I just flew in from Italy, and boy...ah, forget it. It's about 10 bajillion (10umpteenth) degrees in here—ooh, aren't these south-facing windows lovely?—and I have no patience for frivolity! Still, I plan to write a blindingly witty post that encompasses an entire week of traveling around Italy with my family. This will mostly be accomplished by putting in lots of pictures with clever or meaningful captions. You will be able to see all the beautiful things I have seen on the days when I felt like dragging my camera around. And so it begins.
Prologue: All Roads Lead To Rome, Change In Atlanta
See my last post for all the gritty details on my false start. After a hellish night of walking around my house alone, failing to form coherent sexual fantasies in lieu of general anxiety, and ending up at the piano only to find myself belting "I'm Still Here," I made it to JFK again. Everything went so shockingly smoothly on the second attempt that I was at the gate for my 1:30 pm flight at 10:20 am. Great.
On both of my flights I sat next to Europeans currently residing in the US: First a British artist who could got a job as an art/art history instructor at a college in Columbia, South Carolina (not his first choice of locale), and then an Italian gentleman currently residing in Virginia and only returning to Italy for business. I finally got to see King Kong on the flight to Italy and we only experienced a few minutes of insane turbulence or, as the pilot called it, "rough air." I adore the names they give painful flight..."We're going through a patch of rough air," "Please fasten your seatbelt, we're going to experience some weather," etc.
We landed, and Angelo drove me from the airport to the Hotel Britannia. He took the scenic route (of course...a stranger in a strange land doesn't know squat re cab fare) and I got to see a pit of the city, including the Colosseum, which the fam had seen while I was trying to sleep the night before. I also saw a sign that said (in Italian), "Catena: Quality Meat Since 1936." I didn't get to take a picture for Jen. Aw.
Rome Is Where the Reart Is
I only took one day of pictures in Rome, and that was the first day at the Vatican. Here we see light streaming into St. Peter's. Aw, God's smiling! St. Peter's is a rather vain little church, as it has markers on the floor showing where all other major cathedrals would come up to, were their entryways aligned. St. P's B is bigger than all of them. Much bigger.We took a small, personal-ish tour around the Vatican with Hillary, a Brit currently living in Italy (and with a strange distaste for the UK) who gives lots of tours. She was occasionally discombobulated, but fun, entertaining and informative, and she couldn't stop talking about Rafael. "He was just gorgeous!" She made it sound like Rafael was so popular with the ladies, he died because he had an excruciatingly exhausting night of wild sex and fell so stricken that doctors did a blood letting and killed him. It sort of sounds like a load of crap to me, but I like the idea of Rafael being too hot to handle. She also ardently defended Michelangelo against charges of misogynism. I mean, I always thought he was just a huge homo, but apparently lots of people think he was really anti-women. I don't know...if I could make men as hot as Michelangelo's, I don't think I'd do many pieces of chicks either.
Ooh, there's the fam in the Vatican! The Jews are invading. Watch out...Oh, I also committed a ridiculous faux pas by, um, lying down in the Sistine Chapel. I was called up immediately, but jeez louise, don't they realize that a packed room of cocked heads isn't the best way to appreciate art? And it's nice that they want everyone to be quiet, but the constant sushing is a little much. The chapel's pretty awesome, though. I liked the pairs of little gold men surrounding pillars...very theatrical and enticing.
I saw a hot priest as we were leaving the Vatican and tried to take a picture, but he stared me down. I did, however, find and purchase a "Hot Priests of Rome" calendar. To see it you'll have to visit me in my apartment.
On my first night in Italy I had a horrible meal. The concierge at the hotel sent us to, like, his friend's restaurant where my pizza had unripe (wan green) tomatoes and the house wine paled in comparison to Franzia. At least the meals got better. Best meal, in fact, was shortly after in the Jewish ghetto.
We got a tour of the old Jewish ghetto by this fun young Roman Jew named Micaela. She was very knowledgeable and very upbeat and went on a few rants about politics (the government is fascist, the church is a joke and a shame, etc). We learned quite a bit about the history of Jews in Rome, and the tour was a good chance to walk around a nice area of the city that wasn't a traditional tourist hot spot. For lunch we ate traditional Roman Jewish food (after we got closed out of our first choice restaurant because of my dad's attire: "I'm sorry sir, but...your shorts!"). We all had fried artichokes and I had a great pasta dish with dried meat. Mmm.
Also in Rome, we went on a hunt for the Pinko Bag. Eh? Pinko Bag? Natalie, far more fashion conscious than I (the best I can do is make fun of V when he wears more than three articles that scream Abercrombie...that was Saturday before I "left"), noticed that a bunch of hip looking gals in Rome all had black bags with "Pinko Bag" written in sequins. There were even knock-offs that just said "Pink Bag." So we went on a hunt for the store Pinko. First we walked down the main shopping street, passing the world's smallest sovereign nation on the way...no, that's not the Vatican, it's the Sovereign Military Order of Malta, or, SMOM. It's located at Via Condotti 68, and it's a Knights Templar sort of thing. Very fun. The girl who had given Natalie directions to Pinko Shop was horribly mistaken, so we wound up taking the bus across the river, through a good part of Rome to the OTHER shopping district, where after about 45 minutes of walking, we found Pinko Shop and bought Natalie the last black sequined authentic Pinko Bag in Rome. Victory!
OK, that's all I feel like writing about Rome for now. I'm going to publish this and take a few minutes to break...will continue with Firenze shortly. For now, enjoy the Italian countryside, as experienced on the train between the two cities. Take a few minutes to experience inner peace, as if you, too, are riding on a train through Italy. Pretend there aren't tunnels ever mile that put extreme pressure on your ears. Just imagine you're listening to your awesome "Two Nouns" iPod playlist, hearing songs like "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk," "Comfort and Joy," and "Zak and Sara" all the way to Florence.Wash Your Face And Drive Me To Firenze
When we arrived in Florence, our cab driver knew exactly where our hotel was, offhand. It would have been less surprising were our hotel not a tiny converted convent outside the super-touristy area of the city. We stayed right by the (out of session) university and Piazza SS Annunziata, which came to be known as the "sketchy piazza" as the walk from the Duomo through the piazza to our hotel included passing three drunken homeless men on the corner who would frequently mumble at us and give us the finger. We headed over to our reservation at the Uffizi Gallery and ran into Jake Weissman (sp?) of Scarsdale High School fame. He was there with a friend from work, and they heartily recommended we see the David. This was good, as we had tickets for the David, and Brook The Subletter had said the David wasn't worth it. Jake said the David was SO worth it. Right on. Anyway, the Uffizi Gallery kind of blew, through only minimal fault of its own. It was PACKED with tourists and tour groups and we had to fight to see every painting. See enough Baby Jesuses who look like Yoda, and the fight just doesn't seem worth it any more. We did see the Major Botticellis, which were refreshing partially because they were famous, and there's always a rush in that, but mostly because they depicted Greek/Roman mythology which meant they were livelier, looser and, most importantly, entirely free of ugly-ass Baby Jesuses. There was also a cool Leonardo Da Vinci exhibit, mostly on his scientific thought. By the time we got down there, we really weren't able to give it the proper time.
We had a hard time escaping the tourism of Florence. Everything within half a mile of the obscenely huge duomo (see right) is packed with tourists and street vendors selling imitation leather to tourists. Now might be a good time to touch on the ever-relevant subject of race. Wow. And we think we have racial issues in America. I don't think I saw a single black resident who wasn't on the streets selling cheap shit. Admittedly, they all seemed to be from Africa and therefore are more "The Immigrants" than "The Black People," but still, we recognize visual cues. I didn't get to talk to any actual Italians about race, but I'd be curious.I got a hot, hot leather jacket in Florence. Too bad it's unbelievably hot here in NYC. I have no occasion to wear it. Maybe some enchantedly cool evening I can put it on and strut around looking like the bad girl I'll never be. (Oh, off-topic aside: I was looking at a scientific paper today I'm going to be reporting on, and I saw the English translation of the questions on sex they gave to the college-aged subjects. For the questions about experiences with intercourse, they had, as option number one, "Have not attempted intercourse" and then all of the options assuming the responded had had sex. Um, where's the "attempted intercourse but failed" option? This is a serious scientific flaw. I'm, like, reporting them. Or something.) Anyway, back to the important things in life: my kickass new jacket. I'll find a way to wear it before late October...you'll see!
We ate what was possibly our best overall meal (rival will come in Venice section) at Antico Noe, a small restaurant on what Fodor's described as one of the more unsavory half-blocks in Florence. They gave us this incredible bread to start with, just dripping in olive oil and salt. Oh, man, was it good. I got pasta with truffles, which wasn't quite as heavenly as I'd imagined, but what still very good.
On the last day of Florence, we saw the David. He didn't seem to want to go out with me, but I totally have a crush on him. So hot. So perfect. So immobile. And so huge! I had no idea how big this thing was. He's big. His expression is also far more worried/contemplative than I had realized from the pictures. I also hadn't really realized that he's holding the slingshot across his back. It all makes sense now. Anyway, that museum was otherwise mediocre...some cool unfinished Michelangelo sculptures and instruments. Oh, instruments! There was this bowl filled with water and two handles you could rub with your wet hands to generate a sound. This German dude was so excited he just stood there, eagerly rubbing the handles, showing everyone else how to do it, and beaming in his pride. He could make the sound! Do you people not understand? He made the fucking sound! So, yeah, as we walked through that exhibit, we heard naught but the wailing of the bowl.
After that museum, we walked across the river and up to the Piazza Michelangelo, a beautiful place that overlooks the city. The first photograph in this post is brought to you from there. Passing through that side of the Arno we got a little taste of what non-tourist Florence is like. Finally, we saw some outdoor cafes, with people just sitting and hanging out. As my mom pointed out, all the plazas in Spain have coffee shops around them, but in Italy there's pretty much no place to sit with a view of the piazza. Here there were little gathering areas; it was adorable. The hike up to that Piazza also got us some welcome fresh air and exercise, and it was one of my favorite parts of Florence. Not my favorite part of Florence: ridiculous crowded streets. I don't know how the cars wind through those things. Maybe that's why most people seem to be on motorcycles with a few on old bikes (there, I tied in the picture).Traffic was, however, not a problem in our final destination.
We Open In Venice
Who in God's name thought this would be a good idea? I'm just imagining the board room, "OK, so it's going to be a city...ON WATER. We go out into the sea, stick some wooden poles into the floor, wait for them to petrify, and then build an entire city on top of it. WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?" Apparently this was the idea of some early Italian group who were invaded by another early Italian group and decided that their only escape was the sea. So they erected Venice. Ta-da! So now it's here and its absolutely gorgeous.Whereas in Rome and Florence we just generally did a bad job of finding the non-touristy areas, at least in Venice we could take comfort in knowing there were really no non-touristy areas to find. Only 68,000 people actually live in Venice...that's smaller than New Rochelle. So while there are a few excruciatingly pretty residential areas, most of the people there won't be there for long. And aside from the fishy smell, it's super Romantic. That's what happens when you have an organic version of Disney World or Las Vegas. It's totally an amusement park...but it's the whole city, and it's not a cheap fake.
This fine gondolier was stationed right by our hotel. You're pushing the mullet, dear, but otherwise, lovely.So anyway, the first night there (we only were there for a little over a day, and frankly, as much as I loved Venice, that was probably enough) we had a reservation at La Zucca (the pumpkin) at Jess Rivkin's recommendation. We didn't quite realize how long it takes to get around Venice, so by the time we got from the train station to the hotel and back to the shore by the restaurant, we were an hour late. And we didn't know where the place was, and Venice isn't exactly a grid. In fact, it's really, really hard to get around. So we asked people for directions, but the first few attempts failed to find us La Zucca. So then my dad had the bright idea to ask this totally crazy looking dude who was being followed around by two dogs of extremely different sizes. He began to lead us through deserted alleys (of which there were many) and Natalie and I were half-convinced he was going to mug, and perhaps kill, us all. He just kept walking and muttering, and petting the dogs until he led us straight to La Zucca. Stunning. As was the food. Once they got a table for us, we had probably the best meal of our trip in a homey wooden room overlooking the water (what isn't?). I had a stunning pumpkin-ricotta flan. Wow.
The next day we were tourists in St. Marks. You may have heard that there are pigeons in this famous Piazza. You're right. Wow, are there a lot of pigeons. This young fellow was clearly worried about picking up The Avian Flu (he had no reason to fear). It was all beautiful, anyway, although the touristiness was a bit overwhelming. We headed out fairly quickly to explore the rest of the city, via a walk to the Jewish ghetto. The ghetto in Venice was actually the first, and the word "ghetto" comes from the name of the area, "campo gheto." What else did we do? Really, little else, just walked around frickin' Venice, bitches! The restaurant on our last night was high quality (had a zucchini and cheese appetizer that was just to DIE for, dahling), but the waiter clearly hated us. Like, when we were ordering desserts, he started to leave after the first person ordered and then, when the second started, looked at us like, "Oh, you wanted more?" Pshaw! Did I mention that we spent almost every dinner shamelessly talking about other Scarsdale people? It's just a little embarrassing, but what the heck, it was so much fun. We had one night talking about whether certain parents participated in a swinging circle...I didn't know those were actually the rumors, but apparently, they are. Oh, the craziness of the hometown! Somehow the fact that a 2004 SHS grad was recently Playboy's Cyber Girl of the Week seems rather tame (props to her, by the way...although I question the decision to use her real name).
The next morning we took a water taxi (so cool!) to the airport. I was scared to death the whole time that my precipitously balanced, wildly rocking suitcase was going to fall overboard. Luckily we arrived safely and, after a bit of confusion, we got a ride to the new airport, which turned out to be steps from the old one. We flew home on a fairly uneventful flight (although I gained a strong appreciation for this Onion article). We arrived home to our sweltering house, and I went to my apartment shortly thereafter, only to find I had just missed Fleet Week. Damn you, fate!
So that's it for the Italy post! I hope you've enjoyed it. Now back to my irregularly scheduled blogging. Ciao!
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