Hark and be of good cheer!
A kind, eccentric writer lives here!
Some serious works, some silly rhymes
Show the passing of life times
Stories therein, some words too
Poetry for the fanciful of you
Read on, good soul, and may you smile
And stay herein for quite a while

Hey Look Guys, Architecture!

Breakfast was earlier than I would have liked, but luckily it was only a short ways down the hall. The morning went by without much of a hitch, though to my dismay there were no hard-boiled eggs. The whole breakfast seemed to consist of pastries. We climbed aboard the very nice train to Rome in no time. I was able to read for a considerable amount of time, thankfully. I like reading. It seemed like no time at all before we were pulling into the train station Roma Termini (named after the baths of Diocletian, but may be an Italian pun for all we know—it is the end of the line).

Our first stop in Rome was the Coliseum, thus called because of the colossus that stood nearby while the games were still going on. Its official name is different and no one really uses it, but it was originally named after the man who financed the building project. There is also the fact that, according to historians, no Christians actually died in that arena (though there were other arenas back then). I know, I was disappointed too. We had an hour to take pictures and guess at the bloody games that were once held in the area. It did rain for a bit, but thankfully two of my small band of sightseers had umbrellas and thus were able to get the backpacks and cameras out of the rain. A small party of two went upstairs and took better pictures, even managing to intervene in a hilarious video recording of the British school group we found (“I am not entertained!”).

Our next point of interest was the Roman forum, complete with victory arches of Roman generals and temples to every kind of deity. We also peeked over a wall at the floor where Julius Caesar might have been stabbed and craned our eyes toward the prison where Peter and Paul were held. I didn’t actually see the Mamertine (if that is how you spell it), but I was assured it was over there. We didn’t have time to see it, really. We had ticket reservations at the Vatican Museum, and we can’t keep THEM waiting and, besides, we hadn’t eaten lunch yet.

The only really exciting thing about lunch was how rude this one lady was to us about us sitting in the wrong place. But, to be honest, she was ruder than most Americans I know, and that’s saying something. We didn’t know! Plus we offered to do whatever was necessary to sit down. It was awful.

The great thing about reserved tickets is that you don’t have to stand in the line that circles almost the entirety of Vatican City. I’ve stood in that line before: it’s no fun. Thankfully, we just had to remind them of our reservations and we cut ahead of all of those people. Haha, suckers! We put our bags through the x-ray scanners and walked through the metal detectors; basically, the only difference between this security and airport security was that we got to keep our shoes on. The museum itself holds masterpieces in tapestries, paintings, and sculptures. The highlight would be the Sistine Chapel, which definitely cannot be taken in during one walk-through. The sheer amount of frescoes is dizzying. Another highlight for me is seeing the Vatican parking lot and the one-truck fire department. Whoohoo!

Our leaders then led us to some decadent gelato and a small piazza where we could sit down. It’s amazing how much you miss regular benches and places to sit down until you go to an area where sitting down and resting your feet doesn’t seem to be important. It’s the little things, you know. Plus that gelato was amazing. I found out that Stracciatella is the most awesome flavor of g elat o ever, and honestly I will always get a scoop of it anywhere I have gelato. Then it was back to the metro and the train station, where we were on our own for supper. Mom and I got sandwiches at this cart in the middle of the entryway. While we were waiting for our food this guy comes and begs for spare change for a sandwich. I tried to tell Mom not to give him anything—I don’t trust beggars with money—but she gave in, so I helped. We watched him even as we walked away and joined the group again, and surprise surprise he bought himself a beer. Mom felt used, I felt bad for knowing all along not to trust him and not being more forceful about it.

We then caught the train back to Florence, whereupon I buried myself in a book again until we got back. It was an early night for me after the late night I had had before.

So Why do We Call it Florence?

One of the hardest things on this trip is the fact that my suitcase is larger and heavier than everyone else’s. It’s not usually a problem until there’s steps involved. In this case, there were definitely steps involved.

We left the hotel the next morning, and I dragged my behemoth of a suitcase off the one step into the room, up the one step onto the courtyard proper, off the step on the other side, up one step into the hallway, and down two steps into the kitchen before I could rest easy. Thankfully, the area between the hotel and the train station was relatively flat, though the train station has serious steps. At least ten of them. As I was contemplating dragging myself to the opposite side of the steps to the supposed ramp on the other side, a kind man in our group offered to help me. He took my suitcase and dragged it up the staircase as I took his much smaller, much lighter suitcase. I was eternally grateful. And then there were the steps into the train towards Firenze, or what we call Florence. Not only was I to drag my suitcase up a steep, narrow flight, but I had to do it quickly. Oof. I managed to finagle it on somehow. I stored my suitcase and settled down on the train with a book until we got to Florence, whereupon I had to wrangle my suitcase, descend the same steps with the same problems of efficiency, and not lose the group. We walked the short way to the hotel and waited for our illustrious leader to arrange luggage storage for us. The bad news for me was that the elevator started only after the obligatory initial flight of stairs. Seriously?

We stored our luggage in two empty rooms and made our way out into Florence. We walked through the busy market (not giving anyone time to actually shop) to the piazza San Lorenzo where the church of San Lorenzo was. This Lorenzo person was a Medici who was in great power when the church was built. Apparently you can buy a sainthood. The façade of the church was interesting—there was no façade. Then we were let loose for lunch. My small group decided to go to the large marketplace-building off the market we walked through. The inside was noisy with smells and people mingling together into a great cacophony of Italian. We dashed up the steps and decided it was every man for himself for this meal. We walked from booth to booth, looking for some non-alcoholic, non-meaty meal. We found it after circling about three hundred degrees. It featured two charismatic and young Italian chefs tossing pasta and sauces and a quiet man in the back making the pasta. Yes, hand-made and authentic Italian pasta. I got the spaghetti pesto, and despite my reservations it was delicious. Oh I love real Tuscan food. We made our way back to San Lorenzo for the next leg of our Florentine adventure.

Okay, so in Italy Florence is called Firenze. There’s nothing about that name that leads me to Florence, personally, so I was really curious as to how we managed to Anglicize it with an entirely different vowel sound. After much thought and consideration I do believe Florence was called thus in English because of the coins they made, florens.

We made a line after our leader like the ducklings we all really are at heart. He took us back to our hotel to move into our rooms, though he took us a different way this time and it confused some. Some of us found a Laundromat that would prove useful later, so we marked its location in our minds. We found our luggage out of the rooms and into our rooms, finding out who our new roommates were and stuff. We didn’t have long to settle before lining up again outside the hotel and heading towards the great and glorious Duomo, passing the Santa Maria Novella and attached cloister on our way out.

We finally rounded the corner of the piazza and stopped to marvel at the amazing façade of the Duomo, a spectacle of white and green marble. In front of the ginormous church lay an octagonal baptistery with its famous relief-paneled doors. I was near the front of the group, so I had no trouble double-backing and making our way around to the opposite side of the baptistery, but when we turned around the group was gone. There were three of us students with the leader and his wife wondering where the other twenty or so group members had gone. Us younger people stayed put by the doors while the adults tried to find them. It’s a good thing we did stay put: the emissary from the group found us kids first. We told this messenger to bring the rest of the group to the side of the baptistery, and by the time our leader got back we were all gathered again. We oohed and ahhed over the magnificent relief sculptures in the panels of the doors one by one, finally rounding the corners to ogle at the other doors until we made it to the gates of paradise. They are called that because someone (I think it may have been Michelangelo) said they were good enough to be the real gates to heaven. They’re masterfully done, I’ll give him that.

Then we stood in line to enter the Duomo. Again we were under the scrutiny of dress code police. This time there were less problems. The inside is airy and open, the windows and altar beautifully done, and the inside of the massive dome houses a fresco of the last judgment. Last time I was in Florence, I climbed the dome and was able to walk right under that fresco, right under hell. I recommend the climb to anyone—the views are gorgeous. Sadly, it was time to leave the cathedral. There’s not much in there, really, and there’s only so far you can go as a tourist anymore. So I sat outside humming Dona Nobis Pacem with Mom. The good news was that we heard the bells in the large campanile (bell tower) outside the Duomo. That campanile is a spectacle in and of itself, and you can climb it just like the Duomo. Both cost money, however, so it is your call.

Then we walked down the broad streets of Florence where our leader pointed out the Bargello (once a greenery, then a church, now a museum), a highly-recommended gelateria, the Ufizzi (the old offices of the Medici, now a museum), and the world famous bridge with all of the silver- and goldsmiths. There’s a bust of some egotistical past ruler who said that as long as his face was seen, Florence would be safe. Seriously, he said that. They’re doing restoration work (like everywhere we’ve been so far) around it, so there’s plywood surrounding the bust, but the face can still be seen. We’re not taking chances, right?

We were dismissed after we got to the other side of the bridge. Us three musketeers (my two best friends on the trip and myself) wandered around taking pictures and finding cool things to comment on, including reminiscences of the Coca-Cola tour in Georgia and the goofy-looking satyr, I mean, faun in the fountain by the Ufizzi. We ate at the gelateria (which was hand-made and expensive, but so good) and found the adults in their restaurant before reconfiguring our group. There were fireworks that night, on account of it being Saint George’s day, so three people wanted to go and three people didn’t want to stay up late. I wanted to go—c’mon, they’re fireworks! The small parcel of us that wanted to go (two musketeers and one faculty) made our way over to the street by the Arno River and decided three hours was too long to stand in one spot. So we sat and talked until a more reasonable hour, when we sat on the concrete of the rail and talked until the fireworks actually started: 10:00 pm. The fireworks were good, but it was after eleven when we finally squeezed through the crowds and made it back to the hotel.

Apologies

Life has been getting pretty hectic here in Europe. I will post my "blog" continuing where I left off in Venice. I hope to catch up sometime this week if possible, but I did finish The Post that Wouldn't Send. I'll put it up here in a flash.

Delivery Error

I will try to re-create the post that just got lost in the faulty internet connection sometime this week. I am very sorry

A Change of Trains and a Game of Telephone

So today I left Switzerland.

It started with an early breakfast (6:30 in the morning?! really?!) and man-handling my suitcase down the stairs. The thing was heavy to begin with, and going down stairs was a nightmare. Anyway, after breakfast it was out onto the (cobbled) street and up to the train station. It wouldn't have been nearly so bad if my suitcase did not pull incessantly to the right. Thankfully they had a decent-sized elevator at the train station.

Our first train was an hour's ride to Brig. We settled in and I continued my very good book, content in a quiet train ride. Then we got to Brig and knew we had around thirty or so minutes, but that we would have three to get on the next train after it arrived. We are all told how the groups split into cars and the leaders were given sheets with reserved seats listed on them, so we should have been good, right? No such luck; we heard a fuzzy, unclear announcement about a change of plans over the intercom. Our high-speed train apparently wasn't coming. So we piled on to a regular-sized train that came instead and tried to find seats-- the train was nearly full. Well, my suitcase is larger than every other suitcase on the trip, and it stands two feet tall and eighteen inches wide. There was no way it would fit overhead. I ended up in between cars with my overweight suitcase. Thankfully I wasn't alone-- Dr. and Rita Wohlers, the trip leaders, were also stuck between cars. Then someone from my group came up and said she heard that itwasn't the right train, that we had to get off at the next stop. Everyone turned to Wohlers, who coolly walked off to find a conductor and straighten the whole thing out. He came back saying that we would have to get off at the next stop but this was the train we were looking for. The high-speed to Venice would be at the next station. Apparently it never made it to Switzerland. So we train-surfed laden with suitcases while some unencumbered young men went through the train cars spreading the word.

We arrived at the next station without enough time to regroup and discuss which train we all thought it was. Some of us had very different ideas, but I trusted the guy in front of me and headed across the platform. Then I saw it, too: a sign above the train saying Venice. I knew it had to be ours despite the Swiss train system logo on each car. My group found car number four easily enough with six leaders finding it (we have a group of all leaders and haven't managed to bite each other's heads off) and I started the daunting task of finding everyone's seats. That's when I found out that the seats are numbered very strangely on that particular train. 105-108 was not, after all, in a row, but spread out over three seat pairings at odd intervals. Nor was 97 next to 98; 91-93 were scattered as well. We had to talk to some people who were just as confused as we were who were in our seats (but we had the reservation ticket that proved we were supposed to at least be in that area, so we had the upper hand). Soon we all settled down and I was finally able to get back to my book. At some point lunch was made and I ate two Nutella sandwiches and a handful of sour cream and onion Pringles and drank this really cool Swiss drink that tasted kind of like carbonated apple juice with orange and other tangy flavors mixed in with grain. I went back to my book, then fell asleep, then back to my book, then listening to people around me. Soon the announcement came on and everyone started packing up: we were coming up on Venice. I had left my hulk of a suitcase in the luggage area on the other end of the car, so I had to wait behind the noisy French school group to get it. Then we stepped outside and into the heat and sunshine of Venice.

Venice, if you don't already know, is a series of islands interconnected by canals and bridges. There is no room on the streets for any sort of vehicle other than maybe a bicycle. Maybe. This means that, unlike other cities in Europe, Venice has no train, trolley, or bus system. Instead they have a system of boats set up like buses, complete with lines and frequent stops. There is no other way to see the whole of Venice.

We got out of the train station and headed down a short way through a street that branched off the Grand Canal to a seemingly random alleyway that we realized went to our hotel. Speaking of, it is quite charming with a garden courtyard and beautiful rooms. I am so blessed to have a room off in the far corner of the courtyard. It just makes me happy walking to the room with its cheery surroundings! We had a little under an hour to settle in before heading out to see San Giorgio, and in that time we found the wifi and I found out that an old friend of mine is actually staying in Pisa. I haven't seen the guy in, like, four years, so I was genuinely excited because we're going to Pisa on Saturday, or Sabbath as I call it. We found our way to that boat system I mentioned and got our tickets. We hopped on the number 2 line to Lido and got to see Venice from the Grand Canal. I took so many pictures I had to switch SD cards. Then we found out that we had gotten on the wrong boat because Lido was as far as this one went-- it did not go to the island with the San Giorgio cathedral on it. After we straightened out that debacle (switching boats was interesting, but we all made it safely) we found out that we had a half our to be in and out of the church before the doors closed.

We headed straight inside after some guidelines from Dr. Wohlers. As it turns out, Tintoretto has at least two paintings inside, the two next to the altar being the most famous. One is The Last Supper, featuring more movement and drama than Leonardo DaVinci's serene piece by the same name. The other is something about the blessing of the manna. I felt quite proud of myself for one thing I found that no one else did: a small statue of San Giorgio (St. George) on the pedestal on the side of the entrance to the choir. And they say I'm not detail-oriented. We then quickly made our way back through the church, oohing and ah-ing over the detailed statuary and beautiful artwork. Outside, we gathered in front of some golden modern-art pillars and learned the history of Venice as told by our illustrious Dr. Diller. I have to say, I love her lectures. I get it when she explains it. After that we posed for a quick picture, hopped a boat to the closest thing Venice has to a mainland, and split off for the evening.

My main goal for the evening was to get to this wonderful pizzeria called Gepetto's which offered an amazing pizza called Pinocchio (I'm a Disney freak), but there was no such luck. Turns out no one near where I thought the place was knew about it. We did have a fun time cutting through San Marco plaza and walking by the Ferrari shop, though some guy in the plaza tried to scam my guy friend into buying roses for all of us girls nearby. That's just so wrong in my book. I had to give the rose back, though I had thought something was up when a street-vendor-type guy handed me a rose. We made it to the Rialto bridge just fine (though I would have found it even without the signs, and in fact the signs led us out of the way). We found a different pizzeria that offered a primavera pizza with tomatoes on top (just the way I like it!!). We had a wonderful time even though we had a table with nine people crammed into it. We were making new connections, right? Anyway, after pizza and the check were handled, some of us got gelato next door. I decided, and my mother and friend agreed, to wait. It wasn't urgent. Then five of our group got this sudden urge to go on a gondola ride, especially after finding out that the group price was 100 euros. Five or more people riding makes that around 20 euros a piece-- not exorbitant in the least. The other four of us were feeling too tired to try it tonight, so we went back to the hotel after a mix-up and a boat ride. We stopped for better (cheaper) gelato, hit the ATM (unfortunately Italy doesn't handle Swiss franks), and came back without another hitch.

I will say this about our group's version of telephone: we didn't hear anything about the rain in Spain staying mainly in the plane, so we didn't do too horribly.