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? :)
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