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? :)