Don't Go to Venice

If you don’t have money, don’t go to Venice. Just scratch it right off your itinerary, Cheap-o Marx. If you have money, what are you still doing here? Go! Get a move on! Venice is beautiful! Stay in a beautiful Hotel right on the Grand Canal! Take a gondola ride! Hell, take two! Sip café lattes, sip water, sip wine. Hire a band of attractive locals to follow you around and play music. Do your thing Richie Rich, but if you’re broke, don’t go to Venice.



If you are broke, you may actually think it sounds like fun to rough it in Venice. You’ll spend all your money on the train to get there, so you’ll find a place to stay for nine euro a night. This will sound like an amazing bargain. When you first arrive in Venice (after missing your original train) you’ll wander around with stars in your eyes, taking in the city's beauty. You’ll have a bite to eat, take a few pictures, and before long you’ll want to head out to get settled. You’ll be staying “just outside of Venice.” You’ll get on a bus that doesn’t list its stops anywhere, then be hopeful enough to get off at the first campsite you spot. That won’t be it, dear friend, because let us not forget, you are broke. You’ll have to learn this the hard way by walking a little over a mile along an Italian highway, occasionally pausing to ask managers of comfortable looking hotels if you are still going the right way.
When you finally arrive at your campsite, you will be filled with relief. You will skip merrily to your tent, open it up, and discover it smells a bit like your grandparents’ shed. You and your friend Alicia will push your beds together to make it a little less scary. Your bed will fall off the back of the tent platform. You will attempt to heave it back on, but fail every time due to fits of uncontrollable, slightly manic giggles. Alicia will watch you in silence, convulsing laughter.



Once you have dropped off your purse, into which you have stuffed all your toiletries, pajamas, clean underwear and clean sundress, you will go to the snack bar to split a bottle of wine and pack of Pringles with your friends. The feast will steadily grow into a disgusting pile of junkfood.
When you decide you can no longer avoid going to bed, you will snuggle in your sheets (desperately trying to avoid using the sketchy looking blanket) and hear a strange sound. The sound will crescendo as you stare up at your fabric ceiling. Hoping, hoping, hoping. Good news, the tent is water-proof. The rain will beat down all around you, lightning will flash, thunder will clap, and you and your friend Alicia will laugh. What else can you do?



We’ll skip over the details of how you managed to get ready after your shower without a towel (you knew something was too good about packing in that purse) and jump straight into your second day in Venice. It is freezing cold. Cold?? But everyday in Italy this month has been unbearably hot! You will cry, but it will do no good. It is freezing and raining, and you feel incredibly stupid in your little sundress. You buy an Italia sweatshirt, you buy a café latte, and you buy a warm croissant. You never make it on a gondola because the only ones running are eighty euros a pop. You laugh it off, you run from store to store, café to café. You have a blast. You tell yourself it is an adventure, but when you finally make it home to Florence, you say to yourself: if you are broke, don’t go to Venice!!

Venice Round 2

Apparently others were later than me!! Off to try again.

Almost Venice

I stood on the platform in Florence for an hour and a half, hoping as hard as I could that I had gotten the time wrong. That maybe it was the next train…
I had arrived at the meeting place in front of the train station at 9:04 AM. I was four minutes late, but surely this would not have any great effect. I absolutely beamed with pride at the packing I had done: everything I would need for two days in my little Prada purse. I was too tickled with myself, swinging my little bag on my arm, allowing my back to be prominently displayed with all of its non-backpack wearing glory. My ticket was with the friend I was waiting for, so at 9:15 I checked the departure board for my platform, just in case. I was to depart from platform nine. I returned to my post. At 9:20, panic building, I did a lap along the platform, perhaps my friends were already inside? I raced to the meeting spot one more time, pacing frantically, then at 9:28 AM I sprinted to the platform, just in time to watch my train to Venice leave without me.
Maybe I was wrong! I thought desperately to myself. Maybe it was the next train? I resumed my post and waited. Tours passed in and out of the station. American kids shouted with glee upon noting McDonalds. A girl sprinted off toward a bus she just caught. I stood alone. My Prada purse suddenly heavy with clothes and disappointment.

Writing In Florence

I find that I feel most inspired when walking around Florence alone, with only my inner monologue for company. This does wonders for my notebook, and very little for my blog. The days are so long here, before my head even hits the pillow, I’m asleep. On some days, my notebook even suffers because my eyes are stretched far too wide to turn them down toward my pen and paper. How can I teach a pen to feel what I feel in this country?
A pen cannot feel sweat on its forehead from the hot sun, nor sigh from relief when a soft wind cools it. A pen cannot delight the taste of a delicious meal, nor grieve another course of pizza. A pen cannot perk up at the sound of a quiet melody piercing through the crowds of tourists. A pen cannot catch its breath when it flees at the sight of the Sistine Chapel, a Tuscan sunset, or a really great pair of shoes. But a pen can dance. Perhaps not in a Piazza, to the rhythm of a street performer, but a pen can dance along paper, back and forth, describing a memory, creating a path on which we get lost in words.

Pisa and Lucca

We took a day trip to visit Pisa and Lucca.
Pisa was completely miserable. Now, to be fair, the leaning tower is pretty amazing to see in person, but thats it. It is kinda like a trip to the aquarium when you are a kid who doesn't care much about fish. You run over and look at the otters, but then what? The fish are cool for a little while, but soon you just want some shade and a gelato. Unfortunately, in Pisa, shade is in short supply, and the day we went was oppressively hot. On the bright side, a bunch of the girls had to wear funny looking disposable shawls to cover their shoulders inside the church.



Lucca, on the other hand, was awesome. We didn't spend much time in the town, but it was quite posh and lovely. I stopped in for a gelato and had a very handsome gelato-tier giggle at my Italian, but other the that, we stayed mostly on the road around the city. We rented bicycles!! It was wonderful. I love bikes, and my friend Shannon and I thoroughly enjoyed peddling around stopping only briefly for me to dunk my head under a water fountain to cool down.

Cinque Terre

Last weekend, three friends and I went to Cinque Terre. Cinque Terre means “Five Towns” and is a beautiful region on the sea.
We started our adventure by grabbing a train… that was an exciting process. None of us had ever ridden a European train before, and my valiant efforts in conversational Italian had little impact on interpreting the squiggles on our ticket. After an excessive amount of wandering around, squinting at departure time signs, and questioning strangers, we finally found our train.
We bumped along happily, playing my little travel guitar and laughing. We seemed an unlikely group of friends to me when we first made plans, but there seems to be some sort of mysterious connection between all of us. The group feels so warm and welcoming, and I get the sense that these people will continue to be important in my life.
Just as the train ride threatened to lose its charm, we finally reached the sea. We fed ourselves, then hit the pavement in search of a hotel. We walked along on the water, on a budget, on a Saturday evening: things were not looking promising. We finally found a little hotel right across from the water, owned by an adorable little Italian man and his wife.
Their rooms were all booked, but they had a small apartment on the hill which they offered to put us in for two nights for less then what other hotels had wanted for one room. We took it. It’s a ten minute walk from the beach, incredibly beautiful, and huge! There is enough room that the boys didn’t even have to share a room, which was very encouraging for their delicate masculinity. Ladies don’t mind sharing, so everyone was happy.
We spent our days swimming, floating in the water drinking Sangria, and paddle boating. The paddleboats only held three people, so we took turns towing one person behind the boat, I took that position frequently, as the water was so wonderful I never wanted to get out.
Because the beach is so crowded, we didn’t want to bring things that we would have to leave out while we swam. We walked down to the water in nothing but our swimsuits, a few Euros for drinks tucked in our bikini tops. I have that unexpected exhibitionism to thank for the sexy new tan lines I’m now rocking.
In the evening, when we weren’t soaking up sun, we lazed around our beautiful apartment drinking wine and playing music. I wrote five new songs in one day! Cinque Terre, you are my muse.

Chianti

Today we went to Chianti. Oh my goodness. Before wine was even in the picture, the scene was picturesque. Florence may be the capital of Tuscany, but that picture you can draw to mind of the grape vines and rolling hills, peppered with tan and brown villas? That is in Chianti. Chianti is wine country, so appropriately, we went to taste wine and olive oil. It was amazing. The wines were delicious, and the olive oils were nothing like anything I’ve ever tasted.
Our guide was American, but incredibly knowledgeable. He told us all about the history of the region and details about the wine making process. It was very interesting, and I walked away feeling like I might not be as intimidated talking to wine buff now, what with my being able to read the label on a bottle now.
The real treat was lunch in between the tours of the two wineries. We ate at a small mom and pop restaurant that sat on a hill with a beautiful outdoor terrace. Up there is was cool and calm. The food was so amazing, easily the best I’ve had on this adventure so far. We were served a multiple course meal, but the gem of the lunch was a pasta that looked a bit like a wonton shaped tortellini. It was filled with pear and ricotta cheese, and the flavor was magical. It was sweet and savory, a bit like a pumpkin ravioli. I was in heaven. It was wonderful up there eating delicious food, drinking a wide variety of wine and practicing my ever-improving Italian on the little woman that kept bringing me my own dishes of food smiling and saying “vegetarian”.
It was a perfect day, and now I have a few short hours to recharge before a perfect night.

A Magical Place in Florence

Somewhere in a previously unexplored part of Florence, at the top of a million steps, there are a few more. The steps at the top of the million are large and perfect for sitting with friends and looking out at Florence.
The lights of the city twinkle up at the patchy crowd smiling back. The clumps speak in different languages, each enjoying their own pocket of home.
In the far corner, a young man strums a mandolin that tells the story of the feelings up here. It is happy and adventurous, nostalgic and beautiful, and somehow familiar, though I’d never heard it before.
The tinkling of strings intertwines with the chatter of Italians talking about love, and Americans mourning a lack of it.
As the song comes to an end, he feeling of the moment wraps up somewhere deep inside, and the private spell breaks to make way for community joy.

Uffizi

Nothing like an Italian art Museum to bring out the pretentious history knowledge that has been lurking deep inside. We went to the Uffizi today, which is a beautiful Museum. It is filled with masterpieces and pieces by the masters.
Aside from viewing the art, our tour was a little trying. Our guide had a thick accent, quiet voice, and tendency to say the Italian version of “Uh” between every other word. She was sweet, but her consistent stream of information about all the art got to be a bit trying.
As if her stream of knowledge weren’t enough, I took it upon myself to explain the “Remus and Romulus” story when a few students saw a sculpture depicting it and were a bit disturbed. Oddly enough, my enthusiasm didn’t sway them, but at least they didn’t mind my nerdiness leaking out…
Here it comes again, because now I have to briefly explain the story:
Remus and Romulus were twin boys, who were sons of Mars (the God of war) and a mortal woman whose father was king until his brother killed him and took his thrown. The two boys were tossed into the river to drown by their uncle, but were saved and raised by a she-wolf. When they returned to the world of man, and learned their own tale, they killed their Uncle and built two kingdoms of their own. After a quarrel, Romulus killed Remus, leaving Romulus confident that no one could challenge his city, Rome.

My Roommates

Slideshow

http://www.vimeo.com/25987634

The Becky that Never Sleeps

Well, last night was a no go for sleeping. I will try again tomorrow. It is 6:20am in Italy, and though the many hours I spent laying awake wishing for sleep were fun, the pigeons are up and so am I.

Our apartment is amazing. It’s huge! There is a small terrace off of my bedroom, just big enough to stand your toes on, but I took a few pictures looking up into the small space it looks out into. Today feels like a good day for taking pictures. Even though sleep was not in the cards for me, I don’t want to wake my roommates just yet, so I intend to sneak off and take some pictures of the city, then come back for them.

From the Stoop

Well, my recon mission wasn’t as accurate as I had hoped… I asked a shop keeper to clarify that I was at the right address. She paused to laugh at my pronunciation, as is the custom I am rapidly adopting as my new brand of comedy, then pointed me in the right direction.

I am pleased to report that this building is also charming from the outside, and also right across the street from a shop I fully intend to investigate soon.

I am early, so my luggage and I are sitting on the stoop in front of the building. I’m receiving a lot of attention by sitting here. I’m tempted to start playing my guitar, but I don’t want to be evicted before I’m even settled, especially if that would involve lugging my suitcase around the cobble stone streets again. They were much more charming without the extra weight or the swear words peppering my stumbles as my suitcase flipped on it’s side.

Jet lag, Cafe Lattes, and other academic subjects

My first real day in Italy is not so different from my first real day in Chicago. I am stumbling over the new sidewalks in quite the same manner. In Italy, I have more of an excuse for clumsiness as this is my first time in regular contact with cobblestones. It balances out with Chicago, however, because my playful remarks that characterize my charming awkwardness fall on deaf ears. Not deaf so much as caught up in their own thoughts that are akin to “What is that American girl saying? Are all Americans that clumsy? I should smile at her.” The smile doesn’t always come, but the rest is written clear as day on their faces.

Chicago and Florence really do have a lot in common. I know someone will roll their eyes at this, but it's true. Aside from my clumsiness being heightened in both locations, there is a similar feeling of activity and energy.  Plus, the locals love it when you smile at their dogs. This is a happy coincidence, as I am a habitual dog-smiler-at-er.

I woke this morning at 3am. At 6am, I decided I had better attempt getting a little more sleep, I still had an hour until breakfast after all. The next thing I knew it was 12:40 pm and the front desk was calling to tell me I was late for check-out.

After the world’s quickest shower and pack-up, I was back on the streets of Florence. The front desk is holding my bags until I can be let into my apartment. I did a small recon mission a few minutes ago, and the outside of my building is wonderful. Sto da favola!

In between the hotel and my recon mission, I strolled and searched for coffee. I first looked inside cafes, expecting them to be similar to ours: coffee, soup, internet. Cafes in Italy, I discovered, are more about wine. The place I ended up in, though I'm not sure what to call it, had coffee, food, and free internet. I am a lot more confident about communicating with the locals today. I’ve found that if I give it my best shot, they laugh good naturedly at me, correct my pronunciation, and speak English to me when I am completely hopeless.

After a particularly delightful moment for my waitress in which I attempted to ask for a napkin (un tovagliolo) I finished my café latte, biscotti, and (again to my waitress’ confused delight) orange juice.

Café lattes in Italy are out of this world! They taste like an amazing coffee-hot chocolate hybrid. I am already craving another, but I am contenting myself with sitting on a bench in front of a beautiful church, writing and waiting to see my home for the next month.

Chowing down after Ciao-ing down

Well, first I got cleaned up and dolled up to explore. I was strolling around really enjoying myself, but I was too intimidated to go in anywhere to get food.

I was feeling anxious about speaking Italian, and knowing what dishes were vegetarian friendly, and any other etiquette I should know. Finally, after a fair bit of walking around, I plucked up the courage to go in. While I was waiting to get in, I over hear this American mom and daughter talking animatedly and they reminded me so much of me and my mom, that I was stupid and impulsive. I told them it was my first time on my own in another country and alluded that I would like to join them if they didn’t mind. They did mind. And made me feel like a creep.

I scurried back to my hotel, and so it was that I almost went to bed hungry in the most exciting country food wise in the world.

The end gets happier. After deciding I’d have to go back out and get something, I finally reached a Pizzeria that I ordered from almost entirely in Italian. So, I ended up with a mushroom pizza to take back to my hotel room. I must have been so tickled with myself that I was letting off an extra confident glow because on my way out of the restaurant, an Italian asked me for directions! All I could say to him was “My Italian isn’t very good. Do you speak English” and when he nodded, said in English “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that is”. It may not have been the most helpful interaction for him, but I was stoked that someone thought I looked like I knew what I was doing.

I'm in Italy!

I’m in Italy! I spent thirteen hours flying and nine hours time traveling, and now I am finally here. After checking my large piece of luggage, I spent my initial time at LAX being eyed suspiciously by everyone due to the rifle-sized guitar I was carrying around. I hadn’t even left LAX, however, when everything switched to German.

All those flight related announcements you can barely understand because of the muffled mic became messages I literally couldn’t understand because they were in muffled German. If only Ferris Buhler had taught me a bit more then Danka Shane…

I needed those German lessons again when I got to my second flight, where a charming young German man new enough English to ask me questions and exclaim “wow” whenever I paused to take a breath.

In my first flight, I did not need to know German, I just needed a few courses in contortionism. Anyone who has ever flown in economy class of a double decker plane understands why civilization had to first invent deodorant, then invent the commercial airliner.

Once finally in Florence, I took part in the most stereotypical taxi ride of my life. I was proud, though. I managed to communicate with my driver completely in Italian, and he managed to drive on the wrong side of the rode and on the curb in the same journey. All in all, everyone behaved impressively.

My hotel is pretty adorable. Its small, but very charming and comfortable. After getting clean and cute I rounded out the evening exploring the city, tyring to take it all in.