Some of the stuff I forgot to mention in my previous blogs:
Spain was really into Don Quixote figurines and other paraphernalia (except the actual book, interestingly—tourists, probably American, don’t want to read!).
Italy is into figurines and such of Pinocchio (written by C. Collodi or something in the 19th century and later republished with pictures, which is what took off—it was quite a political commentary, originally).
Firenze (Florence to our ignorant tongues) was interesting.
David was perfect.
It was the epitome of an artisan mastering his craft. It is complete (which so little art can claim).
He looked real too—his muscles and everything. His face was “innocent and contemplative” (according to some know-nothing art specialist…) but it really looked more concerned than that. It was as if his heart went out to Goliath and Goliath’s family, though he realized the importance of his actions. Incidentally, he is usually depicted with his foot on Goliath’s head in victory, but this time he wasn’t. His sling is hidden (slung behind his back) in a sort of shame perhaps, as though he wishes it did not have to be a sling in his hand. He is perhaps reflecting on the death of Goliath rather than reveling in his killing of an enemy. Also, he is in a Grecian hero pose, which is apparently uncommon—usually he is depicted as a young boy.
Michelangelo started on the piece of stranded marble from a cathedral in 1501 and completed it in 1504. It was initially outside the cathedral and represented Florentine liberty. Only later was it sent to the Academy, where it currently resides. There are a number of replicas throughout Florence.
Our “youth hostel” has a noise rule: silence after 10pm. What sort of youth hostel, or any hostel for that matter, expects silence after 10pm? It’s outrageous, we declare. We were not pleased.
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Ryanair.com, while offering dirt-cheap flights, is awfully stingy on luggage size. It has grown increasingly smaller recently to the extent of unreasonable. The restrictions on the height of the bag when on its back (as though placed in an overhead compartment) is about 5 inches shorter than the overhead compartment itself! It’s quite frustrating.
So as we stood at the gate awaiting our flight from Seville to Palermo, we wondered if they were actually going to make us check the dimensions… and how much the fee was to check a bag at the gate if they did (it’s around £40, by the way).
The gate opened and each individual stepped up to the metal-box measure one at a time. People began tearing their bags open and putting on layers of clothing, holding books and mp3 players, and stuffing their pockets. We forlornly awaited the consequences.
As our turn came, the woman passing, or fining, the previous passengers went to get a second measure. As she turned to leave, we inched forward. Our inching turned to hustling as we approached the ticket check and shuffled past the luggage check, our hope urging us down the hallway toward the plane.
The measuring woman returned. She was not pleased that she did not see us check our bags, but we were too far ahead; her objections fell on deaf ears and a crowd pushed ever onward. We were home free.
Spy status? Check.
Awesome-ness? Check.
Fines? Not this time.
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We saw a wonderfully large number of cute puppies the day we left Florence and arrived in Venice. There were so many in Venice that a certain male companion (namely Alan) commented, "Wow! This is like officially cute-dog city."
We also so an ambulance boat picking someone up.
Then we watched the sun set from the Rialto.
We also did not pay for the buses to and from the island because it was completely unclear what you even had to do at first and there were loads of other people on the bus!
Our Venetian diet consisted of cold, store-bought hot dogs (<¢50) with bread, and oranges, and apples.
And gelato. Lots of gelato.
Hangin' out on a bridge, Lauren said, "Let me take a picture of you in just your bowtie."
I didn't think getting into photography of that sort was a good idea, so I turned her down.
Also, she didn't mean it that way, but we can pretend.
The Sistine Chapel was somewhat disappointing, actually. Tons of people. Kind of dim. Nowhere to sit.
Don't get me wrong, it was a masterpiece, truly marvelous, though I expected The Creation of Man to be grander than the other paintings, though it certainly wasn't. In the end, it's my fault that I was disappointed--my expectations were ignorant and my timing was poor (Easter in Rome is necessarily busy...).
It was silly that everyone was taking pictures and talking the whole time too, despite the rules specifically prohibiting both of those.
I ran into a high school friend while waiting in line at the Colosseum. That was nuts. I knew she was in Europe studying, but the chances that we would end up within 10 feet of each other was beyond what I would have ever guessed would have occurred. Especially being from Owatonna, MN!
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“When in Rome… be Catholic!”
Every year on Good Friday, the Pope does a Stations of the Cross procession at the Colosseum.
Standing for hours (sitting on the hill, then ushered out by police only to get in line to get back in!)
Loads of police cars and tons of EMTs. We're still not sure why.
We just wanted to see the pope-mobile! (He didn't end up arriving in it.)
Pushy nuns—they all pushed to the front of the audience (but it was OK because they had pretty singing voices).
People kept starting their wax catchers on fire. You'd just see a column of black smoke shoot up suddenly then the crowd moving slightly as they tried to enjoy the flame as the embarrassed [probably foreigner] tried to blow it out.
One person had a slightly more serious problem.
He started a girl's hair on fire!
It was funny.
But smelly.
Later, a nun passed out! She had probably been standing for far too long and locked her knees or something.
The worst in people certainly came out as their patience thinned and their selfishness manifested in an ugly way. (The Germans next to me were being awful as they pushed in trying to take my spot and apparently thinking that I'm awful for existing.)
"Viva La Papa!" The crowd shouted as an extremely old man shuffled to the podium with two guys helping him.
Catholics get stoked for their elderly.
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Surprisingly, traveling curbed my wanderlust a bit. I appreciate things about home that I never realized was something that needed to be appreciated (corporate organization, etc.—e.g. Italian airports are not very organized).
Athens was neat. We just chilled, wandered around the Acropolis, saw the Parthenon of course, saw Hadrian’s Arch and the Temple of Zeus, ate a good old gyro, then “slept” in the airport.
Athens airport was far nicer than Rome’s, by the way.
At Rome Fiumicino there were loads of people trying to sleep in the waiting area. Probably over a hundred people were sprawled out throughout the lobby, sleeping across chairs, sprawled out on the ground, etc.
Nuts.
Uncomfortable.
It was weird spending everyday with Lauren and Allen for the last three weeks (and really the last four months) and then just not seeing them anymore.
But indeed I will see them in September!
I'm glad to sleep in my bed.
I love eating my parents' food.
I'm in need of a summer off.
Glad to be home.
