint flavor and some fruity-creamy one. It was between two pink/white swirled flavors, one being a darker pink than the other. When I couldn’t make up my mind, I asked the employee which one he preferred, and told him to put whichever one that was in my cup. It ended up being cherry and cream. Not my favorite, considering I’m not a huge cherry fan. But the mint was delectable. So I saved it for last.

I also managed to find the luggage shop. The doorway had a rope across the front of it, and there were no entrances. Apparently you had to ask to come in? There was an employee standing right next to the door, and I thought he saw me. But he never invited me in, so I walked down to the window, looked at some of the luggage pieces, and went back. To stand there again.

He finally looked up and asked if I wanted to come in. I said yes, and he said he had seen me but didn’t know if I was actually interested in purchasing. Once he undid the rope and I had walked in, he closed the rope again. One at a time, I guess? This is kind of weird. He’s not threatening by any means, but he is a little odd. I’ll just get my luggage and get out of here.

When I was about to start looking around he said, “Just don’t touch anything. If you need help, I can get something down for you.” Wow. He is really picky about his merchandise. I waltzed around the store, looking for a duffel bag of some sort. Danielle had gotten her cute carry-on at the Florence market for 20 Euro. That was about how much I was willing to spend.

The creepy, little store-owner kept his distance, but he was obviously following me to make sure I didn’t touch his precious luggage sets and duffel bags. Goodness gracious.

I found a really pretty bag, with a brown and black pattern. The owner noticed my interest and showed me that it had wheels and a handle that could be hidden at the bottom of the bag. It was also carry-on size. Perfect for RyanAir’s requirements. And it was on sale for 18 Euro. Just what I was looking for.

I told him I would take it, and he grabbed it off the floor and put it in a bag for me. I told him thanks for all his help, and he looked really proud and said he loved what he did. I could definitely tell. A lady was standing behind the flimsy little rope, looking annoyed that she couldn’t come in, as he wrapped my luggage and gave me my change. I thought to myself, “This guy probably loses a lot of customers thanks to his one person only rule. Oh well. You do get service all to yourself, I guess.”

I headed back to my hostel to drop off my new luggage and jump on the Internet. I was tired, and needed to rest before my hike up the hill to Piazza Michelangelo.

After sufficient time spent on Facebook and catching up on Greek, I grabbed my belongings and headed out to the Piazza Michelangelo. I heard that it was a 30 minute walk, so if I timed things right, I could walk up there, have about 15 minutes to enjoy the scenery, walk back down and go straight to the restaurant.

All day the weather had been overcast, but as I left my hostel it had become sunny again. It was a trek to the Piazza Michelangelo, that’s for sure. And more like a 45-minute walk from where I was staying. That is factoring in getting behind a large group of meandering students, and pausing to watch a couple local boys play soccer down by the river, of course.

After crossing the river, following small signs marking the trail to the Piazza, climbing a hill, and about 200 steps, I made it to the top. I walked through a parking lot and past a couple of bars. And the view was amazing. The hike and fact that I was sweating and out of breath was worth it, because I got to see THIS.

I stood at the top taking a break, and wished I could find someone to take a picture of me. A couple of English speaking students were close to me, but right as I turned to ask one of them to take a picture of me, they walked the other way. So I just stood there. Next to me was a young high school couple, lovingly entwined in each other’s arms as they stood above the city of Florence.

I thought, “Aww, how cute.” Then, “Man, I wish I had a boy to share this with.” Then, “Okay, Anna. Just man up and ask them to take a picture of you.”

So I did, and the guy did a marvelous job of lining me up with the church in the background, all staying within the Rule of Thirds. Oh my gosh. My broadcasting classes even follow me to Italy. I can’t seem to get away.

I said thank you, and took a couple more pictures, then decided to start my descent back to the heart of Florence. I walked past a bar and looked over. The barman was stupidly grinning my direction (something I’ve gotten used to) and waved my direction. When I smiled and waved back, he looked like the happiest man in the world.

I do what I can.

When I made it to the bottom, I wasn’t as hungry as I had anticipated, so I walked towards to Ponte Vecchio. The Ponte Vecchio was the only bridge left standing after the Allied WWII bombing of Florence, because they saw it as too important to destroy. Thank goodness they didn’t!

I walked down the bridge, each side lining me with rows of gold and jewels. The old wooden building housing the jewelers are built into the bridge, and sit balancing above the river. As old as this bridge is, I’d be afraid that my shop would break off and fall into the water, taking all the gold with it. But, it’s been standing for years now, and seems determined to stay that way.

My map from the hostel had a list of things to do while in Florence. One of them was “Buy something in gold from Ponte Vecchio.” Looking at the price tags in those windows, it didn’t take me long to figure out that crossing that off my list wasn’t exactly feasible this time around. Maybe the next time I’m in Florence and I’m fabulously wealthy. Yeah, next time…

By the time I had finished admiring the bridge of gold, my stomach made a quiet rumble, telling me that it was time to find our dear little restaurant. I was already on that side of town, so it was pretty easy to find the restaurant. My Rick Steve’s Italy tour book lists this trattoria as one of the best in Florence, offering a tourist menu for a small price. I looked at the menu outside, and it certainly did.

I went inside, and a cute blonde waitress sat me right next to the door. There was only 1 other couple and a single lady in the restaurant when I arrived. I thought this place, though out of the way, was supposed to be popular?

I ordered things off the tourist menu, and the cute little waitress and the owner, Gino himself, brought each course out to me. As I ate my meal, the restaurant filled up quickly. I guess people just eat later. Most of the people spoke English. There was a couple talking about their trip to Venice, another one from the Netherlands, and a family in the corner, visiting their son who was studying abroad in Florence.

I enjoyed my meal and people-watching, and waited about 45 minutes for my check. In any restaurant in America, I would be beyond annoyed that it took that long for my check to arrive. But I’m in Italy, where apparently this is the norm, and I really didn’t have that much going on that night.

When I finally got my check and paid, I stood up to leave the restaurant. As I was opening, I said “Grazie! Buena sera!” Gino looked up from behind the counter and shouted “Ciao, bella!” from across the tiny trattoria.

Again with the “Ciao, bella?” It must be a Florence thing, and I’m starting to like it.

I found my way home without getting lost, and crawled into bed. Tomorrow I would see the Uffizi Gallery. Apparently, without a reservation, it is a 2-3 hour wait. I have time to spare, so I’ll just go without the reservation. Hopefully it isn’t THAT terrible. Little did I know, a 2-3 hour wait is terrible when you are by yourself. But I didn’t know that, so I slept peacefully, dreaming of being followed by hunky Italian men all shouting “Ciao, bella!” at me. :)

Florence, Day 1: 463 Stairs, Freaky Encounters, and Free Dessert

So last Monday began my 3-week Spring Break. Although, it started off as usual as normal. I went to my Italian lessons with the girls, and we grabbed tea afterwards. However, afterwards, we decided we wanted pizza. Why don’t we go to Don Miguel’s and see if a certain beautiful, blue-eyed boy is working?

And guess what? He was. :)

So we go inside, and say hello. I got this pizza with a white sauce. It had ham on it, so I thought it should be pretty good. Come to find out, that white sauce was actually potatoes. Like, mashed potatoes on pizza. Not my favorite, but it was terrible. I knew I shouldn’t have changed from what I usually get. This is why I don’t try new foods. I’m sticking to the red sauce from now on.

When ordering pizza, I talked to Andrea a little bit. At least, with what Italian I could successfully communicate to him in. His uncle comes out and starts talking to us, explaining that he was Don Miguel (from the sign outside) and Andrea was his nephew. He then asks me where I was from. Why did he ask only me? Goodness gracious, I’m like a magnet. When I told him the U.S. he excitedly showed me a postcard from Yale, where his other nephew was attending. “Yale? Wow! Wonderful!” I tell him. He then goes on to say that his other nephew was very beautiful, and Andrea was the ugly nephew. If Andrea is the UGLY nephew, then I really want to see the other one! Because Andrea is far from ugly in my American eyes.

After we sat there for a while, we left, saying goodbye to Andrea on the way out. I sighed again. I won’t see him for a long time due to my 3-week Spring Break. Maybe I can convince him to come with me…

I went home to pack. Marcello was going to call me when he was done with his thesis meetings in the late afternoon. It was about 12:00, so I had plenty of time to pack. I’m listening to music and trying to figure out what to wear, while simultaneously checking weather.com and emptying out my backpack, when my phone rings. It was Marcello!

“Anna, I have finished my meeting. So, let’s meet in 30-45 minutes? Do you know Don Miguel’s in the Piazza. I’ll be there eating my pizza. See you soon!”

30 minutes to pack! Yikes! AND I have to go back to the place I just ate at. Andrea is going to think I’m such a creeper. This could ruin our whole future together.

Okay, so I exaggerate, but after I hastily managed to pack everything I needed in my backpack and computer bag, I headed across town to meet up with Marcello. I had my black running shoes dangling by their laces from my computer bag, and it looked like I was carrying enough food in my backpack for all of starving Africa. But I don’t have a tiny suitcase with me, so it was the best I could do.

I entered Don Miguel’s and didn’t even look in Andrea’s direction. Yes, I was very proud of myself. I saw Marcello sitting across from a very pretty lady. When I managed to maneuver me and my ginormous backpack/computer bag between the tiny seats, the lady stuck out her hand and said, “Anna! It’s so nice to finally meet you. Marcello has told me a lot about you!”

Her name was Kristen, and she was Marcello’s girlfriend. The best part? She’s from Boston. Another American!

After she introduces herself, the first thing she says to me is, “that guy over there was talking about you. He said he met some girl from America. A funny-named state near Texas,” motioning to Andrea. Right as she said that, he pointed to me and said, “Lei!” (Her!). Kristen laughed and said, “Yeah, her!”

So I guess he DID see me come in. I was kinda hard to miss. Pink jacket. Blonde hair. Purple computer bag. And a backpack that looked ready to explode. It was only wishful thinking if I had any dreams of blending in.

But the fact that he was talking to her about me is a good thing, right?! We sat waiting for Marcello to finish his lunch, then he pays and says he will meet us outside of the restaurant. As we were leaving, Kristen thanked Andrea for the pizza. He asked where I was going, and she said “Firenze.” He looked at me and nodded in approval, smiling at me when we said goodbye. Have I said his eyes are beautiful?

After leaving the restaurant, we hopped in the car. We stopped by Marcello’s Teramo house so Kristen could shut off all the lights, then we were on the way to Florence! It was an absolutely GORGEOUS day outside, and I was just praying that it would be the same in Florence.

On the 5-hour drive, Kristen and I talked about practically everything: Siblings. Grad school. Working. Good teachers. Bad teachers. Languages. Magic School Bus days at her school. How HUGE my high school in terms of students was. Apples. Peanut butter. Movies in English. Siblings. Family members. Parents. Tampons.

Like I said. Practically everything.

We picked up Marcello’s daughter, Costanza, at her friend’s house. Apparently she speaks English, but she is very shy about it. Kristen makes one night a week English night. Despite it being English night, Constanza didn’t speak much English the entire time I was there. I don’t blame her though. I’m embarrassed to speak my Italian, because I don’t want to sound stupid speaking it.

Kristen and I were dropped off at the supermarket to pick up things for dinner. She said they have peanut butter in Florence! But, unfortunately not in that supermarket. But, technically, they live outside of Florence. Maybe I’ll have more luck in town?

We got to the house, and I sit with Kristen in the kitchen. It was like American HEAVEN. She gave me Entertainment Weekly, US Weekly, and People magazines to read. She had Easter Peanut M&Ms on the table. She pulled out Peeps and told me to finish them off if I would like. She drew a package of Oreos out of the cupboard, and tossed a bag of Maple and Brown Sugar instant oatmeal in my lap. Like, I said…American heaven.

We had a wonderful dinner, and I turned in to my tiny bedroom for the night. I actually did homework. On Spring Break. My overachieving tendencies never take a vacation. I didn’t sleep well that night, because I was hot and too excited about my trip the next morning.

We all took a 9:10 train into Florence, and once we got there we went out separate ways. Marcello said goodbye and headed to his University office, Kristen pointed me to the Tourist Information office and she and Costanza went shopping, and I headed to that very Tourist office. When I was called up to the window, the lady asked me where I came from. Only, for some reason, I heard, “where are you going?” I said a hostel, and she asked, “Austria?” then marks down a tally on her piece of paper.

I see what she has just done, and I say, “Oh, no no! I’m from the United States.” She nods her head, then writes “USA” on top of her paper and puts town a tally. One lonely tally. I can’t be the only American in this town…I’m just the first one to come to this office. That has to be it.

She gives me a map, circles where my hostel is, and I head that direction. It was actually really easy to get to, despite being pretty far from where everything I wanted to see was. I discovered this over the next few days. I dropped my stuff in the communal, locked, storage area until I could check in at 3:00.

I decided to climb the dome of the cathedral. I walked around the church 2 or 3 times trying to find a ticket booth, but I couldn’t. The next thing I know, some guy has come running up behind me and asks me where I’m from. Not another one.

Yes. A creeper. And I haven’t even been in Florence for an hour yet. He didn’t know much English, so I tried my best to talk in Italian. Again with the questions about where I live, where I was staying, etcetera, which I did my best to give vague answers to. By this point, a lady cop and her male-cop teammate walk by. I think she could tell I wasn’t comfortable, because she conveniently placed herself 2 feet away from me and stood watching the line at the cathedral.

The creeper asked me to go to a “discopub” with him, to which I told him I didn’t know what I would be doing the next couple of nights and shouldn’t make plans. At a lull in the conversation, I took the opportunity to turn to the lady cop and ask where I could buy a ticket to climb the church dome. At the door, she said. Perfect.

I began to walk that direction, turned and said over my shoulder to my creeper, “I’m going to go climb that. Ciao!” At least he didn’t follow. He seemed to get the idea much more quickly than Jimmy.

Standing line to climb the dome, I got into conversation with this couple behind me. They were from New Jersey! The father, Skip, was vacationing in Italy with his wife, Jane, and their 2 sons Mike and Jeff. They were incredibly nice people, and I enjoyed telling them all about my life in Italy! We got inside the covering of the dome and, literally, seconds later it starts pouring rain. What timing.

463 stairs later, I was on top of the 4^th largest cathedral in the world. The view was breathtaking. Which was bad, considering I had no more breath for it to take after climbing those 463 stairs. I enjoyed looking around Florence when Skip came over and asked if I would take a picture of him and his family. “Of course!” I told him. “Only if you will take a picture of me afterwards!”

One bad thing about traveling alone: you don’t get many pictures of yourself.

That afternoon I headed back to my hostel to finally check in and rest up a little. I hopped on the Internet and watched Melrose Place, when one of my roommates came in. She was a mom (40-something?) from Australia. She had left her 2 kids in London with the grandparents and took a little vacation for herself. She was very nice, but I didn’t get to know her very well, unfortunately. She had a 5 AM cab to take, so she went to bed early that night.

For dinner that night I decided I would go out to this little off-the-beaten-path restaurant listed in my Italy guidebook. After about 45 minutes of wandering around, I obviously wasn’t going to find this place. I should have remembered that it was my first night in Florence, and trying to find a tiny restaurant on a even tinier side road wasn’t going to be easy. In fact, it was impossible.

I turned into the closest restaurant I could find, after assuring that the menu was in my price range. I walked in, and a nice older man asked me how many. “Solo uno” (Only one), I replied. He motioned to a chair right in the front of the restaurant. The rest of the night, he was my personal servant. I think he was the owner, because I didn’t see him serving any other tables but my own. Here we go again with the special treatment. I’m starting to get used to this!

This guy was hilarious. At the table next to me were 4 people. Americans if I was any good at placing accents. Whenever the ladies didn’t finish their food, the owner would come over, tuck their napkins around their necks, and feed them until they were finished! It was hilarious.

I ended up talking to the 4 people seated at that table. They were in fact from the States! One couple was from Georgia, and the others were from Florida. Fellow SEC members. Best conference in the nation.

They were on vacation, just like every other non-student in Florence. I told them about studying in my tiny town, and let them know about certain traditions that were uniquely Italian. They asked me what this funky drink was, but I couldn’t tell them. They showed me a picture, but I had never seen it in my life.

The owner came back over to my table to clean up my plates. He asked me if I wanted dessert. When I told him I was full, he shook his head and asked if I like chocolate. Of course I do!

He came out with this amazing-looking dessert. But I said I didn’t want any! Man, he is persistent. But I can definitely finish it.

When I asked for the check, he wrote it down on the paper placemat. He even gave me the dessert for free. :) I paid, said thank you and left to his calling, “Ciao, bella!” after me. I said goodbye to my new friends at the table next to me, saying, “Ya’ll have a good rest of your trip!” One of the ladies said that that was definitely the first “ya’ll” she had heard while being over here. I apologized, laughing, saying that it was just part of my vocabulary. They laughed too, saying that it was part of their vocabularies too. They were just surprised to hear it over the Atlantic Ocean.

I’m glad I could make their night. I do what I can.

I got lost on the way home. Well, not completely lost. I managed to find my way back, it just took twice as long as it should have. And I had downed an entire liter of water at dinner, so I was hoping for the shortest trip back to the hostel as possible. Of course not.

By the time I rolled into bed, everyone else but one was in bed. I set my alarm for 7:30, telling myself I would wake up, shower, then get in line to see David at The Accademia. It was so nice to lay down. Day 1 in Florence had been crazy. 4 more days to go!

Seven-Hour Car Rides, Survival Kits, and the Start of Spring Break

The next morning we get up and grab breakfast. The bread-and-breakfast that we stayed in had AMAZING food in the morning, and we filled up on yogurt, pastries, and tea. We went back out to the Field of Miracles to take the required pictures of us holding up the Tower. You know you have a good pose when people start laughing at you while you are taking the picture. :)

We also go to go inside the Duomo for free because it was a Sunday. We took about 3 minutes and looked at the inside. I wasn’t allowed to take pictures, though, because I service was going on. Dangit. It was very dark, though, so I doubt that my pictures would have turned out anyways.

After we had seen all that we wanted to see, we went back to the hotel to grab our belongings, and grabbed more pastries on the way out. We met up with Chiara’s mother and she took us to meet Chiara’s father, who then took us to the car. Thank goodness Davide was with us, because they didn’t speak a lick of English. Although, I could understand bits and pieces of their conversation. I laughed because at one point the mother told her husband to stop arguing with her because she didn’t want to fight in front of me and Beverley.

We stop at a fancy rest stop, and the sweet parents buy us lunch. We stop again later to use the restroom, and Beverley and I grab Ritz crackers to split on the way home. We get lost in a tiny town about 30 minutes from Teramo. Again, I laughed, because we never stopped to ask directions. Chiara’s father was driving, and I thought “So typically male. Never asking for directions.”

We stopped again for a coffee break. Wow, these Italians love their coffee.

We finally made it back to Teramo! What I thought was going to be a 5 hour drive turned into a 7-hour trip. But that was okay. What else did we have to do? It was a Sunday…nothing is open. And it definitely beats having to pay 40 Euro to catch a bus that doesn’t get into town until 10:00 at night.

Chiara’s parents drop us off outside my aparment, and we say our goodbyes and thank-yous. Once we get back up to my room, then first thing I do is plop down at my computer and upload pictures to Facebook. You can see my album here.

We look outside my window, and are excited to see that the restaurant outside my room is actually open on a Sunday! Apparently they serve really good pizza, so Beverley and I go there for dinner.

We are seated and a cute Italian guy comes over and asks us what we would like. I point to something on the menu, and he says, “Oh, no. Only drinks.” I see. He is the bartender, not our server. I laugh, and apologize, and Beverley and I get a water to share.

The pizza was delicious, though hard to eat because it was so thin. Bev and I splurge and get dessert. It was fun trying to communicate with the cute bartender, because he didn’t know much English. We managed to successfully communicate our choices for dessert, Beverley getting a vanilla gelato and me getting a lemon sherbet. Cool thing was, it was actually served in a frozen, hollowed out lemon! How cute! The bartender laughed.

He was cute. I told Beverley he was going to be my new boyfriend.

We left feeling very satisfied and retired to my room. I showed Beverley Jimmy on Facebook, and saw that he had written me a message. “Where are u??? What are u doing??? Have u thought about what I tell u??? When I see u again??? I want to speak with u about something.” Oh. My. Gosh.

So I blocked him on Facebook.

That’s right. No messaging me. No poking me. No writing on my wall. No FINDING me at all when he searches for me. It’s like I don’t even exist. Thank goodness. Creep.

Beverley checked her e-mail. “Jimmy’s added me as a friend too!” she said. She said she was going to reject it. I told her to block him completely like I did. Our original plan was to watch a movie on my laptop, but we were so exhausted that we just decided to go to bed at 10:30. That’s the earliest I’ve been to bed since I got here. It was AWESOME.

The next morning we headed out to our Italian lessons. Beverley was so excited about her sunglasses that she wanted to wear them out. But it was overcast. “Do I look stupid?” she asked. “Well, nobody else is wearing sunglasses, soooooo…you just look a lot cooler than them!” I reply. She laughs and takes them off. “We could just say they are cloud glasses?”

I told her I didn’t believe in cloud glasses.

At our lesson we filled Asta and Francesca in about our trip. Asta told us how her boyfriend Alessandro used to live outside of Pisa and told her about how he would go into to town just to flirt with the pretty girls. She wanted to know if we had been targeted. I told her we weren’t, probably because we had a boy with us. She said that was probably the reason, because the 2 of us would have definitely been “targeted” by harmless flirters in any other situation.

That night I went to class like usual, only this time I met up with a new friend named Paolo. He had added me on Facebook and sent me a message, saying he hoped he didn’t alarm me with his random request, but that he recognized me from class. He remembered Professor Burroni saying that I was American, and wanted to say something to me, but kept getting pulled away after class or having to do something that he never got the chance to introduce himself. I was ecstatic when he messaged me. Someone who speak English! In my class! How awesome!

So I finally met him in person Monday night. He is super sweet, and said I could sit by him in class so I’m not alone with my Italian-English dictionary like every other lecture. It is so nice to have a new friend in that class.

Class ended early, but a couple of minutes after the bus picked up. Meaning I would have essentially 30 minutes to wait before another one showed up. Paolo offered to give me a ride on his Moped.

I have always had this dream to ride through the streets of an Italian city on the back of a Moped with an Italian guy. Think, The Lizzie McGuire Movie…

So I took his offer, hopped on the back of the bike, grabbed on to his shoulders, and off we went! It was so much fun! He dropped me off at the store by my apartment, and told me if I ever needed anything to just let him know. I told him thanks, and that I would see him in class the next day, then he drove off.

The rest of the week progressed pretty normally. Wednesday I got a random phone call, and the person on the other end didn’t speak English. I managed to understand that it was the mail delivery man, but I was at the University waiting on a bus. There was no way to get back home.

He left a sticker on my door, so I sent Paolo a message asking him to translate. I had to call the number given and ask for someone who spoke English.

I did just that, and managed to explain to the lady what the problem was. After first giving her the incorrect shipping number (There were 2 numbers; I just took a guess), she finally figured it out and told me they would deliver the package between 9:00 AM and 6:00 PM the next day. Are you kidding? I have to be at home for 9 hours waiting for them to show up? I asked if she could tell me a specific time, but she couldn’t. I had Italian lessons the next morning. I just hoped they wouldn’t show up that morning.

So I waited from 12:30-6:00 that evening. No package. I was a little upset, because I wanted to go running that afternoon. But nooooooooooo. I had to wait around on the postman who never delivered.

That night, Francesca, Asta, me, and possibly Beverley were going to meet up for pizza and see a movie in Italian. We arranged to meet at Don Miguel’s pizzeria and (at my request) if the cute guy with gorgeous blue eyes was working, we would eat there. If not, we would grab a kebab.

On my way to meet the girls that night, I see Jimmy. Crap. It’s been almost a week since I ran into him. I keep trucking it in the direction of Don Miguel’s. He sees me and asks where I was going. “To meet my friends!” I say over my shoulder as I keep powerwalking past him. “Oh, all right.” he replies, and continues down the street. What? He didn’t follow me? SUCCESS! I think he finally got the point and will leave me alone. It’s about time.

I see Francesca, and only Francesca, waiting outside the pizzeria. I guess Beverley was coming, and Asta must be only minutes behind me. “Ciao!” I say. “Ciao!” Francesca replies. “He is working,” she says as she motions with her head to the pizzeria. “So we will eat here.”

My night keeps getting better and better.

Asta shows up about 30 minutes late. She thought we were meeting at a different pizzeria across town! We go in and order. I tell the beautiful blue-eyed pizza guy what I would like, and he laughs, smiles at me, and puts it in the oven. We sit down after paying, and enjoy our pizza. 20 minutes later Beverley comes in and dramatically plops herself down in the chair across from me. “You made it!” we exclaim. I started laughing at her, because she looked so out of breath.

“I got dropped off on the other side of town,” she said. “I trekked it all the way over. Oh, and I think I saw Jimmy. At least, someone said ‘Hello’ to me in English and it looked like him.”

I told her that it probably was him since I ran into him earlier. She says she wants to get a pizza, and I told her I would be happy to accompany her since that meant I would get to talk to beautiful blue-eyed pizza guy again. Beverley decides she wants a pizza with broccoli on it. “How do you say ‘broccoli’ in Italian?” she asks me. “Uh, broccoli.” I reply.

When beautiful blue-eyed pizza guy asked her what she wanted, she pointed and said “Broccoli?” He pointed to the correct pizza and we said “Yeah!” I asked him how to say broccoli in Italian as he cut a piece for Beverley, and he said, “Broccoli,” smiling as I fell hopelessly into his bright blue eyes. We threw our hands up in victory as he put it in the oven, and he laughed at us. “Where are you from?” he asked, looking at me. “America.” “Canada.” He nodded his head. Then he had to go in the back to get something. So Beverley and I moved down the bar.

When he came back out, there were no customers, and he looked like he wanted to talk. So I went back over.

“What part of America?” “Arkansas?” He looked confused. “Ar-kan-sas,” I said, pronouncing it like “Ar-Kansas.” Then he understood. I have started pronouncing it both ways, because I have found that Italians usually only understand when I pronounce it “Ar-Kansas.” Silly silent “s” throws them all off.

He asked me where that was, and I tried to draw a makeshift USA with my finger on the glass covering all the pizzas. “Sud-oeste” (southwest), I say. “Texas?”

“OH, Texas!” Of course everyone knows Texas. By then Beverley’s pizza was ready, so we went down to the register to pay. He printed out her receipt, gave her change, and we said thanks. As he went back to his position at the pizza he cast one last look over his shoulder at me.

I sighed. I just talked to beautiful blue-eyed pizza guy (whose actual name is Andrea). My night is made.

We sit back down at the table, and Asta goes, “Well?” with that look that said it all. “He asked where I was from. Well, where we were from,” I said. “But he was really only talking to her,” Beverley said, smiling at me.

I sighed again.

After we finished our pizzas, we decided to grab a cornetto, since Asta had never had one. To my dismay, beautiful blue-eyed pizza guy was across the restaurant talking to his boss or something. I kept looking at the door as we left, hoping to catch one more glimpse. But, he was gone.

We grabbed a cornetto and headed to Francesca’s car, with her complaining the entire time that we make her eat to much. The woman is TINY; she needs to eat more. Being around us will be good for her. We get to the theatre, and watched that movie “Il Concerto.” Despite being in Italian, I managed to understand what was happening, and very much enjoyed the movie.

Afterwards, Francesca and I drive out to Colledara to drop off Beverley, then she swings me back to Teramo to drop me off. Between talking to beautiful blue-eyed pizza guy, seeing a great movie, and just enjoying company with good friends, it had been a good night.

The postman called me again Friday morning, but this time the guy spoke English. He said that when they came by yesterday, someone told them that no Anna Alderson lived at my address. That's weird. I told him that I would be here, and he said they would be coming between 12 and 12:30. I went running early, so I would be back in time to catch the mailman.

When he arrived, he brought TWO packages. One from my aunt and uncle, and the other from a bookstore. MY TEXTBOOK FOR WOMEN'S HISTORY! Finally! I can get started on this class.

I went back up to my apartment and opened up my aunt and uncle's care packages. I was speechless. Someone has VERY impressive packing skills, considering the TONS of stuff they crammed into that box. It was full of goodies that were distinctly American. A perfect survival kit. Included were Oreos, Girl Scout Cookies (my two favorite kinds: Samoas and Thin Mints), green tea, sweetners, hot chocolate, Crystal Light mix, Us Weekly and Seventeen magazines, Cheez-Its, Easy Mac, Rice Crispies, Strawberries and Cream oatmeal (again, my favorite!), pens and calendars from their log home business, toothpaste, 2 bars of Dove soap, Advil, Tylenol, and razors, along with a handwritten postcard from the fam. I can't even explain how excited and thankful I was. My day was BEYOND made. :)

That night 5 of Romeo’s friends came over, so I met and hung out with them. One of his friends Stefano actually spoke English, so I had some good conversation with him. We ended up going out that night, leaving Romeo home because he was too drunk to walk straight. I’ve decided I love being sober, because it makes it that much more entertaining to watch drunk people. So, leaving Romeo and Renato behind, the rest of the group and me went to a bar to get drinks and tea. I had a good time, even though Stefano was the only one who spoke enough English to hold conversation with. They were going out dancing that night, but I told them I would go back and check on Romeo and Renato.

We said our goodbyes outside my apartment, and I went up. When I returned, no Romeo or Renato in sight. Oh goodness, I wonder where they went? I laughed to myself and went to sleep.

Last night we celebrated my roommate Valeria’s birthday with a huge dinner and lots of her friends over at the house. The dinner was delicious; her sister Alessandra and Alessandra’s boyfriend Roberto had come to visit just for the occasion. During the preparations, Roberto and I talked about lots of things. He didn’t speak English, but we were able to communicate about a lot, regardless! He has a MacBook Pro and iMac, and noticed mine. We talked about those. We talked about my travels. He loves opera, and I love opera. So we talked about that and musicals and he showed me a fantastic Italian opera soprano on YouTube.

At dinner, 2 of the gentleman visiting were obviously friends, but they obviously liked to push each other’s buttons, especially when one had drunk a little too much wine. I don’t know what they were arguing about, but I heard the inebriated one call his friend a “false Communist” and “Fascist.” The rest of the party was just laughing and laughing. There other friend sat hopelessly to the side rolling his eyes.

They went out that night, and too tired and not up for going out, I stayed in. Plus, it was Daylight Savings Time, meaning I was already losing an hour of sleep. By the time I rolled into bed, it was 1:00 AM, meaning it was really 2:00 AM once I put my clocks forward.

I woke up this morning, hoping to go to the beach or shopping mall with Beverley. But she never called. I just sunbathed in my room and enjoyed being lazy. Which is normal for me here. Plus, tomorrow starts my 3-week Spring Break, so I need to rest up beforehand, right?

This week I’m off to Florence.

The week after is Dublin.

And the week after is Barcelona and Madrid.

This should be FUN. :)

In Case You Didn't Know, There Are Actually TWO Leaning Towers

My phone alarm buzzed at 5:00 AM. Time to get ready. Beverley and I were in a stupor from our 5 and 3 hours, respectively, of sleep. But that couldn’t stop our excitement of going to Pisa. We head out the doors around 5:50, to go grab some breakfast at a bar Bev frequents before Italian lessons in the morning. As we walked along the street the vendors for the Saturday morning market were beginning to arrive, setting up their goods for the day ahead. No one else was out. It was very strange. Then again, I don’t know how many people are willing to catch a 7:00 AM bus to Pisa; especially if you live here and have a car.

But we are foreign. And we have no car. 7:00 AM bus, it is!

We arrive at the bar, and I think the man at the register was surprised to see us. He asked if we had been out dancing. No, just catching a bus to Pisa. He serves us our tea and wishes us a safe trip. We arrived a little later than our stated time of 6:00, so I was worried that Davide was going to be waiting on us. He, however, didn’t show up until 6:20ish. He went to be at 2:45, he said. Wow…he is certainly dedicated to come this early!

We headed out around 6:40 to grab Davide a ticket. After he bought it from the travel agency, we walked over to the bus stop where people usually catch rides to Rome. Beverley jumps up and down trying to see across the Piazza Garibaldi, above the wall of construction work in the center of the piazza. There were a couple of buses. I didn’t think buses ever picked up by the travel agency. Then again, I was never up and about at 7:00 in the morning to find out.

We decide to walk back across the piazza, and I nearly lose my ticket. It somehow fell out of my bag on the ground. Thank goodness Bev realized before I had even taken two steps. We make it over to the buses. They were in fact going to Florence, our destination. Thank goodness we walked back over here!

The ride was pretty uneventful, besides me almost losing my ticket again. It had fallen between my feet somehow. I honestly think it had a mind of it’s own and was trying to escape. The 3 of us sat in the very back of the bus, because it was the only row that had enough seats across for all of us. On the way to our first bus change, we talked about random vocabulary words and made up silly ways of remembering them. We taught Davide the difference between “fun” and “funny.” Beverley and I did most of the talking. I think Davide was too sleepy to do much contributing.

We stop at a rest stop off the highway, and kill some time by looking at the food and taking pictures. An elderly gentleman was coming down a set of concrete stairs to where the buses were parked when he lost his balance and fell off the side. These stairs didn’t have a railing, because they were only 4 steps high and meant to get people from the pavement up the 2 feet to the sidewalk. Ambler travelers, like ourselves, chose just to step up the 2 feet without messing with stairs.

Regardless of how few stairs there were, it was a long fall. It was one of those horrible moments the you saw happen in slow motion but couldn’t move fast enough. I didn’t know what to do once he hit the ground. I can’t speak to him in Italian, and I was simply to shocked to conjure up my limited vocabulary. One of the bus drivers comes over to see if he is okay, and Beverley tells the elderly gentleman, “Aspeta! Aspeta!” (Wait! Wait!), as he tried to pull himself up. His head was bleeding, and his hand was scratched. The bus driver tried to have him go to the bathroom to clean up, but the man refused.

I really hoped he was okay, but there wasn’t much we could do.

After we were sure that he could at least walk, we loaded our bus to Florence. We tried to sit in the back again, but the ticket man exclaims, “Regazzi! Regazzi! Qua, per favore.” (You guys! You guys! Here, please.) pointing to seats closer to the front of the bus. I guess he didn’t want any one sitting past a certain point? Davide will have to sit alone, I guess. We take our seats, and Beverley and I throw our backpacks into two seats across the aisle. I hope ticket-man doesn’t get upset; I highly doubt that anyone will be boarding after this point. He walked by checking tickets and counting heads. “He runs a tight ship,” Bev whispers to me. Well, he didn’t say anything about backpacks. So he’s still on my good side.

The bus ride there was pretty uneventful. The most exciting thing was my impression of Igor at one of the stops along the way. Davide fell asleep for most of the ride, and Beverley and I managed to find something to talk about for the 5-hour ride. But we are girls; talking comes naturally.

We finally arrived in Florence, and what is the first thing we do? Hit up the MacDonald’s.

I had a McFlurry and fries. It was delicious. The place was 2 stories, and absolutely packed. We finally found a small table, without chairs. No big deal, we’ll just stand. We’ve been sitting on a bus for hours, anyways.

The next thing to do was to get a train ticket to Pisa. We walked down to a larger piazza, determined to find the station for ourselves. We turn around and Beverley says, “Is that it? I see trains!” The station was directly across from where our bus just parked.

Well, they certainly make this easy, don’t they?

Beverley buys some sunglasses at the market, with my professional assistance. She told me before that sunglasses just don’t look right on her face; I told her that was impossible and that we would find the perfect pair. She bought some and was going to wear them. I made fun of her because it was overcast outside, and turned to Davide. He had is aviators on.

“They are cloud glasses!” he said. I told him I didn’t believe in cloud glasses.

We bought tickets to Pisa, and for some reason I thought the tickets were meant for 30 minutes before the actual time. Of course our train would be picking up at the farthest point of the station. We rush over to the terminal, only to wait. And wait. Beverley points out the ACTUAL time of arrival, so we go back to the main hub of the station and buy chocolate.

Our train finally arrives, and we board to Pisa! On the way there, these high school kids came into our car and hid in the bathroom. The unusually tall Italian conductor/ticket-checking man comes into our car and stands outside the tiny bathrooms. He says something in Italian, trying to get the troublemakers to come out. He wasn’t letting them ride for free. One by one the 6 kids leave the train…I was simply amazed by how they managed to fit ALL of them in those claustrophobic stalls.

Good try kids. But you aren’t getting away with that one.

Then entire train ride there, Davide is texting his friend who lives in Pisa and planning to meet up with her. It will be nice to have our own personal tour guide of sorts! We make it to Pisa, exhausted from our long ride and needing to freshen up. We arrive at what we thing is our stop. Then in a moment of panic think it’s not our stop, and hop quickly on the train. Davide asks a rider if this is our correct stop. She says it is, and in another moment of panic we hop off the train before it closes its doors and move on.

All this hopping on and off and on and off happened in a matter of 2 minutes. We move fast.

We walk underneath the station to get to Pisa. The next thing I know a girl in a long black coat with dyed red-orange hair comes flying by, says “Hello” to me and Beverley, and literally attacks Davide in a hug. That must be his friend.

Davide introduced us to her. Her name was Chiara, and she was a little silly and different, but incredibly sweet and fun to be around. She took us to our hotel, where I had made a reservation online. We spent 10 minutes trying to find my reservation on her list. Not there. Maybe they spelled my name wrong? Whatever was closest to my last name wasn’t for a double bed though.

I was stressing out. Beverley told me everything would be okay, and we ended up getting a room with two double beds so Davide wouldn’t have to pay for a room all by himself. I would check if they had charged my credit card online once the boss got in for the night. For now, we had a room. That’s all that mattered.

We put up our things, and relaxed for about 5 minutes. Then, Davide arranged with Chiara to take us around. She showed us the river that separates North and South Pisa, told us some interesting things about the local architecture, showed us the building that Galileo Galilei was born in, explained that Davide should do all the ordering because shopowners charge more for coffee, etc. to obvious tourists, pointed out that best gelato shop in town and a good sandwich place, and finally took us to the Field of Miracles.

It was incredible.

I was bound and determined to climb the Leaning Tower, so we go get tickets and (to our surprise) are allowed to go straight up. Chiara says to call her and we can do something for dinner, and leaves us to our Tower climb.

Davide takes off like a little kid on Christmas.

I guess he never HAS been here before, so his excitement is just like ours. We quickly ascend the Tower (also because we didn’t have too much time before it shut down for the night). The steps never seemed to end. We got to one opening, and thinking we were at the top rested for the view. “Keep going,” one of the security people said. Oh, more stairs. Okay.

We kept climbing.

We got to another opening where 3 bells line the Tower. This must be the top. We were told to keep walking, and then directed to a tiny flight of stairs about 2 feet wide. Just wide enough for my hips to pass through.

We kept climbing.

We FINALLY get to the top, and I take a few pictures before my battery dies. Just my luck. I try my second battery, forgetting if it was charged or not. It wasn’t. I managed to trick my camera and get a few more shots. But it finally died for good.

The view was magnificent. We asked a guy in Italian to take a picture of us. He answered in English. “Oh! You speak English!” I said. “Yeah!” he said, laughing. Beverley and I walked around the Tower balancing against the lean as we moved from side to side. Davide stood hunched over clinging to the bar in the middle of the Tower, away from the edge. “Are you okay?” Beverley asks. “I’m scared!” he said. What? This guy who had fearlessly RAN up the 294 stairs was now scared? We thought he was joking at first, and pretended to throw ourselves over the edge. “Noooo!” he exclaimed. He was really scared. Oh goodness.

It was time to go down anyways. Fighting the lean of the Tower was more difficult going down the stairs than up it. The Tower had 3 different architects, each trying to correct the tilt and adding his own artistic flair. You could even see when architects changed by paying close attention to the window style and you move up (or down) the circling steps.

We get to the bottom, a little dizzy, and decide to walk around the other building. Outside the Bapistry is a large field…which I deemed Make-Out Central, due to the countless number of couples enjoying each other’s company on the soft green grass.

Too bad I didn’t have some beautiful Italian boy to make out with. Oh well, life moves on.

And so did we. We unanimously agree that a nap would be fantastic before dinner, and rest up in the hotel, my feet absolutely killing me. I thought a pair of flat boots would be great for trekking across Italy. I was wrong. Never. Again. Tennis shoes all the way.

Or my TOMS. I may have to try those out in Florence.

During our rest, Beverley decides to grown down a couple of years and starts jumping on the bed. We take pictures, and Davide becomes amazed by the picture I caught of him jumping up like Spiderman. After getting our 5-year-old impulses out of us, we head out to meet Chiara for dinner.

We walk around for what seemed like ages trying to find a place to eat. The original restaurant Chiara wanted to take us to was full, so she had to think of another place. After 30 minutes of walking around. I was getting irked, because when I’m hungry, my temper shortens. And I was starving, meaning my nice demeanor wasn’t going to last if we didn’t find a spot to eat. And quickly. We settled on a homey little place that served great home-cookin’, and Chiara said she wouldn’t eating with us. Her parents were in town, so she would be eating with them. They also lived in Teramo and offered to drive us back so we wouldn’t have to pay for a train and an expensive bus ticket. How sweet of them!

After dinner we went back to the Field of Miracles to see the Tower at night. It was beautiful all lit up. On the walk back we teach Davide the difference between certain words in English. In Italian, the letter “I” is always pronounced like the “ee” in “sheep.” So, they often pronounce English words the same, prouncing “rip” like “reap” for example. So Davide wanted to know the difference between “beach” and “b****” and “sheet” and “s***,” because to him the 2 words in the pair sounded the same. We enlightened him and tried to demonstrate the short “I” sound. His misunderstanding definitely made for some good jokes on the walk back.

We stop by a bar to grab some tea before heading back. When we at last made it to our hotel room, Davide and I decide to shower. He complained that his was the worst shower he had ever taken. I didn’t think mine was too bad, except that I couldn’t get my water to heat up for a long time. I was bit by bit adjusting the tap, talking to Beverley the entire time. I said something about not wanting to burn my “rump” and she starts cracking up. Apparently she thought the word “rump” was funny.

We all crawl into bed after I brush my teeth and say our goodnights. We have a long trip tomorrow. Okay, Bev, hit the lights.

Goodnight, Pisa.