Giorno 91, 7 April: Leather di Firenze

Hotel Marcello, Florence, Italy, Giorno 91. Leather di Firenze

      After a late start, in which Vinnie and I both slept through alarms, we all met at the Bavaria Hotel and booked all accommodations for the trip up until Portugal, which quite a while to find a place for all six of us. Finally, we headed over to the pizza place made famous by Jersey Shore (but to be honest, the pizza was too doughy and dry—and I’ve never really cared for Jersey Shore).

      Today was a shopping day—I bought a few gifts here and there, and decided to buy myself a white jumper with ‘Italia’ across the front. The instant Devon and Caitlin saw me in it they made faces depicting the expression one would think of instead of saying ‘wow’. Then I saw Vito and Joe and then Caitlin buy nice Firenze leather wallets and the temptation arose. I have a UK-size wallet right now, and a beat-up wallet back home, but I might never have the chance to buy leather like this again. I still left the store and joined them in a square, one that looked exactly as I had remembered it from my 2007 Europe school trip.

      I went back to the leather store and bought the 35€ wallet. On the front there is the Firenze flower and beyond the beautiful black exterior is a red interior. The second I bought it, I felt elated with energy, helped by the rich smell of the leather. (Yes, I pretty much got the same wallet as Joe, but mine’s black.) After this, I realized that this trip is becoming more expensive than I had expected, but I know it’s worthwhile and the memories will outlast the anxieties.

Gelato Galore

      An 80-flavour gelato store greeted us with open arms and we embraced it willingly. I got as close to a smoothie as possible, a berry one that Vito got in ice cream form. At some point I remembered Joe saying this line while we walked everywhere today: ‘Yeah, I skip when I’m [enchanted]. Walking is too slow. Running looks too weird.’ It was funny.

      In the early evening, we went to a market and bought meat (prosciutto and salami), brie cheese, baguettes, and merlot for a dinner up on some steps at Piazza Michelangelo. The joke of the evening was very cheesy: *someone whines*, then ‘Would you like some bread and cheese with that wine?’ (I know, cheese-y.) The view overlooked the city lights at dusk, the Duomo and other Cathedrals towering above the sea of red shingled roofs. It was beautiful but windy. On our way there, we had walked through the Ponte Vecchio after the stores had closed. On the way back, we passed the Duomo packed with crowds. It’s Good Saturday, I realized.

      Elsie and her roommate Amanda met up with us at Bavaria Hotel and they took us around the city for a little, the place we went had the silhouette of the world atlas lit with red lights behind it. I called it an early night to get up for skype with Katya. As I walked back, I kept being reminded of the beauty of Florence all around me.

The Beauty of Florence

                                          

Giorno 90, 6 April: Gondola through Venice + Walk through Florence

Hotel Marcello, Florence, Italy, Giorno 90. Gondola through Venice + Walk through Florence

      In the morning, Joseph was in the mood to indulge himself with a few cups of espresso, egging Vito to do it too. They did. Let’s just say that Joseph and Vito was in really high spirits today.

Me, arms wide

      A gondola ride for the six of us costed eighty euros altogether—and it was worth it. Finally I experienced Venice from the water, which I didn’t do my first trip in 2007 (same time I visited Paris for the first time).  Our ‘oar-master’, Venetian gondolier, spoke enough English to be our tour guide as well, pointing out the natural museum and a high school and the notable glasswork and lace of Venice. We saw from the stores today how loaded Venice was with glass and masquerade face masks. During the circular route of our gondola ride, we switched seats a few times to change it up.

      What struck me were the mere inches between the water’s surface level and the porches of some buildings. The water was almost going under doorways. Our respective tour guide told us how no one lives on the first floors of these buildings since certain times of the year those floors are flooded with the water from the canal. Venice is ever so gradually sinking. The city was inhabited since the 10^th century BC and built up since then, in which the 117 small islands that Venice consists of are connected by 409 bridges.

Joe arms wide, and Vinnie sitting

Vito arms wide

      After stopping at a local market to get cheap lunches, we headed back to the hotel and then to the train station. In the busy areas, we were constantly bombarded by street sellers who held up dinky toys in our faces. Yesterday Joe swore that if another street seller asked him, he would scream at him. Fifty minutes later, he did, scaring the rest of us too (and then we laughed).

      We gave ourselves a good margin of time to get to the train station, in case we got lost. This time we found our way relatively quickly through the labyrinth and headed off to our next adventure: Florence.

      Vinnie and I shared a room at Hotel Marcella two blocks from the train station, a nice Italian room with a window out to a pedestrian street below. The others stayed at the nicer Bavaria Hotel, but it was the luck of the draw. We all put numbers into a hat last night—No. 5 and 6 were the unfavourable ones. But the hotel had wifi and we liked it. The middle-aged owner gave us bananas upon arrival, as a token of hospitality.

Duomo di Firenze

      We met up with the others, beholding the majestic Duomo di Firenze as the central marker between our two hotels. This one is shaped as a dome, beside a thick square tower of a clay yellow complexion. Wandering around took us to a nearby square which held statues of Dante and Macchiavelli. There was great guitar-playing projected from the centre of the square, so we walked over to watch a guitarist singing American songs (Coldplay and The Calling, ‘Wherever You Will Go’) with a slight Italian inflection. His luggage was right next to the microphone and a stack of CDs lay close by too. It made me sad to think his gift had led him into a possibly nomadic lifestyle, one of passion marred by probable economic distress. Yet a musician is above all an entertainer, giving soundtrack to the rest of life as the movement of business, economy, government, and other institutions all pump the main bloodflow of rich money. Making it in the arts is just ridiculously difficult.

      We strolled out of the square and spotted the Ponte Vecchio, a bridge with buildings built into the sides of it. Somehow I instantly thought I might’ve seen it in James Bond. Joe and Vinnie kept going off on how the video game character in Assassin’s Creed, Ezio, takes on places such as Venice and Florence, how they remember cyber scaling the heights of the Duomo and being all ninja-like.

      At night, we met up with Elsie, a dear friend of mine from high school. She let us raise our ‘spirits’ in her apartment and we caught up a little on her life in Italy. She’s been here since the beginning of last fall on study abroad, becoming nearly fluent in Italian. She didn’t seem any different beyond a possibly more refined, independent spirit, warmed by the Italian sun. She took us out dancing, and I remembered that we had once done salsa together at my friend Vincent O’Brien’s birthday years ago. We did a little now before going off to Kikuna and having an ale known as ‘Dragoon’, one of Elsie’s favourites. My friends really enjoyed Elsie’s company and vice versa, which made the night all the better.

The Ponte Vecchio at sunset

                                        

Giorno 89, 5 April: Lost in Venice

Hotel Alloggi Agli Artisti, Venice, Italy, Giorno 89. Lost in Venice

       For two and a half hours in the evening, the five of us (minus Vinnie who had retreated to the hotel early) wandered around in search of San Marco Square in Venice. After a day of traveling, getting up late and leaving the Milanese zebra hostel by noon, we arrived by train in Venice in the early afternoon and wandered all day through the meandering alleyways of the labyrintheza di Veneza (okay, I made that one up, but Venice is a labyrinth of pedestrian side-streets).

      At the train station, we all had to say bye to Mo, since he had to head back to Norwich for a week-long class trip to Edinburgh, Scotland. We were sad to see him go. Vito missed playing Mo’s smartphone game called ‘Temple Run’, while Joe kept saying ‘Mo-isms’ like ‘chilling so hard’ and phrases starting with ‘swag’. 

      On the train I studied my 3-euro Italian translation book, as Vito did as well, and I picked up a little more of the language, at least enough to ask ‘what is the next train station?’ I need not have asked, though. One can tell Venice is next once the water becomes the only thing outside the windows. 

      The hotel being close by, we dropped down our stuff and headed off to a pasta dinner in a faraway square. The noodles were a little dry, to be honest, but it felt like Italy with the olive oil and vinegar on the table for the bread. Then came the glorious taste of gelato—almost all of us got three flavours, stacked high out of the cone. I relished this so much.

Despite how much I like food, I had two highlights of this day that didn’t include food:

San Marco Square

1.     Being in San Marco Square in the light of a dark blue, evening sky. We walked to the edge of the pavement near the docks and enjoyed the breeze. 

1.5. Since this occurred between the two highlights, this point is appropriately one and a half: On our way back from the Square, we just relied on instinct rather than a map, dooming us to a longer journey. But it was appropriate to take a scenic route in our one night in Venice. We were lost in Venice—and enjoyed it. We crossed over bridge after bridge and saw and photographed gondolas, canals, and white marble buildings. At one point, Devon’s feet hurt so Caitlin generously offered her her shoes. The shoes unfortunately weren’t a good fit, so the heroic Joe gave her a piggyback ride for a bit. Team effort right there.

The collapse of Vito's bed

2.     Once back at the hotel, we called it an early night (relatively). We all were in the same room, the girls in the double bed and each guy with his own single. It really felt like a slumber party—and it became one basically. As has happened to me a lot, the real memorable parts occur in a slumber party when the lights are about to go off. The first burst of laughter occurred once half of Vito’s bed literally fell to the floor. After five minutes of shifting his bed back into place, Vito balanced himself back onto the bed, but now his toes were literally in Joe’s face. Joe made a fuss and moved his bed toward the centre of the room. Then he played footsies with Caitlin, whose toes were now close to his. I got up to get something and then jumped onto my bed, making a loud sound of wood cracking. Another bed astray. Luckily, the boards had just slipped, so Joe helped me put them back into place. Next, there was the flickering light that wouldn’t go off until we found the right switch. The room started getting too hot too, so I stripped down, announcing to everyone that I was going to sleep in the nude. I didn’t really, but all the guys slept shirtless like me. Ghost stories concluded the evening and sleep arose soon after. 

Giorno 88, 4 April: The Tao of a Day in Milan

Zebra Hostel, Milan, Italy, Giorno 88. The Tao of a Day in Milan

      I had a good conversation with our most recent addition to our travel group, Devon, about how we’re traveling. We take our day in a new city not frantically, not stressed-out, not up early to do as much as we possibly can do—we let what happens happen. This day exemplified this Tao method of traveling.

      The morning and noon were spent orienting ourselves to the rest of our time in Italy, days in each place, hostels found, and other things. Unfortunately, I was too stressed out about my own return trip to Norwich, England, to contribute to the group. I did get my plane and train tickets back, though.

Joe conquering the cheese...
before it conquered him.

      The free breakfast at the hostel was skimpy, lasting us only an hour or two. The first stop on our day pilgrimage of Milan was lunch. Only Vinnie, Devon, and I had pasta—the other four chowed down on ridiculously cheesy and huge, thin-crust pizzas. A tomato base is not common forl Italian pizzas, so the ones they ordered had SO MUCH CHEESE. But really. There were side-effects for everyone save Mo: Vito, Joseph, and Caitlin were so full they moved slower when they walked. It was hilarious to look at their almost pained faces. Meanwhile, Mo merely skipped and hopped for joy. But still, so much cheese.

Vito under A Vittorio Emanuele

      We planned the day as we went along. We stopped at the roundabout and street-corner marble statues and finally found the Piazza Duomo. Vito got really excited to see his name on the title of the glorious shopping centre, A Vittorio Emanuele, shaped as a brilliant archway stretching out far into the centre. Once we stepped in the plaza, the Duomo di Milano (the cathedral) came into view and took our breath away. A rumour circulated in our group that it took 500 years to build—I almost believed it, as I looked at the elaborate exterior that impresses one with an all-mighty, godly presence in its majestic size and beauty. 

      Despite wearing shorts, all of us but Vinnie got in (in Italy, there is a custom of wearing trousers and relatively nice clothes to visit a Cathedral or sacred site). Vinnie was wearing sandals, which somehow inspired me later to do the same back at the hostel for the evening. (That also had bad results.)

Devon, Vinnie, and Mo feeding the
pigeons in the Piazza Duomo

      Once inside, the beauty reminded me of the French Sacre-coeur that I visited with Katya. The vaulted ceilings always inspire me to feel the power of man as meek and modest compared to the architectural manifestation of a godly presence. This is the rhetoric of religion, etched in the pillars and arches, supporting man below as an infinitesimal being in the face of spatial infinity.

      There was a downstairs area, giving views of a crypt through metal bars in the dimness of candle light. In the main one, an ominous room held a golden chest within the base of an altar table. The white table was balanced by trios of candles on both sides of its surface, while the four corners of the inner room held candles from the ceiling by chains. This really made for a ‘da Vinci code’ moment. To add to that, a statue of Leonardo da Vinci himself was at the end of the shopping centre as we passed through.

      On our stop in the mall, Vito bought a hamburger to tease the mighty Mo who had conquered the pizzaland of cheese earlier. Mo refused it, but just before giving it to the pigeons, Vito spotted a homeless man on the ground and gave it to him. Witnessing that lightened my heart a bit. 

Vito and I outside the Castello

     I took command of the map as we drifted through the streets and the dribble of rain until we reached the Castello Sforzesco. Throughout this day, we played as we walked, abusing our pun game to death (‘Hey there are fish in that pond!’ ‘Ah, that’s e-fish-cent.’ and ‘Caitlin shot the football into the trash can.’ ‘Ah, what a trashy shot!’). Vinnie bought a mini-football (soccer ball) outside the castle as Joseph, Devon, and I were weirdly entranced by two cats in the grassy moat below the drawbridge. Off to get rats in the castle, we assumed.

        There was a gloriously big park behind the castle and that was our playground for hours: looking below a small bridge at our reflections made me feel a little like we were in a Winnie-the-Pooh setting, almost playing the game of seeing a twig go under the bridge and waiting for it on the other side. Caitlin captured a beautiful camera shot of all of us on the bridge. 

This was the bridge we stopped at.

      We found a series of chairs entrenched within cement steps in the shape of a stadium seating arrangement and attempted football shots into the trash can below us. Then we headed to an actual playground and acted like children, heading for the swings and the slides. It was so peaceful, so nice to be playing in a beautiful city.

      Taking the metro back, we stopped at the store for salads and some of us took naps once we got back to the hostel. I found time to email, realizing that my bank suspected fraud on my account for booking a flight to Norwich from Portugal and my phone couldn’t connect with the international numbers given. I was able to call my dad who helped out. My account’s fine now. Unfortunately, my phone is now out of credit.

      I spent time with my friends in the game areas of the hostel, but once we headed out to taxi our way to a club, I absent-mindedly had kept my sandals and shorts on from earlier. I basically got a taxi back right away and fell asleep for nine hours.

      Overall, there was no set structure to the day—we let ourselves relax into the Tao of effortless travels through the parks and air of this sunny day in Milan.

Giorno 87, 3 April: Migration to Milan and the Fall

Zebra Hostel, Milan, Italy, Giorno 87. Migration to Milan and the Fall

      The day was predominantly a traveling one, finding out about the slowness of Dutch trains in Amsterdam and the odd lenient security at the airport. On the 90-minute plane, I read a good bit of Stephen King’s Different Seasons, a collection of short stories starting with the one that inspired the movie The Shawshank Redemption. The prisoner’s narrative voice is so convincing.

      Once in Milan, our idea to rent cars turned ugly, 300€ plus 20€ for car insurance daily (we’d be using the car for 5 days) and one of us would have to be 25 years old to ride a van (we’d need one to fit all of us. There are now seven of us: Liam left us in Amsterdam and a Canadian girl named Devon, also an international studying abroad at UEA).

      Lugging my bags hurts. Each time I feel the weight of my gigantic, green duffel bag, the weight of my regret for taking almost all my clothes from Norwich increases. Vinnie gratefully helped me out as we walked to our hostel from the metro station, though. And my friends had all offered to help decrease the weight of my luggage at airport check-in in Amsterdam if need be. Joe particularly, and he had even brought me some things from breakfast my first morning in Amsterdam, which was really considerate. As for the luggage, it was under the 20-kg. maximum, but still, 15.4-kg. is no feather.

ZEBRA PRINT!

      Once at the hostel, that is definitely covered by zebra print designs on the walls everywhere, we all went to a pizza place and dealt with the language barrier as best we could. I got pizza alla zola, I think, when I meant to get a meat one. Oh well. And we tipped horrendously too much, but the two servers did put up with us in their otherwise quiet restaurant.

Gelato! And a Happy Mo.

      We headed to the market for water and enchanted bottles for the evening, then to a nearby gelato place with dark chocolate as an option (I definitely had a scope), and finally back to the hostel for most of the evening, playing cards and ping pong/sting pong. Vinnie (annoyingly) did really well in the latter. When we did go out, I foolishly took Vinnie too seriously about racing along the pavement and I ran. I haven’t really run in two weeks, but even though I know it’s vacation, my body misses it. This time, though, my boots tripped me up mid-run and I slid to the pavement, friction causing blood to dribble from my knees and right hand. My right hand bore the worst pain from my fall on all fours, since I may get a casual wrist cast for a few days. I am still able to type this with both hands, but my wrist has slightly limited motion compared to my left.

Dinner

      I felt dumb for doing that. Strangely, the pain at the time brought me into a state of homesickness, particularly missing a person from home that had just visited me, Katya. The good-bye was really sad, making me numb myself to it at some points and deal with it at others, and the fact that she’s no longer here stings a bit, more than my right hand. Email correspondences and our transition back into long distance hurts more than the first parting in January. She was physically in my arms a few days ago and now there are only her words upon a screen. And as much as the sites and cities are amazing, there is no replacement for home.

      Still, I’ve finally made it to Italy and I’m excited for what lies next.

Day 86, 2 April: Biking in the Breeze of Amsterdam

Heart of Amsterdam Hostel, Day 86. Biking In the Breeze of Amsterdam

      The day was not marked by seeing the Van Gogh museum or hitting the touristy spots (for the most part) or going to the Anne Frank museum. Instead, Vinnie, Mo, Caitlin, and I went off to rent discount bicycles and we toured the city in its wholeness without trains or cars or buses or pained feet. The streets are lined with bicycle paths and the alleys are full to the brim with parked bikes. The city lives and circulates bicycles in as never-ending a cycle as the bike wheels themselves.

      After Joseph, Liam, and Vito went off to help celebrate Liam’s birthday today (great way to do it in Amsterdam), the four of us tried the walkie-talkie idea with them for a bit, but as a siren sound came on un-ceaselessly, we turned it off and did our own thing with the bikes. I honesty can’t say where we rode, except we made it to the Anne Frank museum to see just how long the line was. Nearby was a cheese store with wheels upon wheels of cheese (another thing on wheels here). The sample of pesto cheese was delicious. Mo was afraid, but I convinced him that the green cheese was not poisonous.

      We all journeyed around, and it became for me a sort of meditative time to think. I think it started at Anne Frank, but I realized that I had the dregs of stress over deadlines for Berkeley classes in the upcoming fall semester. How can I live and see the next deadline or assignment as the next means of progress in life? Somehow I think it’s been somewhat implicit in my mentality. Yes, I’m a serious student, but the character of my life shouldn’t have that as the overpowering outlook. I’ve always been told ‘it’s just an essay’, etc., but as I try to give it my heart and soul through the tips of my typing fingers, it’s as if the essay is another kind of test, a test of worth, of value. It has had disastrous results before.

      On this bike ride, feeling the fresh air of Amsterdam at every stop and over each bridge and street (either along a canal or into a park or just in the general haze of the city centre), I felt alive and free. My friends were with me, coming up with really witty ways to use each other’s name in sentences. Oh, I’m in such Suspence. (Good one, Mo.) Oh, Mo-ve away from me. I just need vincentive. It was great.

      We never got a picture of it, but in one park, a guy definitely held a full couch in one arm and kept his other hand on the handles of his bike. It was hilarious and impressive at once.

      We visited the ‘I am Amsterdam’ sign and posed together and separately. We got a lot of pictures on Caitlin’s camera and I have this video of a quick scan through them. Vinnie did a lot of the camera shots on the bike and going through the photos feels like a story, the bike ride evident from the movement between photos.

      Later, we met up with the rest of the gang and Joseph’s friend who lives in Utrecht 25 minutes away by train. We had dinner and it took forever because Joseph and Vinnie had this obsession over finding a place that served pancakes (first it was ‘Dutch pancakes’, then we realized they would be mentioned as just pancakes because everything here is Dutch) and milkshakes. We turned places down because of it. If restaurants had one, they didn’t have the other. Finally we settled on a back-up (that only had pancakes), and ironically, neither of them ordered them. They got burgers.

      I had long talks with Vito at dinner and later in the hostel room about Eugene, Oregon, a place known for its track due to Nike and a very vibrant running culture that got him into running as well. We also share an interest in picking up more guitar and singing. On another note, Caitlin was constantly the butt of many Vinnie and Mo jokes, but she fired back equally witty responses. After dinner, we stopped for healthy food (and enchanted bottles) at a supermarket and then headed back to the hostel. Most of us stayed in tonight, but Joseph and Vito decided to make the long trek to a jazz bar at 10. It’s 2 now, so obviously they must be having a good time. All right, good night.

Jour 85, 1 April: The Farewell and Amsterdam

Hôtel Apollon Montparnasse, Jour de 85. The Farewell and Amsterdam

'Rôtisserie'

Katya and I started to pack last night, so the check-out was not as close a call as the London hotel. We spent part of the late late morning buying the remaining gift for Katya’s sister back home, and then finally made use of the Parisian specialty stores.

'Beckett'

      Paris is a city of specialized shops: patisseries (pastry), fromageries (cheese), rotisseries (meat), and more. Our morning breakfast on the go had been pastries up until today, when we settled on exploring the bread and meat. We bought a cheap mozzarella circle to complete our intended lunch of cheese and chicken baguette sandwiches that we put together ourselves. Yes, we bought a half chicken for ourselves. We sat down in the famous cemetery in Paris, where we visited the gravesite of Samuel Beckett (we would’ve seen more but the composers’ graves Katya wanted to find were at a different cemetery in the city). This famous modernist writer had one rose over his and his wife’s grave, enlivening the tribute with life.

      We also walked over to the garden near the l’Observatoire de Paris, and though we had intended to look over the city from the top of the observatory, we didn’t have time and so we just took timed pictures of us on the grass and spent our last hours together until June holding Katya in my arms and vice versa.

      The farewell was tough—too little time for it. At a random wall we dropped our bags and sat down just inside the metro station at Gare du Nord train station, since there were no chairs or benches. Katya cried in my arms. After twenty minutes of us in sadness, I finally really cried when she stopped crying, just about to go through the turnstile to take an underground train to the airport, Charles de Gaulle. We kissed through these metal bars when she went to the other side, still able to hold hands a little through it. I didn’t think of it at the time, but it was definitely like Pyramus and Thisbe in Midsummer Night’s Dream—kiss me through this chink in the wall. Finally we parted and I spent five minutes trying to find my way up to the Gare du Nord station.

      After a wait of two hours, I got on a train to Amsterdam. I wrote most of this blog of this past week at the time, after finishing Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. On that note, there is a devious edge to perseverance, as the book points out: obsession into madness. Frankenstein is as much a monster as his creation.

Amsterdam Centraal

      Once I arrived at Amsterdam Centraal station, I realized how ignorant and foolish I was to know not even what language or currency was used here. Well it’s Dutch, and it’s euros. I bought a hot dog and some meat slice and finally got my area codes to work to call Joseph and find out where to go.

      I foolishly just tried to get directions to the street Oudezijds Achterburgwal, which only got me still lost until I looked closely at the map I had taken a picture of on my black camera and recognized the street I was on. From there, I found the red-light district.

     I was confused as to why it was called the ‘red-light district’ until I saw a series of windows in a red tint and a girl in lingerie seductively dancing and looking at people walking by. I almost jumped in fright. These were window displays not of typical store objects but of live girls. I felt pity and gross. I didn’t really give a second glance, moving on and finally finding the hostel, Heart of Amsterdam.

      The coldness of the nightly solitude and the weight of my bags down the streets ended once I opened my room and the warmth of seeing my friends made up for the last few hours of wandering. Joseph, Vinnie, Mo, Caitlin, and Vito (Liam was also with us on the trip but not tonight) all greeted me in the room.  As Joseph told me, they had requested me in this room too, since otherwise my separate reservation would’ve dragged me into another one. I was grateful for that.

      Apparently they went to the Vincent van Gogh museum in the day, which made me envious. We spent the night around, enchanted, and bar-hopped a bit. Good night.