Where have you been?

During my evening run walk because my age is catching up with me and my body doesn’t like when I run twice a day for a week, I somehow started thinking about all of the places I’ve been.  And, then I realized I’ve been A LOT more places than I thought!

I’ll only count those I remember, because that’s only fair.

Most of Indiana
Chicago, IL
Kankakee, IL
Carlinville, IL
St. Louis, MO
Louisville, KY
Nashville, TN
Chattanooga, TN
Memphis, TN
Cincinnati, OH
Milwaukee, WI
Plover, WI
Atlanta, GA
Outer Banks, NC
Orlando, FL
Melbourne, FL
Miami, FL
Key West, FL
Nassau, Bahamas
New York, NY
Provincetown, MA
Benton Harbor, MI
Holland, MI
New Orleans, LA
Houston, TX
Galveston, TX
Dallas, TX
Austin, TX
Corpus Christi, TX
Cancun, Mexico
Las Vegas, NV
Lincoln, NE
Los Angeles, CA
San Diego, CA
Niagra Falls, NY/Canada
Paris, France
Venice, Italy
Florence, Italy
Rome, Italy

The short list of where I haven’t been, but want to go:
Phoenix, AZ
Grand Canyon
Seattle, WA
Colorado
Charleston, SC
Hilton Head, SC
San Fransicso, CA (Golden Gate Bridge)
Lake Tahoe, CA
Mount Rushmore, SD
Salt Lake City, UT
Santa Fe, NM
Washington, D.C.
Hawaii
Costa Rica
Brazil
Greece
Ireland
Spain (Barcelona, Madrid)
Gibraltar
England (London, Stonehenge)
Australia
Bangladesh
South Africa

Interestingly (or not), I have little to no interest in all of Asia.  *shrugs*

There are probably more places I’ll want to go as I learn more about them, but for now, I’m pretty happy looking at the two lists and knowing that I’ve been more places than I have on my list of places to go.  If I went to all of those places in 30 years, I should be able to get to the rest of them in the next 30.  Sweet!

Thanks, Google

Courtesy of my fascinating, amazing business partner and just so you know, I really did laugh, very loudly, out loud:

–Go to Google.com

–Click on Maps.

–Click on get Directions.

–From New York,New York

–To Paris,France.

–And read line # 23.

Random trip thoughts and tidbits that didn’t fit elsewhere

Trip Cost
My entire trip cost $1715 – and I’m still absolutely fascinated that it was that cheap.  I booked the flight, hotels, and trains through European Destinations for $1315.  I was really, really, really nervous about that because I wasn’t able to find anyone who had used them to get a testimonial, and I was really pretty sure I’d get to the airport and they’d tell me I didn’t have a flight.  Then, when I had a flight, I was sure I wouldn’t have hotel reservations, etc.  I was so pleasantly surprised.  Not only did I have all of those reservations, but I didn’t have any problems at all (that weren’t self imposed).  I will absolutely use European Destinations again, and if you’re planning a trip, you should check them out.  The deal I got was killer.

I took $400 cash and figured I’d use a credit card if I needed more.  If I hadn’t gotten stuck in Paris, I would’ve come home with $100.  I should really tell you that I’m a wickedly low maintenance traveller. . . and I’m not big on things.  So, normal people would probably want more spending money.  But, I got by just fine, and actually felt like I had more than I needed.  *shrugs*

I’m trying to convince my mom & sisters to join me for a Paris trip.  I’m going to go ahead and tell you all now that I’m addicted and you’re not going to be able to keep track of me now that I have the guts to go wherever my little heart desires alllll by myself.

Going alone
One of the most terrifying parts of taking the trip was the knowledge that I was on my own.  Completely.  I was clinging to the little security blanket of meeting Chad in Rome, and when it turned out he couldn’t make it. . . and when that information came pretty last minute, I had to actively calm myself to prevent serious freaking the fuck out.  I got extremely anxious when I boarded the plane in Houston, and even more so when I got off the plane in Venice.  But, I continued to tell myself that I had to ignore the fear, push past it, and just do it.

Once I wandered around Venice for a few hours, I was fine.  The wandering lowered my blood pressure, calmed me, and gave me the opportunity to think it through.  By the time I made it to my first hotel, I owned Italy. 

I checked in, showered, put on some mascara and marched back out into the world, ready to take it on.  It didn’t take long at all for me to be extremely grateful that I’d done it alone.  There are no words big enough to explain how liberating it was.

What I learned
I couldn’t possibly tell you everything I learned about myself and the world over the course of those 9 days. 

Being alone in an entirely foreign place offers a lot of perspective.  It was so interesting to learn how I deal with the whole thing, and bits and pieces of it.  When you’re alone, and there’s no one else there to influence your decisions, or to lean on, you get a real good feel for who you are. 

I was actually pleased to know that I don’t cave under stress.  There were a few moments when I felt like crawling into a corner and crying (like when I got to Paris the first time and was SURE I was going to miss my flight to Venice. . . or like when I missed my train to Rome. . . ), but I shook it off and marched on.  To know that I’ll do that, even when no one’s watching makes me proud.

I learned that I can pretty much do anything.  ANYTHING.  EVER.  ANYWHERE.  If I came away from this trip with any knowledge at all, that’s what it is. 

Being away from everything and everyone with almost no contact whatsoever with anyone really helped magnify the value of the relationships I’m lucky enough to have.  I was surprised to find that different things made different people come to mind.  When I walked into my first, super tiny, pixie sized hotel room, I thought, “OMG.  If Tracy were here, we would die.  On day 1, we would be dead from laughter”.  I had the same thought about 7,432 times over the course of the trip.

When I got frustrated about something that didn’t work out the way I wanted, or when I missed the train, and most definitely when I missed my connection in Paris, I thought of Mr. Universe and his constant insistence that the universe is working around us in ways we don’t always understand.  And, when I looked up at the Eiffel Tower, I thought about how I couldn’t wait to tell him that I got stuck in Paris. . . because he knew I wanted to see Paris and was bummed that I couldn’t fit it in and he’d reassure me then that the power of intention is strong, and the universe listens if you put it out there (and he did). 

I thought of Miss Fred with every child that passed, and she was, in fact, the only person I ever even briefly wish I could’ve taken with me.  I will take that kid to Europe well before she turns 30.  All people should go to Europe before they turn 30.

I learned that the world doesn’t fall apart without me.  I left, I didn’t do an ounce of work while I was gone, and when I came back, nothing had crashed and burned.

Overwhelmingly, I learned that I work too hard and give too much and don’t make enough time for me.  And, even in the past week, that has changed.  So, in essence, this trip has changed my life. 

What has changed
I realized that putting a dream on hold for 15 years is just about the silliest damned thing in the world.  I made excuses for all of my adult life about why I couldn’t take this trip.  Money, timing, lack of travel companions. . . the list was endless.  I can’t believe I allowed myself to put it off that long.  I won’t be doing that anymore.  Realizing one dream certainly makes the others seem a lot more attainable.

One thing that changed immediately is my willingness to bust my ass for the benefit of others.  Somehow, I learned to say no.  I’ve still got a full plate, and I’ll probably have a full plate for the rest of my life.  But, I’m not going to break my back helping people who aren’t helping themselves. 

I’m MAKING down time.  Even when my list of things to do is 80 pages long, I will have down time.  I will decompress.  I will relax.  I will take time to just think, and I will find time to do the things that rejuvenate my soul.  Like run off to Italy alone for a week. 

I’m also MAKING time to work.  Sounds silly when all I seem to do is work.  But, in reality, my life has been a big, fat ball of everything mashed together.  My days consist of coffee with a friend, lunch with a prospect, networking events which combine friends and business, and in between, I try to do all of the administrative bullshit that has to happen.  Accordingly, work suffers.  Friendships suffer.  Everything suffers because my head is never completely devoted to any one thing.  I’m making time to work, which will allow me to make time to socialize.  And, even if I devote half as much dedicated time to each, the value that will result will be all the better because it will be concentrated effort instead of the constant putting out of fires.

Overall
I’m so glad I planned the trip in the order I did.  Venice was tiny and really held my hand through the initial shock of the trip.  Florence was bigger, and got me back to the city and prepared me for Rome.  If I had started in Rome, I guarantee you I would have been too overwhelmed to accomplish as much as I did in this trip.  I would have been frozen, and I would probably have actually crumbled for a bit.  I also would have probably been bored with Venice if it followed Rome & Florence.  So, for so many reasons, it was perfect to start small with Venice and gradually get bigger until Rome. 

This trip was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.  That’s good for two reasons.  First, before this trip, my divorce was the best thing I’d ever done for myself, and that was actually a little depressing.  NOW, I can honestly replace divorce with trip to Italy!  That makes life just feel better all around.  Second, I haven’t historically done a whole lot for myself and when I do, it typically comes with a good dose of guilt.  This trip made me realize how much I needed it, how much better everything is when I take care of myself, and I didn’t have a second of guilt about it. 

I came away from my week of sweet solitude filled with love for life.  As much as I loved Italy, I was actually excited and happy to get back to Austin.  I love this city, and I love the people here.  I love my day-to-day life.  LOVE it.  I knew that before, but leaving it all for a while definitely made my heart grow fonder. 

Internet, go to Italy.  Or wherever your Italy is.  Don’t make excuses.  Don’t put it off.  Don’t convince yourself that you don’t need to go.  Just go.  Go, breathe in every last minute of it, renew your lease on life.  I can now tell you with certainty, it’s worth it.

Italy Photos Page

Holy good blogging!  All of the photos I’m going to load are loaded to the Italy photos page (look at the right side, under “About Snippy”).

I might go and add captions to tell you what they are. . . someday.  But, for now, at least they’re there and you can see them all in one place without being bothered by text. 

What an accomplishment! 

PARIS

Alright.  Here you have it. . .

I dragged myself out of bed my last morning in Rome and thanked goodness I’d had the good sense to pack the night before.  I decided to stay in my pajamas and skip a shower because I would just be travelling all day, and who really cares?

I made my way to reception, dropped my bags, made sure a cab was scheduled, and headed to breakfast.  Naturally, as soon as I sit and put a bite of chocolate cake in my mouth (yes, chocolate cake for breakfast!!!), they call to let me know my stupid cab is there.  I go ahead and take a few more minutes to sip my cappuccino and have a few more bites of my most delicious breakfast ever, and head downstairs.

For 40 euros, I get a ride to the airport in a Mercedes with the only person in Italy who doesn’t speak English.  Traffic is ridiculous, but like I tend to do, I’d given myself a ridiculously extensive amount of time to check in, so it was fine.

When I got to the airport, they wouldn’t let me check in yet because the flight was delayed.  Then it was on time.  Then it was delayed.  Then it was on time. 

When I boarded the plane, they claimed it was on time.  Then, they sat around an extra 20 minutes just for kicks.  We got into Paris 20 minutes before my next scheduled flight.  EVERYONE on that plane was anxious about connections, so there was a lot of pushing and shoving as we tried to exit. 

One old couple made the day all the more difficult by yelling at people for trying to get by.  Per the old woman, we ALL had places to be, there was no sense in rushing past her and her husband.  Except there WAS sense in it.  WE can move faster than they can.  Grr.

Once off the plane, I happened upon the two girls who saved my sanity for the rest of the adventure.  They were trying to catch the same flight I was, and we all tore through the airport, running as fast as our legs would carry us, to try to catch the flight.  When we got to the shuttle waiting area, the screen said our flight was still boarding.  As we waited for the shuttle. . . boarding closed.

We headed to the terminal anyway, in some sorry hope of making it.  No such luck.  Defeated, we made our way to the service counter to get it taken care of.  Turns out there were no more flights scheduled out of Paris to Texas that day, so we were stuck overnight.  Believe me, worse things could totally happen.

This is where I will again inform you that Air France should rule the world.  In response to the situation, Air France handed us hotel, dinner, and breakfast vouchers.  We were put up at Disney Paris!

I kid you not, Disney Paris is the single most hilarious place I’ve ever been.  The photos, I think, speak for themselves:

Yes, those are bunk beds in my room!  YES, that is longhorn carpet in my room!  And, YES, that is a bandana print curtain in my room.  It was fanTAStic.

The entire village was cowboys & indians.  Look at the street names:

It was so silly.  By the time we waited for the shuttle, stood in line at the hotel, got our rooms, and had dinner, it was pretty late, but we were all Hellbent on seeing the Eiffel Tower.  We were kind of whiney about it being so late, but A. assured us it’s way better at night.

The guy at the hotel desk said it might not be safe to take the subway at night, but a cab was going to cost 60 euros and uuuuuum.  We’ll try the subway, thanks.  We took a bus to the subway, and off we went.

It was a long ass ride.  Disney Paris is apparently out in the middle of nowhere.  We were in transit for well over an hour.  It had to be 11pm by the time we actually GOT to the Eiffel Tower.  And, thank God for A. . . . whose sense of direction led us DIRECTLY there when we got off the metro.

Do you know there are just toilets on the side of the street in France?

I don’t know if I mentioned before that Paris was somewhere I really wanted to go.  In fact, I was pretty disappointed that I wasn’t able to fit it into my trip and was already thinking about planning a trip JUST to see Paris.  So, this little delay was kind of a pretty special treat. 

When we passed the buildings and came within view of the Eiffel Tower, it was just spectacular.  Not a minute after we could see it, it started twinkling.  AMAZING.  Beautiful.  Fantastic.  Pretty much worth missing a connection and getting home a day late. 

We stood around watching it twinkle for a little bit. . . and then it stopped.  We had agreed earlier that we’d stop for red wine because how can you not when you’re in Paris?  So, we popped into a little cafe, ordered a bottle of Bordeaux, Creme Brulee and Crepe Royale and just sat and chatted.  It was the most fantastic little snippet of a screwed up vacation ever.  As much as I enjoyed my vacation alone, running into these two girls really did make the tail end a lot of fun.  In fact, I wouldn’t have ventured into Paris without them. . . and I would have been very disappointed!

We made our way back to the subway and hopped on.  A couple stops in, the police got on.  There didn’t appear to be any good reason why. . . but they stuck their heads out at each stop, and then eventually got off.  *shrugs*

We had to hop off one line and go catch another, and because this is my life, the subway shut down for the night RIGHT as we attempted to make that switch.  So, there we were, not entirely sure where the Hell we were, in need of a cab.

It wasn’t hard to find one, and we were on our way back to Disney.  Which should make for the end of this story.  Except our cab driver was certifiably insane.  Or on drugs.  Or maybe both.

At first, he was funny.  He was hyper, but it wasn’t that annoying.  He kept switching the music and asking what we listen to.  He was singing and dancing and trying to convince all of us to do the same.  At some point, he asked us all how old we are.  When he laughed hysterically at my answer, I stopped liking him.

When he started driving like a maniac – and this is no exaggeration, as he was swerving all over the road, taking corners so fast the tires squealed, and slamming on the brakes – he became a lot less funny.

By the time we made it to the hotel, I was surprised we were all still alive.  It was a little too much.

We found out that the shuttle was scheduled for 7am, making it impossible to get breakfast at the hotel before we left.  We went to bed, got 4 hours of sleep, and got up stupid early to head back to the airport. 

The rest of it went relatively smoothly.

Except for when they called for a doctor on the plane, and I was pretty sure someone had died because that was a fear my mother was sure to instill in me before I left.  I’m pretty sure no one died, but I didn’t ask any questions, just in case.

We got into Houston, and were tied up by customs for awhile because A is from Australia.  And, then tied up again because K  spent too much money on shoes.  But, we eventually made it through and the girls were kind enough to give me a ride home to Austin.

And, THAT, dear Internet, concludes my trip chronicles.

Maybe someday I’ll get into some of the deep thinking I did while I was away.  But, for now, I’m pretty glad I’ve got all of the trip detailed & photos posted.  Whew!

Rome 5

Ooooh, I’m almost done blogging the trip!  Woooooooohoo!  I managed to cram Rome all up into fewer posts than I thought.  That’s because I’m getting sick of telling you stories, and I know you’re not reading them anyway, you’re just looking at pictures, so that’s what I’m giving you. 

Except this one won’t have very many pictures because I didn’t take many more in Rome.

My final night in Rome, I decided I’d have a snazzy dinner and lots of wine.  I NEVER drink alone, but I was going to be pretty disappointed in myself if I went to freaking Italy and didn’t have any wine.  Seriously.

I headed to the restaraunt around the corner from my hotel.  I felt like a total jackass going to a decent place all by myself, but my waiter was a little old Italian guy who was happy to spend ridiculous amounts of time entertaining me. . . and drinking with me.

I initially declined the wine, thinking it was just a bad idea, but Mario convinced me I had to have wine with dinner.  And, so I started my very long dinner with bread, wine, and water (yikes, that sounds a little too biblical).  Mario brought me a menu, but I told him I didn’t need it, and that I’d appreciate his recommendation.  He then proceeded to shower me with the most fantastically delicious wonderful dishes of food to ever pass my lips.

Mario mostly hovered around my table for most of the time I was there, happily drinking a lot more wine than I did.  And, uuum, I drank a lot.  By the time I left, I’d had 6 glasses.  I know.

I had a salad, which was nothing of notable mention. . . but needs to be shared just to make sure you know how much I ate.

The salad was followed by ricotta & spinach ravioli, and holy mother of all things living and dead, I could live the rest of my life eating just that ravioli.  I’m not kidding.  If I had to pick one thing that I could eat for the rest of my life, it would be that ravioli.  I would never get sick of it, and I would be a big, fat ravioli pig and I wouldn’t care.  It was that good.

As I was finishing my ravioli, another waiter came flying around the corner and caught the corner of my table with his leg, sending my water & wine directly into my lap.  It was fantastic.  I mean, it’s not bad enough to be having dinner all by yourself when all the people around you are having parties and good times and lots of laughs.  No. . . no, you most definitely also need to have your dinner thrown at you.  That makes it just a little better.

From that point on, I was the center of all attention.  It was actually kind of awesome.  Every waiter in the place was seriously devoting a great portion of their time making sure I was OK.

I had some sort of breaded chicken dish after that, with a side of asparagus. 

There was some sort of soup, as well. . . and then there was dessert.

I don’t know what I had for dessert, except that I’m pretty sure it should be called “heaven”.  It was some sort of flakey cake type thing with creamy layers of frosting.  I usually wolf my food down like a starving dog, but I ate that as slowly as humanly possible, and I would have kissed it and told it how much I loved it if I had had just one more glass of wine.

I thought I was done with dinner at this point, until the waiter who knocked my beverages all over me brought me another dessert as his way of apologizing, because the repeated apologizing wasn’t enough.  No sir.

I also don’t know what this was, but it seemed to be some sort of puffed rice with cocoa and powdered sugar.  Not as good as the other dessert, but I’m not one to argue about free sweets.

I had to ask Mario for my check several times.  Turns out, he was rather enjoying drinking with me.  *grimmace*  The major problem there for me was that I’d had entirely too much to drink and was being way too easily convinced to have more, which was not a good idea.

He finally brought the bill, which totalled 18 euros.  They charged me only for what I’d eaten before my dinner was compromised by the water & wine dumped all over my lap.  That dinner should easily have been 50-60 euros.  EASILY.  I about died.  Plus, I was drunk.

I maybe left Mario a ridiculously generous tip, and stumbled back to my hotel. . . but not before I finally took a photo of myself next to a super tiny car.  You can’t tell I’m as drunk as I was in this photo, but the fact that I set up a tripod on the sidewalk at 11pm to photograph myself next to a tiny car should probably be proof enough that I was NOT in good shape.  You should’ve seen me laughing hysterically, and falling over repeatedly, as I tried to get the camera aimed in the right place.  The better photo would have been me lying on the ground, looking to see where the camera was pointed. . .

Uuum, and this is me very irritated by all of the stairs I had to climb to get to my room.  Not sure why I didn’t take the elevator.  Actually, I AM sure why I didn’t. . . it’s because I wanted the desk clerk to think I was completely sober, and what better way to do that than to walk with purpose directly up the 4 flights of stairs to my room.  And, that would have worked, if I hadn’t fallen over halfway up the stairs, and then sat down to rest before continuing. . .

I fell into bed and was out pretty quickly, which was a little dangerous given that I had a flight to catch the following day and forgot to set my alarm. . .

Rome 4 – The Sights

Day 2 in Rome was destined to be pure insanity.  Maybe you haven’t heard, but there’s a lot to see in Rome, and Day 2 was my last chance to see what I hadn’t seen on Day 1.  That, to me, is cause for a little bit of anxiety. 

I woke up early, and then got really aggravated with myself when I passed some of the same things I passed the day before. 

Palazzo di Giustizia:

Piazza Navona, where the fountain of the Four Rivers was being worked on:

Pantheon (and, yes, I decided that day that God is OK with Aerosmith):



(I think this is actually my favorite photo from the trip. . . don’t know why)

Tomb of the Unknown Soldier:
This wasn’t even on my list of things to see, and I happened to stumble upon it.  I can’t believe it’s not a bigger deal.  It was one of my favorite places.  You can climb the steps and get some awesome views.  Plus, I got to see the guards change, which was cool.
They were pretty hardcore with the rules – no sitting on the steps, no loud noise, no food/drink, no smoking.  They had old guys all over the place to enforce, and I was sooooooooo glad I read the rules before I went in.  *wipes brow*  I probably would have curled up and died if I’d gotten kicked out of another place.

All of the archeological stuff on the way to the Coloseum:

The Coloseum. . . and my pure devotion to Young Execs:


I want it noted that I spent no less than one hour screwing with the camera, batteries, and tripod just to get that shot, just because I knew it would make one or two people giggle.  If that isn’t proof that I’m a complete ass, Internet, I don’t know what is.

The Trevi Fountain (easily my favorite of all things in Italy, easily):
I tossed a coin and made a wish because I can’t resist the opportunity to make a wish.  But, also, they say that if you toss a coin into the fountain, you’re sure to return again.  I certainly hope that’s true.

The Spanish Steps:
It was sprinkling when I was at the Trevi Fountain, but started really coming down while I was at the Spanish Steps.  I stood under an awning for probably 2 hours and just watched the people.  No fewer than 7,000 men tried to sell me an umbrella.
I loved the shots I got of the reflection on the sidewalk. . .

I made my way north toward Villa Borghese and the surrounding gardens. . . I couldn’t tell you exactly where I was for any of these shots, but I was in that general area, and I was SO happy I could finally breathe without sucking in cancer.

I realized as I headed back to my hotel that my vacation was coming to a close entirely too quickly, and so then. . . I figured I probably better make my last night a good one. . .

Rome 3

After I got kicked out of The Vatican, I walked around a little bit, with no particular goal outside of not being kicked out of anywhere else that day.

A few things I ran into:

Castel St. Angelo:

Ponte St. Angelo:

Palazzo di Giustizia:

These signs were everywhere, and were a pretty sure indication that I am fully capable of completely amusing myself regardless of the circumstance.  I don’t need you or anyone else there to be amused. 

See, I don’t have a clue what this sign says.  But, being as they were EVERYWHERE, and I can’t stand not knowing things, I decided it means No Opposums on St. Patrick’s Day.  And, since the signs are all over the city, I’m guessing there are some people who are pretty serious about eliminating all opposums on St. Patrick’s Day. . .because it can’t be cheap to print up and post all of those signs.  And, then I thought there are some pretty foolish people in Rome because of ALL the causes you could put your time and money behind, is banning opposums on St. Patrick’s Day really something you should worry about?  I mean, really?  Accordingly, I shook my head in disgust every time I passed one of these signs.  Italians.  *shakes head*

I can’t remember what I did for dinner or anything that night. . . I think I went back to the hotel early, watched a Bruce Willis movie, and had dinner from the mini-bar.  But, I’m not going to tell you that for sure because who goes to Rome and then hangs out watching Bruce Willis movies, eating from the mini-bar? 
 

Thank you, Rome!

This sinus infection, caused by all of the disgusting cigarette pollution your inhabitants produce, is a particularly fantastic little treat to have brought home with me!

I like when my head feels like it weighs more than my ass. 

Rome 2 – The Vatican

The Vatican was just a couple of blocks away from my hotel, so getting there was relatively painless.  I walked into the plaza outside Basilica di San Pietro and I was impressed with the grandiose columns that surrounded. 

The outside of the basilica was pretty, but it wasn’t much different from any of the other structures I’d been looking at all week.

I found my way through security and towards the entrance of the basilica.  On the way, the view was pretty spectacular.

I stood outside the very front of the building for several minutes, just taking in all of the detail.  I like that I’m able to appreciate the intricacies of the architecture.  I’m fascinated by the tiniest of details in the stone.  Can you even imagine the time it takes to create this?

As I walked up the steps, I was a little irritated by the groups of teenagers sitting on the steps smoking.  Really?  That’s what you’re doing on the doorsteps of God’s house?  You’re smoking?  And, you think this is OK?  Interesting.  And, I was worried about wearing a freaking Aerosmith t-shirt.  Whatever.

I took several photos outside and gave myself ample time to soak it in.  I was not even remotely prepared for what awaited me inside. 

As I walked through the door, tears welled in my eyes.  I don’t even know where to begin explaining to you the grandeur and beauty.  It was overwhelming.  I made it about 4 steps inside before I froze and just stared in awe.  Tears streamed down my face.  I don’t know how to describe the emotion that being there caused.  The tears didn’t stop for the entire hour that I spent walking through, reading, taking photos, studying the art.  I couldn’t define WHY the tears were falling, but they wouldn’t stop.

The lighting was horrible, and I failed to take a single good photo.  Those that came out at all follow:

Chapel of St. Sebastian
Underneath the bronze gilt urn contains the remains of Blessed Pope Innocent XI (1676-1689).

I stopped at the confessional and took several minutes to consider whether or not I needed to participate in confession at The Vatican.  The area was full of confessional booths, each labeled with a language.  I considered walking into a confessional booth in an entirely different language and blabbering on in English, hoping the priest inside didn’t understand a word I was saying.  Instead I just decided to skip confession that day.

Across the way, however, I stopped to kneel and pray, and at that point, the quiet little tears that were streaming down my face became rivers that poured.  I had some pretty serious stuff to talk to God about, and being able to do so at The Vatican was alright with me.  I mean, I’d like to think that God hears us the same no matter where we are. . . but when you’ve got some very serious business to discuss with Him, and you get some prime time to address that business from The Vatican, it just feels a little bit more like you’re being listened to.  I didn’t want to be a God hog, so I kept it limited to just the two most important things on my mind and figured the rest I could figure out on my own.

I can’t tell you how much lighter I felt when I stood up and walked away. 

Just in case you need proof that I’m human, and I do, in fact, cry. . . those are tears you see in my eyes:

As I continued, I saw a woman talking on her cell phone.  IN THE BASILICA AT THE VATICAN.  WTH?!  I felt guilty taking pictures as I walked through.  I can’t even FATHOM yapping my jaw on my cell.  WHAT COULD SHE POSSIBLY HAVE BEEN THINKING?!  What, honestly, could have been SO important that it couldn’t wait for her to leave the basilica?  Really.  Please tell me.

Shortly thereafter, the chiming of bells rang . . . and I remember thinking, “Huh.  That probably means something.  Maybe they’re going to do something fancy.  La la la.  I’ll just keep on looking around”. 

Then, maybe 15 minutes later, as I round the corner, an old man approaches me and asks, “What are you doing?”.  I can’t imagine what he means, so I reply, “Uuum, just looking around. . . “.  And, this is when I realized that everyone had left.

The old man then says to me, “The basilica has closed.  You need to leave now”. 

Who gets kicked out of The Vatican?  I do.  That’s who.  I get kicked out. 

This is only slightly more embarrassing given that I spent all of my childhood going to church regularly.  I have an uncle who is a priest.  I should have known what the bells meant. 

As I made my way towards the door, I realized I hadn’t taken any photos from inside that proved I was there.  I tried to take a couple, but again with the lighting. . . no good.

At the very least, maybe you can tell I was irritated.

I was embarrased enough to decide I had seen enough of the whole Vatican city. . . and managed to walk away without seeing the Sistine Chapel or Vatican Museum.  You might call me the worst Rome tourist ever.  And, you know what?  I’m OK with that.  TOTALLY OK WITH IT.

Rome 1

By the time we got close to Rome, motion sickness was starting to set in.  I was sitting on the steps of the train, concentrating very hard on not vomiting.  I was actually a little surprised that I made it without passing out.

I jumped off the train just as quickly as humanly possible. . . just another time when having very limited luggage was very, very convenient.  I stopped inside the train station to grab a bite to eat, hoping it would make me feel a little better.  I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I headed directly into a McDonald’s for lunch.  Yes, I said it.  I ate McDonald’s in Rome. 

I was surprised that it tastes just like McDonald’s at home.  Except the fries were burnt, and they gave me stupid Diet Coke even though I asked for Dr. Pepper.  And, it cost a lot more.  But, except for that, exactly the same!

I ate quickly, like a bum, on the stairs of the train station.  I originally planned to take the subway to my hotel, but I walked around in the yucky metro area and decided I could hoof it.  I’m tough.  Plus, according to my map, my hotel only looked to be about a mile and half away.  That’s not so bad.

What I failed to take into consideration was the very serious fact that the scale of my Rome map was quite different than the scale of my Venice & Florence maps.  Um.  Duh.  I walked for about 25 minutes before I realized it.  I felt kinda stupid, but figured at that point, I may as well hoof it the rest of the way.

When I finally made it, I was pretty sure I had lung cancer.  There was not a single breath of fresh air to be had from the train station to my hotel. . . or in all of Rome, for that matter.  Rome is, essentially, one big cloud of cigarette smoke.  I don’t know if you know, but that’s gross.

My hotel room in Rome was wildly nicer than the previous two, but most importantly, contained a HUMAN sized bed. 

I really wanted to take a nap, but I knew I just didn’t have time, so I jumped in the shower to wake myself up.  The afternoon was going to be devoted to The Vatican, and if I missed that, I knew I’d be upset.

I got dressed. . . pulling on an Aerosmith t-shirt and jeans.  And, as I was heading out the door, I thought, “Maybe God doesn’t like Aerosmith.  I can probably dress nicer for God”. So, I changed into a dress & cardigan.  And, then I thought, “It’s too cold for a dress”.  So, I changed into a black top and jeans and headed out.

On my way, I passed a post office and stopped in to mail my Florence postcards.  Sadly, the lines were too long, so I walked right back out, not mailing the postcards.

Within minutes, I was walking into the grand plaza outside Basilica di San Pietro.

Florence 8

I forgot about the postcard guy, so this is out of order.

At some point in Florence, I stopped for postcards. . . because that’s about all you’ll get from me when I travel – postcards.  I don’t do souveniers or trinkets or all of the other crap that typically accompanies travel.  I send postcards. 

So, I was browsing the selection of postcards at a kiosk, doing a fine job choosing those I wished to purchase, when a man walked up behind me, stuck his arm right in front of my face, and pulled a postcard out of the display.  I thought it was a little rude for him to reach around me like that, but maybe he was in a hurry, whatever.

But, then he tries to put the postcard in my hand.  And, I stepped away from him and said, “No thanks”.  I was very confused, and I had no idea what he was doing.  I thought maybe he was the guy running the kiosk, trying to help. . . but then, when I refused the postcard he’d chosen, he said, “NO?!” and I repeated, “No”. . . and he shoved it back into the display, screamed, “FINE!” and stormed off.

He was not working the kiosk.  He was just some guy. 

Um.  WTF?