Day 15: September 16-19, 2015
When we got out of the train in Florence, it was like we arrived in the tropics. The air was so warm and humid, and there were people everywhere. We began our usual routine of looking for a machine, where we could purchase our bus tickets. As we walked out of the front of the train station, we saw a ton of buses and a tourist information booth which sold maps and magazines. We walked over to the information booth, then bought a map, a couple of bus tickets, and got some much needed information about how to actually get to where we needed to be. Unlike Geneva, which seemed pretty empty, Florence was packed with tourists. While some of the other cities, where we had been, like Copenhagen and Paris, were busy and had lots of people flooding the streets, there were less people just trying to get to work in Florence, and more people that were obviously tourists.
As we piled onto the bus that was going to take us near our rental apartment, we were squeezed to capacity with our packs bumping into commuters. The further we got from the train station, the more the bus emptied, and after a 20-25 minute ride, through the ins and outs of eastern Florence, our destination had finally arrived. Our next trick was to get our bearings straight and start heading in the right direction. As I started walking from the bus stop, I began speaking out the street name that we were looking for. I started walking down the street, and all of a sudden a little old man started talking to Elizabeth. Trying to avoid any sort confrontation or trap, she dismissed him and kept walking. But then, he started walking after me. He repeated the street name and then motioned for us to follow him. He was doing this gesture with his hand, which sort of looked like he was shooing us away, but after he continued doing it, I took that it’s Italian for “Follow me.”
So, we followed him. He didn’t seem to know much better than us, but he gotten us to the first street, so that was a start. “Left or Right, next?” we wondered. The old man looked around and then started walking, so we followed him, like rats following the Pied Piper. We made it to the next street and he stopped. I showed him the address that I had down in my tour book and he started walking forward. We both stood confused, and he turned again to us to give us the “shooing” motion. We looked at each other and thought, “it seems like he’s probably right.”
He saw the number 37 on the front of the building, which was the address of the apartment. It was a shared number for the whole building, but he took us into a cell phone shop on the first floor. The clerk looked at me confused, as the old man spoke to her in Italian. She spoke some Italian to me, in which I interpreted as close. She then took me out the door and to a gate next to her shop. This was 37 and her shop was 37A.
We pushed through the gate and walked towards the door. We turned around and thanked the old man, who had been so gracious as to guide two wary travelers, through his neighborhood. Then he wandered off down the street, to God knows where. He had done his deed for the day and was on to rescue more American tourists, in need of directions.
We pushed the buzzer, next to the door, and the door clicked. We walked through the door, and up the spiral staircase to the right. We paused for a moment, to see if someone above was going to meet us. But, when we didn’t see anyone, we proceeded up, until we saw a gray-haired woman standing outside her door, with a huge smile on her face. You could tell that this woman was happy to have guests coming in and staying with her, because she had a glow about her that just felt comfortable and welcoming, like we were finally coming home. She invited us in and guided us into her living room. The walls of the apartment were filled with beautiful art pieces, and the floors had figurative sculptures in virtually every corner. The whole flat felt like you were finally in Italy.
She waved us over to a large dining room table, smiled, and motioned for us to sit down at the table. She could tell that we had traveled far and could see, that we were dripping with sweat. So she gladly offered us some sparkling water. I guess that, she could see it in my eyes, that I had a sweet tooth, because she offered me some chocolate, as well. She didn’t really speak any English, but she was happy to show us, her map of the city as she just smiled and noded, while we asked her questions. We asked her if there was a grocery store or restaurant that she liked, but she just had a confused look on her face. I drew some pictures on a piece of paper of an apple and a carrot, to imply that we were looking for some food items. But, she sort of just pointed at the pictures and smiled. In order to really get anywhere, we were probably going to need to get on the internet. I wrote Wifi on the pad of paper, and she smiled, but communicated to us, that we weren’t going to have internet today, but maybe tomorrow. Then, she got up to show us to our room.
We walked down a hallway filled with more art and at the end of the hall was our room. There was a big bed with a yellow blanket, and a wall of cabinets on the adjacent wall. One of the doors was open with a hanger hanging for us, that we could use, if we wanted to unpack our clothes. The walls were covered with photos of our host’s daughter, some of her art, posters, and drawings. It looked as though, she had done some modeling at some point, and was also a dancer. She had certificates to teach ballet hung on the wall, and lots of drawings of Donald Duck, whom clearly was her favorite cartoon character. There was also a door to the right, as you walked in, that lead out to a patio, which linked the bedroom to the kitchen. The door was already open, and we looked out, to see the alleys, and patios of all the other Italian apartments in the neighborhood.
We settled in for a bit and laid on the bed for a few minutes. I decided, that if we were going to get anywhere in our voyage, since we didn’t have any WiFi, I was going to need to get a new SIM card for the unlocked iPhone. I headed down the spiral staircase to the cell phone store, next door. I walked up to the desk, where I had previously been, where the confused woman, that helped me find the real #37, was standing. She didn’t speak any English and I didn’t know any Italian. Somehow I was able to come up with a way to tell her, that I needed to be able to have internet on my phone for the next 5 days; while I was going to be in Italy. When you can’t speak the same language as the person behind the desk, the easiest way to communicate is to speak slowly and use hand gestures. Then, just hope that some of the same words will translate. Using props like holding up a phone, showing a person a credit card, or a €50 bill, can make all the difference, in being able to get what you want.
In the end, we were able to get internet on the phone for close to $60. It’s practically highway robbery, to spend so much money on the internet for 4 days. Especially when I complain about paying $44 a month, for home internet back in California. I just justified it. I needed to get directions to the sites that we wanted to see, find the location of the Florence Museum Pass Office, and I wasn’t going to be able to do that, by just roaming around the city, hoping to bump into it. The apartment was a 20 minute bus ride from the central station and lots of the museums, so we definitely needed to plan things out a bit before we started heading through the streets. Mainly, we needed to find the bus stop.
It was around 4pm, so it was getting to be too late in the day for too much exploration, so we planned to go to the museum pass office in the morning. It was still early enough though, that we needed to get some dinner soon, so we left the apartment and just started walking. We walked a few blocks, then we were at the river. We turned right, we walked along the river, where we saw some beautiful buildings and took some photos. After we had walked awhile, we decided to head down one of the side streets to see what we could see.
We happened upon a bar called the Red Garter Inn. It was one of those places that totally could’ve been found in California, instead of in Italy. It was like a typical American sports bar, with a calendar of specials, every night of the week, like Taco Tuesday, Wing Wednesdays, and Thirsty Thursdays. It was Wednesday, so they had liters of beer for €7, so I indulged in some beer to go, along with ten wings.
It was a great, little sports bar with soccer and rugby games on the tvs. I really wanted to see a live soccer game in Europe, to see if it was as crazy as it looked on tv. You always hear about riots breaking out in the streets and soccer fans being practically like gangs. I asked one of the waiters, if he thought that we could get tickets to one of the games, that week. He said, he had never gone to one, and acted like it was a strange concept for me to even expect that he had gone to one. But he was a man, working in a sports bar. I assumed that he had to have some interest in sports, and the most popular sport in Italy is soccer.
He walked over to the bartender and asked him about us going to the game. He came back over and told me, that if I wanted to get tickets, that I should arrive at the stadium around 5pm to buy tickets, before everyone else got off work, and then come back when the game started at 9pm. The game wasn’t until the next day, so we had plenty of time to waste until then.
We finished our food and then walked back to the apartment. I wasn’t going to run into the same problem that we had in Paris, so I made sure that I remembered, that there was a kitty doormat outside the old woman’s door. We made it inside the first door of the building, up the spiral staircase, and to the kitty doormat. I put the key in the hole and turned it to the right, and then turned it, and then turned it again. Finally, the old lady came to the door. I was so confused. She looked at me, took the keys, and demonstrated, that it was 4 turns to the left and then push. 1, 2, 3, 4, push. She smile and said “Ciao!” We walked down the hall to our bedroom.
Our patio door was open when we went in, so the room was getting warm and humid. It had been in the mid-80’s all day and the heat had stayed. We closed the door and turned on the air conditioner, which was installed in the room and snuggled to sleep for the night.
Day 16: Florence
When we woke in the morning, we got ready pretty quick. We headed over to the cafe on the corner, had some cappuccino, and made change for the bus. We walked over to the bus stop, then when the bus arrived, we rode it back to the central station. There was no clearing on the curb for the bus to arrive and there were cars parked everywhere that they could fit, no matter which direction their car was in.
When we arrived at the Central Station, we weren’t really sure where the Museum Pass was supposed to be obtained. We thought that it might be at the same tourist office, where we had bought the map and bus tickets, the day before. Unfortunately, when we approached him to ask, he pointed us to the Santa Maria church across the street, where the office was actually located. We walked in the door, got a number, and waited to be called on, before then proceeding to the counter.
It seemed like every time that I talked to someone at one of these places, they would just give me a confused look. It was like they didn’t have any idea, why I would even be there. We received the packet that went along with the pass, which was filled with maps, a free public transit pass, and a brochure. We also asked them questions, about where to start? Which museums we should see in what order? Then the women at the desk, basically opened a map, drew some circles, and sent us on our way. It was going to be great having a pass to over 70 different museums and sites, but we also received a free bus pass that we could use for pretty much our whole stay in Florence.
It was about this time, that we started to discover that even though we kept buying train tickets, the bus drivers weren’t checking them. It was as if the transit authority of Paris needed to make sure that they were making every penny that they could, while the transit authority in Italy, could care less if you even bought a ticket. Before heading on our voyage see to all of the most famous works of art in Florence, we needed to get some food. We went back into the train station to use their food court.
The food court, at this time, was insane with tourists; who were taking up every seat, eating McDonald’s, and French bread, cheese sandwiches. After all of the places that we visited with French bread, cheese sandwiches, Elizabeth rolled the dice, that there wasn’t meat on the sandwich she chose. This food court had multiple points of sales for the different types of food, but the food that seemed the most appealing was serviced by a no nonsense, Italian man, who just looked at your receipt and handed you the sandwich. You first, had to go across the food court to a cashier, then tell her the sandwich that you wanted. You would pay her for the sandwich, and she would give you a receipt. You then would go back over to the counter, where the sandwiches are displayed, on the other side of the food court, to pick up your sandwich from the Italian guy.
I picked a sandwich with cheese and salami, but Elizabeth picked hastily and ended up choosing a sandwich that had chicken on it. Being a vegetarian, she wasn’t going to even bite into a sandwich with chicken in it. So when the guy gave her the sandwich, she tried to switch the sandwich selection on the spot, to something without meat. Unfortunately, the Italian guy just wasn’t going to have it that way. According to him, there is no trades. Once you order your sandwich with cashier, that is the sandwich that you are getting. Elizabeth pointed at a salad and said, “I don’t want the sandwich, I just want a salad, instead.” There was no “insteads” with this guy. He pointed to the receipt. “No salad. One chicken. One salami.”
Elizabeth was frustrated, that there was no breaking this language barrier, when it came to ordering food. You ordered the food, and you receive, what they gave you. We decided to walk over to the next counter in the food court, and Elizabeth ordered a veggie flat bread. I put the chicken sandwich in my bag and saved it for tomorrow’s breakfast.
From the train station, we headed over to the Uffizi Gallery. Along the way, we found the Duomo, took some photos, and admired the crowds that lined up around it. We continued on until we arrived outside the Uffizi Gallery. Outside the building, there are a number of replica statues, one of them being Michelangelo’s David. Along the streets were lots of caricature artists, musicians, people selling sunglasses, prints, and selfie sticks.
The Uffizi Gallery had a name that sounded like it had to be good, but we had no idea what we would find inside. We cut to the front of the line with our museum pass, after waiting in the security line. The museum was huge and as we walked through the different rooms, we started seeing a lot of the very similar pieces. The art was beautiful, but the art that has survived from the middle ages is very similar in style to the untrained eye. The rooms contained lots of paintings, gold leaf on wood, and paintings of Jesus and Mary from numerous churches around Italy. We continued on from room to room, but we were really looking for the painting that was really going to blow our minds. Then out of nowhere, there was the Botticelli – Birth of Venus. It was just as incredible as you’d imagine! The rest of the museum instantly paled in comparison. We definitely saw some amazing paintings and sculptures by Italian artists, but the Birth of Venus was the highlight of the day.
After the Uffizi Gallery, we went into a few other buildings and then headed over to the train station. From Santa Maria Novella station, we took a train that stopped at Stazione Firenze Campo di Marte, near the soccer stadium, on it’s way to another city in Italy. Unlike most of the cities that we had visited so far, Florence didn’t have the underground train network that we came to appreciate. While in Florence, we were dependent mostly on buses and walking to different places, which tended to take a bit more time than desired, in most cases.
From the Campo di Marte, it was about a 15 minute walk to the stadium. We knew we were on the right track, because we could already see the vendors lining up their stands and getting ready for the game. There were food stands, venders selling jerseys, hats, towels, and flags, and pretty much any sort of merchandise that you’d ever need to find, if you were a fan of ACF Fiorentina.
We arrived at the ticket office outside the stadium and bought our tickets for the game. We decided that instead of buying dinner at a restaurant, it would be nice and different to stop at a market, and cook dinner back at the apartment. We still had about 3 hours until the game started, so we felt like we had plenty of time. We went into the nearest market and bought tomatoes, sauce, pasta, and some vegetables. Little did we know, the bus system around the stadium had practically shut down. In fact, all of the roads in a 5 block radius were blocked off from any traffic, in anticipation of the game. As we looked for a bus stop that would take us back near the apartment, it seemed like we just kept walking and walking, further from the destination where we were heading. We walked for close to an hour, before we found a bus stop that didn’t have a sign on it telling us that the bus wasn’t going to stop there.
Four different buses used this particular stop for their route. So we waited as bus after bus stopped and went. Close to 20 minutes later, our bus finally arrived. Luckily, this bus’s route contained a stop, that was relatively close to where we were staying. We carried our groceries from the bus stop to the apartment, and up the spiral staircase. As we walked in the door, the woman seemed surprised to see us. I don’t think that we were really supposed to use the kitchen, but somehow Elizabeth charmed the Italian woman, whom, I think we were starting to grow on, into letting us use her stove. We had picked up a bottle of beer, a bottle of wine, fresh pasta, and some sauce.
As Elizabeth cooked up our groceries, I sat on the patio, drinking a Paulaner Hefeweizen. I looked at the people hanging about on their patios. I listened as a group of people below played soccer in their garden, and mused about how they could feel soccer in the air, because there was a game at the stadium that night. Elizabeth finished up and we ate some “real” Italian spaghetti, sauce, and vegetables.
While Elizabeth’s dishes are always delicious, she can’t make miracles with bad sauce. The food was pretty good, but you’d think that in Italy, the sauce off the shelve would be superior to the sauce available in America. Unfortunately, I think that we’ve got Italy beat in the canned marinara sauce game.
After we finished dinner, we sat in our bedroom for a bit, losing track of time. I could hear the daughter of the host talking in the other room, so I thought that I should stop in, to check on the internet status. I walked into the kitchen and the older woman and her daughter were standing there talking. We cheerfully greeted one another and I told her that I liked her room. She thanked me and asked me about our trip so far, and I told her that it was going great.
She was a lot older than the photos that were hanging in the bedroom, but she was still very beautiful. I asked her,-* if she still taught dancing. She said, that she had to stop, because she had surgery on her knee and she couldn’t dance or teach ballet any more. I thought about the movie, the Curious Case of Benjamin Button. How after the car accident, she couldn’t dance, but was at least able to teach for a certain period of time. I felt bad that she couldn’t do that.
I told her that we were going to the soccer game and I asked her what she thought was the best route to the stadium. She brought me in the living room and showed me the maps on the table. She explained, that we should just keep walking straight down the road and we would walk right into it. She said that we should leave for the game right away, or we would be late. Elizabeth was still in the other room. I wondered when she was going to be ready to leave. Finally, she came into the room a few minutes later. We wished them a good night, then walked down the spiral staircase, and out to the street.
I looked at my watch and I knew that we were going to be cutting it close if we wanted to make it to the game on time. I tried to get Elizabeth to walk a bit faster, but she was being stubborn and decided that she was going to walk as fast as she was going to walk, whether we missed part of the game or not. As we walked through the streets, we saw all sorts of strange parking jobs. People were parking on sidewalks and diagonally, when all the other cars were parked straight. We kept trying to stay the route that the host’s daughter suggested, but because there weren’t any straight roads, we veered back and forth until we finally saw the lights of the stadium in the distance.
As we got closer to the stadium, I knew that we were really late, because there was almost no one on the streets walking with us. We could hear the crowd cheering, so we knew when something exciting was happening. Once again, I urged Elizabeth to walk a bit faster, but she was relunctant. We arrived at the first gate, wherev we showed a security guard our ticket. She said, that we had to go to the next gate. We went on to the next gate, and two security guards told us that we had to go to the next gate.
Finally, after we walked practically to the other side of the stadium, the security guard let us in. The street outside the stadium was packed with thousands of Vespa scooters parked in the street, on the sidewalk, and in the grass, as if it was the only way for people to get to the game. I guess that it was, if you didn’t want to walk.
After we went through the first gate, the first person, gave us a little pat down. We moved forward to the next person, who made us walk through a metal detector. Then finally, we arrived at the third person, who was able to scan the barcode on our tickets, and lead us through the turn styles. Beyond the final gate, there were virtually no security or ushers to guide you to your seats. At most stadium events, there is an usher taking you with your ticket to your seat, especially if you are on the lower level. However, as we walked through the tunnel to the field, we noticed that it was a free-for-all, when it came to seats.
We walked up the steps to our section, and up more steps to our row. There were just people sitting on the steps and in the aisles, with no regard for the other spectators. We arrived at our row and I asked a gentleman attentively watching the game, if we were in the right row. He didn’t even look up, he just ignored me. The gentleman sitting behind him said, “They don’t respect seat assignments here, you just have to sit wherever there is an open seat.” We looked around and eventually found two seats. As we tried to inch passed the people, between us and the closest open seats, I thought of how ridiculous that it was, that we had to pass through 3 points of security, enter through a specific gate, but then once there, the seats that we had purchased were available for anyone to take.
The game was already 20 minutes in, according to the scoreboard, and the score was already 1-1. I had internet on the phone, so I was able to find out that ACF Fiorentina was in last place in their division and Basel FC (their opponent that evening) was in first place. So the chance, of the home team winning, that night was not very good.
Win or lose, everyone around us was focused on the field. When we looked around to our right, we could see the soccer hooligans, behind the goal, waving their flags, and singing fight songs. Meanwhile, across the stadium, we could see the opposing team’s fans, chanting back. They stood with their shirts off, which from a distance almost made them look like the soldiers from the film, Braveheart, ready to die, so that their team would win.
As Elizabeth and I talked about the game, a gentleman sitting next to us smiled and smirked. I suppose, he thought that our observations were pretty amusing. We concluded that, he probably knew English or might have even been American, because he had an American Flag, cell phone case, but he might just love America (like everyone should).
It’s true, I know very little about soccer. And as far as sports go, I think that soccer might be one of the least interesting popular sports to me, except for maybe golf. While there is constantly action on the field, there is a lot of back and forth. For most of the game, it doesn’t seem like anyone is really getting anywhere. For a little while, one team will have the ball, keep shooting and passing, but not really making any goals. Then, for another while, the other team will have possession of the ball, where they will go on to shoot and pass, and still not make any goals. All the while, the score is 0-0. A team can have possession for virtually the whole game, but if the other team scores one goal, then they have won, in spite of the fact that the team with the most possession seemed to do the most work. The whole game seems to lead up to something epic, but in the end, you might just end up bored.
Over the years, I have become less interested in the sports themselves anyway. Soccer or other sports, I have a hard time committing to teams or players of any kind. I do however enjoy the experience of the event. I could see a football game at a high school stadium, or a major league baseball game in a city that I am visiting for a weekend, and get just as much enjoyment as if I was in my home city watching the home team play a game.
I am originally from Cleveland, so I grew up with terrible heartbreaking teams. For 11 years, I have lived in San Diego, and my adopted teams don’t seem to win many games either. I will admit, that while I don’t take the time to follow stats or wear the colors, I will get wrapped up in rooting for Cleveland or San Diego every couple year, and hope that they will win, just to take some pride in organizations that share my cities.
When you are in Florence, you root for ACF Fiorentina. The more that you watched the game, the more you could see that the Basel team was superior in their performance. In spite of the fact, that the game was tied, Basel FC had complete control of the game. It was only a matter of time, before they scored another goal to win, but we cheered with the home team and rooted for them to come out ahead.
Eventually, Basel scored a goal in the second half and by then, the crowd had pretty much given up on the home team. As we neared the 90 minute mark, only the true fans were really present, as the time ticked down. As the game came to a close, we followed the mob of people out of the stadium, and walked through the dark Florentine streets, back to the apartment. We arrived around 11pm and entered quietly, then went to bed, where we sat up for a bit and planned for the next day.
Day 17: Florence
We were “on vacation” and sleeping in a bit is inevitable. However, we still should’ve to be on top of things, so that we were better able to beat out the masses of tourists to the sites. Much to my disappointment, we eventually crawled out of bed around 9am on our third day in Florence. After leaving the apartment, we ordered some espresso at the bar around the corner, then walked over to the bus stop. When we boarded the bus, I took a break from navigating our trip on the phone, and switched over to Facebook to see what was happening in America.
I saw that there was a new message on Facebook, from a guy named Paolo. He was the host that, we were going to be staying with, the next night in Verona. His message said, that he was sorry, but he wasn’t going to be participating in couchsurfing anymore. He had a bad experience with couchsurfing, he was taking down his profile, and we were going to have to find a new place to stay. He did provide some alternative hotels to stay at in Verona, but as I clicked the links, all I felt was betrayal. I was furious!
As the bus continued winding through the Florentine streets, my anger began to rise. When Elizabeth confronted me about what I was reading, I was fuming. It’s possible that I snapped at her, but I was so stuck in my head about not having a place to stay the next night, I was in not control of my actions. I messaged him back and said, “Thanks for giving us a bad experience on couchsurfing, by giving us a day notice to find a place to stay. I thought that you were a good person, but I probably shouldn’t have asked you in the first place.” It was ridiculous! I couldn’t believe that after I had planned the whole trip weeks in advance, now I was going to have to blindly try to make the best decision with regard to our finances and enjoyment, while trying to actually enjoy the present in Florence.
Our bus arrived at the St. Mark’s Square, where the Academy of Art is located. Found within is Michelangelo’s David. It was close to 10:30 and the tourists were already lined up, and acting like assholes. We had bought the Museum Pass, like Rick Steves suggested, but I guess that everyone else watched that episode, because instead of walking right in the door, we were behind about 50 or 60 slow, elderly people. While the Museum Pass is smart in theory, because you don’t have to buy an additional ticket, and they divide the line in two, everyone has to go through security. Unfortunately, most of these people don’t know how to go through security in a quick fashion. They forget to take off their watches and take things out of their pockets. They move really slow, because that is how older people move. So, even though we should know the security check point drill by now, because we all most likely took an airplane there, it’s still the same bullshit as the airport.
This was not the mindset that I want to be in, before going in to see one of the greatest works of art, of all time. I wanted to be calm and collected and have no worries, but the next person that gave me shit, I was sure that I was going to give it back to them 10 fold. Between the lines of tourists, and not knowing where we were staying in Verona, I was definitely not having a good morning, so far. Just before we started getting to the door, some old man, started muscling his way in. In that, “I’m old, so I can just do want ever I want.” sort of way. “Not so fast, the line is back there, sir!” I told him. I’m sick of these people just cutting ahead like they are more important than anyone else.
By the time we got into the museum, I was all bent out of shape. There were more beautiful art pieces, but I just couldn’t keep my mind on them. Then we turned a corner and there was the David. It was amazing and larger than life. I took as many pictures as I could of him, just to make the negative experience worth it. When I am completely frustrated about something, I always feel like I have to post a message to the Facebook world. Somehow it allows me to vent and makes me feel better. So, to add a bit of humor to the day, I took a picture of David’s marble butt, and made it my profile picture.
The rest of the museum became sort of a blur, but other than the David, the thing that stood out the most, was a video about how Greek and Roman statues were reproduced. The video explained, how they made a plaster mold, from the pieces they had, and then made a plaster model from that mold. Then with that model, they used measuring tools, to replicated the statue out of marble. It was a very fascinating video, although it felt like the magic of carving statues was revealed. It was sad to know, that some of the people, that were carving statues out of stone, could’ve been using this method and cheated. I always imagined these sculptors, standing in front of a big block of stone, and then they just started carving away, until they came up with something.
As amazing as Michelangelo’s figurative statues seemed to be, was he making them out of clay first? Then making a plaster mold, then a plaster model, and then from there, using mathematics and instruments to precisely carve it out of stone? If this is so, is it less amazing than him taking a chisel to the stone and randomly chipping away, until the greatest sculptures of all time reveal themselves. I couldn’t decide.
We left the Art Academy and walked towards the Duomo. Elizabeth and I talked about completely skipping Verona, its arena and the fake Romeo and Juliet balcony, and just going straight to Venice. At this time, Venice was still an amazing fantasy, of which we didn’t think we could get enough of. We thought about what journey, we would have to take to arrive at Venice as a destination, a day earlier than expected. We started browsing the internet, on the phone, for B&B’s and hotels in Venice. Everything listed was ridiculously expensive compared to our budget. We found that the cheapest listing was $80 a night, which was about double what we had been booking for the other nights of our trip.
When we arrived at the Duomo, the Museum Pass line, was completely empty. The Duomo staff filtered the tourists into the building in small groups. They will take a few tourists from the non-Museum Pass line, and a few from the Museum Pass line. Then once you are in the building, you are all filtered in together. Little did we know, that even if you have the Museum Pass, you still have to go to another ticket office a few blocks down the road, in order to get a ticket for entry. Where was the sign for this? What is there to keep someone from waiting there in line for hours, before finding out from the guard, that the ticket booth is a 15 minute walk away. Then you are going to have to get back in line, and spend another few hours waiting in line again. This system is ridiculous!
We walked to an office, which is hidden like a speakeasy, and we got our printed tickets to enter the Duomo. After dealing with such an inefficient process, i.e. waiting in line at the Duomo, and then finding out that you have to wait in line again to purchase a ticket, just makes me want to take my frustration out on the person selling the ticket. The hope is, if I am a huge dick to the ticket guy, that he will complain to his boss, that people are dissatisfied with the process, and then that guy will pass it up the ladder, and eventually, they will just let you enter the Duomo with the pass that you already waited in line to purchase!
When we finally arrived back at the Duomo, I started to notice how very few of the rules WERE actually being followed. The rules that WERE posted outside the doors, warned against taking photos, and wearing shorts inside the religious buildings. Why aren’t these rules being enforced? How are people getting away with doing these activities without being kicked out. Yet, when I put on pants instead of shorts, and refrain from taking photos, why I am prevented from walking in the door with the Museum Pass, a rule that is not even posted? Why am I still receiving equal treatment, as the people NOT adhering to the posted rules?
As soon as you are allowed entry through the doors of the Duomo, you are guided to the left, and up a staircase. This dark, narrow, winding staircase, seems to go forever. Up and Up and Up. My mind eventually got to a point where I began thinking, that I might be going up a staircase, to a place that doesn’t exist. You think that you are going to be walking into a church, but instantly, you are climbing out to the roof!
Eventually, we arrived at a walkway that encircled the bottom edge of the dome. The painting on the ceiling is honestly on par with other brilliant ceiling paintings that I have ever seen. There are depictions of heaven and hell, and life on earth. Jesus, kings, and popes, are a whole 360 degrees around you. I guess that some people didn’t come to Florence, to wait in line for hours, for the mind-blowing art pieces, because a group of people hurried us along, down this one person ledge, while I was examining the piece. It made me shake my head to think that even though, we were inconvenienced while trying to view this amazing site, there were some people, who waited hours, then completely disregarded how fucking amazing it all was!
We followed the ledge to a doorway that took us up even more stairs. Up and around the dome we went, until we started getting into narrow stairways, and people began coming down instead of going up. Nothing is more suffocating than being in a dark hallway with no light and people pushing into you, then having people coming towards you in the process, and having no way to get by. Eventually, the people stopped coming from above and we carried on ahead.
Finally, we saw the light of day again. There was a guard at the top of the stairs, who clearly hated his job, who was calling us up the final stairs, in the least polite way possible. Up we went and as we stepped out into the light, Florence surrounded us. After such a stressful morning, it was calming to see the world from a different perspective. It’s always settling to look down on the world from above and see how small everything really is, and how insignificant our problems become. After we took some photos and pointed out the places in the city that we recognized, we sat on a bench, on the roof, and went on the phone to pick out a place to stay in Venice.
After everything had settled, we headed back down the long staircase, where we were confronted again, with people stopping in front of us, while others were coming up the steps. We came out a doorway and were able to see the amazing dome once again, but this time we were able to see it from closer than we had been before. We had found a way to let anxious people pass by us, so we really were able to take time to see all of the little details in the piece. Going down was definitely easier than going up, and when we got to the bottom again, instead of getting to see things from the floor, we were guided out into the world.
We decided that tomorrow, we were going to go to Venice, but how were we going to get there a day early? We took the bus back to the apartment and retrieved our stack of train tickets for the next two days. Then we took the bus back to the train station, to see if we would be able to switch our bookings. Ideally, instead of going from Florence to Verona and then Verona to Padua and then Padua to Venice on two different days, we would see if it was possible to go from Florence straight to Venice. Maybe, we could get a ticket tomorrow from Verona to Venice. There were lots of people traveling through Florence at the time, so we took a number and waited.
When we were called, the clerk said that our tickets weren’t exchangeable or refundable. So, we would just have to purchase new tickets and money on the tickets, that we weren’t going to use. My anger about the situation had subsided, and I got over the fact that we were going to lose over $200 in travel and lodging, because our projected host had a bad couch surfing experience. We could not stay in Verona for a decent price, we booked a B&B in Venice, so what were we going to do.
We walked back over to the neighborhood where the Uffizi Gallery was located, to see if we could get into any more museums. We ended up going into the Medici Palace, where we viewed the sarcophagi of some of the Medici’s most important family members. Then from the Medici Palace, we walked over the Ponte Vecchio bridge. The bridge had shops on it that were originally butcher shops, but currently all of the tenants are jewelry stores. At this point in the evening, the sun was beginning to set. We decided to take a bunch of photos of ourselves, the river, and the city, with the sunset in the background. We walked to a bridge down the river, and we were able to sit on the railing of the bridge, and take in the beauty. Up until that day, I don’t think that we saw a sunset as amazing. The sky was filled with purples and oranges; it was just perfect.
We walked back along the river, towards the apartment, and we once again stopped at our old haunt, the Red Garter Inn. It was the opening night of the Rugby World Cup and by the lack of a crowd, we knew that this wasn’t an event that people were packing the place for. It was happy hour, so I ordered another big glass of beer and a delicious burger. It was karaoke night, at the Red Garter, but it didn’t start for another few hours, so after some debate, we opted for doing a load of wash instead. The apartment was just down the river from the bar, so after we ate, we walked along the river on the narrow sidewalks.
Our clothes were really starting to smell from the last few days of hot weather, so we put in some laundry at the laundrymat, on the first floor of the apartment building. Elizabeth went back up to the apartment, while I waited for the clothes as I flipped through the Italian magazines, which had been left by other patrons. After the laundry was completed, we went to bed. We were set to leave on the early train the next morning and we didn’t want to be late.
We woke up extra early as usual, and walked to the train station that was near by the soccer stadium. Instead of getting breakfast near the apartment, we were hoping that since all the other train stations had lots of food places nearby, or in the station, this one would also. However, as we got closer to the station, we hardly saw anything in the way of a bakery or crepe shop. There was a bar across the street, which looked like it may have sold coffee, but no food. We knew that there was a grocery store near by the stadium on the other side of the tracks, but it was far enough away, that we would likely miss our train.
Luckily, this station had a little convenience shop area inside, and a young Italian woman pressing paninis and making espresso. We ordered an espresso and a panini, for each of us, then set our packs at one of the small tables. Above the table, there was a live music video show on the television, playing the classic 80’s, 90’s, and Italian hits. Occasionally, they would break for news and traffic, but it looked like they were radio personalities, who they just put in front of a camera. I found it interesting, that while the guy was tall, dark, and handsome, the woman was a little on the heavy side. It’s not really a dynamic that you usually find in America, at least not in most broadcast settings. Usually, it’s a overweight guy and a sexy, blonde woman.
We purchased these train tickets far in advance, because there weren’t any second class tickets available, if I remember correctly. So, I ended up buying a couple of first class tickets. When we got on the train to look for our seats, there was a guy sitting with his sleeping child in my seat. He didn’t appear to speak English, but he seemed to think that it was good etiquette to take my window seat, because it would be such a chore to wake his sleeping child. What kind of nerve is this? If I was in anyone else’s seat and I refused to move, I am sure that the conductor would have come by and kicked me out. I’m not sure what it is about Italy, but it seems like they are inconsistent with their rules and etiquette, and how they enforce them.
I took an alternate seat across from the gentleman, and he and his wife continued talking and carrying on, as if I hadn’t been inconvenienced. I picked that specific seat, because I wanted to able to see the beautiful landscape, with my wife on our romantic train trip. Instead I had to stare ahead at a complete douchebag and his wife acting like they owned the whole train. The train conductor came by and looked at my ticket and I told him that I was in the wrong seat because, the other gentleman refused to move. The conductor completely ignored me. I guess that the trains in Italy don’t take themselves too seriously.
The perk of riding in first class on a train is that just like on an airplane, you are provided with free coffee, a snack, and a moist towelette to clean your hands afterwards. A few stops into our trip, the gentleman, with his sleeping child, and his wife got up and walked out of the train. In continuing to show his arrogance, he didn’t apologize for a second time for taking my seat and for making me feel like I was the asshole, for wanting to stay true to my reservation. For the rest of the trip to Verona, I was able to sit in my assigned seat, and a young woman who entered the train, sat down where I had been previously sitting. Now, both Elizabeth and I could enjoy the beautiful Tuscany countryside, while gazing into each other’s eyes.
Finally, we arrived in Verona and there was about an hour layover, before we boarded on our next train. We walked outside through the front of the station, and there was an open courtyard. Across the courtyard was a church that looked, as if it could’ve been a piece of the setting for Romeo and Juliet. I took a little walk and snapped a photo. In spite, I posted the photo and made a sarcastic comment about not being able to “couch surf”, and having to spend extra money in Venice. It was pointless, but I felt a little better.
We walked back to the train station and boarded our train when it arrived. When the seating is assigned on the train, there is no organization as far as guiding people to their seats. There is no indication on the outside of the train, where your actual seat could be, in the front or the back of the car. The cars are all numbered, but not always 1, 2, 3, 4. Sometimes they are numbered 234, 235, 236. You can’t be sure where they are going to stop at the platform, so you have to stand in the middle. Then when you see the car number, you have to run to the door, and hop on before the train takes off and leaves you behind. Also, it isn’t until you finally get on the train that you know where your seat assignment is, in proximity to the door that you entered through. There are two doors and the people that entered through the wrong door, muscle through the narrow aisle against the flow of people coming through the other door, to arrive at their seats. What occurs is a traffic jam of bodies pushing against each other, until the train is almost halfway to the next city.
Our assigned seats were in the back of the car on this train, which had three seats in a row instead of two. I sat between Elizabeth on my left and a woman wearing way too much perfume on the right. Under the correct occasion, perfume can be intoxicating and arousing, but in this particular instance, it was nauseating. The duration of this train ride wasn’t too much longer than the one prior, so I didn’t pass out from the fumes or anything.
Places We Bought Food and Drinks
Santa Maria Novella Train Station
Via Luigi Alamanni, 2, 50123 Firenze, Italy
While a convenient place to grab a quick bite before or after train travel, this food court is an absolute shit show. While there is a Burger King and pastry counter, the other food items for sale needed to be purchased from a cashier and retrieved from a different counter with the receipt of purchase. This process can cause unnecessary confusion, if Italian is not your first language.
Red Garter Inn
Via de’ Benci, 33/r, 50122 Firenze, Italy
In the heart of Florence, surrounded by expensive Italian dining is an American style sports bar and grille, with a dance hall in the back room. With nightly food and drink specials, this establishment should be the ultimate destination for people on a budget who like to drink tall glasses of beer, with burgers and chicken wings. With lots of tvs showing the nightly soccer games, there is plenty to keep you entertained.