Siena: the kindness of strangers and the comfort of family

Well folks, betrayals of trust aside, I am still in Rome... and still two weeks behind on this blog thing!  I've had a birthday, five days in Naples full of incredible pizza, and now am even halfway through Rome... and you don't even know about it!!  And hey -- I also finally got (most) of my shit together for Greece yesterday.  Athens and Santorini.  Cross your fingers for me that strikes and riots will only end up making the trip an "experience" and not a complete and utter disaster.

That said, let's turn the Way-Back Machine to November 4, when I woke up in Florence to yet another rainy day, and had to rush like mad to get to the train station because I was... meeting friends in Siena! :)

Back when I was in Cinque Terre, I met this incredibly lovely American family who happened to be living short-term in Siena -- Phil and Dina and their four great kids.  We ended up talking quite a bit, and it was kind of funny how I would run into them everywhere -- all over the hostel of course, but also in train stations, at restaurants in town for dinner... We ended up being very friendly and I said I would shoot them an email when I took my Siena day trip and maybe we could meet for coffee.

So I did, and Phil wrote me right back and suggested meeting in front of the Siena Duomo at 12:30.  I was surprisingly jazzed about this.  Traveling solo, even in the midst of seeing incredible things, it can really get tiring to either always be by yourself or to cycle through a series of single-service friends you will very likely never talk to again.  So even though I had just met Phil and Dina and their family, the fact that I was going to see them again elevated us to something more than single-service friendship.  And also, after months of hostel backpackers, of couples and solos and joined-at-the-hip traveling buddies mostly in their 20s, it felt sort of very comforting to be around a family again.

All of that is a very long lead-in to the point, which was that I found myself positively sprinting for the station, to stand in one of the longest train ticket lines ever (of course!) so I wouldn't be late for our meetup.

And even though I made my train, I still ended up being about 15 minutes late, because to my dismay Siena is a lot bigger than I thought it was!  At a brisk walk/trot, in the rain, it took me little more than half an hour to get to the Duomo from the station.  But Phil was waiting for me, all smiles.

Oh yes, and the Siena Duomo is amazing, even in the rain.

We met up with Dina and their kids and they took me to lunch at this cute little cafe they knew.  And started talking about taking me around for an afternoon tour... and then asked if it was okay with me if we just went back to dinner at their place, rather than going out.

Wait, what??? :) An afternoon tour?  A home-cooked meal at an actual house?  I felt like I was dreaming.  I seriously never expected anything beyond coffee!  But I was not complaining.  This was the most incredible news I'd heard in forever, and I was just totally floored by their incredible generosity.

Lunch was great, and they wouldn't let me pay even though of course I offered.  Their kids loved this place because of the hot chocolate, which appeared to be pretty much a melted chocolate bar poured into a cup.  I stuck with my salami panini and coffee. :)  I need to mention how great and fun and well-behaved their four kids are!  The one boy, Jamie, was particularly adorable.  Back in Cinque Terre, I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, and he told me with great solemnity that "I want to be a football player, a basketball player, a hockey -- no, not hockey -- and a baseball player.  And then when I get old I want to be a paleontologist.  And then when I get really old I want to be a priest."  We high-fived.  I hope you make all those things happen my friend!

Over lunch, we had an excellent chill conversation, and both Dina and Phil knew so much about Siena's history and what not.  Made me feel like a total slacker, the way I've just sort of been showing up in places.  :)  Then they suggested letting me explore for a bit, go inside the Duomo and what not, and then they'd meet me at Siena's main plaza, the Campo, in about an hour and a half.  Perfect!

It was supposed to be six euro to get inside the Duomo, but for some reason tickets were free that day.  Maybe because it was Sunday?  Again, so totally not complaining.

The inside of Siena's Duomo beats Firenze's by a landslide, btw.

Stripes in the marble, apparently a signature of Tuscany

Phil told me that I had really very good luck to visit the Duomo when I did, because they had uncovered these floor mosaics which only happens a few times a year.  He said the pictures were classical and mythological themes with a Catholic slant, and even identified a few of them.  I have to admit that that level of education is not one I currently possess!  But even though I couldn't tell you what was happening in this mosaic below, I knew enough to tell that it was beautiful.

The main altar

Outside, the rain had pretty much stopped, so I walked around for a little bit and bought a bottle of wine as a hostess gift for Dina and Phil.  And Phil met me at the Campo just as promised.  Dina, he said, had taken the kids home to chill out for a little bit.

The Campo

What followed was just the best afternoon.  Phil took me all over.  At one point, we were on this terrace and he said "If you lean over just here, you get a fantastic view of the Duomo."  I said that touring the city with him was like having my very own personal Michelin Green Guide! :)

St. Catherine lived most of her life in Siena, and I think Phil said she is not only the patron saint of Siena but of all of Tuscany.  He took me to her convent and showed me her actual cell where she slept.  Then we went to another church that seemed kind of out-of-the-way and unspecial, but inside was a fresco of St. Catherine painted during her lifetime, and then in a very quiet side chapel was St. Catherine's actual head.  In a glass case.

I so do not want to be disrespectful, especially since my host and guide considered this a very holy thing, but staring at a 700-year-old decapitated head that still had most of its flesh is a quite strange moment.  I was raised Catholic, and as I've said in the past few years I have opened myself a little bit more fully to the idea of a non-denominational, gay-friendly and pro-women's rights God.  But the Catholic practice of keeping relics... skulls and bones and mummified heads... on display, I'm afraid I don't exactly get it.

But that's neither here nor there, really.  Except to say that all this was amazing, and I would never have found any of it if I'd come to Siena by myself.  They didn't allow photos at any of the St. Catherine sites, and normally I would have just taken one anyway, but I was with Phil and again, did not want to be disrepectful.  However, thanks to the power of the internet I was able to find one for you:

Kind of... unsettling, am I right?

But anyway.  In addition to St. Catherine, we also walked all over the city, saw a Siena football match happening at the stadium, and he took me by the bus station so I could get my ticket home.

November Tuscany

Then he took me back to their apartment, where I was able to help make dinner!!  I actually love cooking, and did a ton of it when I was home this past summer.  I've missed it!  Dina let me make the caprese salad, and just being able to sit in a clean, normal kitchen, and talk about normal things with a family while slicing tomatoes and mozzarella cheese... I hadn't realized how much my soul had missed this!  I gave them the wine I'd bought, and we sipped on that (and then a new bottle!) while snacking on crostini appetizers.

Dinner itself was green salad, the caprese salad, and spaghetti with a tomato-basil sauce.  So perfect and delicious, and wonderful to sit down to a proper table again!

And then, sadly, it was time for me to say my goodbyes and wait for my bus.  Phil walked me almost all the way to make sure I didn't get lost.  I just could not thank this family enough for taking me under their wing for one whole rainy day, for giving me their time, for inviting me into their home.  I had been feeling sort of down and over it the previous night after my less-than-amazing day in Florence, and this unexpected kindness could not have come at a better time!

Phil, Dina and family, if you happen somehow to stumble on this blog, allow me to thank you once again!  You gave me one of  my best days in Italy and my whole trip!  And allow me also to apologize for all the cursing in the other entries. :)

Truth

This post could have just as easily been named "TRUST."  But at at the end of the day, trust is born from truth, from honesty.

What happens when that trust is shattered?  Rudely, callously, with no regard whatsoever to the damage that will be done to the emotional fractal that makes up a human being.

When someone is forced to face the fact that a person they liked, respected, trusted, has LIED to them... about important shit, just... how do you square with that?

I seriously want to know.  I'm very curious to hear your ideas because right now, sitting in this Rome hostel, I have absolutely nothing even approaching an answer.

I am, as of two days ago, 33 years old.  And I have had fully half a life of relationships, flings, and one-night-stands end in all manner of terrible, dramatic, pathetic, or just plain relieved ends.  Sometimes it was my fault.  Sometimes it was theirs.  And yes, sometimes I lied.  I have hurt my former lovers in all manner of naive and selfish ways.  But, in the spirit of honesty, I haven't lied to a lover -- or to anyone -- in a long time.  I grew up.  In fact, truth got to be pretty important to me.

I suppose, in light of recent events, it was a pretty gigantic mistake to assume that everyone I met -- people I chose to associate with and devote my time to -- people I trusted -- would feel the same way about truth and honesty that I did.  Because, to my knowledge, in all my 33 years I have never been snowed quite like this.

Truth given does not in any way mean that truth will be returned.

I'm 33, and I just learned that.

And what I've been dealing with all day, what's done its best to ruin one of my precious few days in Rome despite all my best efforts, is:  just how do you deal with that?

How exactly do you shake it off when it comes to light that someone you trusted smiled and lied to your face?  And to be frank, my problem has very little to do with the actual person and everything to do with the lie itself.  Lying is pretty much the most disrespectful thing you can do to a person, short of physically abusing them.  Lying is mental and emotional manipulation, which is what certainly what happened to me.

And yes, there are God-knows-how-many inspirational and faux-inspirational Facebook memes and e-cards floating around supposedly to help me deal with just this crisis, but if shit were really that easy, there would be no need for those stupid cards and quotes in the first place.

How do you shake it off when it comes to light that someone looked into your eyes, said one thing and made it sincere, when really, what he was saying in his heart was "You don't matter.  I have not the least bit of respect for you as an individual or even as a friend.  I want something, for whatever fucking reason, and I am going to stare soulfully at you and have a meaningful conversation full of nothing but bullshit until I get what I want."

And the thing is -- even though you know he is completely in the wrong, that whatever he thinks doesn't matter because HE doesn't matter, that he's a liar and a coward -- the fact remains that anyone at all had the balls to treat you so negligently, so disrespectfully, and you LET THEM... because you respected and TRUSTED them...

Well, that's something I can't just get over in a matter of hours.

That said, I will get over this, probably quite soon.  Maybe tomorrow.  Maybe even as soon as this is posted, and all my hurt and frustration and bile gets to spill out into the ether and away from me.  But now -- for today, for tonight, I sit licking my wounds.  Collecting myself back again.

Florence: the city they tell you to like

Leaving Venice, finally, reluctantly, I boarded yet another train and headed back down into Tuscany.  I had booked my Florence hostel with the same company as the one that owned the Venice hostel I had just left, so was a little uncertain as to what I'd find.  Plus Camping Jolly in Venice was by no means the worst hostel I've ever stayed at, but they misrepresented a whole lot on their site and that had been a source of continual disappointments.  Plus Florence turned out to be okay -- biggest complaint was that there was no dedicated common room, just the restaurant/bar that was first extremely noisy, then dark, then closed.  (Please see my Anti-Youth Hostel rant for more info.)  But that turned out to not matter so much after the first night -- because I had my four-bed dorm room (complete with kitchenette!) all to myself for my last two nights!  Quite an unexpected bonus, but also a very welcome one.

I spent my first morning in Florence trying to figure out Greece.  I was having a terrible time finding a reasonable flight home, and even went so far as to check rates flying out of Prague, Istanbul, London, Paris... I couldn't find a deal anywhere for the dates I wanted.  Ended up spending a good few hours playing with numbers, looking up hostels, ferries, flights... and finally left to see some of the city without having actually booked anything.  Not my most productive morning.

As luck would have it, I'd been to Florence before, on a day trip from Rome when I was here in 2009.  After the sexy chaos of Rome, Florence felt kind of like a wet blanket.  I saw the David, the Galleria Academia, climbed to the top of the Duomo's dome.  And I gratefully headed back to Rome at the end of the day.  With such a lackluster first experience, I was planning on skipping Florence all together and staying in Siena instead.  But Siena has no hostels, so due to lack of options I booked three nights in Firenze instead.  I decided it might be good to give Florence one more chance.  And after my second look....

I'm going to come right out and say it.  I don't get Florence.  Florence is, unquestionably, the most crowded city I have ever freaking been to, including but not limited to:  NYC, DC, Chicago, Rome, Venice, London, Paris...

What are all these people looking at?  Sure, the David is here, and that's cool.  The Duomo is here, and that's cool too (on the outside anyway; the inside is surprisingly... dull.)  But the fact is that Florence is not nearly as beautiful as Venice and not nearly as fun or interesting as Rome.  Why were the streets packed like a rock concert?  What are these people here to see that I am missing?

I went to check out the Duomo first, and all bias aside, this church is breathtakingly beautiful on the outside.

Duomo, with the Baptistery in front.

Like I mentioned, in '09 I paid eight euro to climb up to the top of the dome, and that was great, because it meant I didn't have to pay eight euro to do it again.  Instead, I just went inside the basilica for free.  For how incredible and over-the-top the outside of this church is, the inside is almost jarring in its sparseness.  It looks almost unfinished.

That landmark checked off, I headed next to the Plaza Republica, where there happened to be a very cool little market happening.  Stall after stall of wine, cheese, olive oil, truffle oil, bread, sweets.... and all giving out free samples!  Bought a bottle of Chianti for five euro, but held out against the white truffle oil spread (SO amazing!!).

In.  Sane.

Saw the Ponte Vecchio, but did not walk across as it would not have been so much walking as much as moshing.  With possible crowd surfing at points.

Ponte Vecchio Bridge

I wanted to visit this one church, Santa Crocce I think, where Dante and Galileo are buried.  But as a surprise to no one, the line to buy tickets was huge, and those tickets were six euro.  I passed.  I'd spent my admission money on Chianti anyway.

Santa Crocce

One thing I had wanted to do back in '09, but was unsuccessful, was walking up to the Piazza Michelangelo for a view of the city at sunset.  So that was next on the list, and my '09 self must have been quite the navigational retard, because there were seriously signs everywhere and it was very easy to find.  My God damned Achilles tendons were screaming at me again, so I had to rest for a little while with a 3-euro glass of wine before tackling the final hill. :)

Florence from the Piazza

My hostel was kind of on the exact opposite end of the city from this piazza, and it was a long, painful walk back.  I have been forced to slowly come to the pain-in-the-ass resignation that I am simply not able to walk for as far or as long as I would like at present.  I've been trying to take things a little easier, and have shortened my sightseeing days where I'm on my feet, and even take days off, but it doesn't seem to matter.  I usually have about an hour of pain-free walking and then all bets are off.  Sucks.

Anyway, I'd thought I would get a market dinner that night and eat it at the hostel with my Chianti, but I passed a decent-looking restaurant that had a "menu of the day" for 10 euro.  10 euro was my budget to spend at the market, so I decided to do this instead, as it meant I would get to sit down right then.

Big mistake.  Huge.  I'd had a couple "menu of the day" dinners in France, and they were all so horrible I stopped doing that.  But I thought "hey, this is Italy, the food here is awesome.  Maybe this time it will be okay."  Wrong.  I had what I sincerely hope was my Worst Meal in Italy.  Tasteless mushy gnocchi in a bland sauce followed by a tiny piece of stringy, fatty meat.  Ugh.  Then it took forever to get my check as I sat in a mostly-empty restaurant.  I did not leave a tip.

Home for what blessedly turned out to be quite a quiet night in my empty room!  I drank my Chianti, read, listened to music and just hoped my solitude would not be disturbed by drunk hipsters barging in at 11 PM!  (This did not happen.)

And that was my day in Florence.  I had one more night here but would spend the day in Siena.  I think it is safe to say that from now on I will be content to leave Florence to the rest of you!

Venice: Halloween and the Lost Day

Happy Halloween Venice!  Woke up to a chilly grey day.  Got the standard boring morning shite done (washed some socks), and just as I stepped out to start the long trek to the bus, it started to rain.  Hooray.  Back in for my mighty NF jacket.  I was currently umbrella-less as my Barcelona Gypsy Umbrella had died in Verona.

Getting off the bus, it started to rain in earnest.  I bought a brand-new five euro crappy umbrella from a vendor and started off.  Once again, no plan.  No directions, and instantly lost.  And really about as happy as yesterday, but not quite as happy, because it was fucking pouring and pretty damn cold.  After a while I took refuge in a coffee bar, because I had to pee and public toilets in Venice cost a euro fucking fifty.  I worked out a system though, that when I started to feel the urge, I would set about finding the most casual bar around and pay 2 euro for an espresso, which would grant me the privilege of also using the toilet there.  (Two euro for an espresso is redic, btw; it's ONE euro freaking everywhere else in Europe.)  In Italy they hate it when you order an espresso and then sit down.  Espressos are to be taken like shots while standing at the bar, in-out, four minutes or less.  But to hell with you and your overexpensive coffee, I sat and wrote postcards, hoping in foolish vain that the rain might actually stop.  It did not.

Venice in the rain.

There are many disadvantages to traveling by yourself, but one undeniable advantage is that you can do whatever the fuck you want.  And as I wandered Venice's alleys and vias and bridges, staring in increasing longing at all the pretty things behind glass, I sort of came to the strange and uncomfortable conclusion that what I wanted to do on this rainy Halloween in Venice was... Shop.

What the hell?

I hate shopping.  I haven't shopped for anything this whole trip besides conditioner and leggings.  (And food and stuff of course, but that hardly counts.)  There were... museums, and churches, and stuff to see.  But even in the cold rain, sequestering myself away in a museum held no appeal.  Instead I decided that today was the day I would buy myself that One Thing -- the one souvenir I was going to allow myself to remember my trip.  And suddenly I wanted that one thing to be a Murano glass necklace from Venice.  So started the hunt.

This was going to be my One Thing, so naturally it had to be perfect.  Beautiful, me, classic, and under 50 euros.  I went in and out of what had to be two dozen different shops of varying prices and quality, searching for this one necklace.  I spent hours doing this.  Anyone on the planet would have killed me 14 shops ago.  (I would have certainly done the same had our imaginary positions been reversed.)  But I was all alone, and if I wanted to spend this rainy day in Venice setting down my dripping umbrella at doorway after doorway for a long or cursory glance at yet more and more strings of brightly colored glass beads, dammit if that was not what I was going to do.  I bought a couple Christmas presents during the course of the day, but my own perfect prize kept slipping out of reach.

The funny thing is, when I finally found what I was looking for, I knew it immediately, and the whole transaction took less than five minutes.  I saw this gorgeous blue-and-gold bead necklace in a shop window and ducked in at once.  Asked to see it, held it a second, then nodded and said, "Si, okay."  The woman was surprised but pleased at the quickness of my decision, but took my Visa happily enough.  After I complimented her on the beautiful things in her shop, she smiled and waved her hand around.  "I make," she said proudly.  "All."  Could not have been more perfect.

It was time to find the train station and get the shuttle home.  I had a date with Sofie for another camp restaurant dinner before we planned to join the bar's Halloween party at 10:00.  A welcome change from yesterday, this time I was able to find the station without a problem, but as I made my way there the weather decided to show me that all the rain up until now had just been playing.

The wind whipped up and drove the downpour sideways.  My umbrella was inside out more often than not.  My rain jacket thankfully kept my core dry, but my pants soon looked like they had come out of the washing machine.  I was, from head to foot, drenched.  Drenched, dripping, freezing, and very, very unhappy.

It was a squelchy ride home.  I only thanked God that the camp's shuttle appeared at the appointed time, because navigating public transport at that point, not to mention the long walk back to the camp, might have driven me over the edge of polite society.

Finally home, I met up with Sofie, changed my pants, and we headed out for dinner.  I had linguine with a mushroom cream sauce that was surprisingly good.  After dinner, out waitress came by with little Halloween chocolates for us.

Sofie with our party favors.

The bar area was all decorated for Halloween, but besides us, it seemed that the only other partygoers were the group of 40+ French teenagers.  Unimpressed.  Sofie and I ordered wine and played cards.  But soon enough other adults showed up and we started having a pretty good time.  Lots of people had bought Venetian masks for the occasion, and I got to try a few of them on. :)

How does one go about getting something like that home in one piece?

Right as the party was ramping up... the campsite lost power because of the storm and they shut everything down!!  Sofie and I invited a few people back to our bungalow, but the only one to take us up on it was a cool guy named Gabriel.  Home, I pulled out my little travel-sized lantern and we chatted and drank wine until pretty late.

Next morning, I woke up at 7:00 because that was when Sofie was getting up to catch a train.  We said our goodbyes... and then I realized that her 20-year old self had puked red wine all over the toilet and its environs at some point, and had not cleaned it up.  So I'm afraid that rather... soured my feelings on our friendship.  Maybe that fantasy hostel age limit just really shouldn't be waived, ever.

So I cleaned up the bathroom and then the rest of the cabin as much as I could.  It was a real mess, with cups and bottles, and mud and leaves (and flakes of black paint from Gabriel's costume) everywhere.  Yeah, I could have waited for the cleaning crew I guess, but they hadn't been impressing me thus far and I really didn't want to hang out in a bungalow full of puke and mess for the next three or four hours.  Finally I went back to bed... and was woken up half an hour later by my new roommates!! BOTH of them.  I was pissed, because like I mentioned, these bungalows were not big enough for three people, plus it was 10:45.  Check-in was supposed to be at 2:00.  Why the hell were these jokers waking me up?

They did leave pretty quickly, but I knew I wasn't going to be able to fall asleep again.  Got up and saw another angry grey day and a light rain.  Decided I was going to have a quiet day in and not fight with getting in and out of the city.  I was pretty sure Venice would be underwater after all the rain, and while there was a slightly macabre side to me that thought that'd be neat to see, mostly I just figured it would be really... wet.  Wet, and inconvenient.  I was behind on both my blog and my journal, and thought that this would be a great chance to catch up.  I logged on to the wi-fi.... and it was not working.  SWELL.  There went my ability to do the one thing I most wanted to get done that day.

I don't think I need to recount all the details of this stupid, frustrating non-starter of a day.  The internet never got fixed despite multiple promises, the French teenagers were annoying, and after waiting half an hour for a table at dinner (because of the French teenagers taking up fully half the dining room), I caught the waitress out about to give my table to another couple.  You want to know one way to piss me off pretty instantaneously?  Act like I'm somehow a second-class citizen because I happen to be traveling alone.

Also had this frustrating little vignette occur at dinner.  I ordered fried calamari, and when it came I asked for a small bowl of marinara.  This is how my conversation went.

Me:  "Scusi, can I please have some marinara sauce with this?"
 Waitress:  "Ketchup?  Mayonnaise?"
Me:  (Smiling now)  "No.  Marinara.  You know, the sauce you put on pizza.  Could I get a bowl of that?"
Her:  (Slowly) "...Sorry, no..."
Me:  (Still smiling) "Why Not???"

So she looks at me a second, goes off, and returns almost immediately with a small bowl of marinara.  Why on earth did that have to be so hard?  Why did I have to bare the teeth of my inner bitch when obviously putting marinara in a bowl was hardly beyond their capabilities?  Sometimes I miss the hell out of American service.

And that was supposed to be my last day in Venice.  Suffice to say I did not feel at all like I was ready to leave.  I woke up on the morning I had to check out, kicking myself and really just so pissed I hadn't gone into the city the day before.  After about 11:00, it never even ended up raining.  And now, the day I was leaving, it was beautiful.

I checked the train times to Florence (now that the internet was working) and found out that the one cheap train of the day didn't leave until 6:30 this evening.  Huh, I thought.  What if I just store my bag at the train station and then walk around Venice one more time?

Sometimes, I have really bad ideas.  And sometimes, I have amazing flashes of brilliance.

I took the bus in, stashed my bag at the Left Luggage drop, and once more set out for an afternoon of happy, aimless, mostly-lost wandering.  Went into a few churches.

San Someone

In a tiny little nondescript byway, I found a tiny little cafe that had glasses of prosecco for only 2 euro!!  That is good for even not Venice!  So I sat and enjoyed an early dinner.

This was the small plate of mixed meats and cheeses!

Right around the corner from my restaurant.

It was a beautiful afternoon, and I felt so glad I had taken these extra few hours in this amazing city!  It made it just a little easier to say my farewells and board my train back down to Tuscany.

Venice was unquestionably my favorite city so far on my trip, moreso even than Paris or Barcelona.  I just loved it.  And I want to go back.  Next time, though, no silly campsites an hour away!  If ever you are to splurge on anything, let it be Venice.  Myself, I'm thinking a quiet little boutique hotel right on one of the little side canals, with its own private balcony.  Someday, I will come back and do Venice right!

Arrivederci, Venezia

Venice: the best city you will ever get lost in

To tell the truth, I was a little worried about Venice.

Touristy, expensive, chintzy, with labyrinthine streets just begging you to get lost.  I recalled watching Katharine Hepburn's "Summertime" with my parents when I was little, and remember that I thought the city seemed very... foreign.  Strange and confusing.  Add in a bajillion tourists, and prices so high I couldn't even justify booking accommodation on the island(s) itself... As always, I wasn't sure what to expect but I had a feeling Venice just was not going to live up to its hype.

I stepped out of the train station and saw this:

I kind of drifted across the bustling pedestrian street to the edge of the Grand Canal.  And stared.  Stared some more.  And I knew in one-tenth of a second that Venice was not, actually, going to let me down at all.  Hype?  What hype?  This was Venice.  Venice concerns itself not with such trivialities   It was the most beautiful city I had ever seen.  I fell in love, immediately and unconditionally.

But before I could surrender myself to the precocious whims of my new love, I had first to find my hostel, which this time around had taken the form of a campsite on the mainland.  Smack in the Venetian suburbs.  Try as I might, I had not been able to find a hostel for less than 30 euro, and these with questionable reviews.  I knew I in no way wanted to stay so far away from the city, but this campsite proudly advertised a private shuttle that ran every hour, so I'd decided to risk it in the name of frugality.

I arrived at the designated Shuttle Point exactly in time to see the "Plus Camping Jolly" shuttle pulling gamely away.  I sighed, set Sisyphus down, and pulled out my kindle to wait out the hour.  At least I didn't have to pee.

Plus Camping Jolly, at first sight, isn't bad.  It would be a bomb place to stay in the summer due to their massive outdoor pool.  Not so much good in October/November though.  The reception staff here was not the best, and the first room they gave me (a triple) already had two girls inside, leaving me with this highly ridiculous loft bed over the freaking desk, and not enough room to move, let alone put my pack down.  I went back, politely-but-firmly requested another room, and they put me into a new bungalow with no one else in it.  WTF?  Why stuff people into rooms way too small for three fully grown adults when there are empty cabins free???  Well, whatever.

I headed over to the camp's restaurant/bar and had what turned out to be a very nice dinner.  Splurged a little on a green salad (a bowl of lettuce, learn about salad Europe), and half a small roast chicken prepared with rosemary and garlic.  The chicken was amazing.  I have not been getting nearly enough vitamins and lean protein on this trip!  After dinner, I bought a bottle of wine and headed back to my bungalow.  I had acquired a roommate, a very cool girl from Denmark named Sofie.  We hit it off and shared my bottle of wine, having a good long conversation before calling it a night.

I woke up the next day very excited to get in and see Venice.  But circumstances being what they were, I didn't get out until the early afternoon.  Skyped with my sister, had a couple conversations with various other people drifting around.  Finally it got so late I decided to have lunch at the camp's bar.  And then I discovered that the "hourly shuttle" did not, in fact, run on the hour as advertised, and the next one wasn't until 3:00.  Balls to that.  So I walked 20 minutes to the public bus stop.  Door-to-door, just under an hour into Venice.  It would appear that getting in and out of Venice would be more difficult than I had been let to believe.

But then I got there, and couldn't be bothered about that or much of anything else.  I had just received some pretty incredible and unexpected news, and it was coloring my day in thousands of little prizmed joy-facets.  With no real plan for my afternoon, I set out to wander the breathtaking streets of this weird, amazing water-city, all the time halfheartedly following the various signs pointing me to San Marco.  I definitely did not expect the sheer number of canals that snake their way all through the city.  There are hundreds of them, turning the city into a honeycomb.

Venice side street

Road to nowhere, and fire in the water.  I love Venice.

Yes, of course Venice was touristy.  Crowded and touristy.  But for some unfathomable reason, it wasn't bothering me here.  I moved through the narrow alleys and over bridges, running the constant gauntlet around Italians and tourists alike, all the time just so incredibly and unreasonably happy.  I didn't mind the striped-shirted gondoliers calling out to me to take a 120 euro ride.  I wasn't irritated by the couples with enormous baby strollers, by other couples making out and blocking the entire alley (okay, that last pissed me off just a little, for a second.)

I don't think I can really explain it.  Venice is just... Venice.  It is unlike any city in the world.  It is just, simply, beautiful.  Some people say Venice stinks.  I didn't think so.  I thought Venice smelled like water, and I love the smell of water.  Some people say Venice is crumbling, falling apart, depressing.  I saw old buildings aplenty, but they were very much still standing, resolutely patient in their lost-age stately grandeur.  Rather than being depressed, I can't remember a time when I was so un-directionally happy to just walk.  Calm, chill, a vague smile on my face.  Some people say tourists have ruined it.  Well, there sure were a lot of them, but step off the much-traveled pathways to Rialto and San Marco, and you find adorable pizzarias full of Italians shouting at each other while their kids run around underfoot.  Venice IS expensive.  There unfortunately is no way around that.  But again, if you avoid the tourist pathways the prices become a lot friendlier.

One of the best things about Venice?  Vin brulee.

As I was meandering, I happened to pass a tiny takeaway cafe that was offering vin brulee, or "hot wine" for 2 euro.  Thinking it would be only a taste but willing to ride a little spontaneous mini-splurge, I asked for one.  What I got was a small plastic cup, filled utterly to the top, with mulled wine.  Can you just take a second, close your eyes, and imagine how incredibly stupid awesome it is to be wandering around Venice on a sunny, cool autumn afternoon, sipping mulled wine at your leisure?  And I saw these little mulled wine offerings all over!! You better believe I got another one.

After about an hour of wandering, I finally came up on San Marco's Square.

San Marco's, sadly under partial restoration.

It will surprise no one that the line to get into San Marco's was epic, and it will also probably surprise no one that I did not go in.  Odd truth about my Venice experience -- I found I wanted to be out, wandering, constantly.  With the canals and alleys and masks and Murano glass shops.  I did not end up visiting a single museum in Venice, and only a very few churches.  But I had an utterly wonderful time.

I walked along the Grand Canal for a while, ogling all the crazy gondoliers and this strange boat culture.  Even DHL had a boat!!

Utterly iconic.

And then I decided to start my wanderings back toward the train station, as I had reserved a space on the 7:30 shuttle back to the camp.  I started out, with utterly no freaking clue where I was but feeling (for some reason) that I was moving sort of gradually ever-closer to my goal.

Finally, after about 40 minutes, I decided to check my map.  Bet you can't guess where I was.

In Venice, there is one specific point, and that is where the train station lives.  There is also another point, about the very furthest one can be from the train station and not actually be swimming, and that was the point I was currently at.

Fuuuuck.

All roads may lead to Rome, but in Venice, all roads lead to San Marco's.  There are signs with arrows everywhere, even though they do sometimes look like this:

Italian directions at their best.

After my most recent directional fiasco, I had completely no confidence in my ability to navigate across the entirety of the city and make it back in time for my shuttle.  So, once again I followed arrows to San Marco's where I bought a seven euro ticket for a waterbus, and that transportational splurge meant I once again had a little time for exploring before getting on the boat.  I walked around the square, which of course is unbelievable at night.

But you know what else is unbelievable about San Marco's?  The prices.  I had to pee, so decided I'd pick the most modest-looking cafe I could find, and get a cheap drink which would grant me the privilege of sitting down and also of using their toilet.  I went into this tiny little place, but all the listed prices were for takeaway only.  You want to know how much the price inflated for the honor of sitting at a table in their (totally fucking empty) outdoor space?  Double.  DOUBLE.  This means that one already-expensive beer will supernova to the truly unheard-of price of EIGHT FUCKING EUROS.  Simply because you were sitting at a table on San Marco's Square.  And I didn't even bother to ask if there was also a "coperta", or table charge.  There often is.  Bugger the fuck out of that.

I used their bathroom with the promise that I would buy something when I came out, then got another cup of vin brulee (3.50 instead of 2 euros, thank you San Marco, and also one of the cheapest things they offered), and went and sat on a public bench for free.

I'd promised my father I would take at least one boat ride in Venice, so this waterbus was going to be it.  It actually ended up being 45 minutes long, and I spent all of that standing up front in the open air, taking in all the sights I could, rather than sitting in the back half, warm behind plexiglass.  A pretty decent ride, if not the most luxurious Venice might have to offer.

Rialto Bridge by night

I loved this one!  Dark creepy horror-movie Venice.

One waterbus and shuttle later, I was once again back at Camping Jolly, where I met up with Sofie and we decided to go get pizza together.  Sofie was 20, so I felt kind of like an aunt trying just a little too hard to be cool around her, but we honestly did hit it off pretty well.  She was pretty smart and damn funny for a 20-year-old.  After dinner, we repaired to the bar and shared two bottles of rose.  I probably would waive the 25-and-up rule for Sofie if she ever wanted to stay in my fantasy hostel.

And the next day was Halloween.

Pisa, Genoa, and Verona: a Northern Italy Sampler

Stepping back a little bit.  For those of you who care (and seriously that level of attention is kind of weird), I did Pisa first then Cinque Terre, then Genova and Verona.  With the exception of Cinque Terre, I was only in each town for one full day apiece, and didn't end up doing a gigantic ton for various reasons.  So to save myself two extra blog posts, you get three in one.

Leaning Tower Town:
I arrived in Pisa on my RyanAir flight at midnight.  The directions to my hostel were of course not the best, and the Powers That Be chose this moment, the time that it was the literal middle of the night, when I happened to be in a totally dead residential district that sort of bled into a very seedy area around the train station, to decide that I had used up my Directional Karma for a little while.

That's the bad news.  It was no small amount of creepy and unsettling walking around the train station at 12:45 AM either.  I stopped under a big light and fished out my pepper spray from my backpack (it's usually accessible in my shoulder bag but I had just come from the airport).  But the good news was I had also thought to get directions to the hostel from the train station as well as from the airport, so at least I had a new starting point.  From the station, I did find the hostel pretty easily, and Carlos, the owner, was out front looking for me.

I was a little shaken up and strung out from my walk, so snapped at him perhaps a little more snappily than necessary that "the directions on your site could use work."  Carlos was so damned contrite.  He ended up giving me a pretty big discount on the room (which I certainly did not ask for or expect), and then when I asked him if the hostel had any beer, he disappeared and came back with a bottle of red wine for me, which he would not let me pay for.  We did a toast together with his very beautiful girlfriend and then they left me alone with my wine.  Holy hell, I'd forgotten how NICE Italians are!!  (This hostel, btw, could not be more basic, with no kitchen and no common area, but I so did not care -- with my discount it was one of the better deals of the trip, and wine will go a long way towards getting me to forgive.)  I sat outside and read Watership Down and ended the night on a very good note indeed.

The next day, I walked into town (Pisa is pretty small), and began to look for my first meal in Italy.  This was an auspicious moment.  I walked around for a fair bit before selecting a particular sidewalk cafe, and ordered "Farfalle al Salmone", which is a fancy name for pasta with salmon sauce.  I'd had this dish in Rome and had been particularly impressed with it -- flavorful without being too fishy, chunks of real salmon in an olive oil base.  Yeah, that is not what I got this time I'm afraid.  The sauce was bright coral pink without even the barest hint of actual salmon meat; it had obviously come from a jar.  It was salty but mostly just terrifically unspecial.  And the beer was expensive.  I was disappointed  but the sad fact is that every time you look forward to something, you do run the risk of being woefully let down.  There will be other meals in Italy.

I walked over and got my fill (and my camera's fill) of the famous Leaning Tower and the surrounding piazza.  The whole scene really is quite beautiful, if utterly choked with 364,565,553 tourists all doing the exact same goddam picture pose in which they pretend to be holding up the tower.

Found out it started leaning while they were still building it.

And they went ahead and finished it anyway.  How very... Italian.

It is a mighty 15 euros to go to the top of the tower, which (obvs) I did not do.  I did pay 2 euros to go into the Basilica, because I remembered how beautiful Roman churches were.  It wasn't as pretty as a Roman church, but it didn't let me down either.

I walked around some more, got an ice cream.  But maybe it was jet lag (from my super tiny flight) or whatever, but I was just suddenly really freaking tired.  I'd seen all of Pisa I really wanted to (read:  the tower).  So I ended up just walking back and chilling outside of my hostel, updating this damn blog thing that I always seem to be woefully behind on, and reading more of my Bunny Book.  And that was Pisa.


 Genova:  Italian Sketchy-Town
Yep, one more day of backpacks, trains, buses, inadequate directions.  I got the bus from the station to my Genova (Genoa?) hostel just fine, but I wish these guys would be better about including how long said bus rides are expected to take, and also to be even slightly accurate about that estimate.

I was staying in another youth hostel, this one even more bare-bones college dorm than before.  When Eve skyped with me in the common area she said it looked like a high school cafeteria.  She wasn't wrong.  It was clean at least, and they had a microwave if not a full kitchen, but fuck if this hostel wasn't hellagone from anything.  Not a shop, restaurant, or market within walking distance.  I guess that might have something to do with the long bus ride.  I really wanted to just grab a quick dinner at a market and have an early night, but that got quashed by the lack of kitchen and also lack of market.

So I took the bus into town and got off at the stop the hostel's reception had recommended for finding dinner.  And proceeded to walk around for... close to an hour. :(  Lots of cafes, but I wanted a proper restaurant and not another freaking pre-made sandwich.  Found one place out of my price range... I took an abrupt turn down an alley because sometimes that is the best way to find out-of-the-way restaurant gems, but this time instead of a restaurant gem I found Genova Sketchy Town.  It was not cool.  Lots of unsavory-looking gentlemen leaning against tawdry shop doorfronts and leering.  Groups of guys clustered around trash cans.  Deserted, grafittied buildings.  I beat it out of there.

And made a beeline straight for the expensive restaurant, because I had straight-out had enough.  Plus I remembered that with my travel day, I hadn't really spent much money that day yet at all, so maybe could even afford a meal here without going over budget.  The restaurant was instantly great.  I ordered a caprese salad, penne bolognese, and a half-litre of red wine.  And damn if it was not delicious.  Probably one of the most stereotypically standard Italian meals one can think of, but who cares?  I took my time, wrote in my journal, then went for broke and ordered lemon sorbet for dessert.  I never get dessert.  It came in a champagne glass.  When I finally asked for the check my waitress brought me a double-shot of limoncello on the house.  Worth the splurge.  100%

Limoncello, lemon sorbet, water, wine, and Pangolin.

 The next day, the weather was not great but I took myself on another long bus ride into the town center anyway.  Walked to the port and saw a pirate ship (fake), and kind of halfheartedly attempted to follow a walking tour outlined on my free hostel map, in varying degrees of drizzle.  Paid to get into the Palazzo Spinola, home of one of the more prominent Genovese families.  I wasn't sure about this but it proved an excellent use of euros.  It was beautiful inside and superbly restored.  Would buy again!

Forbidden camera shot

I walked around some more, took pictures.  Got lunch at an overpriced restaurant.  (Sad face.)  Found Genova's red light district very much by accident, beat it out of there again.  I saw those working girls judging on my shoes.

And then I kind of just picked up a market dinner downtown (where there was still a market), and headed home to the hostel in the mid-afternoon.  I didn't see a ton of Genova, but what I had seen had not exactly rocked my socks, and the weather was not the best.  Highlight of the day was certainly the Palazzo Spinola, and I'm glad I did that.  But I got in to the hostel maybe 4:00, settled in with my kindle, and watched the skies open up over Genova.  I was pretty damn happy I'd made the decision to come home early.  As it turns out I would have more than enough rain in my future.

View of rainy Genova at twilight from my hostel room's window

Genova was cool I guess but it was by no means my favorite Italian town.  I loved my dinner the first night and Spinola the next day, but seriously... if you're choosing between Genova and somewhere else for your Italian holiday, you might want to go with that other choice.



In Wet Verona:
Here's a bit of learned travel wisdom for you:  not all Italian towns or even cities have hostels.  Siena doesn't, which is why I ended up staying in Florence instead.  Bologna has just one, way outside of town and so poorly rated that I refused to stay there and so did not see Bologna.  Verona doesn't have any hostels either, but through some dogged internet searching I was able to find a guesthouse/apartment deal for pretty reasonable.  (I mean, it was still more than I'd pay for a hostel, but not totally off the chain.)  Normally my solo traveler self is denied the luxury of guesthouses and B&Bs since they want me to pay for both beds in a room despite only sleeping in one.  But this guesthouse had set up a hostel situation in its two rooms, which meant I would have a roommate.  Only one?  We're getting fancy now.

I found the apartment with little trouble... after asking for advice on where to buy a bus ticket (on the bus), asking how to use the machine (push the red button [you are never supposed to push the red button!!]), and finally asking my driver to point out my stop.  For reals, sometimes the secret to successful solo traveler is just the willingness to ask for whatever help you need until you get it... and then just keep on asking.

Oh yeah, I forgot.  It was pouring rain.  Thus far on my trip it had not actually rained on me during a travel day.  Finally got to pull out the REI backback rain shield, which an old Italian woman just thought was the best thing as we waited for the bus together.

I found the apartment.  Owner buzzed me in.  Holy crap.  This apartment was beautiful.  Huge, with a big lovely living room.  Lots of light.  My room had two twin beds, one absent roommate, and legit even a clothes bar with hangers.  When was the last time I had a hanger?  I think maybe it was Dijon??  Big kitchen, although I found out guests weren't allowed to use the stove or oven, just the sink or microwave.  What do you have against guests boiling their own pasta, Italy?

I went to a nearby market and got the standard bread, cheese, sausage, fruit, yogurt, etc., along with a few eggs I figured I could cook in the microwave.  Oh, and some prosecco and orange juice for mimosas. :)  Came home and the owner said goodbye for the night and left.  The other two guests in the place either went out and/or went to bed early.  I had this whole place to myself!!! :D
Made an excellent quiet supper and then settled in the living room's easy chair with my book.  It was just awesome to be able to sit in this clear, bright comfy space and know I was not going to be bothered until the next morning.

The next morning, my room mate and the apt.'s other guest checked out before I even woke up.  The owner had told me she wouldn't be in until late afternoon. Once again I had this gorgeous place all to myself!  I made a huge excellent breakfast -- complete with mimosa with the last of last night's prosecco -- and took a damn long time in slowly working through it.  Wrote in my journal.  Listened to the iPhone.  Did I mention it was still raining outside?  I was in no hurry.

It was the hardest thing to drag myself out of that apartment and into my rain jacket.  I wanted to stay in, comfy and alone and wrapped in blankets, for the entirety of this dreary chilly day.  But this was also my only day in Verona, and I didn't want to totally waste it.  Finally got myself out in the early afternoon.

Pretty, wet Verona

Verona was definitely the prettiest Italian town I had been to thus far (between it, Pisa, and Genova), and I was glad right away that I'd braved the rain to see it.  I forgot to mention that the one bad thing about my apartment was that it had no wireless.  I'd been told I needed to go to the city library for a password, and then I could access the city's wireless.  But of course the public library was closed.  Looked like I was going to be wireless-ness for my stay in Verona.

After the library unsuccess, I just kind of walked at random and soon found Juliet's House.  You know, from the play.

Touching the statue's right boob is good luck, which is what that tourist is doing in the background.

I'd seen that silly movie a few years ago, Letters to Juliet, and even then I thought it odd that a fictional character from the mind of an Englishman could suddenly have her very own historical house in the town where Shakespeare had set her.  So I looked this little tourist trap up on the internet (after I got out of wireless-less Verona), and yeah.  Verona picked an old house at random, and in 1936 added a balcony and started telling everyone this was Juliet's house.  For 4 euros you can go inside fake Juliet's fake house, which I did not.  Also, as an interesting side note, there aren't any actual "letters to Juliet" anywhere in the courtyard that I could see.  Just a all those locks that lovestruck European teenagers seem to leave everywhere, a ton of graffiti and chewed gum.  Because you know, nothing says ETERNAL LOVE like a big sticky wet glob stuck to a grafittied wall.  I guess the movie wouldn't have done as well with the title "Chewed Gum for Juliet".

How... romantic.

(Note:  Verona also claims to have Juliet's TOMB.  I thought this was really interesting, as this character was, after all, fiction, and therefore could never have actually died.  I didn't bother to find it.)

After Juliet's unhygienic courtyard, I ended up having very much a Church Day in Verona.  Saw a fair few of them, all quite old and all quite beautiful.

Beautiful ceiling inside Sant'Anastasia

Verona Cathedral, with a mass going on.  It was Sunday.

San Fermo

I was having a pretty chill time wandering around this pretty town and just sort of seeing what I discovered (obviously, churches.)  But of course Verona also has its share of picturesque piazzas and even its own wee lil Colosseo.

Drenched Verona Piazza

Roman arena, in the Piazza del Bra

It was here that I made my first truly bad decision of the day.  My guidebook strongly recommended taking the bit of a walk over to see San Zeno, a church they called "one of the most important in Northern Italy."  It was raining but not terribly, and my feet weren't hurting too badly yet, so I decided to to it.  ....Yeah.

Soon after I set out to try and find this damn church, it began to pour.  I kept walking.  And maybe my quickened pace is what sent my tendons off, but soon I was in a world of uncomfortableness again, and I didn't want to stop in the rain even to take advil.  This church is hellagone from the rest of Verona, possibly in another continent all together.  I almost turned back about three times, but my stubbornness pushed me on, and even as I got wetter and wetter I was ever more determined that this trip would not turn out to be worthless.

After about five years, I found it.  Hooray.

San Zeno

I paid the 2 euros to get in, and looked around.  Important fact:  "Important" does not necessarily have to mean "Beautiful" or even "Interesting."  Learn this well.  There were remains of 13th century frescoes which were pretty neat, but overall this was not the most mind-blowing church I have ever visited.

Frescoes

Then, most unhappily, it was time to undertake the trek home.  The rain was not letting up, and my feet were far from happy.  I finally took some advil, looked at my watch, and set out.  Timed it:  door-to-door, no stopping, 50 minutes.

Collapsed on "my" easy chair with a beer and read/dozed for two hours until it was time for dinner.  Being Sunday, natch all the little trattorias nearby were closed, so I had to go back over the bridge, about a ten-minute walk in more rain that definitely had not gotten any less wet.  On the way, the wind destroyed my umbrella.

I was able to find a reasonable restaurant with only a little difficulty, and had a pepperoni pizza and glass of red.  And then home again for a hot shower and more delicious quiet time.

I really did like Verona, and wished I had an extra day there.  One that wasn't quite so... damp.  Back again someday, maybe?

Another day in the life.  I strapped Sisyphus back on and turned my sights to Venezia.  Halloween in the City of Masks!

The Anti-Youth Hostel

Okay.  Much like the pseudo-environmental post, this has been brewing for a while.

Seriously, hostels???

I just came from a hostel/campsite in Venice (sort of in Venice), in which a group of ~40 French high school kids made nuisances of themselves for the entirety of my four-night stay.  During the campsite's Halloween Party, my roommate at the time and truly excellent single-serving-friend leaned over and said "I feel like I'm at Prom."  Well, actually, she shouted this, because it was so loud in there you couldn't hear yourself think.

Now, here I am in Florence and motherfuck if there is not a giant group of obnoxious youngsters making entitled hipster asses of themselves.

Hostels, I understand that you of course are in this business to make just as much money off each of us that you possibly can.  (Read:  pint of beer for four euros.  Fuck you.  [It doesn't even look like a full pint, come to that.])  But so many times during my trip, my hostel stay has been ruined or at best inconvenienced by large or small groups of young people being well -- teenagers.  And with the exception of Yes! in Lisbon and that one Barcelona hostel that advertised themselves as "the quiet hostel" (bless you), the hostel staff seem content to just let these embryos run wild about the place.

Maybe it has a lot to do with the fact that so many of hostel staff are young folk themselves, so this asshat behavior is just what they are used to and expect.  It's my polite-but-firm requests to turn down the Italian MTV or be able to nap in peace that confuse the hell out of them.

Just now, even though there are still six people (all older, btw) in the restaurant area of this restaurant/bar room, these fuckers turned off the lights on us, because it was.... Disco Time.  I fucking shit you not.  That is what they said to me.  It is time to fucking Disco.  My request to turn the light back on was not met favorably.  I am now typing in the dark.  In fact, the absurdity of typing in the dark is what set off this whole post.

I of course understand the idea behind a "Youth Hostel."  Little guys need a Gap Year and Daddy is only going to pony up for so much.  But my question -- what about people like ME??

Quick anecdote.  Back when my sister and I went on the Paris pub crawl, I realized in about four seconds that this (sister notwithstanding) was not my crowd.  The average age of this crowd was probably about 20, and would have been younger if not for my 32 years throwing off the curve.  I ended up at one point chatting to this Barbie doll from Russia, who ended up being... 18.  Eighteen.  I smiled and nodded.  She asked me how old I was, and when I told her, I swear to God this child looked at me like I had cancer.  It was seriously the funniest thing to happen to me all night, and was only made better by her next comment.  Sadly I forget the wording because I was too busy not cracking up, but it was something super ridiculous appropriate like "Oh, but that's okay," or "But you still have time!"  Like I was terminal.  I guess in a way I am.  But so is she, and if she's lucky she might even see 32 someday herself.

I would honestly love a hostel experience where I did not have to worry about Barbie dolls from Russia.

What about older folk, especially those traveling alone and so cannot afford the "twin bed private rooms" at the budget B&Bs around town?  What about those that enjoy the company of others in a common area, but really do prefer that company to be neither shrieking the words to "Call Me Maybe" or spontaneously breaking out into the Gangnam Style dance.

Where, I want to know, is MY hostel???

Duh, you say.  Your hostel is in Lisbon.  Yeah, that's true, but even Yes! was a little loud and young for me at times.  Over the past two months, I have spent really quite a bit of time reflecting on this particular subject, and this is what I've come up with.

A hostel for 25+ only.  No goddam school groups, thank you very much.  In fact, no groups at all larger than eight people, as large groups tend to take over and make the hostel their own, which is awkward and annoying for the other guests.  No Gap Year children who puke next to the bunk for my sister to step in.  The common area would be a pleasant mix of small tables and areas of easy chairs and couches.  Good music playing at a reasonable volume, probably a mix of old school rock and roll with some jazz and classical thrown in every once in a while.  Instead of bar offering shots and "bucket drinks", we'd have a tasteful wine bar where you could buy various wines by the ounce like that wine room they have at the Fair Lakes Whole Foods.  Reasonable prices.  A pleasant outdoor space.  There would even be a legit Quiet Room like at the library, where you could read or work on the computer late at night if your room mates were sleeping, and there would never, ever be any shrieking.  Oh, no babies or small kids either.  Sorry cool parents. You're welcome, your offspring is not.

Why has no one done this already?  To me it seems so straightforward.  I see plenty of older folks like me in hostels (there's one across the room right now trying to get up the gumption to come talk to me but I look really busy and intense so he's unsure).  And I'm pretty sure that if we advertised all the above, every single person over 25 would love to eschew the fucking Pub Crawl crowd and come have an intelligent discussion where you don't have to scream to make yourself heard.

Of course, in the spirit of fairness I do have to say that in my head, my fantasy hostel is populated entirely with variations of specific people I know and whose company I enjoy.  It is far more likely that my hostel would instead be frequented by guests like this very weird Italian woman who stood stock-still for about seven minutes in the Genova hostel common room for no visible reason, and who later gave herself a topless sponge bath at the row of sinks in the communal toilet, despite the fact that the shower room was right down the hall.  Here's an image for ya:  banana boobs.

Yeah, I'll readily admit that old folks can be real winners too.  But here's the thing.  She might have been a touch... touched, but at least she was quiet.  I'll take that over Katy Perry any day of the week.

It may have crossed your mind that my personality is not exactly suited to the hospitality field.  Even if creating such a hostel were possible, I probably would not be the ideal person to spearhead it up.  But someone should do this.  And pay me a Consultant's Fee.

For real, somebody get on this.  I need you.

P.S.  No one discoed.  Not a single one.  So they closed the bar early and now I am typing in reception.  Le Sigh.

Cinque Terre: checking off the last two

One thing about traveling for a long time, sometimes shit just needs to get done.  Your eyebrows don't stop growing in just because you're in Italy.  (God I wish they would.)  Sometimes you need to postpone your day of incredible sightseeing, pasta, and wine and spend a little time washing out your socks.  Emails need to be answered, blog posts need to be written, toenails need to be clipped.  So this morning in Manarola, I did sink laundry, wherein I noticed that my black t-shirt had acquired three holes in one armpit.  This meant that all three of my t-shirts now officially had small holes in them.  I pulled out the mending kit and spent an hour sewing up a total of 13 holes in three shirts.

Then it was time for lunch and a train to Vernazza.  In Vernazza, I asked at a coffee bar where to get the trail to Monterosso.  The woman told me, but once again, also made sure I knew it was closed.  Whatevs.  Found the trail no problem, and it started with what felt like 50 stories worth of stairs.  Hooray.  I met a group of hikers who had come down from Monterosso; they snapped my picture and assured me there were no landslides waiting for me on this trail.

Vernazza over my shoulder.

I found this hike much easier than the one from Corniglia.  But once again, my freaking Achilles tendons were soon putting me in a world of suck.  Another rest, more advil.  I hung out for a while next to a little waterfall. Looked out at this:

And very soon I was looking out over Monterosso, the largest of the five villages.

Monterosso

The plan was to check out the town and then take the train all the way down to Riomaggiore and have dinner there, so I'd get to get the feel of all five villages.  Monterosso is much larger than its four siblings -- I actually had to ask where the train station was!  I came across a cute little cafe with tables overlooking the beach, and on the spur of the moment decided to get an early dinner here instead.  More pizza and beer!  At least there was no septic construction this time.

I walked on the beach for a little while.  I have found it odd that so many beaches along the Mediterranean are so utterly devoid of shells.  In Cinque Terre I didn't find even the barest trace of a shell.  Eve tells me it has something to do with currents and not that the Med is a dead sea.  I hope that's so because otherwise, what the hell?

Got the train to Riomaggiore (thankfully each train ride is only 2 euros!), and got there just as the sun was setting.

Riomaggiore's tiny picturesque port.

Jetty at sunset

I wanted to walk more around the town, but suddenly I was just beat.  I was freaking tired.  And I looked up at this adorable town just full of stairs and hills, and said "Hell with THAT."

Instead I followed a trail around the coast for a little while, found a secluded rock beach that must have been the bomb in summer, and got a glass of wine while I waited for the next train home.  It would only be a 20-minute walk between Riomaggiore and Manarola, but of course, the closed trail meant another 2 euro ride.  Small altercation with the bartender as her attempted to charge me an extra euro for my wine.  I really hate that shit.

Considered getting a late dinner/snack in Manarola, but my pizza from before was holding me, and seriously I was ready for bed.  So it ended up being an early night.  Took one of those redic fucking token showers.  (Seriously, the hostel can kiss my ass on that one.)  And got ready for the next phase, on to Genova.

I loved Cinque Terre.  It was wonderful to get out of the city vibe for a few days, to get in some real hiking, to see the incredible Italian coast.  One thing I considered but finally vetoed due to funds was a boat trip to Portofino, a place I have always wanted to see.  If I'd had another day in Cinque Terre I probably would have ponied up, but as it is it will just have to be one of those things I save for next time.

Ciao, Cinque Terre.  You are definitely one place I wouldn't mind coming back to.  Just get your shit cleaned up.  And for the love of God get me a better hostel option.

One of my favorite shots, taken in Vernazza