Florence the Classy Way

Venice treated us quite nicely, and saw us off with a sun shiny farewell. We spent the day continuing perusing the shops and backpacking the city. When we tired of that it was early in relation to the time which we were supposed to catch our train. We decided to head to the station anyway considering it was so close to the water.

Greetings from Venice!

We stripped ourselves of our exterior winter shells and soaked in the sun along a vacant Venetian dock with a few bottles of Bacardi Breezers. It was such a picturesque moment that we had strangers taking our pictures.

Don't be surprised if you see us on a brochure when you travel to Venice.

So after a little unprotected sun bathing, we grabbed our jackets and headed to the 4 hour train ride.

Considering this one took place during daylight hours, I was much more comfortable with taking a little nap; a night in Florence called for it.

We got to our hostel fast, and lucked out again when we realized there was a room fit for 9 that we were in. It was a perfect secure sleeping situation that was just begging us to go out and enjoy the night life.

We first had dinner though, after being completely famished due to a mere slice of pizza in Venice an approximate 8 hours earlier. I don't think we've skipped an offer for an Italian dinner since being in the country. The best part about the location in which we chose on this occasion: FREE BREAD.

To my American audience unfamiliar with the European Union, a little cultural note: when you're in a restaurant, water is not free regardless of how many perpetually flowing fountains you see on the streets, and the pre-meal bread is also not free. Lay a finger on it and you're paying 4 euro.

We roll deep. Taken by Patricia, missing Patricia.

Like I said.. except here!

I split a Caprese Salad (Dad, yours is still better) and indulged in tortellini bolognese.

As girls do, at the conclusion of the meal we took a group bathroom break. There were only two toilets available; one marked men and one marked women. My logic tells me, why leave the men's vacant when there are none in sight? So I used it. Karma got me good.

I knew I had an audience of three friends waiting outside the door, so I wasn't embarrassed to be talking. Until the fell silent.

One of them is notorious for taking very unexpected pictures and recording at inopportune moments. I immediately screamed "Are you f*#%ing recording this?"

Giggles ensued, and a "no."

Then I asked for something that, in this situation, was almost more embarrassing than asking for cocaine. I'll let you use your imagination. To this request I heard more giggles and a "I think you should stop talking now."

So I did. I retreated my little stall to find out that some guy was waiting for his appropriately labeled door the entire time.

Patricia Holliday original photo: fake David.

This is why Florence hates Americans. Just glad to know that I've still got it in me to be one!

So we payed our check and left, full from free bread and expensive pasta and ready to dance it off.


First stop, David.

We were all under the impression that Michelangelo's David was the great statue standing unprotected from elements and vandalism in an open square. Out of nine of us, only one was smart enough to let the rest of us know the real one was in a museum nearby.

It was still very beautiful to look at (above the waist...)

Jackie Herro photo: the Duomo.

We had connections to someone who is studying in Florence which made our night out run very smoothly; we didn't have to play guessing games, he took us to the bars that we would want to be in. The last of these bars was next to the massive and impressive Duomo whose entrance line during the day is overwhelmingly long. It is still very impressive, so much so that it is pretty much the face of Florence.

All is well that ends well.

The next day we all managed to get up and ready with all of our belongings and take to the leather of the city. Markets of leather galore! It felt and smelt like heaven. We would spend literally an hour at all the [reputable] stands, feeling and sniffing the wallets and belts and bags.

Somehow, I walked away from all the bags. But I did snag a belt. talked him down to 10 euro, seemed worth it.

mmm, carbohydrate and sugary goodness.

The real treasure of this trip was the breakfast that we had. The term breakfast itself is as American as it gets; they really don't do that here. But we found it: a utopia of pancakes, omelettes, and even burgers with what else but the St John's game playing on TV. Literally an absolutely to-die-for taste of home.

The walk back to the train had a much less beautiful departure scene. And by much less beautiful, I'm referring to the trees literally infested with shrieking bats. I am sure that this was a scene straight from the outer circles of Hell. It was creepy, but obviously still fascinating.

Nomelet with home fries. heaven.

When we got into the train station, it was also a lot less welcoming than Venice's and bordered on being as eccentric as New York's. For instance: I laughed for a good 2 hours about a man who rolled in on his roller blades, completely nonchalant, spinning and twirling on the information line.

Who am I kidding, I'm still laughing.

The train ride home was a breeze; no assigned seats so naturally all nine of us made home in a single car which no one else wanted to join in since we were so loud and gossipy. Perks of Being American.

All in all, the moral of the story is that all roads lead to Rome; still my favorite city... behind New York.<3

That's Amore

This weekend was the weekend of all weekends.

Perfect weather, three course [budget] meals, gondoliers, and strong drinks.


Venezia e Firenze.

We departed my beloved Rome Thursday night at 9 o'clock to take an overnight train into Venice. The train was an adventure in itself...

The nine of us girls were lucky enough to somehow be split evenly into three train cars. That means there was room for three other people to be seated in there...

Lucky enough for me, I got on the train and someone was in my seat! In an attempt to inform him politely that that was the seat I had payed for and intended to sit in during this trek, he conveniently asked "Parlez vous francais?"

Thanking God for my life and my
leather when we got to Venice.

I just can't escape it.

In a fury I pulled out my ticket and pointed to the seat number. Numbers are the same in every damn language, there was no reason he should not have understood. But a guardian angel was also seated in my car; an American girl who figured out he could also speak Italian and somehow got him up.

So I sat semi-comfortably and tried to doze off after we waited for the train to leave for minutes. Next to the four of us girls was a pair of random, unacquainted Italian dudes; one who was frantically answering phone calls and the other who seemed to want us to stop gossiping so he could get a peaceful rest.

I was not getting a peaceful rest when the cell phone guy got off and was replaced by someone I was sure was a merchant. It would be fine if he had brought his middle eastern goods to sell to help feed his family. It was not fine that every time I opened my eyes he was leaned over staring at me. At that point, I knew I couldn't close my eyes for a second. I let out a dramatic sigh of frustration and what I hoped had come off as aggression.  I took out my first generation iPod touch which could miraculously manage to allow me to type a note and furiously typed away just so he knew I wasn't gonna go to sleep with a pair of all too curious eyes in the same car as me and my leather jacket.

He got the hint that I was an assassin; the exact hint I wanted to convey. He grabbed his little rolly-bag of useless nic-nacks and left the car. I slammed the door and closed the blinds.

trekking to the water taxi at dawn. photo cred: J. Herro

By the time we arrived in Venice, it was 5:30 in the morning and I had gotten a full 15 minutes of sleep. The only thing that kept me awake in our somewhat muted scurrying of trying to figure out how to get to Campo Tomá on the middle of this island was the beautiful sunrise we got to watch from our Venetian water taxi.

However, after we found our hostel it was time for a nice nap before we began the day.

The day officially began at 12 o'clock when we went to a restaurant where everyone got pasta except me, who chose salad (for you Krystal), but of course wine.

A lot of wine. No better way to start the day!

After being vinoed we took to the streets to do as tourists do; this is not Rome, there was no chance for us to pretend we know what's going on.

Apparently, glass is a hot Venetian commodity.

Shop after shop of mardi gras masks, pinocchios, and blown glass. Throw a few 4 euro scarves in there and you have the attention of American college girls!

We ventured into St. Marco's Square, the central location of the island. A nice big piazza-esque area with lots of tourists and vendors. I was personally more awed by the water; it was gondola time.

We wound ourselves back through the narrow Venetian streets to come to the ideal spot for the boat tour. A narrow water passage allowing us to watch the sun set and provide a view of Venice's most famous bridge. Our gondolier, who is apparently a third generation gondolier looking to pass the flame to his son, showed us the house of Marco Polo and Casanova, boat garages on the water, and, by my request, a rendition of Nino Roto's "Speak Softly Love" in Italian. Nothing like murder tunes in the evening on the water, right Fredo?

It was a beautiful and romantic ride with some of the best girl friends I never thought I'd find (just missing you ave </3). In all honesty, it is kind of awkward seeing just couples in gondoliers. It is not very private, and everyone should know now how I feel about PDA. And it kind of also blows my mind that people do it anymore. I guess I just assume that all married men get sea sick since I know a certain grown married man who does. No names necessary.

It was definitely an experience that I will always remember and never regret paying XX euro for.

Pictures don't do it justice

We went to a restaurant on the water and me and my fellow Roman Catholic got calamari to honor the fasting from meat on Lenten Friday's while everyone else got chicken cutlet. God can't strike anyone dead in a city as beautiful as Venice.

I can speak only for myself when I realized I was exhausted from the 2 hours and 15 minutes of sleep I had accumulated in the last 36 hours, so we made the very rash decision of having an early night... once we got the free drink our hostel offered us.

It was definitely free for a reason.

Venetian drink... I'm sorry, no.

Having never researched or indulged in specialty city drinks besides Long Island Iced Tea, I cannot give the so-called "Venetian drink" a fair critique. So I'll just give it an amateur critique and say that it tasted like pure acid. It was bright red and I'm pretty sure there was a chili pepper in it. Who quite knows what they do on this little island.

We settled for gelato and went back from some rest. It was a long day of traveling and adventuring (hence the long post of writing).

Tomorrow [and in the next post I'm going to write after class] comes Florence.