Italy.
I mean, I've heard about it but you think that a place cannot possibly live up to its reputation. I must say, this does.
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| first airbnb experience |
Ever since my arrival at the airport, I have tried my best to make this experience stressful. Definitely almost lost my luggage. Arrived and had no cell service, no map on how to get to the place I'm staying, a calling card that cost a fortune and had 10 minutes on it, no Euros, no idea which train to get on and pretty much had no plan whatsoever. Luckily I jumped on the correct train at the last second and by the time I arrived at the stop I had international texting which allowed me to find the great room I had booked on airbnb.com (if you have never used this site it is absolutely fabulous-- sorry for the plug). The room is decked out in bright red IKEA (yes, the Swedes have infiltrated every country, those Scandinavian geniuses) and is air conditioned-- a definite plus. The bathroom is similar to that on a sailboat, complete with a 2'x2' shower and toilet so close to the side wall that turing around to reach for the toilet paper is definitely not happening. (I am very intrigued by the corner-door shower, though. I have to remember this for future architectural planning.)
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| awesome corner door |
A late night pizza at a pizzeria I found by accident definitely melted any remaining travel tension. By the way, that plate was definitely FULL of pizza. Yup. Ate that much. Just remember: 24 hours of traveling earns you the right to pig out.
Yesterday I got up and putzed around Rome. It is crazy how intense and relaxing this city is at the same time. The drivers live up to their reputation of being fast and ruthless. A stop sign is merely a suggestion. Of course I loudly advertise my American citizenship by smiling and waving a "thank you" every time a car stops for me. The Italians saunter in front of the oncoming cars with complete cool-ness and disregard. They would
never belittle themselves and wave. Stupid Americans.
The thing about Rome is that it is crawling with tourists. From the clearly Asian with typical umbrellas and fanny-packs to more Swedes than you can imagine (just what Italy needs- more beautiful people...), the tourists are easily identified. The locals are very patient and seem to enjoy showing off their English. It helps that I whip out a watercolor kit every time I sit down at a restaurant. So far I have gotten free gelato, free local cherries and the card of a obscure artist who wanted me to go online and check him out right away. It seems that restaurant owners like the idea of forever being recorded in someone's sketchbook.
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| entry into my room |
I have found that I much prefer escaping the masses of disoriented "globetrotters" by stumbling down the smaller streets that lead to shops tucked away between apartments, yards paved with cobblestones and moped parking. I love the paper shops the most. It has been challenging to resist the temptation of a finely-crafted new sketchbook, but my first one is barely started. That and I'm pretty sure my rapidly depleting budget does not allow for such liberal spending. They are beautiful though and I should be congratulated for my restraint, just for the record.
It is crazy how, even when aimlessly dawdling down hidden streets, you turn a corner and find a building you have had crammed down your throat in architectural history courses. I am embarrassed to say that I was roaming around a piazza taking pictures of the tops of buildings that had sun on them making the colors irresistible (I'm serious! It was lovely) that it took me a good 20 minutes before I realized that the
Pantheon was right behind me. Thankfully no one from Yale knows about this blog otherwise I would be ousted immediately.
So far the only unfortunate circumstance has been my shoes, which I thoughtfully purchased for the sole purpose of walking long hours during my travels. Despite constantly wearing them pre-trip in order to break them in, and the ignoring the 20 blisters I got each time I did--trying to convince myself that eventually they would learn to love my feet and stop punishing them so harshly-- they seem to be dedicated to laugh at me as I limp around attempting to get my foot in a position so the leather stops rubbing open foot flesh. I think I might have beat them though! This morning I cut off the offending leather straps with a travel x-acto blade and now have shoes that, if they fail, will have the last word by forcing me to buy new ones in this expensive city. Good lord.
Alright, now that I've finished my second cappuccino (did you know that lattes here have no espresso?! What is the point of that?!) it is off to another day. Hopefully this one will include fewer blisters.
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| pantheon and plaza |
