Category: Italy

Now, if I ever find myself venturing to Europe, I do my very best to make a stop to visit my Danish family. During this trip, though, in order to see my whole family, I had to make two stops! Sara was spending the summer on the Greek islands of Rodos, but there were no non-stop flights between there and Porto. One common layover was in Milan, so I decided to make it a proper stopover, instead.

More than once during my travels, I’ve planned a stop in a place that everyone feels the need to tell me is undesirable. The place is boring or dirty or sketchy, etc. The thing is, by this point, I’m already going to this place, so the only thing someone is going to accomplish by raining on my parade is to make me unhappy!

It seemed practically everyone felt it was important to tell me that Milan was boring and the only thing worth seeing was the Duomo. This ended up putting me in a terrible mood upon arrival. I’d just left one of the most gorgeous and charming cities I’d ever visited, and now here I was, stuck in the Most Boring City in Italy. I was so sulky that I booked the earliest train ride possible out of town the next morning so that I could spend my second day in the small city I’d be flying out of.

I then dinked around a bit in my hostel before deciding to get it over with and see what little there was to see.

People can be so annoying! Within five minutes of stepping outside, I was in love.

The architecture was astounding. So many different shapes and colors were built into the museums, churches, and shopping malls. It was eye candy all over!

I happened across the natural history museum and popped in for a look, only to be greeted by my favorite – a whale skeleton!

Be prepared to be freaked out – apparently whales have fingers???

Crazy! Equally crazy (and slightly more terrifying) is this ginormous, ancient armadillo thing. (Normal armadillo for scale.) This thing was the size of a small car.

I was in such a good mood that I treated myself with some gelato.

Why is gelato not prolific and cheap and served by adorable Italian boys in Seattle?! Huh? I want answers!

Gelato in hand, I eventually made my way to the Duomo to see what all the fuss was about.

I get it, man.

This was not a structure to be scoffed at. This was a structure to marvel for hours on end.

The square in front of the Duomo was teeming with people and pigeons. Some of the people were even baiting the pigeons to land on their arms for photos. Cray.

Visitors were actually allowed to summit the Duomo, but I told myself I didn’t need the extra expense, so I explored the massive interior for a while.

That resolution lasted all of about twenty minutes, and before I knew it, I was high in the sky.

SO beautiful! The flying buttresses made for such amazing decoration to the views around us. Honestly, the close-up statues and detail on the roof was so much more awe-inspiring than what we could see down below, though that was lovely, too.

There was no time limit, so I stayed among the buttresses and sunset for close to an hour, walking back and forth, round and round, exploring all the nooks and crannies I could find. So magical!

By this point, I was thoroughly frustrated with those silly people who had warned me against the bores of this beautiful city. When I finally descended back to the square, I continued my wanderings to one of the large, covered shopping malls.

I certainly didn’t go into any stores, as they were all insane brands I can never imagined owning – Dolce and Gabanna, Versace, Louis Vuitton, etc. Every store was nearly empty, save for a couple men in dashing suits and a couple women in identical, tailored dresses who stood at the ready to follow around any customer who dared enter. Supposedly that is a desirable thing, but it just seems downright terrifying to me.

At one point, I came across a protest march of some sort. Wary of any complications, I kept trying to keep my distance and outrun them, but they kept cutting me off at the next block! Very confusing. As the sun began to really dip below the horizon, I made my way back toward my hostel and found a nearly-empty restaurant to pop down for a proper meal.

I ordered a creamy (creamy, creamy, dreamy) carbonara that came with a side salad. I was going to just drink water, but it cost two euros, and wine was only three, so wine it was!!! I was a bit aghast when the waiter brought out a little pitcher for me (I believe it was a quarter liter!), and my eyes bugged out enough to make him chuckle a bit. I didn’t come close to finishing the wine, but I finished most of the dinner and sent plenty of tipsy texts back home. Such a wonderful solo dinner date.

Still kicking myself a bit for planning to leave the city first thing the next day, I tucked into bed around ten and called it a night.

In the wee hours of the morning, though, I was awoken by a male voice saying, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Hey….”

“…Hey.”

….

After the umpth “Hey,” I finally determined that the “Heys” were directed at me, given that nobody else was responding. I warily cracked my eyelids and was met with an image of a young man leaning against the wall across from my lower bunk.

“….Hi…” I croaked sleepily.

The young man then explained to me that he had spent his night trying to go clubbing, but in Milan, clubs do not let in single men – only couples or women. (I later determined that this was a lie.)

I let the dude know that this was interesting. He responded with, “So, do you want to go clubbing?”

Keep in mind that I was still mostly asleep at this point. I informed my new friend that I, in fact, was sleeping, due to the fact that I had a very early morning ahead of me.

He accepted this response and smoothly segued into the standard traveler dialogue – Where are you from? Where are you going? Where have you been? What do you do? etc. This would have been all fine and dandy if this guy had not just WOKEN ME UP WITH A DOZEN “HEY”S AT ONE IN THE MORNING.

But he had. So it was weird. At some point, he told me an abbreviated version of his life story – he was a young Egyptian guy and had just finished travelling around Switzerland. He took this opportunity to sit on my bed, on my feet, so that I had to curl my legs into myself to avoid being squashed, and then he proceeded to show me pictures from his trip. They were nice pictures. Switzerland is pretty.

Switzerland is less pretty at one in the morning when a strange Egyptian boy is sitting on your feet.

Finally determining I had had enough of his shenanigans, I told the boy that I really did need to go back to sleep. He said fine, but how about a hug goodnight? Again, I was confused and tired, so I feebly accepted this weird middle-of-the-night-on-my-lower-bunk hug.

Things escalated when this dude wrapped me up into one of the most tender embraces I have ever experienced. I then became acutely aware of the fact that I was not wearing a bra, and I’m sure Egyptian Man noticed the same thing. Once this realization hit, I did my best to extricate myself from the hug, which literally necessitated that I peel this boy off of me. I then told him I was going to sleep and that he should go, at which point I laid back down to make my point clear.

He wasn’t finished, though. “Wai-wai–wait-wai-wait,” he said. “One more thing.”

I sighed. “What is it?”

He paused and smiled, “I am wondering… can we sleep while hugging?”

I was done. “Nope! No, no, no,” I was shaking my head and literally shoo-ing him off of my bed while he shook his head for a different reason and put his hands up in what I’m sure was supposed to be a calming gesture.

“No no no,” he said. “It is just hugging.”

“Nope!,” I said again. I informed him that I had a boyfriend who would not appreciate that one bit, and I told him he needed to go.

THANKFULLY, at that very moment, the other two girls in our four-bed mixed room came back from their late night shopping spree, saving me from I-don’t-know-what. The boy finally admitted defeat and retreated to his own bottom bunk on the other side of the metal wall between our beds.

Why do people do the things they do?

Believe it or not, I did manage to get some decent sleep after that, and when I woke a few hours later, I hit the road once again and boarded a train to Bergamo.

It was basically love at first sight. The area surrounding the train station is the modern city, lined with quiet streets and normal small-town buildings at this early hour.

Up ahead, though, was a little hill, and perched atop this hill was the old walled city. I made my way over and up in the cool morning.

I know I just called it a little hill, but it was really a decent climb, and by the time I reached the top, the sun was shining down on the fields and modern city below. It was so magical!

I was surprised and delighted to find that, for no good reason whatsoever, a small zipline was being operated at the top of the hill, spanning the distance from one turn in the winding road to the other. Zipliners flew suspended over the fields with the modern city sprawled below and the old city shining above. I had to do it.

It was quick, cute, and thrilling. Made me wish I had a GoPro, because they wouldn’t let me hold my camera while ziplining!

I was surprised to find that within the old city walls, the town was teeming with life and visitors. It was such an unexpected contrast to the sleepy modern city I’d been in just an hour or two before. I celebrated with another gelato.

The architecture in the old city, especially Bergamo Cathedral, was magnificent – so extravagant and glorious for such a small city.

Thoroughly enchanted by the quiet bustle of the town, I tucked into a little botanical garden and enjoyed the views and quiet.

Too soon, though, it was time to take a slow, winding bus back down to the train station, and then to the airport once again. Stay tuned for more on this adventure, but after a round of present-day blogs!

Until then,

Venlig hilsen/ ciao,
-Lizzy-wa

When I studied abroad, I signed up for a class all about Rome and the history of this city and empire. The one-credit course only met once a week. However, the big finale of the class was a four day trip to Rome. I took this class because the history fascinated me, and I knew there was so much to learn and see. I figured it would be a more valuable visit if I actually knew a bit about what I was seeing, and I was one hundred percent right. It was also nice to have a tour guide and travel buddies.

When I called my mom the week following the trip, she asked, “Did you see the leaning tower of Pisa?” My response was the title of this post.

But today, I will finally fulfill all her silly dreams!

I disembarked my train from Lucca and made my way through the thick of town. Apparently it’s orange season in Pisa, because there were some beautiful fruit trees dotted with ripe-looking oranges. The clean-up crews sure did their job well, though, because there was no fruit on the ground, and it looked like all the low hanging fruit had already been picked. Darn.

I was still in a little bit of a sulky mood because I didn’t have time to climb two towers in Lucca, so I quickly grabbed some gelato to lighten the mood. Works every time.

The walk through Pisa center was really quite lovely, and the sun was beating down.

The streets were brimming with shops, selling everything imaginable in the shape of the tower, from cakes to mugs to giant (and super cheap) piggy banks.

I also came across a 3 store (a cell phone company) and attempted to get my SIM card situation figured out. Unfortunately, though, and not much to my surprise, 3 Austria and 3 Italy are completely separate companies, so they were unable to do anything about my misbehaving card. I weighed the options for a while and finally decided it was worth it to shell out again for a new one. I just did not have faith in my abilities to get in contact with Austria during normal business hours, without a phone, to figure this situation out. This second SIM card was cheaper, longer lasting, and seemed much more official since I bought it at an actual 3 store instead of at a SIM card kiosk in the airport. I’ll definitely wait until I get into town and go to a real 3 store in the future. The worker here was pretty sure my problem was that I hadn’t gone into a 3 store to properly activate the international roaming. Live and learn. (I just wish leaning didn’t so often involve wasting money.)

After about a half hour of walking, I made it to the cathedral and the tower!

At first, the tower didn’t really look like it was leaning that much, but after walking around it a bit, I realized it was because I had entered the square from the side it was leaning to.

For my first attempt at a photo, I forgot the idea was to help the tower up, and I instead decided to gently push it farther into its precarious tilt. Ha.

Here’s a pretty good picture of its maximum tilt.

Pretty crazy. I then proceeded to take way too many pictures of myself trying to either lift the tower upright or stop it from crashing down on my head. Here are some of the best and worst takes:

Soooo yeah. I won’t even tell you how many more there are. Probably for the best.

I spent a little time wandering the rest of the cathedral grounds while I awaited my turn to climb the tower. (Oh. Yeah. The second tower in Lucca would have cost me €3 to climb. This one was €18. €18!!!!!! That’s about twenty dollars! Outrageous. But I also knew I wouldn’t regret the cost once I was up there, so I gave in to their evil tourism pricing and bit the bullet.)

The climb was spiral, hugging the outer edge of the tower on slippery, worn down stone steps.

But it was beautiful up there!

I do not consider myself afraid of heights. However, I get this little feeling in my core, like all of my organs hitch up just a fraction of an inch, whenever I look over an edge that isn’t well protected, or whenever I dangle my arms out over the edge to get a better picture. This feeling is one of, “Don’t fall!” Or, “Don’t drop your phone!” It also sometimes happens when I’m climbing, if the stairs or the railings are of questionable integrity or are really narrow or really steep. Rarely do I get this feeling in any other tower climbing situations. But up here, as I walked round and round the viewing platform, I felt this hitch each time I rounded the leaning side. It felt like the building was going to just gently tip me off the edge, and I found myself leaning backwards and holding onto the protective railing to compensate. A very strange feeling.

Here’s me on the leaning side of the tower:

Can you tell I’m a little tense? Haha.

We were only supposed to half thirty minutes up here, but I somehow managed to hide on the opposite side of the guard, so soon I was all alone! Woohoo!

When most of the next tour had come up, though, I made my way down. Didn’t want to get in trouble if they checked my ticket on the way out.

Great experience, despite the price.

Then I wandered the actual cathedral. Quite a beautiful interior.

I had a bit more than an hour before I needed to catch my bus to the airport. I couldn’t decide what to do with my time. Walk back and find something to eat? Have a picnic here in the grass? But then I noticed some walls lining two sides of the cathedral square, and I noticed people were on top of them. You know I love climbing things, soooo I did just that. Only €3 to walk the old city walls around the old town. I didn’t even know Pisa was once a walled city! From up here, I could see down onto the cathedral square and into the cemetery.

I did make the awkward mistake at first of going the wrong direction, so I was pretty confused when I met a dead end. Then I realized this stretch was really just for the view, and I turned around.

I ended up over the top of a tiny jungle, many backyards, and some Roman ruins.

I also had most of the wall to myself. My whole walk, I only ran into three other people.

Highly recommend this different view on the city! There were three exits, but since my time was a bit short, I made sure to take the first one so I could take a more direct route to the train station from there.

I was also very conscious about soaking in the last of my supply of Italian sunshine for a while. The rest of my trip would certainly require my winter jacket again, whereas here in Pisa, with the sun beating down, I wasn’t even wearing a sweater! Just a light long sleeve with a bunch of little holes in it. Craziness.

I had a little bit of trouble at the train station when I found out the airport shuttle was canceled, and then the bus that was meant to replace it just wasn’t coming. As my departure time crept closer and closer, I considered trying to get a taxi, but the bus finally rounded the corner and took myself and one other girl up to the nearby airport.

My flight was lovely. We flew over craters, snow-capped mountains, and a beautiful sunset.

I’ll miss Italy, but I’m sure I’ll be back! There’s so much history to explore here, and so much food to eat. And so many Italians to flirt with! Tehehehehe.

Ciao for now/ best wishes,
-Lizzy-wa

So now, we go to Lucca. Yes, I spent the night in Pisa. The place I booked was very close to the train station, which made for an easy getaway. I arrived around 9:30 at night, but I was not able to get into my apartment until 10:30. Why, you ask? Because, though my Airbnb host sent me a multi-page, over-the-top set of check-in instructions, and I followed them dutifully, he then decided to change the instructions last minute. I told him I would arrive at 9:30, and he sent the new instructions at 9:33. I did not receive these instructions, though, because my data had stopped working earlier in the day. Imagine my frustration and confusion as I stood ringing his doorbell for half an hour before someone else let me into the building. I then climbed five flights of stairs to knock on his door and ring the actual doorbell on his apartment, still to no avail.

On some spur of luck, sitting on my host’s apartment staircase in defeat and trying to figure out how to find another place to stay, I was able to connect to fifteen minutes of free WiFi and see his new, completely different set of instructions. Upon following these, I was brought to an apartment that looked nothing like the Airbnb pictures. It was clearly a completely different place. The room was larger and had an extra bed, and the room, the kitchen, and the bathroom were all completely different looking and much more dilapidated compared to the listing. Very confusing. Luckily they still had all the same amenities, including wifi and a washing machine. (The latter was crucial, seeing as I was on my second to last pair of undies.)

After an exhausting night, I decided I would take the next day off. I hadn’t had a day off all month. One of the only plus sides of this new, strange apartment was that it had a bathtub, and the listed apartment did not. Too tired to do my laundry, I told myself I would use the next day to sleep in as late as I wished, do some laundry, take a bath, blog, and get sucked deeper into my addictive book.This sounded like a brilliant plan, even though it meant I would not have time to see Lucca, a city highly recommended by my Dutch friend, Bart. But, there would be other times for other cities.I slept until one in the afternoon. It was heavenly. And I would have slept longer, honestly, but I decided to check on the status of the world and the weather and (this is where it gets tricky) train times and ticket prices to Lucca.

It was slated to be a beautiful day, and tickets to Lucca were about four dollars in one direction – practically the cost of a bus ticket! The train was only half an hour long and ran every thirty minutes. Ugh. I’m sure you can see where this is going.

In my defense, upon further inspection of the bathtub in the daylight (the lights were all broken in the bathroom, so I’d had to pee by flashlight the previous night), I found that it was not necessarily a bathtub I wanted spending extended amounts of time in contact with my naked body. So the bath was out. And if I only did laundry and lazed around all day, I knew I would feel like I was missing out on a beautiful city that was just so close by. Another option was to try to see Lucca in the morning before my flight and to see Pisa that day, but for some reason, rushing to a train sounded more motivating than walking out the door to explore the city right at my feet. So, I shoved my things in the laundry machine, praying it would do the trick, and rushed out the door.

I missed the first train by literally ten seconds. I reached the platform as its whistle blew and it came to a rolling start. Luckily, though, my favorite part of the Italian rail system is that your ticket is valid for any train to the same station within four hours of the scheduled departure time. This allows for a lot of fluidity and tardiness, which is exactly my style. I boarded the next train and waited half an hour for it to take off on a beautiful countryside journey.

I found another fun toilet at the Lucca train station.

It really was a very nice day; not a cloud in the sky.

I made it to the Duomo and discovered the problem with getting such a late start: everything was closing or already closed. The cathedral was still open, but the tower was not, and I slowly discovered throughout the afternoon that the same was true for most other places.

Still, it was a lovely little city, and it was nice to walk around in the quiet sunshine.

Below is the most famous tower in all of Lucca, Torre Giunigi. It is famous because it has a little tree park on top! Kind of looks like a Chia Pet from this angle.

Also found some fun street art. I don’t know if you recall the street art I found in Florence that was a worn down painting of Klimt’s “The Kiss,” but the lovers were wearing snorkeling goggles. This is kind of the next natural stage from that, I suppose.

I’ll admit it. I was immensely disappointed in myself for missing all of the towers. If I had known the closing times, I could have rushed to the one open latest, but this was simply not the case. Luckily, as all wise men know, there is a cure to such disappointments.

I guess a nickname for Lucca is The City of 100 Churches because there are soooo many of these guys littered throughout the streets. I found many of them, though definitely not close to 100. I think the first one below was my favorite from the outside.

There were also SO MANY TOWERS, as you can see. I so badly wanted to climb them all! The streets are really narrow in Lucca, and the buildings are comparatively tall, so it was impossible to see anything beyond the walls of the street I was walking on, and then BAM! A tower would appear right in front of me. Lizzy Heaven, seriously.

For dinner, I had some delightful pesto/walnut ravioli and wine. The wine was tasty, and so was the ravioli, once I realized the crunchy things were actually supposed to be in there.

Lucca was very pretty by night, as well, and amazingly even more quiet.

Another attraction that was closed (for all of February, in fact) was a palace and garden complex. However, Lucca is an old walled city, and the walls still remain intact. The only way to enter the city is through various gates around the perimeter. The walls are now somewhat of a looped park, and from up here, I was able to peer into the gardens! Can you see the little marble statues?

Since I was up here already, and I didn’t have a return ticket purchased yet, I decided to make my way back to the station via the walls. This way, I wouldn’t have to navigate the twisting city streets with my paper map in the dark. The path was practically flooded with joggers. I think I saw more joggers up here than pedestrians down in the city.

I eventually wound my way all the way back to the gate by the train station. Check out these midaeval-style doors and drop-down spikey gates.

And then I missed a train, again, by about twenty seconds. Ugh, can’t win. And somehow, this was the one time in the whole evening where the next train was an hour away instead of thirty minutes. I settled in with a vending machine cappuccino to read, write, and wait it out. I just can’t get tired of these things.

I made it back to my weird little room in Pisa, hung up my clean laundry, and went to sleep.

My room did actually have a nice view (pictures from the next morning).

Now, here’s where things get even crazier. I was driving myself bonkers with the fact that I hadn’t gotten to climb any of the towers in Lucca, so I devised a plan to wake up early, check out, go back to Lucca, climb a tower or two, zoom back to Pisa, see the leaning tower and anything else this little city could offer me in a couple hours, and be at the airport by three. A daunting task, I know. And these silly Lucca trains were out to get me again! I missed my first one by a minute, but luckily the next came in fifteen. The trouble was that to come back to Pisa, my best options were 10:42 or 12:42. There were none in between, for some crazy reason! The early train would only give me about an hour in Lucca, but the late train would give me less than two hours in Pisa, and the leaning tower is a long walk from the train station. Since I’d already spent the afternoon in Lucca the day before, I told myself that Pisa deserved a little love, too, and I booked the earlier train back. A whirlwind morning, let me tell you.

When I landed in Lucca, I had a mission. Straight to Torre Giunigi! (With some photo ops along the way, of course.)

When I got to the tower, however, there was a sign on the door saying, “I’ll be right back. Please wait here,” and the door was closed. Ugh. I also realized I was out of cash, so I used this opportunity to sprint around the city in search of an ATM.

When I got back, thankfully, the door was open again. I practically ran up the steps. Not the most relaxing tower visit, I’ll admit it.

But it was worth it! Just like it always is.

I counted at least fifteen bell towers within the city walls. Craziness.

Even though it was nice and shady up here, I was still sweating from my run up the steps.

But far too quickly, it was time to head back down if I wanted to catch my train.

So here’s the silly thing: as fun as climbing Torre Giunigi was, I really wanted to climb ANOTHER one so that I could see the iconic view of the trees, the tower, and the empty space in between. I walked quickly back to the city walls, but when I got to the Duomo, I twiddled my thumbs trying to decide if I should just stay and climb its bell tower.

An hour and a half in Pisa did not sound fair, and though everyone had told me there was nothing in Pisa except the tower, experience has taught me that a city always has more to offer than the one building it’s famous for. So, I (sort of) devised a plan. I twiddled my thumbs for so long at the Duomo (really, this was only a few minutes, but they were crucial minutes well past ten), that by the time I decided to go to the train station, I was cutting it really, really close. Like, I had to fast walk, and when I hit the stairs of the city walls, I ran down them. It was 10:35. Luckily, I had purchased my return ticket already, since both times I had missed the train the day before could have been avoided if I hadn’t had to buy my ticket at the station.

As I was running down through a tunnel in the walls, sweaty, holding my coat, and in a really stressed and frustrated mood, a group of three Italian teenage boys was walking up the other direction. The one in front said, “BELLaaaaa….” as I passed, and the other two turned to look my way.

Probably the single best moment of the trip so far. Bahahahaha. It certainly put me in a better mood.

After that fulfilling incident, I was a little more okay with boarding this train, so I kicked it up a little and actually stepped on as the conductor blew her whistle. Talk about timing.

Half an hour later, my train rolled into Pisa, but we’ll leave off here for now.

Ciao/ best wishes

-Lizzy-wa

I’m keeping it up with these alliterative post titles, if you hadn’t noticed.

Okay, so I met this Dutch guy named Bart a couple years ago in a hostel in Porto. I still haven’t gotten around to writing that blog, but one day, it will happen, and he will be in it, and then you will finally understand our origin story. That’s for another time, though. For now, all you need to know is that Bart the Dutchman is well-travelled. He likes to take two, three, sometimes four trips a year, usually a week long, and he will often plop himself down in a city and explore the surroundings throughout the week. This means that he not only has a decent sense of several big cities in Europe, but he also has lots of really great recommendations for smaller towns that are sometimes just as gorgeous and even more enchanting than their well-famed sisters.

Bart and I have stayed pen pals ever since we met, or email pals, if you want to be more technical. We give each other updates on our lives and our travels, and we sometimes offer life advice. (Though, to be honest, the life advice usually comes from his direction, haha.) Several times, I have said something like, “Oh, I’m thinking of planning a trip to X-place,” and he will respond with, “Oh, are you planning on visiting Y, Z, or W while you are in the area?” Each time this has happened, I had hardly even heard of the places he has suggested, and I certainly had not planned on visiting them. But, he has yet to steer me wrong! Because of his suggestions, I’ve visited several beautiful little cities that were never on my radar to start with.

I’m sure you can see where this is going. When I told Bart I was spending a week in northern Italy, he promptly asked if I would be visiting Siena or Lucca, “some of the most beautiful cities in the world.” By the time Bart had asked me this, I had not planned on visiting Lucca or Siena, but I had also not planned out my week in Italy. This was the chunk of my trip I was allowing myself to wing because I had faith in abdundant cheap stays and frequent, cheap, and reliable Italian rail service. So, when I decided I was finished with Florence, instead of heading straight to Pisa (they kind of go hand in hand, I hear), I planned to spend the day in Siena. I only allotted myself about eight hours between arrival and departure, but this ended up being enough time for me to relax, unwind, and regain my footing after my bout of loneliness the night before.

Unfortunately, my eight hours quickly became seven when I accidentally boarded a bus going the wrong way while trying to get from the train station to the city center. Haha. It’s okay. I made it there eventually.

A very pretty city, and everything was nice and close together to make it super easy to walk from one end of town to the other. I started out in the center of the city in a big, round piazza littered with picnickers.

It was ten euros to climb the clock tower, which is just enough to make me question the value of the climb, but I bit my tongue and bit the bullet. Was it worth it? Yeah. It always is, dude. Even halfway up, the view was nice, and I spied on these adorable cuddling pigeons.

Climbing higher, I caught glimpses of the view to come, and my excitement grew, spreading across my face in the form of a crazy smile.

Also, note that bell tower at the top of the window, ie: the farthest reaches of the city. I liked that bell tower, and I was very curious about what it could belong to. More on this later.

Soooooo yes. This view was beautiful. The city is clustered together in tight turns of medieval streets with endless rows of terracotta-colored roofs, but beyond that is rolling hills as far as the eye can see.

It’s honestly difficult to tell from the pictures, but from up there, I could see how the dark green hills were just hugging little Siena inside, keeping it safe from whatever lay outside their protection. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a view like this, with a city tucked into the middle of a whole lot of green. It really made me want to come back and rent one of the villas up in those hills and just read and drink Tuscan wine all day. With Marcello. Every girl’s dream.

Okay, so I’m going to stick a filter on a photo to make it a little easier to demonstrate some thoughts rumbling through my head, and because I like the pretty colors:

That big, attention-grabbing cathedral in the back is the Duomo of Siena. Duomo is code for biggest-cathedral. Lots of Italian cities have a Duomo, even though I once naively thought that was a special name for the one in Milan. But anyways. As I gazed off at the Duomo, I noticed the big wall-type thing in front of it (top left corner). I noticed it because it was strangely shaped and unfamiliar, but I also noticed that there were people on top of it. I decided that I wanted to be one of those people. (Foreshadowing.)

I snuggled into my favorite corner up there, warming up in the sun, while other sight-seers came and went. Technically, this tower had a silly rule that you could only spend a maximum of fifteen minutes up top, but I pushed it to thirty before reluctantly making my descent. I didn’t want to find out what the little Italian women guarding the storage lockers would look like when they got angry.

Unwilling (or unable) to leave the piazza and the views imprinted on my mind, I grabbed a calzone-esque panini filled with lettuce, tomato, and tons of mozzarella and plopped myself down with the other loiterers in the sun. ‘Twas delicious.

After eating what I could and packing away the leftovers for later, I made my way to the Duomo. While I certainly wanted to climb the strange mystery wall thing, I wasn’t committed yet in case this one also had a steep entrance fee. Luckily, though, a combined ticket to the wall thing (which they called the Facciatone), the cathedral, the museum, the crypt, and the baptistry was all on an off-season discount at only eight euros. Score!

I started with the cathedral, which was held up by blue and white striped pillars. Very unique.

Also tucked into one side of the cathedral was a small library filled with giant hymnals painted in gold, and the ceiling was something to rival that of the Hogwarts dining hall.

Next was the museum, with entrance to the Facciatone waiting somewhere inside. See a closer look of this strange wall below.

But enough of the museum! Show! Me! Siena!

Gorgeous!!! And that was only the first level! Still one more to go.

Okay, dudes. I know I seemed enamored by the view from the first tower, but this one was so much more special. I think was some combination of the sun starting to waver on the horizon, no obstructions from pillars or bells, and no fifteen minute time limit.

It really is quite rare to have a completely unobscured view up there in the sky. Towers are often crowded with walls, forcing viewers to peek out windows, or lined with fences for safety, encouraging risky photographers to dangle their phones around the wires to get a better shot. But up here, there was a railing about waist high (on my short self) and nother else.

There was also a bench (another rarity!) lining the entire walkway, and I sat myself down happily for over an hour, marveling at my surroundings. I wrote a postcard. I pondered life. I toasted gently in the sun. It was wonderful.

A couple times, I was left all alone up there with the breeze.

Soooo definitely took about a hundred pictures up there. And truly, I spent most of my time not taking pictures, so just imagine how filled my SD card would be now if I hadn’t taken time to just admire the view.

So I ran into an interesting problem sometime between the first tower and this one, and that is that my SIM card stopped functioning. I paid more money than I’d wanted for it, so the fact that it was misbehaving was distressing. It also meant that I could not look up closing hours for any of the attractions in the city. Honestly, the longer I stayed up there, the more surprised I was that nobody was coming to kick me out. And I still had that other mystery tower to investigate. When 4:30 rolled around, I figured it was probably best if made my way back to ground level, even if that meant leaving the warmth of the sun and the unbelievable view. I really don’t think I’ve ever left a view so reluctantly.

When I made it to the ground with a shiver, I remembered that my ticket included a couple more interest points, so I check out the baptistry and the crypt. I didn’t like the crypt.

Then I wandered. I found a tourist information point where I was able to snag a map since even Google had failed me without my SIM card. This map also had little tidbits of info on various points in the city, and I learned the name of the mystery tower. I also learned that is has a great view of the city from the terrace out front, though the bell tower is not available for climbing.

A view, you say? I was off in a jiffy.

Siena really is a beautiful city, though I know you’re probably getting tired of me using that word. There are only so many synonyms for glamorous, wonderful, pretty, etc., and I know I don’t trick you by using synonyms, anyway.

The sunset was giving all of the buildings a golden glow that was almost hypnotizing. I kept finding myself glancing to the side only to be sucked into exploring someone’s courtyard or driveway or front yard. It’s just that kind of city.

I was kind of pushing myself on speed, and I was surprised and delighted to find myself in front of the cathedral in only ten minutes. I’d forgotten how small the city was. And the view from the terrace was lovely, just as promised.

I slipped inside and wandered a bit, even sneaking around some turns until a creepy guy sitting in the dark said something to me in Italian and scared me away. I think I was on to something, too! Oh well.

What I was really curious about was what lay behind this open courtyard door. I thought it was some sort of exclusive community garden because everybody going in and out seemed to know each other, but I was sure the view would be better without the obstruction of the wall, so I eventually slipped inside that door, too.

Huzzah! I was right about the view, and if I was breaking any rules by being there, nobody said anything.

The pictures really don’t do it justice because the sun was setting behind Siena, lighting the sky but darkening the medieval city. Just trust me that it was wonderful.

After soaking it all in for a while, I made my way back down the hill and got a piece of prosciutto pizza to snack on.

When I made it back to the main Piazza, I saw a huge group of students, about half and half Asian and Caucasian. That combo sounds American to me, and sure enough, as I went closer, their babble grew and grew into the loud chatter of American high schoolers. I’m not sure what kind of school trip this could have possibly been because there were like forty or fifty of them. They rented out the whole front area of this restaurant and filed in slowly. I miss big school trips like that, even if none of my school trips were to Italy.

I actually snuck in the time to see a couple more churches, including the San Francesco church. This one was very big and very empty, and there was a loud priest-like voice playing on a loud speaker inside. I have no idea what he was saying, but it was a little creepy echoing through the cavernous room, so I made a quick getaway.

I also kind of needed to figure out how to get back to the bus station, but the station wasn’t on my tourist map, and my Google Maps had become so unfunctional that it was only able to tell me that I was somewhere in Italy. The details beyond that were nonexistent. It was a bit stressful, but I did finally make it back to the bus station thanks to some girls who turned me around as I was walking hurriedly in the opposite direction from my target.

I made it to the train station with time to spare, but I needed WiFi to get my Airbnb check-in information. Taking this as an espresso opportunity, I sat in the little train station café with a cappuccino and waited to board my tiny, one-car train to Pisa. Bye, Siena! You’ve been good to me!

Ciao/ best wishes,
-Lizzy-wa

Hmmmm… Where to start with Florence? I’ve been wanting to visit this city for a very long time. I think it was just a bit jarring to go to such a tourist-heavy city right after cozy, student-filled Bologna. I think I was expecting more of the same, but it was really quite different. My little train took me there in about an hour and a half.

(Also, let me just apologize in advance for all the different formatting in the pictures in this post. I can’t easily fix it right now, so I’m going to worry about it when I’m home with a real computer to work from!)

So. The first thing I did when I arrived was check into my Airbnb, called The Strange Uncle BnB. They had drawings of this strange man all over the house. It was a cute little place, and I had the Jungle Room, which they thankfully renamed from the Lonely Trip room after having a local artist convert it to a jungle paradise. They still hadn’t changed the sign on the door, though, so I was reminded every time I came home of my growing desire for some cuddles.

The location of my stay was amazing. We were right on an alley next to a large piazza and cathedral, and just around the corner was a street crowded with leather markets. I was tickled to see that the Italian leather purse I bought in Spain two years ago was actually made here, and I saw it hanging in different colors on several stalls. You have no idea how hard it was to not buy a second one in a different color. Ugh.

I think that’s another reason Florence wasn’t quite as nice and relaxing as Bologna – instead of being enticed to eat constantly, I was being enticed to shop. Dangerous, especially considering there really is not a lot of extra space in my little backpack!

Since I arrived in the afternoon, my first day was spent mostly wandering the markets and trying to convince myself not to buy anything. I did stop off for some dinner, starving from my lack of lunch. It was a little strange. I was pulled in by the pastas in the window, and I figured it would be sort of like pasta salad, but to my surprise, the man behind the counter piled a plate high with tortellini before popping it in the microwave right in front of me. It must have been a very low powered microwave, too, because after two minutes, it was still a bit cold. Haha. Oh well. The wine was nice, though.

I eventually and reluctantly pulled myself away from my book to do a little more exploring.

And then it was time for sleep. Well, first I took like… The best shower ever. Let’s see…. I’m trying to think back… The shower in my hostel in Rovaniemi was pretty nice – big, in a very boutique-style bathroom, and the shower in the hotel I had to stay in in Levi was a standard hotel shower, but that was only a few days into my trip, so I didn’t fully appreciate it. Since then, I’ve been jumping from shower to shower, and they all seemed to have little problems – water wouldn’t get very warm, water temperature would change constantly throughout the shower, nothing to attach the shower head to, etc. But this shower was newly renovated, came stocked with goji berry scented shower gels and shampoos, and was oh, so very warm. I sang in the shower for the first time in a long time. It was amazing.

Now, my only complaint with this apartment was that the whole thing had a sort of potpourri scent, and my room was so filled with this smell that it was very nearly suffocating. I actually couldn’t sleep because of my allergies. Every time I would start to doze off, I would wake up in a fit of coughs. With no other options, I swung open the windows (shutter-style!) wide as they would go and tucked back into bed. I told myself I would get up to close them in about ten minutes, seeing as it was about 35 degrees outside, but I fell asleep before I could do anything of the sort. My window faced into a little courtyard, so it was completely blocked by all of the street sounds, and church bells do not ring aloud until nine in the morning, so I was woken pleasantly after eleven hours of sleep by the cheerful sound of bells and the cool kiss of the morning breeze on my cheeks. There were so many layers of blankets and pillows on my bed that I didn’t even notice the chill. It really was a heavenly way to wake up.

I started my morning with yogurt, apples, and tea, and then I was off to explore Florence.

My first big stop was the Duomo, and gosh was this building awe-inspiring. It was very centrally located and only a few minutes from my stay, so I ran across it several times a day and had to stop in my tracks each time to gaze up at the beautiful marble colors.

I wasted no time in buying some art from a man in the middle of creating his next masterpiece. I loved his style and the colors he used.

Next, I happened upon a little church that had been converted into a museum, and it had a great view of the Duomo from the top floor.

Then more churches…

And a stop for lunch: tiramisu, a macchiato, and a panini.
This café was right next to Piazza del Signoria, the second most famous landmark of the city, right behind the Duomo. There are several famous sculptures and the second replica of Michelangelo’s David lining the square.

Then I made my way along toward the water, where there is one particularly famous bridge lined with buildings brimming with jewelry shops. I decided I would walk down the bridge itself later and get a pretty view of the outside for now.

I was so enchanted by the view that I propped myself up on the ledge and read for a bit.

If you look closely, you’ll see that there is a little man playing the arrow like a guitar on the street sign. This little sit only lasted about ten minutes before my fear of falling over the side got the better of me, though.

Across the water, I found some intriguing street art and the museum Palazzo Pitti. There was a gently sloping slab of asphalt in front of the palace where dozens of people lay enjoying the warmth of the sunset, and I decided to join them.

 

I carried on eventually in search of dinner, and I found it in the form of gnocchi rosé and a glass of very sweet sparkling wine. Definitely my favorite meal since that meat and cheese platter in Bologna.

The walk back the way I had come was just as pretty in the dark.

When I reached my little piazza, I sat on the church steps for a while to listen to a band performing American songs such as “Yankee Doodle Dandy” and “This Land is Your Land,” while a funny little man danced enthusiastically in front of them. I’m really not sure what was going on, because the men were clearly Italian. Trying to cater to the American tourists, perhaps?

Because I’d had so much luck with the open-air sleeping the night before, and because my room had re-stuffed during the day, I repeated my ritual of a warm shower and wide-open windows. It was another resounding success.

With my apples and yogurt breakfast this morning, I added a cup of rich Lindt hot chocolate that I made using packets I bought in Bologna. Gosh it was tasty, and for some reason the milk from the grocery store was also extra delicious. I couldn’t tell if it was just that I hadn’t had any milk to drink in a while or if this Italian milk was extra rich. 10/10, either way.

When I’d visited the Duomo the day before, the line to enter the cathedral had been wrapped around the side of the building, so my first stop today was to try and enter. I figured getting an earlier start would mean the line would be shorter, but it was actually longer, wrapping around two sides of the building! I resigned to stand in the line anyway, but luckily, it moved quickly, and I was inside within about ten minutes.

The interior of the building was not nearly as spectacular as the outside, and I told myself I didn’t need to climb the towers because I was planning to hike up to a view point later in the day.

I wandered to the northern part of the city and got lost in the pretty colors of the streets.

I was searching for the museum housing Michelangelo’s original David statue, but first, I came upon the art academy. Opportunity to pretend I’m an art student in Italy? Challenge accepted!

The main courtyard was lined with many marble and plaster statues. Several were missing arms, and most were missing penises. Ouch.

I walked in on what I assume was a classroom getting ready for lecture, found a very art-school-esque bathroom, and discovered a hallway covered in moody paintings. I was enjoying myself, to say the least.

I plopped down in the courtyard to read for a while as I sipped on another rocking vending machine cappuccino. I was wishing this one was a little sweeter, but then I got to the bottom and found a thin layer of sugar granules sludged in the cup. Ha. I guess I’ll stir before drinking next time.

Then I begrudgingly gave up the façade and headed over to the museum next door which housed the glorious David.

I admit he was pretty glorious.

There was also a room down the hall which housed a lot of plaster casts used to to make the marble sculptures, and there were videos lining the perimeter explaining the process. I liked this room.

Then I did some more walk, walk, walkin,’ all the way back past home and beyond. I stopped to grab some lasagna and wine to go, because I had plans for a picnic.

Here’s me trying to be cute while also forgetting I’m holding a garbage bag full of lasagna and a plastic cup full of wine. Ha. I scream ‘sophistication.’

My picnic location would be the Boboli Gardens behind the Palazzo Pitti. I discovered them after closing the day before and marked my calendar for a return trip. It was vast and very pretty, and I found a little spot by a fountain to enjoy my early dinner.

Then some exploration!

Time was running out, as the gardens closed at 4:30, so I hiked with a purpose up the long dirt path to the top of the hill, checking behind me every so often to see how far down the fountain was.

It was a long walk, but I made it to the top!

The views were, in fact, lovely, if a little bit obscured by the trees and the palace.

I was just making my way to try and find a better view around the trees when a very loud recording blasted from all directions on unseen speakers. First in Italian, and then in English, it announced that the gardens were closing and “we kindly ask all visitors to proceed to the near exit.” Ugh. I made a run for it down and up another hill, but as I crested the top, where I’m pretty sure I would have gotten a lovely view, I was blocked by a surly Italian man who gave one swift shake of his head and pointed me back the way I had come. Sad life, dude. I did manage to sneak around a teeny bit more to find some more pretty things before exiting. And this whole time, the same closing announcement blared around me. They were not messing around.

Defeated, though I was, I reminded myself that gelato is a great therapist, so I indulged in some chocolate and orange. Delightful. (Also, you can probably tell how tired I am by my deranged attempt at a smile.)

Back to the water, I wandered, with yet another view point on my list. Hey, I hadn’t paid to climb any towers, remember? I deserved this. And the hills trick my body into forgetting about all the gelato.

Then up, up, up, and wow. The view really was breathtaking.

It seemed half the city was up here, and the wide staircase leading from the upper viewpoint to the lower one was so packed with young picnickers that I had to practically jump over a few heads to get to the bottom.

Okay, soooo… It’s going to seem like I’m posting a lot of very similarly gorgeous pictures here, but just know that I took about a hundred, so you are really only getting a very small sample.

I found a little spot to sit, and I camped out there to watch the sunset.

For some reason, as I was watching the sunset up there with this gorgeous view and reflecting on the fact that I was leaving tomorrow and didn’t fall in love with Florence the way I imagined I would, I was stricken with a bout of homesickness. And then someone on that packed set of steps proposed to his girlfriend, to an uproar of cheers and applause, and I started crying. Ha! Public crying is the best. I miss my boyfriend more than that soup. I admit it.

The sunset really was gorgeous though, and I eventually got a grip on my emotions long enough to appreciate it before the chill set in from the lack of sun.

Even in the dark, the terrace displayed an abnormal amount of beauty. I realized I had yet to check out the bronze David statue, glued to the horizon as I had been for the past hour or more. The moon was doing a cool werewolf-calling thing behind him.

Then I jumped on a bus to take me down the hill and across the water before I did a last walk through Firenze.

Oh, and I wrote on the wall in my Airbnb. I’m not sure why I chose so many different fonts, but what’s done is done! In permanent ink!

That night, I had a spark of stupidity and decided to try sleeping with my windows closed. This caused me to overheat in the middle of the night and to be woken up by another tenant showering at 7am. I think the reason this hadn’t bothered me on previous mornings was because of the constant tiny trickle of noise from outside, whereas with the windows closed, everything in the house echoed through my tiny, silent room. Oh, well. Live and learn. For example, I learned I like sleeping with the windows open and I really really really want swing-open shutters and windows in my house some day. I kind of already knew about the latter, though. (;

Ciao/ best wishes,
-Lizzy-wa

Bologna, Bologna, Bologna. Oh, how you’ve taken my heart and reminded me what this trip is all about.

And for those who are ignorant like myself, just a heads up: it is not pronounced ‘bo-log-na.’ It is also not pronounced ‘baloney’ like the Oscar Meyer lunch meat. It’s some sultry combination of the two: ‘ba-lone-ya.’ My messy pronunciation got me laughed at, so I’m saving you from the same mistake.

—

Lol. I am currently sitting in a piazza while a little band plays and there is a man dancing in front of them very enthusiastically. I can’t tell if he’s with them or if he’s just having fun.

—

So, I had a lovely flight over to Bologna, with lots of snow-capped Austrian and Italian mountains in between.

But this did not compare to the beauty of this Italian city. Bologna is known as the city of arcades, which seem to be the name for the endless stretches of covered sidewalks aired-out by thousands of archways.

Bologna is a university city, and the story goes that when the city needed to build more apartments for the growing number of students, they didn’t want to build the city outward, sprawling into the surrounding hills. So instead, they built inward, thrusting the apartments out into the city streets and leaving covered sidewalks underneath this city of homes that starts one floor up.

There are also dozens and dozens of churches and cathedrals, seemingly on every block, and soooooo much food. Bologna is a food city if ever there was one. Wine, pasta, pizza, meats and cheeses and olive oil. Ugh. Drooling.

I started the morning with some wanderings while I waited for my turn to climb the taller of the two towers. (That’s actually their name, by the way: Le Due Torri.)

And then it was time! And it was a long way up. I remember my naiivity as I ascended the first set of winding spiral stairs and thought to myself, “I’ve climbed tighter staircases.” Ha! What was I even doing? Bragging to myself? Either way, this brag came back to bite me, even though it went unspoken. The short stretch of spiral soon turned into a boxy roundabout of uneven and heavily worn steps. The width, depth, and height of the steps seemed to vary with each turn. Sometimes it was fine, and other times, I felt dizzy clinging onto the railing with all my might, trying to ignore the fact that my surroundings were eerily similar to that scene in National Treasure where all the staircases spontaneously spring from the walls and fall to their doom.

And every time we came to what appeared to be a final landing, another spiral of stairs lay ahead. It was like an elaborate workout prank, but the glimpses of the view to come kept me eagerly climbing.

The top came finally, and the views did not disappoint! I really don’t think I’ll ever get tired of tower views.

**Unrelated update: the dancing man has stopped dancing, but he still sits nearby. He must be tired.**

Now back to the views:

I was wearing my heavy duty winter jacket because the weather was supposedly in the forties, but I was cursing it the whole walk up. I was grateful for the breeze at the top.

But all too soon, my time was up. Because of the treacherous steps, you have to buy tickets to the tower in advance for a 45 minute time slot. Then everybody goes up, everybody looks, and everybody goes back down again so as not to mingle with the other directioners.

Some more wanderings brought me to a Lindt chocolateria. A familiar chocolate, but this place had unfamiliar and exciting drinks. I chose to indulge, because that’s what I do. They gave me two spoons, and one was made of chocolate.

Then I wandered over to the fountain of Neptune and spent many minutes wondering why the fountain designer had decided to show the double-tailed mermaids in a constant state of lactation. A bold choice.

Next to the fountain was a library, and I took the opportunity to have a look around. This was a fun little library with a cute children’s section, funhouse mirrors, and lots of artwork (including depictions of Taiwan!)

I was searching for a comfy place to read, and I found it in the form of a giant baseball glove. A welcome surprise.

I later found the main welcome hall and yet more fun chairs, including the famous Arne Jacobsen egg chairs. My respect for an institution instantaneously doubles when I find that they provide these Danish chairs for their patrons.

My stomach had been nagging me for some time though, and everybody knows a library is one of the worst (and noisiest) places to be hungry, so I made my way back toward an enticing outdoor restaurant I had passed that morning. Their specialty seemed to be meat and cheese boards, and I chose one that included Parma ham, salamella, ‘bacon,’ squacquerone cheese, carmelised figs, ricotta cheese, and two types of fresh local bread (tigelle and piadina). Uh…. Does this sound like a lot of food? Does it sound too good to be true and too plentiful to be included on one plate? Well, for one, they served it on a wooden platter, not a plate, and for two, it was too much food but just good enough to be true.

I paired it with a glass of the local sparkling red wine, Lambrusco. I don’t normally care for red wine, but I figured the bubbles would help smooth the boldness, and I was correct! It was positively lovely with the meats and cheeses, which were themselves mouthwateringly rich. They were so rich, in fact, that an hour later, my glass was empty, but my board looked untouched. I debated between grabbing it all to-go or hanging out a bit longer. My book was pulling me in, and I had yet to plan out the rest of my stay in Italy. I resolved to book another night at my hostel to give myself the rest of tomorrow to explore, and I ordered another glass of wine to help settle in for more meat and reading. This time, I ordered the local sparkling white wine, Pignoletto. This was also delightful. I made a note to pair sparkling wines with meats and cheeses from now on. (And yes, even then, I was already beginning to plan a romantic picnic upon my return to The Boy.)

The Parma ham ended up being my clear favorite. Salty, rich, with multiple levels of flavor, this stiff, thinly sliced cured meat was oh so yummy. The salamella was a sort of salami, with a similar flavor but a more familiar salami texture. The ‘bacon’ was kind of funny. It’s appearance was like that of very thinly sliced, uncooked American bacon, but it’s flavor was more similar to the Parma ham, and its texture was like mushy butter. It really did smush and slime in my fingers.

A resounding success of a late lunch that lead into an early dinner, and by the end of it, I was content to wander a bit more before heading back to the hostel for an early-ish bedtime.

One of the main reasons I chose this hostel was because of the included breakfast. Meats, cheeses, yogurt and granola, fresh fruit, bread and Nutella, fresh juice… I was eating like a queen. There were some girls at the breakfast table speaking English, so I chatted them up. They sounded Australian, but they were actually from around London, and we chatted about our lives and our travels. On the far end of the table was another girl, and at first I could not tell if she was with the British girls or not. After breakfast, I went to pack up my things (my bunk was already booked for the second night, so I had to change to the room next door). Then the girl from the end of the table came to the foot of my bunk and we chatted a bit. She asked if I wanted to exchange contact info and maybe meet up for a bit, and this somehow transformed into us spending the entire day together, right from the get-go.

She was a sweet nineteen year old Brazilian girl named Teodora, Teo for short. The conversation was slow to warm up, but after an hour or so, it was like spending the day with an old friend.

We had similar exploring priorities, and we spent much of our time wandering to our hearts’ content and slipping into every church we came across.

I’d seen a lot of these crunchy looking pastries in street side cafes and pastry shops, and finally I gave in and bought one. After one bite, I noticed Teo’s smile was covered in a light dusting of powdered sugar, and upon further examination of myself, I found that the same was true of my entire upper body. It’s hard to make out in the picture below, but believe me when I say I felt like a walking sugar plum fairy. Teo took it upon herself to dust me off between bites.

In need of a restroom, we stopped for coffee at a little cafe, and I ordered two delectable pastries with a chocolate espresso, all for less than $4. Vienna seriously needs to take a page out of Italy’s coffee pricing book.

We went ended up back at the Fountain of Neptune and took some pictures – finally, a willing photographer!

And then Teo eagerly pulled me into an old university building that has two ancient classrooms open to the public. The hallways were adorned with frescos and crests.

The first classroom was once an anatomy demonstration hall. The entire room, and I mean, the ENTIRE room, was made of wood: the benches, the stairs, the ceiling, the walls, the carvings of notable physicians and anatomical researchers. The whole thing, with the exception of a grand marble table in the center of the room. This table was where dissections took place.

Highly sanitary, surely. And as I’m sure you can imagine, this classroom is no longer used for such purposes. Probably for the best, though it is one of the most beautiful classrooms I have ever seen.

The other open classroom seemed to be a normal looking lecture hall with modern chairs in rows facing a projector, but upon closer examination of the bookshelves surrounding the room, we found ourselves lost in a sea of famous texts.

We exclaimed and beckoned to each other each time we found an author we recognized. Euler, Laplace, Galileo, Avagadro. (“Agh. I hate him! I hate Avagadro!” Teo exclaimed as she snapped a picture of his book spines. “I want to send this to my teachers.” She’s an engineer, too.)

One of the hallways outside also contained plans for many famous buildings around the world, and I instantly spotted one I recognized from Vienna just a few days before! Small world.

A very pretty building, but the light finally called us back outdoors.

Then we embarked on a bit of an urban hike, or a bit of a pilgrimage, if you’d like. The story goes that one year, in the 15th century Bologna was having such a rainy spring the crops were suffering. In an effort to stop the rain, the people of Bologna planned to bring the Virgin Mary’s icon from San Luca to the city centre to be worshipped, and once they reach the city centre, the rain immediately stopped. This procession has been repeated every year since. However, because this procession often happens during the rainy season of spring, in the 17th and 18th centuries, this kilometres-long covered pathway was constructed. I don’t think such a feat could have been completed in any place other than the city of arcades. Teo and I decided to walk the entire length of the arcade up to the sanctuary. (Ok, so technically we started around archway number 300 on the way up because we only had so much daylight left ahead of us.)

It was a long uphill walk, but it was oh, so pretty, and we took this opportunity to test out our modelling and photography skills, respectively. (Don’t worry. Teo did a lot of modelling too; those pictures are just mostly on her phone.)

It was honestly dizzying and breathtaking to see the beautiful colors that were created as the sunset played on the yellows and oranges of the arcade.

And finally, just after archway number 650, we reached the sanctuary. We were hoping for a cafe or even a restaurant at the top, but we were greeted instead with an ornately decorated cathedral, a sunny, grassy field, and stunning views.

We did manage to find some vending machines tucked underneath the sanctuary, and I tried my first Italian vending machine espresso. This chocolate-infused cappuccino cost me about 75 cents. Delicious! Where can I get me one of these magic machines?

We probably spent very near an hour sitting up in the sun, chatting the afternoon away, but when the sun did decide to go down, the chill set in quickly, and we made our way hastily back down the hill. More modelling ensued.

This time, we really did walk all 650+ arches, and we rejoiced when we finally reached number one. It was a lot quicker on the way down than it had been on the way up.

We were starving at this point, but we were a little way from the city centre, so it was hard to find any decent looking restaurants. To tame the hunger in the meantime, we settled for a spot of gelato. Raspberry and lemon were devine, and I couldn’t complain about the price (less than €3).

I’ll admit that I was being fairly picky when we were trying to choose a restaurant, seeing as it was my last night in Bologna, a city known for its food. I really, really, really wanted some tortellini because I had seen it everywhere and had yet to try any myself. Unfortunately, it seemed that all of the restaurants offering tortellini were slightly out of my price range. We finally stepped inside a restaurant on a familiar street because our stomachs just could not handle it anymore. Teo ordered a pumpkin filled tortellini that was ridiculously delicious (I’m planning on trying to replicate this recipe upon my return to Seattle), and I ordered what I assume is a bit of a comfort food, that is, tortellini in a meat broth. I was honestly pretty doubtful because what I was really craving was some sort of saucy sauce, but I was pleasantly surprised with the tasty dish.

When we returned to our hostel, the British girls were shocked. “Did you just now return from when you left this morning?” they asked. “Yeah!” was our excited response. Their next question was, “What did you DO?” Tehehe.

That night after most of the hostel has gone to bed, an American boy came in, and we chatted for a while. We were actually heading to the same place the next day (more on that later!), and we chatted all about travelling, working, and studying abroad. He was studying in a city near Normandy for the semester and was taking a little trip to visit friends studying in Italy. Very nice boy. As a goodnight, he said, “See you tomorrow!” Unfortunately, he had a morning bus and I just missed his departure.

I started my last morning in Bologna with yet another delicious breakfast from my hostel. Today’s juice was kiwi, and today’s meat was ham instead of salami. The thing about these large and varied breakfasts is that it would be hard to recreate this on my own because of the sheer quantity of foods. I mean, if I only had two slices of ham every morning, it would take me a while to finish a package. The same goes for single slices of fresh fruit, or what have you. Basically, I’m saying I should just start frequenting hostels for the breakfasts.

I started with some solo wanderings through this pretty city. I kind of felt like I had seen all I really needed to see, so I was just taking it easy and wandering to my heart’s content.

Teo and I met up again just for old time’s sake and continued our wanderings together.

We found some more churches and some more side streets, and we happened upon a canal I did not know existed.

Sadly though, the time was fast approaching for me to catch my train, and nothing says “goodbye and nice to meet you” like a proper cone of gelato.

I’ll definitely miss my sweet little travel buddy! I admit it. I’m getting a bit lonely out here, and even though I was not planning for a partner, Teo made my stay in Bologna about twice as memorable and much more special. Now it’s back out on my own. It is seriously blowing my mind that it hasn’t even been a month yet. It seems like it was years ago that I was hanging out with those sled dogs in Finland. This trip is messing with my mind, haha.

Until next time…

Ciao/ best wishes,
-Lizzy-wa

What a pain! I was so proud of myself for completing my Berlin blog that I almost completely forgot about my my mini solo trip between Venice and Berlin. It wasn’t until I was going through pictures that I realized there were several between my Venetian boat bus and my airplane window views (see below).

But no matter. The short of it is that there are two airports into Venice. One is Marco Polo, and this is the larger, ‘main’ Venice airport. Treviso is smaller and serviced only by a handful of budget airlines, and it is technically located in another city altogether: Treviso.

I was trying to read reviews online when purchasing my tickets into and out of Venice because flights serviced by Treviso were often a third of the price of those serviced by Marco Polo. Say whaaat? No joke. A flight out of Treviso to Berlin was $33, and from Marco Polo, it was $80+. Why the huge disparity? Was the Treviso airport a pain to get to? Was it just the airlines? Generally, the consensus online was that the Marco Polo airport was vastly superior to the Treviso airport in every way. Specifically, several people said it took twenty minutes to get to Venice from Marco Polo (not true), while it took over an hour to get to Treviso (meh – maybe true). However, I’m a bargain hunter if ever there was one, so the longer commute didn’t scare me. There are some cities where an hour-long bus ride to the airport is the only option, so I figured I would live.

Another thing that swayed me was the option of exploring Treviso itself. Last year, I encountered a similar planning hurdle in Milan, where there are three major airports. I was flying out of Bergamo, which is one of the smaller ones, but it is in the town of Bergamo, and one lady online said that Bergamo is worth a day trip is your flight is later in the day. Luckily, my flight there left early afternoon, so I booked a six am train to Bergamo and spent the day in one of the most marvelous and charming little village cities I have ever seen! I even ziplined! I’ll really need to blog about that later… But after having such a great experience then, I was psyched to wander the smallish streets of Treviso.

Of course, due to my crazy planning, I booked a six am train from Venice, though by the time I got to Venice, I was NOT feeling that wakeup time. Add in the 45 minute boat bus to the train station, and it meant I would have to leave the apartment before five. No thanks. Luckily, Italian trains are the bomb, so my ticket was good for any similar train for up to four hours after the ticket time, just in case of a missed train! So wonderful! Why can’t all trains do this? Rebecca, Grace, and Duncan had a train leaving at 10:20, so it was positively perfect timing for me to leave with them and catch a 10:00 train to Treviso.

Once in town, I locked up my luggage and set the clock for three hours. Not a lot of time, but honestly, it was perfect. I truly think three hours well-spent in a city is better than three hours spent in bed or in an airport. Take the risk! Do the things!

I didn’t have a map, so I glanced at the one at the train station and began wandering. Seriously, though. This town was my jam. Venice was nice, don’t get me wrong, but if I had to choose where to spend the day, I think I would choose Treviso anytime.

The streets were calm, yet full of life. There were canals and trees, cobblestones and cafes, and it was clear that 95% of the people out and about were locals. I never once heard any English other than when I interacted with people, whereas in Venice, I heard more American accents than I have ever heard anywhere else in Europe. It was so refreshing. I really do hope to learn Italian someday! I think it’s one of my best languages, travel-interaction-wise. The accent just comes easier to me than for most of the others, and nobody questions whether I actually know what they’re saying or if I am just a perpetually smiley and oblivious little girl with bows in her hair.

I decided to follow the crowd and ended up on a long shopping street, criss-crossing through small squares and plazas and ducking under shaded walkways. There were also so many bookstores! I love bookstores! It has always been a dream of mine to work in a bookstore or a library, but quick visits do the trick until that time comes. In one of them, I found this adorable collapsable rain hat that I really, really wanted to buy, but it just didn’t make sense since I was headed for Sunny Spain in a matter of days.

I had only eaten a small croissant for breakfast, so when I came across a tiny little cafe tucked into the corner of a shaded street, I went in. Locals were flowing in and out steadily, so it seemed promising. One food I noticed in nearly every cafe in Treviso were these little triangle sandwiches on white bread with the crusts cut off, so I ordered one of those. It was pretty pricey considering its size ($3), but it was tasty and refreshing. I got it to go but changed my mind last minute and ate it at one of the outdoor tables while people-watching. I don’t think I saw a single person in a bad mood. Older couples, dads and daughters, friends, all happy to be out and about in this cheery town, just taking a stroll and glad to be in each other’s company.

I decided I quite liked my spot, so I went back in and ordered a latte macchiato, which seemed to be the only drink that could possibly be cold based on the picture. (It wasn’t). The barista then pointed to the pastries, asking if I wanted one. I couldn’t say no… I got a croissant filled with marmalade and waited at the til to pay.

The barista began stacking things on the small counter between us: the croissant on a plate, then my drink on a plate with a tiny spoon (she made the espresso in a tiny espresso mug before mixing it with the milk and whatever else went in there), then a tiny milk…. uhm… pot? jug? You know, those things that cream is served in, also on a plate. And then a little shot glass of water, plateless for once! I had to make three trips to get it all over to the little bar behind me, facing the windows! (It really wasn’t a big place.) I then stood at the counter some more, but nobody wanted to take my money, so I eventually gave up and decided I would pay at the end.

The coffee was soooo good. And the pastry hit the spot, too. I spent a good chunk of time there, eating, drinking, reading, and observing. At one point, a group of six or seven old friends came bustling in, and they all ordered macchiatos, which are not the same as what Starbucks makes. I think it was just a shot of espresso with a tiny splash of cream, still in an espresso mug. Then they all argued over who was paying. I was worried about there being room for all of them at my little bar, which only had two other seats, but they actually just drank at the counter, chatting constantly with each other and the baristas, before bustling out and seemingly saying, ‘See you tomorrow!’

So cute. And when I finally did pay, it was only four euros! What a deal!

I continued my wanderingss through the town after this, ducking into shops and churches whenever the opportunity presenting itself. I came upon this massive church at one point, and it took me a while to figure out if it was even open because there was construction being done outside, and there was a low chain fence surrounding the parking lot, but I found my way in eventually.

This church was huge, really, it was, but as I stepped inside and the door shut softly behind me, it became glaringly clear that I alone was in that church.

I could hear every point of contact between my shoes and the stones below, every breath, every heartbeat. It was…. very powerful. I spent quite a while in there, just appreciating the absolute calm and solitude.

After this, it was time to make my way back to the station. I picked up a fruit cup on the way, which the cafe worker kindly topped with orange liquor (how do you spell that? liqueur? liquureee?? gah. it doesn’t look right.) And then off to Berlin!

 

Venlig hilsen/ ciao,

Lizzy-wa

Man. I just realized I signed-off the last post with ‘au revoir,’ because I was thinking they speak French in Switzerland, but I totally forgot it’s German in Zurich. Dangit. I left a week ago, so it wasn’t on my mind!

At least one thing’s for sure: the Italians speak Italian.

I was scheduled to meet up with Rebecca, Grace, and Duncan in Venice, the city on water. I was very much looking forward to comparing it to Amsterdam, which is also pretty much built on water.

While Amsterdam and many other cities in the Netherlands are definitely surrounded by and criss-crossed with canals galore, Venice probably takes the cake, as cars are not even allowed on the island. It’s boats or nothing. No busses. No taxis. Just a water bus.

As I boarded said water bus to get from the train station to our Airbnb, I noticed an acute sensation somewhere in my bladder area that told me it was time to find a ladies room. This was an issue considering I had just trapped myself on a small floating object.

I knew the ride was supposed to take around 45 minutes, but that did not stop me from hoping desperately that every stop we came to would be mine. I began texting Rebecca frantically to meet me at the apartment as soon as possible so that I could deal with the situation at hand. I believe the conversation went something like, ‘I can be there in twenty minutes!’ “I LITERALLY HAVE TO PEE SO BAD.”

Finally, thankfully, we came to my stop. I waited until the boat came to a halt and excused myself through the crowd to the front of the boat. As I made my way to the exit gate, though, the boat’s engine came roaring back to life, and we pulled away from the dock.

Now, though I love adventures in the ‘let’s-go-do-something’ or the ‘let’s-go-see-something’ or the ‘let’s-go-eat-something’ sense, I am by no means an adventurer/ dare-doer. But as the boat slid past the shore, there was a very real moment in which I considered catapulting myself and my belongings over the gate and the water below in order to secure myself a place on this land-of-toilets.

I didn’t, though. I just stood there. Silent. Shocked. Sad. In so much have-to-pee pain as I don’t think I’ve ever felt before.

I furiously researched to find out when the next stop would be and was relieved to discover it was about five minutes away. But what then? Do I jump in the water and pretend I’m swimming? Find a tree? Break into someone’s house? There was just no way I would make it all the way back to the apartment in time.

When the boat pulled close to land again, we entered a park, and I all but sprinted to what seemed like a promising park bathroom.

Huzzah! I was not disappointed! Though I was a bit confused by the mob of old Italians who spent several minutes trying to explain to me that I had to give them some sort of cash donation for the toilet paper. *shrug.*

So yeah. Crisis averted. I realize it probably seems I talk about peeing and having to pee a lot, but if you have ever travelled with me or spent the day with me, you will understand that I’m not being overly dramatic about this. Hahaha.

After all was said and done, I made my way to the apartment to wait for the others, picking up a coffee gelato on the way. I was waiting for a solid fifteen minutes, so I had some quality time to people-watch our neighbors. General consensus: they were all adorable. One of my favorites was this little old lady who was walking her dog. She walked so, so slowly and seemed to put so much effort into each step, her hand on her back the whole way, but her dog was oblivious to this and trotted along joyfully and slowly by her side. So stinking cute.

Another favorite was a little old man who stepped out of the door I was leaning next to and got a shock when he saw me. He laughed and I apologized, and then I think he said ‘bon appetite!’ or something similar in Italian, with reference to my gelato. Tehe.

The gang was easy to spot because the locals in Venice walk very slow. They have nowhere to be, and it is hot. Rebecca, Grace, and Duncan therefore stuck out like a sore thumb as they speed-walked straight past the alleyway in which I hid, and which I had thought was home to our apartment. I was very confused, but I followed them out, convinced I had gotten the address wrong. Turns out they are just crazy and were trying to rush to get me, passing our home in the process.

The apartment was simple but cozy, and we had it all to ourselves. We took a minute to recollect our motivation and set out for the city once again.

When Rebecca asked me if I had any plans for Venice, I responded, ‘Well, I’ve been told the best thing to do in Venice is to wander, so I guess that is my plan,’ and we did just that.

Nearly every turn presented a photo-op.

And of course, nothing was so photogenic as the view from above!

All three of us girls were wearing skirts, and man were they going crazy up in that tower. I don’t even understand how, but the wind seemed to be coming up from underneath us, Marilyn Monroe style. Thank goodness there wasn’t a glass floor, because those below would have been getting quite a show! We finally had to head down because Grace and Rebecca couldn’t handle the action. Bahahaha.

Here’s Rebecca with her selfie-stick. So silly.

And me with some water…

At dinner, we ate next to a pair of guys dressed head-to-toe in bright florals and solids with ‘Florida’ written on nearly everything. I assume this meant either that they were from Florida or that they had just been, but they were definitely American and were quite entertaining. They asked if we had found any good clubs yet (nope!) and spent most of the dinner Skyping their lady friends. Haha. We even saw them later walking and Skyping, basically giving their girls a virtual tour of Venice. Cute but cray.

It started to cool down once the sun had sunk, so we weren’t as anxious to get back to the apartment after dinner. Lots of shops were still open, and I began really appreciating Venice as an art center.

Many restaurants had live music going, including one trio who played All of Me by Billie Holliday, one of my all-time favorite songs! I was so happy, and I wanted to dance so bad! Ack! Where’s a lindy-hopper when you need one?

The Venice area is also huge on glasswork, something I hadn’t known before. Nearly every other shop was a trinket store filled with souvenirs and glass sculptures, from giant fish, to tiny elephants, to gondolas. And since all of these are handmade, every shop had something different! We went into so many. One of the strangest I saw, though, was this one:

If you look closely, you’ll see it’s a rabbi about to circumcise that baby!!! Insane! It was part of a full rabbi-themed chess set!

There were also lots of paintings, sculptures and street artists everywhere, but the art was generally too expensive for my coin purse.

Something I positively loved, though, and would totally invest in if ever I become simultaneously rich and in need of eye care, were these amazingly classy and artsy glasses:

So wonderful! So hip! I would be so cool! One day. One day.

Some last night-time views:

And then it was back to the apartment for some long-missed quality time with my old roomie and some much-needed sleep. We had planned to wake up around nine, but I was the first to stir, and I was shocked to see it was eleven! Tehehe. Whoops.

First stop was lunch, where I got some super-delicious lasagna (with ham in it – weird but good) and some red wine, which Duncan and I split. I mean, Grace and Rebecca paid more for their water than we did for our wine, so how could I say no?

The pigeon problem was real at this little outdoor spot, and at one point, I caught Duncan trying to pet one of them on accident. Hahaha. They became less cute as more and more of them joined the ranks throughout the hour.

Then it was some more exploring…

And I found this wonderful bassist with a bass that had colorful strings that I was positively obsessed with. He winked at me. (:

Then gelato! I had mango and it seriously hit the spot.

Some wanderings through the central square…

We also found this amazing (and free) music museum filled with gorgeous antique string instruments. Pictures technically weren’t allowed, but I managed a snapshot of the workshop in the back where they were making actual instruments! So cool!

Some food…

And some water…

And then we made it to the city’s most famous bridge:

We spent close to half an hour up here, gawking at the views and being gawked at by people on boats and gondolas. It was just so nice in the shade.

We then battled our way through this busy, busy street:

To find more water…

And sunsets…

(Awkward order. Sorry!) And that was pretty much a wrap on Venice. Lovely city with lovely company. I also saw one of my favorite art pieces of the trip on our water taxi to the train station:

It’s a commentary on climate change and rising water levels. Looove it.

Until next time…

 

Venlig hilsen/ ciao,

Lizzy-wa

Before I begin this post, I am going to start with a disclaimer: I am trying to write all of this on my brand new tiny keyboard that I just purchased at a Tiger store on a whim. (For those who don’t know or remember, Tiger is my number one favorite store in the whole entire world, and they are based in Denmark.) Technically, the purchase was only kind of on a whim, considering I woke up this morning with the desire to purchase a tiny laptop to make writing easier. Luckily, this was much cheaper and a bit more practical. The disclaimer part comes with the fact that this, being a keyboard purchased in Denmark, is a Danish keyboard, and this mixed with being a mini keyboard means that all of the keys are in strange places. To make things worse, I have discovered that not all of the key labels are correctly, so when I want to type a new character, I just kind of have to poke around for awhile and hope I get lucky.

For example, it took me ten minutes to write the first three lines of this post because I couldn’t figure out the colon, parentheses, or apostrophe. So, I apologize in advance if any typos slip my review.

—

Now that’s taken care of, we can get to the meat of things: My Last Day In Naples.

I had one more day to spend in this Italian city, so I did what any girl would do: I left it. I woke up early, indulged in Francisco’s adorableness, and hit the town. I may have gotten a granita on my way to the train station. It’s all a blur, really. But I made it to the train station around eleven and went off in search for tickets to Sorrento, a coastal town that Rick Steves recommends to be used as a “sunny springboard” for any stay in the area. Too bad I didn’t do that research early on!

I ran into issues at the train station, and ended up wasting about half an hour because only one train company sells tickets from Naples to Sorrento, and they were located in the station’s basement. I didn’t get on a train until 11:45, but that still left me plenty of time until my 6:30 departure from the coastal town of Amalfi.

I had it all planned out: I’d spend a couple hours in Sorrento, book a ticket on one of the world’s most beautiful bus rides (according to RickSteves), and have another couple hours to walk around and get dinner in Amalfi before returning ‘home.’

The train ride was much the same as the one to Pompeii, but it contained on after the ruins to get to the coast. It was a little concerning getting to the city, because the only maps available at the station were €5 and I wasn’t having any part of that. I decided to leave a trail of breadcrumbs (figuratively) and try to not wander too much so I could make it back the way I had come.

Sorrento’s streets were much like those of Ischia, though a bit less bustling and with a lesser desperate-tourist-destination vibe. I liked it, though. Very serene and sunny, indeed. I had to pee pretty much from the moment I got on the train, but I couldn’t find any restaurants that looked enticing enough to offer more than a toilet. I continued my search, but I figured there was always the beach!

I did manage to find a very cute little gelato shop with a very cute gelato boy behind the counter, and he suggested I try the cheesecake and the lemon. It was an interesting combination, but very satisfying, and he even put this adorable tiny cone on top of the rest of the cone. So cute!

His scoops were actually so big I couldn’t quite finish it, but oh well.

Next, I continued my meanderings and slowly found my way to the beach via a long, windy street without a sidewalk. I had to dodge many cars and scooters, and twice I felt my hat lifted from my head and turned around to find it hanging from a low branch.

The beach was nice, but I was too scared about leaving my purse unattended to go swimming. I took a couple dunks, but it only cooled off the lower half of my body. Ha!

I sat behind some American girls, which was strange. It is always a bit unnerving for me to overhear Americans while in Europe. I came here to experience different cultures after all, not to hear American girls complain about internships and tanning.

After hanging out for a while with my book and a sandwich, it was time to head back to the bus station.

One last granita for the road (not a fan of the strawberry – bad choice), and I managed to snag a window seat.

The bus ride was positively gorgeous, just as Rick Steves said. It is crazy to think that people actually live in these amazing, picturesque villages.

It was also amazing that I didn’t die. The street was so windy and narrow, and it was always a bit of a puzzle to pass other cars, seeing as the road was really more of a 1.5-lane than anything else. At one point, we were passing through a village, when suddenly a horribly unpleasant and rather drawn-out thudding rocked underneath the bus. The riders craned their necks to try and see what had happened, and the lady next to me was sure we had hit someone. It turned out we had actually demolished a parked motorcycle!

The bus began a slow reverse, back up this windy road, narrowly missing several other parked motorcycles in the process!  I thought maybe we were backing up to get the motorcycle out from under us, but it became clear soon that it was actually to let another bus by in the other direction. There was literally inches of space between these two monster vehicles. I honestly don’t know how they did it.

And then we continued on, seemingly forgetting the motorcycle…

Because of all the hubbub, we arrived about half an hour late to our destination of Amalfi. I really wasn’t planning anything here except to wander and grab some dinner, but I became worried when our bus arrived at a bus station and sea port, but with no trains in sight. I had purchased a train ticket out of this place which was scheduled to leave in just over an hour.

I found a ticket desk and asked for the train station. No such thing, she said. Only boats and busses.

Okay….

I showed her my tickets. She didn’t know where my train was supposed to leave from, but it was not here. She made a plan for me to take the ferry to the town of Salerno, where I could catch a train back to Naples. Seeing as I didn’t have much other choice, I agreed, bought a salad, and was on the ferry in about ten minutes.

Didn’t see much of Amalfi, really, but it did seem like a cute town. The ferry was nice, too. Can’t really complain.

Then the train…. Then the walk…. Then my last night in Naples.

Overall, I would say Naples has a lot to offer, and people really underrated it. Much like my experience with Milan, I found that if you go in blindly and take the time to really appreciate all the city and area has to offer, you can find something special in any place.

That’s all for now. Copenhagen is next!

 

Venlig hilsen/ ciao,

Lizzy-wa

Okay. You guys saw my ‘plan’ for today, so I guess I don’t really need to tell you what went down. Right?

Ha. Jk. Here’s how it went:

First thing, I woke up and lay in a bed for a while. Standard. I was trying to get the motivation to get moving early, but that didn’t really happen. Around ten, I decided to mosey over to breakfast. And boy was I pleasantly surprised! Francisco had set up an entire little place setting for me and the last remaining guest to eat breakfast  (who never showed). Each setting had a plate, bowl, mug, croissant, muffin, and madeline. Then on the table was an assortment of teas, jams, cereal, and coffee, and when I opened the fridge, I found yogurt and milk. So cute!

I settled in with my book (er… kindle.. not proud of it, but I didn’t make the time to choose a good book to bring, and a friend had just given me a free kindle a couple days before my trip sooo…), and tucked in. After about ten minutes, Francisco rushed in apologizing for putting the orange juice away already, and he ran back from the kitchen to fill my glass. Seriously such a cutie.

After breakfast, I ended up…..

Lying in bed for a while. Ha! I was seriously so confused by my time in Naples. Never before have I been so lazy while travelling. It made me feel horrible, but at the same time I really didn’t care. I was catching up on rest and still seeing plenty.

I spent some time reading around on what to do since it was clear I would not have time to do the ‘everything’ I had originally been planning. I had been debating going to Pompeii, because I wasn’t really in the ‘walk around and look at things’ mode that I am in normally when traveling, and I also didn’t have a serious desire to see many petrified, lava-covered humans…. I didn’t think my tired brain could handle that at the moment. But still, even Rick Steves seemed to think it was a necessity when in Naples even only on a day trip, and the train was fast and cheap, so I figured I should make the trek.

I also noted that most people recommended the Naples archeological museum as the number one attraction in the city. I’m really not a huge fan of archeological museums. I much prefer paintings or other art forms, with natural museums coming in second. However, the archeological museum was made up mostly of art and objects excavated from Pompeii, so the general consensus on The Internet was that it was a good idea to see what had been IN Pompeii before seeing the empty, deserted ruins of the ancient city itself.

So off I went! I bought my tickets to and from Pompeii, giving myself a couple of hours to wander Naples and the museum, a couple of hours to wander Pompeii, and a train ride back that would get me in the apartment before dark.

On my way to the museum, I grabbed a granita and took a detour to the Duomo. It was closed, unfortunately, so I couldn’t actually go inside.

 

I wandered a little longer than planned and managed to stumble upon quite a few markets.

I also started being less freaked out by the city and more appreciative of its long, busy streets full of apartments and laundry hanging out windows. I realized that’s why Naples is so crowded all the time: practically every building is an apartment complex. There are just so.many.people. living in this city. They really cram them in!

I finally made it to the museum, where I posed with emperor Titus  (I think).

I took it pretty easy. Wasn’t trying to spend nine hours here like I had in the Louvre. Honestly, my favorite things about the museum were the museum building itself and the views from its many windows.

There was also a Secret Room, which housed ancient naughty paintings and giant stone penises hanging from about every surface. It was…. interesting to say the least.

As I made my way out of the museum, I found a really lovely little gallery of sorts, and I spent a few minutes listening to a beautiful rendition of Thriller by a girls choir (not pictured.)

Then, much to my surprise, I found a street that I… actually really liked. Like a lot. Like so much that I ended up walking down it for many more minutes than I should have given how close I was to needing to be on my train to Pompeii.

I don’t know what it was about this street. It was just a little less crowded, a little less loud, lined with shops, and I had long figured out how to cross the street without getting run over or yelled at. I criss crossed to the other sidewalk whenever I found a shop that seemed interesting. I peeked down alleys. I bought another granita. (Dude, it helps me cool off!) I was also whistled and winked at by a very attractive Italian police officer, so no complaints there. (Not like a creepy whistle. More like an attention-getting whistle just so he could wink at me. Bahaha.)

By the time I decided I really, really needed to be heading toward my train, I pulled out my map and realized I was kind of on the wrong side of the city…. To the metro, we go! Barely made the metro. Barely made the train. But I did, with spare time to grab a salad to eat on the way. And I eventually made it all the way to Pompeii.

So here’s where I kind of messed up again. I only bargained for two hours between the time my train arrived in Pompeii and the time my next train left. It was less than what was recommended, but I was tired and short on time, and I figured some time was better than no time!

What I did not bargain for was that the ruins were not right outside the train station, as I had thought. I went to the information desk, where a young Italian man informed me that it was a thirty minute walk to the ruins. I did not exactly have time for that, so I had to opt for the three euro shuttle bus. I paid my fare, was handed what was essentially half a receipt with something scribbled on it (Is this really a ticket? I’m thinking), and then I was told to wait near the door.

I went. I waited. I saw no bus or bus stop. And I also noticed that I was the only one waiting for this ‘bus.’

After waiting quite a while, I actually ended up getting a ride with the attractive information desk man. It was a little strange, and probably not normal protocol unless they do this all the time, but it did get me to the ruins in the end, so I guess I can’t complain too much. The information desk man was also basically a young Marcello, so that was certainly nice. We talked about Pompeii and my upcoming trip to Sorrento, and he told me to make sure to swim while I was there.

The conversation is kind of a blur, but at some point, he started slowing down and took the map from my hands to flip it over, then began pointing out where he was dropping me off and where I would exit and how to get back to the train station where he would be waiting for me (last part was in my head). I thanked him and then he said it was nice to meet me as I lithely flew from the passenger seat. He was much less terrifying as I thanked him and closed the door, but I still walked rather quickly toward the entrance gates as I made sure he was pulling away and not getting out to follow me.

Overall experience: strange, but left me distracted from the heat for a while. Advice to future self: next time, make sure there is an actual bus.

Right. So. Pompeii.

Pompeii was actually quite lovely, and in the hour and a half I walked around, never once did I see a lava-covered human. I didn’t realize this until after I left, and I certainly had not been looking for them, but I am glad I never came upon them.

The streets of Pompeii reminded me of my trip to Rome, which is likely to put any girl in a good mood. I was still tired and a bit homesick, but it was nice to enjoy something that made it feel like I was a normal traveler again. (Close encounters with swarthy foreigners help too, I guess.)

Pompeii was quiet and deserted, but it was easy to appreciate the life and commotion that would have taken place here once before. I loved walking around and exploring nooks and crannies. Gardens, boulevards, amphitheatres, temples, it was all gorgeous and calming.

^Part of a large square – reminded me like the Roman Forum

^Vesuvius in the background

^These are ancient toilets in case you can’t tell.

^I found a vineyard!

^Mini Colloseum

The time to leave came quickly, though, and I made my way out the opposite side from which I had entered. Marcello had said I should expect a fifteen minute walk from this exit, and I had planned for just the right amount of time. Walking through the modern-day counterpart of the ruins I had left behind, though, I wished I had bargained for more time! It was such a cute little town, and I wanted to stop at every restaurant and trinket shop. When I came to the city’s cathedral, I stopped to take a picture and a waiter joked around and tried to photobomb me. Ha!

All too soon, I was back in the train station. I took one last look at Marcello and silently thanked him for not telling me his real name so I could continue calling him Marcello, then boarded my train.

Back in Naples, I was seriously hungry and seriously had to pee. I thought I would run back to my apartment, pee, run to Da Michelle’s Pizza, then eat in the air conditioning of my room. On my way there, though, I passed several tourist restaurants lining the station square.

Now, when I say tourist restaurant, I do not mean they serve bad food. They are situated in a touristy area and cater to tourists, but I have never had a bad experience with a so-called tourist restaurant (except maybe one time in France). They display their menus outside, so I could see that the food was cheap, and most everybody eats outside, so I could see that the food looked good. The sun would set in about an hour, but I figured that would give me enough time to get back safe to my apartment.

I had to wait a while to be seated, but I was finally given a table in the back near the restaurant front and away from the street. I was situated in the middle of three two-person tables, with an adorable 90 year old Italian man on my right and a beefy middle-aged man on my left.

The wait staff was made entirely of middle aged men except for one positively adorable young waiter. He and the manager continually came by the check on me, and the rest of the staff would slide a joke or a smile my way every time they passed.

I ordered the gnocchi and some white wine and settled in.

I was mostly watching the little old man on my right, who stared off at other diners and said hardly anything to the wait staff. He had a full bottle of wine in an ice bucket next to him, but I never once saw him drink from his glass. He received a plate of two gigantic shrimp-looking things, which he cut to pieces but I never saw him eat, and then received a large plate of watermelon, which he doused in salt before devouring. I’ll have to see what that tastes like someday.

The man on my left spoke to me every once in awhile, commenting on the slow service or on how I should be eating my gnocchi (with fresh parmesan and olive oil on top) or how I should be drinking my wine (with a glass of sparkling water on the side). I thought about chatting with him, but he didn’t seem overly pleasant, so I figured I would just enjoy the meal.

He thought otherwise. His comments became longer and more detailed, until he finally said, ‘Now that the sun has gone down, now that it is dark, that it is night time, I give you some advice. You see that street over there?’ He pointed to the street lining the opposite side of the square. I nodded. ‘And you see this street here?’ He pointed to the street I needed to walk on to get back to my apartment. I nodded. Hesitantly. ‘Do not walk on these streets. You will be raped.’

…..

…..

…..

Oh. Kay.

Oh. Kay.

Uhm. No. Oh. Kay.

I am… quite terrified at this point. I have lost all interest in our conversation and in the food in front of me. I want very much to not be sitting next to this man and to not be needing to walk on this street that I need to walk on.

He continued to talk about how dangerous this city is, and how horrible this city is, and how horrible this country is. ‘In my country, Croatia, you can go on the streets and no one will rape you.’

I am desperately wishing he would stop talking at this point, and I am desperately wishing I have not been drinking wine, which I am just now started to feel. He tells me he is not trying to scare me or hurt me, but that he is just trying to make sure I am staying safe. But he is seriously freaking and creeping me out, tbh!!!

He finally stopped talking about the dangers of the city (‘I am telling you. Leave this place. First flight in the morning.’) long enough to ask about where I was from and what I did. He was a mechanic in the shipping industry, so he travels around the world on a daily basis, but for some reason he was just Not Feeling It with Italy.

I’m sitting here trying to figure out how to leave without being rude, when Cute Young Waiter appears in the nick of time to take my plate. I ask for the check and he asks if I want coffee or dessert. ‘Café, latte, chocolate,’ “Nonono, thank you.” ‘Cake, pudding, pastry, croissant,’ “Nonono, I’m too full, really.” ‘[insert many other drinks and desserts],’ “Nonono, really I’m too full.”

Then Croatian Man pops in: ‘She will have a Caffè corretto,’ he says. “Nonono,” I say quickly. The Croatian man explains what it is (espresso with a tiny bit of liquor) and how I need to try it, and I refuse again, chuckling nervously and shaking my head. The waiter asks if I am sure about ten times before smiling and leaving.

Leave me alone, Croatian Man! I am thinking. We chat a bit more, and the waiter comes back with the bill. I pick it up in time to see the total just as Croatian Man snatches it from my grasp and says, ‘I will take care of this,’ before placing it out of reach on his table and crossing his arms matter-of-factly. I look to Cute Waiter, he looks at Croatian Man, then we look at each other and simultaneously lift our arms in helpless shrugs. ‘It is no matter to me,’ he says, and smiles and leaves.

Well, GREAT! I’m thinking. How am I supposed to leave, now?!

I indulge Mr. Croatian Man in a few more minutes of conversation and try to decide how to escape. I think he ended up saying one more thing about how unsafe the city was, and I finally said something about how I ‘should probably be going’ and asked if he was sure he didn’t want  me to pay for myself. ‘Nonono, this is nothing. I will take care of this,’ he said.

‘Well… it was nice to meet you..’ I said. We shook hands and exchanged names, but he mumbled his and followed it quickly with, ‘but this is nothing,’ and a wave of his hand.

I thanked him again for picking up my bill, and all but ran to my apartment.

I made it there safely, obviously. It was just terrifying the whole way.

So, yes. A rather eventful and confusing day in Naples and Pompeii. At the end of the day, I did feel… a bit excited for the next day, I guess. Easy to be distracted from exhaustion when you’ve got questionable men to deal with, let alone free dinner.

Don’t worry about me, though! I don’t really know how to assure you, readers, not to worry about me and my travel decisions after reading this post, but please don’t worry about me. I’m smart. Sometimes. Croatian Man said he could see in my eyes that I’m not stupid.

I guess I just have to remind myself of that a little more often.

 

Venlig hilsen/ ciao,

Lizzy-wa