Florence 5 – Day 2

I learned a lot about myself in Florence. 

I learned that when left to my own devices, I will eat ice cream for lunch every day. . . and I will not feel bad about it.

I learned that I can follow a map, but I get a lot more pleasure out of ignoring the map and aimlessly wandering until I stumble upon the most amazing things.

I learned that I will speak in broken English, and with an accent when people around me are speaking in broken English with accents.  *blink, blink, blink*

I learned that I sincerely do not care what people think.  I will laugh out loud for no apparent reason, spend an hour getting myself framed in a photo with a building instead of asking for help, and will wear pajamas out if they’re comfortable.

I learned that I’m perfectly content to travel the world alone. . . and I’ll enjoy it just as much, if not more, than I would with a man.

I learned that I missed some people I didn’t expect to miss, and didn’t miss some people I thought I would. 

I learned that in serious moments of doubt or uncertainty, my thoughts drift to one of two people. 

I learned that I’m a lot less irritable when I’m alone.

I learned that I’ll seriously look for monkeys even though I know monkeys aren’t a reasonable expectation.

I learned that I don’t have the control over my heart that I like to think I have. . . and that I’m in pretty hopeless shape. 

Florence 4 – Day 2

When you’re busting your tail to see everything in very limited time, you often miss a lot of the people watching that is available.  But, even if you’re totally focused on getting to x from y, some things just force you to stop and take note.

Whlie I was making my way through Florence, a few of these things happened.

1.  There are street vendors EVERYWHERE.  They all seem to sell the same things – purses, belts, sunglasses, etc.  As I walked through the Piazza de la Republica, there were 5 0r 6 guys setting up their purse displays.  They set up cleverly, with the purses laid out on a tarp or cloth, and when they move, they just have to grab the corners of the tarp and all of their stuff is easily transported inside the tarp bag they’ve created. 

I have no idea what prompted it, but in one swift movement, each of these guys pulled their displays up and bolted down the street together.  They made it to the next block, and hid around the corner, looking around to see if someone or something was coming.  I didn’t want to stare. . . but it was interesting to see.  And, I desperately wanted to know what they were hiding from.  Alas, I had places to be, so I couldn’t hang around.  *sigh*

2.  While I was making my way back past Palazzo Vecchio, an ambulance tore through.  First of all, the vehicles in Italy are just ridiculously tiny.  I swear to God, they’re made for elves.  Tiny little elves. 

Worse, the sirens sound entirely different, and make me think of Mr. Bean movies, which makes it pretty hard to take seriously.

Further, they drive like maniacs.  I suppose they just expect people to move out of the way when they hear the sirens. . . because if you don’t, that’s just tough shit.  You get plowed over by a tiny amublance. 

It was funny. . . because the way the ambulance moved made me think of Gumby.  It felt like I was watching a magnet motivated toy move through a crowd of puppets.  That doesn’t make any sense to you, but it cracks me up.  And, Gumby’s on the side of the road, watching in horror as the ambulance, which is being jerked through the plaza, hits a pedestrian, runs him directly over, and keeps on moving.  Good stuff.

3.  Seriously.  Streetside panties are apparently where it’s at.  In Florence, you can get them from a market vendor.  On the street.  Panties.  This continued to fascinate me.  I know my baby sister is going to be tickled to death to know that I picked her up a pair of streetside panties from here:

That’s right.  Panties, bras, pajamas.  In the middle of the street. 

I made it through the sights in record time, and went back to the hotel to freshen up a bit with intentions of making it to the Boboli Gardens for the last portion of the afternoon.  That never happened. . .

Florence 3 – Day 2

I somehow managed to screw up the setting of the very cheap travel alarm I picked up in Venice, and woke up late on my second day in Florence.  I dragged ass into the breakfast room at the hotel, and was pleased to find some quite yummy lemon pound cake awaiting my consumption.  I was also very pleased to find that the woman serving my breakfast to me was a normal woman, and not someone who appeared to have come from a puppet show.  But, mostly, I was pleased that cappuccino was an option.  Mmmmmm.

After breakfast, I went back to my room to shower, and realized it was still rainy and gross out.  So, I did what any rational person would do, and spent some more time online.  I perused a friend’s travel blog that I hadn’t visited in awhile, which made me just a little more confident about navigating Rome. 

The sun came out not long thereafter, and I was off to see the rest of Florence.

It was this day that I stopped loathing the noise and chaos of Florence and fell in love with the city.  Once I made my way around a bit, I realized that the city isn’t that big at all, and it’s just as easy as Venice to navigate. . . if not easier. 

I hauled ass through the sights, finding my way to Palazzo Strozzi, Piazza de la Republica, the Duomo (HOLY SHIT), Piazza San Marco, Piazza Santa Croce, Biblioteca Nazionale, and through Mercado Central. 

After you walk around looking at old buildings in Italy for a few days, they start to be less impressive.  All of the sights in Florence were nice, but the only thing that blew me away was the Duomo. . . and I stood outside staring for probably an hour.  It’s just massive and beautiful. . . and massive.

Palazzo Strozzi:

Piazza de la Republica:

Duomo:

Museo de San Marco:

Santa Croce:

Bibloteca Nazionale:

Mercado Central:

Random Florence Sights:

The rain started falling right when I walked up on this. . .

Florence 2

The first night in Florence, I took my time getting back, and was very pensive.  I was in Italy.  By myself.  And, so far, I wasn’t dead.  That was a big deal to me.  I was doing it.  I marched right into Italy and just acted like I owned the place.  I stepped right over any little thing that intimidated me, and kept going.  I took hold of something I’ve wanted to do for 15 years, and I made it happen, eliminating all excuses.  I’m pretty proud of myself.

My thoughts wandered to all of the small things that came into play, that pushed me towards this trip. . . and all of the people who have influenced me in the recent past, who have made me more confident, more courageous, and more sure that I could somehow make it . . . and how they don’t even know they’ve had that impact.

From there, my head became consumed with why certain people have come into my life, the influence they’ve had, and the lasting impact they’ve made.  I’ve been so ridiculously blessed since I moved to Austin.  I’ve had friendships that have come and gone, and those that have stayed strong since Day 1. . . and in every one of those, there has been value.  Sometimes the value has been in what I’ve been able to give, sometimes it’s been in what I’ve received, but mostly, it’s been in how I’ve changed. 

If you knew me before Texas, you probably know I wasn’t much on gratitude or happiness.  As I walked through Florence, I realized that I’ve never been more grateful.  I’ve never been more happy.  The one thought that made me beam as I strolled the streets of Italy was knowing that I’m okay with my life as-is.  There are things that are up in the air that I’d like to see fall out in certain order.  But, even if those things don’t work out the way I want, I’ve already gotten so much from those relationships, from those circumstances that I will be just fine if I don’t get more.  There’s peace in that.  

The rain got heavier the slower I walked.  I picked up the pace, which, strangely, makes all of the warm fuzzies fade.

I picked up dinner on my way back to the hotel, and swore a little bit to myself when the rain started coming down even heavier.  I should have made my way back when the first hint of rain fell!

Walking in the rain

I was pleasantly surprised that the elevator was immediately available, as I’m pretty sure this particular elevator could go down on record as being the slowest elevator on Earth.

Happy about elevator

I got back to my room, and, naturally, spent the evening on the internet. . . which made me very, very happy.

Me, happy about the internet access

I’m relatively certain I couldn’t have effectively pissed away a night of vacation any better.

Florence 1

Getting into Florence was an unpleasant experience for me.  I hadn’t noticed how peaceful Venice was until I stepped out of the train station at Florence and the sound of traffic pierced my ears. 

Me just into Florence

I stopped outside the train station to soak it all in for a minute, and to calm myself from the automatic stress all of the noise caused.  I took a few deep breaths and pulled out my map to find the hotel.

Luckily, I found it without much trouble.

I walked in, and AGAIN, they greeted me by name when I walked through the door.  I don’t know what this is all about, but apparently, Italy has spies investigating the identity of all scheduled visitors. 

Since I was already wishing I could run back to Venice for the remainder of my trip, the words that followed were not welcome. . . “I’m sorry, Ms. Combs, but we have a little problem”.

Understandably, I was irritated.  Like. . . gritting my teeth, trying not to punch her in the mouth irritated. 

She went on to tell me that the heat & electricity had gone out and they’d taken the liberty of booking me at another hotel just around the corner.  She asks her manager to give me directions, he does, and I go walking to find the new place.  And, don’t find it. 

I go back to the hotel, feeling like a complete idiot, and ask the woman to write down the name of the hotel for me, thinking I’d possibly just misunderstood her earlier.  So, she does.  And, I go looking for it.  And, don’t find it.

So, I go back again, feeling about as stupid as I possibly can.  The manager offers to walk to me to the hotel, and I’m sure he’s thinking I’m just about the stupidest woman alive.  On our way out, he and a maintenance man have an exchange in Italian that I completely do not understand, except to note that the maintenance man knows where the new hotel is and the manager, not so much.

The good news:  I’m not incompetent.  The hotel was not where they told me it was.

The bad news:  I have to walk more to get there.

The manager walks me to the cross street, points to the hotel, and leaves me to make the final dozen steps on my own. 

I walk into the building and uuuuum.  Nothing.  There’s an elevator to the left, stairs to the right.  That’s it.  No reception.  No people.  Nothing.

I walk back out, look at the sign, see that it does, indeed say it’s the hotel, and walk back in, somehow expecting something to have changed in those 30 seconds.  Nope.  Nothing.  I wait, thinking someone will appear and tell me where the Hell I belong.  Nothing.

Casa de Laga Lobby

I walk back out.  Look at the sign.  Look around.  Think to myself, “I am NOT going back to the original hotel again”.  Look at the sign again.  At this time, I notice that the sign, which I’ve now read 20 different times, tells me that I need to go to the 4th floor.  Duuuuh.

So, I head inside and push the elevator button and wait.  And, wait.  And. . . wait.  And wait some more.  And wait.  Not amused.

Waiting for elevator

FINALLY, the elevator comes.  It takes approximately 42 minutes to get from floor 1 to floor 4, but I get there.

There’s a brief misunderstanding between me & the clerk, but it’s cleared up and I get to my room, which is, thankfully, slightly larger than the room I had in Venice.

The clerk had told me that I need to stick my key in the thing by the door when I get in the room.  So, I walk in, stick the key in the wall, and the lights come on.  Magic!  So, I take the key back out and start unpacking.  2 minutes later, the lights go out.  WTF?  I stick the key back in the wall, lights on.  Take it out, 2 minutes later, lights out.  I did this another 3-4 times before I finally said, “SCREW THIS” and opened the window for light.  I wound up leaving and coming back before I realized that I needed to leave the key in the wall for the electricity to work.  *sigh*

Another tiny bed!

Bathroom

The first thing I did was pull out my computer, and dance with glee when a wireless connection popped up.  FINALLY, communication with the rest of the world!  I had 250 emails, so I spent the first 45 minutes catching up, letting everyone know I made it, and blogging. I somehow convinced myself to put the computer away and head out into Florence.

I wandered and stumbled my way into Palazzo Pitti, Ponte Vecchio, Galleria degli Uffizi, Palazzo Vecchio, Laggia dei Lanzi, and Piazza del Mercado Nuovo. 

Palazzo Pitti

Ponte Vecchio



I don’t know what these locks are all about, but if you look over the south side of Ponte Vecchio, they’re all there.  Maybe someone knows the story???

Galleria degli Uffizi

Palazzo Vecchio

Loggia dei Lonzi

Palazzo de Mercado Nuovo

I bought a pashmina because it was starting to sprinkle and get a bit chilly.

As I headed back to the hotel, all of the emotion finally hit me.  I was in Italy.

I’m back!

WHEW!  Alright, Internet.  I’m back, and I’m all full of energy and zest and all of the good stuff a fabulous vacation makes you full of!

I will do my super very best to blog the rest of this trip over the weekend (not really because I care what you think about the timliness of my blogging, but mostly because I want to get it all done so I can get on with all of the other things I have to kick the ass of).

Teaser:  I DID get stuck in Paris. . . and what a good story that is!

Here’s the one thing that sucks:  When you go to Italy and eat the food and drink the coffee and wine, and then you come back to the states and you have to eat the food and drink the coffee and wine, it kinda sucks.  We do not know how to make good food.  Or coffee.  And, that, once you know the difference, really sucks ass.

Though. . . I’ve been told there’s a gelato shop in Hyde Park. . . so I’ll probably have to check it out. . .  

This is hilarious!

Hi, Internet.  So maybe you noticed I didn’t get the Florence leg of my trip blogged about from Rome.  Maybe you figured it was because I did, indeed, find a lovely Italian man to run off with.  Maybe you thought I got kidnapped, because that was far more likely than getting lost.  Maybe you thought I decided never to come home.

No, I just couldn’t get a connection no matter where I hauled this blessed computer.

I’m sitting now at the airport in Rome.  I’ve been here for 2 hours.  First, my flight to Paris was delayed, then it was on time, then it was delayed, and now they say it’s on time, but there’s only an hour left before the flight, so who knows what will happen.  What I DO know is that there is absolutely no sense in getting to any airport 3 hours before your scheduled flight.  Ever.  No matter what.  It’s just stupid.

Here’s what’s funny, besides me skipping directly past the entire past 5 days and blogging about my airport adventures now, they say I could possibly not have a seat on the flight from Paris to Houston!  Awe.SOME!

And, I’d been walking around thinking this trip had gone so wonderfully smoothly.  Ha!

I have loved this vacation.  I loved, loved, loved Italy.  I was only in each city 2 days, and I walked into each one going, “Uuuum, this sucks a little bit”, and walked out of each one wishing I could stay longer because I fell so in love in 2 days time. 

But, I’m ready to go home.  I’m ready to sleep in my bed.  I’m ready to cuddle with my dogs.  I’m ready to use my phone again!  I’m ready to talk to my friends. . . aaaaah, how I missed my friends! 

If I seriously don’t get out of Paris this afternoon, while I agree, there could be far worse things to deal with, I’m going to be irritable.  Very irritable.  Just FYI.

Venice 6 – Day 3

My train out of Venice left at 10:30am.  I knew I had to find a post office, and I wanted to pick up some more batteries before I left.  I had walked the route to the train station the night before, just to be sure I knew where I was going and didn’t get lost in the morning. . . because I don’t function well under stress in the morning.

I packed my things and headed to the desk to check out.  I handed the desk clerk my monstrosity of a key and he thanked me.  I asked if I needed to do anything to check out. . . and he said, “Like eat breakfast, for example?”.  It was terribly adorable, so I squeezed my way into the busy breakfast area with all of my crap, and I quickly scarfed down some bread and biscotti.  Everyone in the room – speaking English. 

I managed to get all of the above accomplished with relative ease.  I was so proud of myself for getting up early enough to do so.  ON VACATION, no less!

Two unexpected things happened on my way to the train station. 

Unexpected thing #1:
As I rounded the corner from my hotel, I noticed a guy staring at me.  I walked a little faster to get away from him.  I probably walk 10 minutes before he sneaks up behind me and asks me my name.  ARGH!  DON’T DO THIS!!!  I might be weird, but I do not like being surprised by strange men!  Good Lord.  He then followed me to the post office. . . to the camera shop. . . and asked me a series of questions along the way. 

I learned something about myself during this conversation:  I will be pleasant to strangers.  I will entertain small talk and answer questions and be overall tolerable to deal with.  However, if I’m not interested, that’s ALL I’ll do.  I will answer your questions, but I will not offer detail.  Nor will I ask you any questions.  That way, you should get the hint that I don’t care to speak to you.  Nope, not this guy.  He went on and on and on.  When he asked where I’m from, he did the same thing with the fingers guns and “Cowboys!”.  I seriously almost died.  I wanted to say, “Yes!  And, I rode a horse to the airport!  And, these here shoes I’m wearin’?  I done skinned that alligator myself!”.  That wouldn’t have made any sense since I was wearing tennis shoes, but seriously. 

Something else I learned from this exchange:  I don’t trust people.  Particularly people who have accents.  Particularly strange people who stop me on the street to tell me how fascinatingly beautiful I am and how they simply cannot live another day without having the pleasure of my company for drinks.  *rolls eyes*  The entire time he babbled on, I seriously guarded my shit with the most extreme caution.  I was pretty sure he had no interest in me whatsoever, and would take off with my cash or my laptop or my camera just as soon as I let my guard down.

He asked me, repeatedly, if there was any way I could stay just one more day in Venice.  Just one more day!  With him!  It would make his heart so happy!  And, I could just stay at his home!  It’s no problem!  Just one more day! 

Talk about almost vomiting on someone’s shoes.  God.

Naturally, I declined.  Over and over and over again.  He finally, FINALLY got it and stopped, with as much drama as his entire being could muster, grabbed my hands, looked into my eyes and said, “Estephanie, you are ebreaking my heart, but I know I must let you go”.  I thanked him, doing my very, very best not to crack a smile, waited for him to turn and walk away, and then hauled ass to the train station. 

Unexpected thing #2:
As I hauled ass to the train station, I somehow took note of a row of vending machines on the street.  I don’t know why they caught my eye, maybe because the few people who were milling about were all near these vending machines.

Again, with the ridiculous, lonesome laughter.

The vending machines sold PANTIES.

Yeah, you read that right.  You can buy PANTIES from VENDING MACHINES on the SIDE OF THE STREET.  How can that even be for real?!?!  How many times, really, have you been walking down the street thinking, “Gosh, if I could just get some panties out of a vending machine RIGHT NOW, life would be so much better”. 

I can’t tell you the delight that filled my soul with this small finding.

Sadly, I had packed the camera and there was no way I was digging through my bags to find it just to give you a photo of the panty vending machines. 

I finally got to the train station and, very much to my surprise, figured it all out without a problem.  And, with that. . . I was off to Florence!

Venice 5 – Day 2 Final

I’m Hellbent on getting the entire Venice portion of the trip blogged before I leave Florence. . . and then, somehow, I’ll get all of Florence blogged before I leave Rome. . . and then, hopefully, I’ll find time to blog about Rome relatively soon.  But, I know if I don’t do it right now, bits and pieces will fall out of my head and I’ll be upset with myself for not documenting better.

The rest of Day 2 in Venice was pretty easy going.  I finally stopped for gelato for lunch, even though I am not a big fan of ice cream.  I wasn’t even going to try it, but I figured people would probably audibly boo me as I came off the plane if I went to Europe and didn’t have gelato.  And, thus began my really bad habit of having gelato for lunch every day. . .

I realized as I was wandering around in my light sweatshirt, eating gelato that everyone else was in winter coats and scarves.  Uuuuum, it was like 60 degress.  What in the Hell? 

I did some more aimless wandering as I ate my gelato.  Mmmmm.  Gelato.

I eventually found myself back at Ponte di Rialto.  I sat on the steps leading into the canal and just watched people go by.  As I sat, mostly minding my own business, I paid particular attention to the gondolas.  The more I stared, the more creeped out I got.  Gondolas make me think of coffins.  That quickly solved my gondolo dilema.  I’m not paying someone to haul me around in a coffin.  Gross.  I actually creeped myself out so much that I shuddered every time I watched someone crawl into one.  I wanted to scream, “Don’t get into the coffin!”, but I figured I already looked crazy enough being on this trip all by myself with my flip flops and gelato in the dead of winter (it’s not really the dead of winter, but by the way everyone was dressed, you’d sure think it was).  Look, see if you don’t see “coffin” all over these fuckers:

Also, how do they go straight when they’re only being paddled from one side?  *strokes beard*  It’s all just a little too suspicious for me.

I eventually had to get up and walk away.  I made my way past several little restaraunts, and the whole Italian men/American women thing jumped all over me again.  For one thing, I’m not sure what I think about all of these people assuming that I’m American.  Not ONE person since I’ve been here has even attempted to speak to me in Italian.  They just bust out the English like it’s SOOOOOO obvious I can’t possibly be from anywhere but the states.  WTF?  On the other hand, thank God everyone speaks English because I would’ve been s.c.r.e.w.e.d.  But, on the other other hand, it’s kind of disappointing that there has been NO challenge whatsoever in that sense.  ANYWAY.  So, I got hit on by a handful of men over the ensuing 20 minutes.  I sincerely wonder how many silly women fall for the whole, “aaah, you have such beautiful eyes!” or “look at your beautiful smile!” crap.  I don’t fall for it at home, I’m not going to fall for it in Italy.  C’mon, guys.  Seriously.

The guy who said all of this without pause did actually crack me up, “Hello my friend!  How are you?  Fine?!  Goodbye!” (see aforementioned instance where withholding laughter causes other laughable situations to be much, much worse).  I laughed hysterically.  I hope I didn’t hurt his feelings.

I kept on about my way, taking photos, which I’ll attach below without explanation because, honestly, I bore easily of explanation of photos of stuff.  I will explain this first one, however, because it served to further my amazon complex, and I think you should know why I took the photo to begin with.

The doors in Venice are tiny.  Ridiculously tiny.  Sometimes, you’ll find a normal sized door, and that’s nice.  My hotel, thank God, had normal sized doors.  But, more often than I care to acknowledge, there were these crazy tiny doors all over the place.  Again, are we in Venice. . . or WONDERLAND!?!  *suspicious mad face*

People, I’m taller than this door.

Other random shit in Venice:
This guy’s pants really, seriously said “Don’t touch my bum”.  I don’t have to tell you how hilarious it was to chase him around to get a photo.  I honestly had to run to catch up with him to get close enough.  This, Internet, is how much I love you.  I’m sure you’ll be disappointed to know that I did not, in fact, touch his bum.  I know how to follow instructions.  And, though I know it would have been a great story to tell, I do think that chasing him over a bridge and through a busy plaza should be good enough for you.

 I think it’s entirely appropriate to end this post with this photo, and I will say only this about it — look at the far left side of the display.  This made me think of you, sweet Jumpee, and it damned near made me piss myself laughing, much to the curiousity of passersby. 

Venice 4 – Day 2 Con’t

Oh, SHIT.  I don’t EVEN know how I forgot this part.  Day 2 did not start with breakfast.  It started with this crap:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q94OVD4TW48

What?  You don’t SEE anything?!  YEAH, THAT’S BECAUSE IT WAS 4 O’CLOCK IN THE FUCKING MORNING!!!  That fucking bird started singing at 3am and didn’t stop until about 6:30am.  Maybe that’s why I was so grouchy in the morning.  Do you hear how fucking loud that is?!  You’d think the damned thing was hanging out on my nightstand.

ANYWAY. 

I made my way past Piazza S. Marco and along the waters edge.  This, surely, is where Venice Beach came from.  The walkway was lined with streetside vendors.  I love this kind of stuff, so Venice, as a whole, was really great for me.  The only curious thing that struck me was that the purse vendors were ridiculously aggressive.  Most of the vendors sat quietly at their shops, waiting for people to come buy things.  These guys with the purses damned near chased you down and affixed a purse to your arm.  It was very frustrating.  I felt so ridiculous actively going out of my way to put space between myself and these guys every time I walked by.

I wandered down the walkway for just over a mile, I’d guess.  I picked up the postcards I later sent and a gift for Miss Fred.  I took tons of photos, as well.

Palazzo Ducale:

Ponte dei Sospiri (Bridge of Sighs):

Waterside gondolas:

This cracked me up, I think because my sister likes Puma and she smokes.  I would’ve bought it for her if she weren’t such a jerk.

Along the walkway, there were a lot of people dressed up in full Venetian gear, wanting your money for photos with them.  Sorry, but unless there’s a monkey involved, I don’t pay for photos with anyone or anything.  I almost caved to have a photo with the mermaid lady but then I realized her “scales” were made of CDs and that’s just lame. 

On my way back through Piazza S. Marco, I decided to do the touristy thing and feed the pigeons.  How can you not, really?  I was going to skip it because I didn’t want to look like a tool like every other damned tourist in the place squealing and running as the pigeons swarmed all around them. . . but then I remembered I am a tourist, and these people can pick Americans out like nobody’s business, so I may as well make a full ass of myself.  They already think I’m one anyway.

It costs 1 euro for a bag of corn (which you’ll see conveniently tucked into my cleavage – the only place those fuckers couldn’t knock it over and feed themselves).  I bought my bag and thoroughly enjoyed being a stopping post for all of the pigeons that flocked.  Until I realized that getting shit on by a bird, while it makes an excellent vacation story (just ask Linds), is not particularly something I’d be happy about. 

There was a girl watching me and laughing so I offered her the rest of my corn so she could feed the pigeons.  She gleefully accepted and repeated “grasie” over and over as the pigeons swarmed her.  My heart was all warmed and shit.

I’d like you to know, at this time, that telling you EVERYTHING is actually taking longer than experiencing everything.  The rest of Venice, Day 2 to come later.  .  . as I just realized there’s some sort of soft porn on the tv (I’ve been facing the other direction, listening to music on my computer for the past 2 hours. . . I hope I’m not being charged for the porn!).

Venice 3 – Day 2

I just want you all to know that it takes A LOT of love to blog from Italy.  A LOT.  Just so you know.  It takes a particularly huge amount right now being as I’ve decided I like Florence a lot more at night. . . and it’s nighttime. . . and instead of being out, I’m blogging for you (don’t get too much of a guilt complex, I actually had quite a nice evening).

Day 2 in Venice started with breakfast at the hotel.  I don’t know if you know, but I’m not one for mornings.  I’m lazy and grouchy and generally unpleasant to be around until about 2pm.  I staggered downstairs in my pajamas for breakfast, and grunted a very insincere, “buongiorno” to the poor desk man.  But, I figured they already know I’m American, so their expectation is that I’ll be rude.  No biggie.

I damned near fell out of my chair when the breakfast lady walked in with a basket of bread.  I swear to God, she looked like a French whore, assuming a French whore wears make-up like a clown and has runs in her pantyhose.  Seriously.  How am I not supposed to laugh at that?  Or not make any facial expression whatsoever?  SERIOUSLY.  I almost choked to death trying to remain seemingly unaffected.  The problem that causes is that when I hold in laughter at something, everything else for the remainder of the day becomes WAY funnier and I fail to consider what a crazy fool I look like when I randomly burst out in laughter as I walk the streets of a foreign country alone.

I realized pretty immediately that I was sore as Hell.  Apparently, lugging around 40 lbs. worth of shit on one’s back over countless bridges (read: stairs until the end of time) takes a toll on one’s body.  My calves screamed out loud with every step I took, and I was hunched over like a little old lady (SHUT IT, Jumpee, I am NOT a little old lady).  I wobbled back up the stairs for a very hot shower and lots of stretching.  There’s no way this soreness was going to be acceptable when I still had a week of walking to do.

My first order of business for the day was to find a pair of tweezers.  You see, the sun in Italy is like a million flourescent bulbs shining directly on to every stray eyebrow on my head.  I flinched every time I looked in the mirror (fyi-this is not normal).  I also needed a razor. . . and GOOD LUCK finding a razor in Venice!  I went in and out of half a dozen pharmacies and general stores before I found a freaking razor.  The tweezers were everywhere.  Maybe I should’ve just tweezed my legs & armpits.  *thinks*

Once I got that taken care of, it was off to find the sights I needed to see and hadn’t already found.  I was headed for the Basilica di San Marco, and based on how mildly impressed I had been thus far, I was expecting the same sort of “eh” experience.

I felt like I was walking pretty slowly, but I was barrelling past everyone.  I’m apparently just a fast paced kinda girl.  On my very deliberate way, I got my first taste of the Italian Men Love American Women phenomenon.  Oh, sure, it sounds great if you’re an American woman wildly in love with Italian men. . . but if you’re me, easily irritated by overly persistent men, this whole thing is actually not endearing at all.  It is, in fact, quite annoying, much to my dismay. 

A fairly attractive man stopped me as I passed his shop.  He chatted with me for a few minutes, asked where I’m from, and when I responded, “Texas”, I kid you not, he gave me finger guns – my favorite thing EVER – and said, “COWBOYS!”, and then asked me if I’d have drinks with him at 3pm.  As previously mentioned, I had no time keeping device in my possession, so attempting to make any sort of time based plans simply wasn’t going to work.  Besides, I hardly think I’m going to go get tanked with some random man, even if he’s beautiful and Italian, and especially if he’s carelessly throwing finger guns around.  I attempted to politely decline, but he repeatedly insisted.  Um.  If you know me, I’m sure you know how hard it was for me to remain polite under this circumstance.  I finally told him “maybe” and was on my merry little way.  I felt only slightly guilty when I saw a clock around 4pm.

I soon waltzed right into Piazza San Marco and honestly, I came to a dead stop and my jaw dropped.  It’s the strangest thing here in Italy.  You walk around looking for these grandiose structures, and you expect that you’ll approach gradually, and gradually get a sense for the grandeur.  That’s not how it is AT ALL.  You walk, then you turn a corner and BAM!  There it is.  Whatever you were looking for is just right there, all of the sudden, and you literally have no preparation whatsoever for what you’re about to see.  It’s shocking, but it’s also incredibly awesome.

Basilica di San Marco provided me with my first, “WOW” moment.  I don’t even know how to put it into words.  I’m not easily impressed, not easily excited.  I sincerely just stood in awe for minutes before I could compose myself and snap photos and wander around.  I’ll show you photos, but you have to know that no photo ever anywhere could show you what it is to BE there.

Basilica di San Marco:

And, naturally, in case you think I’m making this all up, ME (you may notice that I’m not the expert Skunk is at taking photos of myself. . . it’s HARD, dudes, to get yourself and some other random crap in the background!):

This was my favorite part of Venice by far.  Surely, you notice that there’s all of that open space.  Piazza San Marco is pretty awesome.  There’s Basilica di San Marco on one side, across the way is Museo Correr, on either side are Procuratie Nuove and Procuratie Vecchio, and Camponile di S. Marco sits sort of in the middle to the side.  Photos of all of that (and, psst, look, Mr. Bob!  I used some of your tricks!):

It’s hard to do this with any brevity whatsoever. . .

Venice 2

( It’s 9:42am and I should be out galavanting around Florence, but it’s freaking cold as Hell and I’ve decided to wait for it to warm up a bit. . . you know how I hate cold)

Once I checked into Hotel Eden, I showered, unpacked my things, and headed out.  I realized quickly that I had failed to bring any sort of time keeping device, and I couldn’t turn on my phone for fear of you jackasses calling me and causing me to have a ridiculous phone bill.  Well, that and I couldn’t get service. 

I decided to just walk aimlessly through the remainder of Day 1 in Venice and then I’d spend Day 2 seeking out any sights I didn’t stumble upon. 

Prior to this trip, I was terrified of getting lost.  I expressed that fear to lots of people.  Someone told me it would be impossible.  Impossible!  And, I thought, “Huh.  You really don’t know me at all”.  But, turns out, it’s true.  You’d have to be a remarkably huge idiot to get lost.  Particularly in Venice.  There are signs everywhere directing you to the major attractions.  So, if you’re not sure where you are, just follow the signs until you get to a major landmark and start from there.  SUPER EASY.  Well, except when you run into signs like this, that make you feel like you’re in Wonderland:

 

I managed to stumble up on Ponte di Rialto, Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, and Scvola Grande de San Rocca during my aimless wandering.  Luckily, most of the sights are clearly marked, as well, so even though I wasn’t following a map, I knew what I was running into.  Nothing is worse than taking craploads of photos of things and then trying to figure out later wtf it is.  I got a super helpful tip from a friend to take a photo of the sign noting where it is you’re at, and then take your photos.  That way, when you go back through, if you forget, you’ve got the sign to tell you!  BRILLIANT.

Ponte di Rialto is a big ass bridge that crosses the Grand Canal.  ON the bridge, vendors are lined up and down either side.  From what I could tell, they were all selling paschminas, jewelry, or venetian masks. 

Ponte di Rialto (from outside):

Ponte di Rialto (from inside):

I was very tempted to gather up a costume for Carnaval.  Masks run anywhere from 8 euros to 100 euros and get extremely elaborate.  Most shops wouldn’t allow photos which was a bummer because I’d love to have shown you some of my favorites.

Santa Maria Gloriosa de Frari was beautiful, but not as mind boggling as I expected.  Maybe it’s because I didn’t go inside.  I didn’t see anyone going inside, and I certainly wasn’t going to be the moron who pulled the door and set off the alarm.  Besides, I haven’t any plans to go inside any of these structures, really.  I don’t have time for that when I’m spending only 1.5 days in each city.

Santa Maria Gloriosa de Frari:

The Campo de Frari was by far more interesting.  It’s just a big open space.  When I arrived, there was no one to be found.  The following day, however, as I passed through, there were children playing, and people conversing, and all sorts of movement.

There were also two guys sitting streetside playing music for passersby:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fr73de6Gn-A

Scvola Grande de San Rocca. . . I don’t even know what this is, but the buildings were pretty.  It sat across from Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari. 


At this point, I realized that I needed to start documenting that I was actually there because ANYONE can just pull photos off the internet and say they were in Venice.  Duh. 

I stopped for pizza and a coke on my way back to the hotel, thinking nothing of it at all, except “Damnit with my late wandering, I’d kinda like to have real Italian food”.  And, then I bit into that pizza, and Holy Lord, y’all.  I’ll never be able to eat American crap pizza again.  It was like a little slice of heaven.  And, it only cost 3.80 euros for the pizza and Coke! 

I laughed as I made my way back because I remember telling Mom that I wouldn’t wander any dark alleys at night.  But, in Venice that’s all there is!  EVERYTHING is a dark alley at night.  I HAD TO walk some of them or I’d never make it back.  Strangely, I wasn’t the least bit afraid.  Venice just feels safe and friendly. 

I crawled into bed pretty early, but considering I’d spent close to 16 hours travelling and another 6 hours walking around, I wasn’t feeling too bad about it.  I wasn’t feeling any jet lag at all, and hit the pillow at about 9pm.