Espionage and Sciopero

Now that I am in Europe, I am allowed to be and feel, “whelmed.” And that is exactly how I felt In Rome.

One of the subway stops put you, literally, right outside of the Colosseum (il Colosseo) and the Arch of Constantine. Again, whelmed is the only word I can think of that most closely describes how I felt. It was so huge! And pictures don’t really do it justice at all. Whelmed, again, at the thought that this thing was built in. And again thinking about all of the things that happened inside of the structure. And again when there is information about current excavations and discoveries still happening.

I think one of my favorite things about Rome is how instead of destroying or building over the ancient sites, the people built their modern city around and through. We were able to get a nice look of this when we went to Trastevere for dinner both nights we were in town. Trastevere is were the real Italians live in Rome, and there we were able to find the best and cheapest food. The first night was rigatoni and pecorino pasta. And the next was bruschetta with artichokes and a pizza with more artichokes and prosciutto (and cheese too). My Nonna cooks very good dinners, but wow these dishes incredible.

Saturday was whelming from the shier amount of places we went. We were lucky enough to have my friend Liz accompany us to Rome. Lucky because she is practically fluent in Italian (very helpful when you’re in Italy), and also has a slight OCD complex so she over prepares for travel trips which also comes in handy. One of her many brilliant ideas was to leave the hotel by 7:30 so we could make it to the first couple of stops before they became too crowded. When we made it to our first stop, The Spanish Steps (Scalinata della Trinità dei Monti), we were almost the only ones there.

We had the same luck with the Trevi Fountain (Fontana di Trevi), which is a lot bigger than I imagined, and had time to take our pictures without bodies squishing together and to find the spot where Lizzie and Paolo met (yes, as in Lizzie Maguire).

(throw a coin over your left shoulder and you are promised to come back)

We had the same luck at the Piazzo Navona where we able to admire the beautiful building, Bernini sculptures, and many paintings and water colors being sold in the Piazza. And it continued through the Pantheon as well (which is currently my favorite architectural building).

In fact, that morning the worst line we suffered was trying to get gelato at La Palma. Worth it. I had biscotto (tasted kind of like a Milano cookie), and this other one that was some mix between hazelnut, peanut butter, and chocolate, and had these little wafer cookies mixed in.

By this time, the last places on our list were closed for a long lunch break (12-4) and we took cover in the beautiful gardens of the Villa Borghese [also near the Galleria Borghese that we had not tried to get a reservation enough in advance (at least a month) and so were not able to go].

Our last two stops of the day were both to churches, the Santa Maria della Vittoria and to the San Pietro in Vincoli (Saint Peter in Chains). The first holds one my personal favorite sculptures titled “The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa” by Bernini. While it is smaller than I imagined, I was no less touched by its power and beauty. In the second resides the unfinished work of Michelangelo. A tomb, originally meant to be three stories, but only one was completed and includes a beautiful work of Moses. This one was larger than I was expecting, and was easier to study and ground level. I love hands and his were so beautiful and powerful. On the whole, sculptures seem to amaze me more than paintings. The artists are given a block of marble, and the make something that looks so life like and doesn’t give any room for error. Truly amazing.

Every last Sunday of the month, the Vatican Museum (museo di vaticani) is free. Needless to say, even though we arrived well before it opened at 8:30, we were still a good 600 m behind the entrance.

Since our train leaved for home a 2, we were a little worried about getting in and also making it to Saint Peter’s Basilica. So funny thing about being far in line: you get a bunch of people offering tours and to put your right up in the front of the line for a little money. As they say, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do!” I’m not quite sure if this is applicable, but we did it. SO SKETCH. But it worked. Took some espionage, and basically we payed to cut in line, but again, it worked. And weren’t BS-ed. Even though it though it was extra suspicious when he said that the tour guide’s name was “Luigi.” But, Luigi was a licensed tour guide who gave tours in the Vatican for 40 years, both in English and Italian. Do I regret losing that twenty Euro? No I don’t. The Vatican was absolutely stunning, as was Saint Peter’s Basilica. And I was able to see great works of art such as (but not limited to) Michelangelo’s “Pieta,” (another one of my favorites, a sculpture of Mary holding the crucified Christ), Raphael’s “School of Athens,” Matisse’s “La Vierge à l’Enfant” (yes the Vatican can even buy expensive contemporary art), and, of course, The Sistine Chapel. Where yet again, I was whelmed. And literally had to take a minute and sit down and soak up the entire room. Incredible the time and talent and creativity that went into making the room come to life. Within each painting there are so many individuals that the artist had to create, and really everything about the chapel was far beyond my grasp of comprehension.

(This is in the very beginning of the ceiling sequence, and an image of God creating the world. In this particular image, Michelangelo placed him in the same position that he took in creating the ceiling.)

Our adventure was not yet over though. After returning to the terminal to catch our train home, we had to deal with the very crowded and confusing Termini, where no one would supply us with an Orario (which included what train we needed to take, and which stop to get off and catch the connection home). By the time we figured out which train was ours, we had a about 3 minutes to make it to the other side of the station before the train left. We made by the skin of our teeth. However, about an hour into our train ride, we discovered that many trains were holding strikes or a “sciopero.” In other words, when we made it to our connection in the middle of nowhere, a town names Grossetto (emphasis on the first half of the name) we were stuck there for nearly four hours until a came finally came in that was not on strike. When we reached Siena, we had yet another lovely surprise when we found out we were misinformed about the correct bus route. And so, we got off at the closest stop, and walked about half a mile home in the dark. We did make it safely home though. Eventually. And I am perfectly content to stay in Siena this weekend.

La Bella Citta Siena

You know those places, like Hollywood for example, that have a lot of pictures and stories that glorify them and create high expectations, but once you see it in person you realize the place is flat out dirty and really not that great?

Siena is not one of those places.

It literally looks the same as it does in all the pictures, even if those pictures are dating back to the 1300s. I seem to have chosen the ideal place to recover from such a traumatic event.

This week I am attending school at the Dante Alighieri Institute. It is only one language class, but already I feel like I’m getting better (although I still have a LONG way to go). My teacher, Mari Angela, reminds me so much of my best friend’s mom Susan. She is so sassy and so Italian (and also very pregnant, but that doesn’t make me think of Susan), and gives her students the some of same looks she gives her daughter. And I love it.

(yes, the view from my classroom is as distracting as it looks)

We were also given a little lesson on medieval art by the local native Rebecca, who is studying for her masters in art history. She has a very strong Sienese accent, meaning she doesn’t pronounce her “C’s” making the language even harder to understand.

Apart from school, I bought my first pair of Italian shoes! Sandals to be exact. Birkenstock knock-offs, (they are quite popular here), and make my feet very happy.

I am also loving the food and have to resist buying a gelato from every store we pass (there are plenty). My favorite place so far has been a small paninoteca behind the Palazzo Pubblico where we got a fresh Panini with fontina and prosciutto. It is probably the simplest, yet best sandwhich I have ever eaten.

Although that doesn’t compare to dinner Monday night when our Nonna (the widow with whom I’m living with) made zucchini and ricotta pasta and chicken with lemon, olive oil, and rosemary (starting tonight, my camera is accompanying me to every meal). Her meals are made even better by the fact that she grows almost all of the fruit and vegetables we eat in her garden (she even makes her own olive oil).

Her house would definitely be described as “quaint,” but it is perfect.

And Michelle and I get to sleep with the Madonna above our head each night (extra protection right?).

Although we have to deal with some heat and sweat (my skin has been happier), there is very little I would trade to be apart from Siena (except maybe Roma this weekend).

The Living Nightmare

It is approximately 12:23 (or 00:23 as this clock says) in London, England and the North British Airline Gatwick Terminal. I am tired, hungry, freezing, dirty, crying, don't have the right currency, and so frustrated beyond belief I'm surprised I haven't internally combusted.
Let's start at the beginning. Waking up 5:30 am California time, I decided against showering, make up, and contacts. I still hold by that choice. And everything went smoothly at home base LAX. Sure I was definitely claustrophobic in my uncomfortable seat, but the older woman sitting next to me was nice and would sometimes entertain with racist jokes and tails about her native Spain, and eventual Spanish cursing at the unhelpful attendants. Four hours into the flight, they finally share that they cannot land at JFK airport due to storms and eventually have to land somewhere else to refuel. Around 6, the time I was supposed to land in New York, I instead find myself in Baltimore, where I am waiting on the plane for the next couple of hours. After docking, refueling, getting back in the air, and circling around even more until they let us land, I entire JFK airport after 11 pm, having missed my connection to Zurich.
After more faulty directions, I find my self in line to somehow reroute my ticket. I did enjoy talking to the two Londoners waiting behind me. They were headed to Bolivia to go hike in the hottest dessert and go on this death road where about 1 person dies every day. Doesn't sound fun, but I liked listening to them talk about it. While there, I see a friendly face in Michelle, who I was supposed to travel with the rest of the way to Florence, and she, too, missed the connection. However, she flew Delta, and I American Airlines, and so her reroute was booked differently and before mine. Of course there is only 1, sometimes 2, tellers working at our ticketing area, and by the time it is my turn to talk it is 3am NY time (I kept my blanket from the plane, but at this point it was obvious I should have followed my instincts and grabbed an unopened upper class pillow/blank combination while leaving the plane). Anything getting my remotely close to Michelle's flight is already sold out, and instead I am given a ticket that wouldn't leave JFK until 6pm, go to Milan, Rome, then arrive at Florence at 2:20. Nothing else to do I take the ticket, and Michelle and I finally know that we will not meet up with the other 2 girls waiting for us in Florence (they have both arrived there at this time).
After this, we figure it is about time to locate our luggage. However, since we both had a connection to Zurich and the bags were probably sent ahead, no one can tell us for sure where our luggage is.
Walking in a daze, we hope to find food in another terminal (this fails and we end up with only vitamin water and a chair). While having a million silent freak outs about traveling foreign by myself, my mom has been working hard on the phone to try and find me a different flight. Grudgingly, I make my way back to AA ticketing to try and rework my flight.
Around 5am I receive frantic calls/texts from my mom saying they found a different flight. One that leaves for London at 8am; I would be in London overnight; and arrive in Florence less than an hour after Michelle. So we take it, and I head to the British Airlines terminal.
Of course self check in wasn't working, so I had to go search for an attendant for help. This ended up being a small blessing and I found a teller who had just sat down (aka I didn't wait in line) and she was willing to help. Besides checking me in, she also issued a claim for my lost baggage, and empathized with my by telling my to go see her friend Dominic in the Lounge (for people who pay more money). But before I could reach that destination, I had to be pat down (of course) at security check because I kept beeping and they didn't know why. But I made it to the lounge eventually and was able to help my self to free breakfast, a comfy chair, and quiet environment (currently my last luxury and last good meal). All too soon I found myself having to board another plane (I was stuck in the middle of 3 which is the worse), but was somehow able to doze for the most of the flight (I also tried to down some of their nasty airline food).
I arrive in London safely, but with the prospect of facing another night in an airport (also separate to the one I was currently in).
After waiting for an hour at border customs (only one teller working again), I find baggage services and make an inquiry after my luggage. Still nothing. But the man, Walter I think, was nice at least. He told me where I wanted to go (North BA Gatwick) and that once I get there to go straight to BA ticketing, make them check my itinerary, and tell them to give me some accommodations. He also tells me the way to the transportation that says I wouldn't have to pay for.
Of course, doesn't work out. Beginning with my having to pay (I don't have the right currency and have to use my card. Now I'm hoping they won't freeze me because they did not know I was going to London), and go outside to wait for the bus. Once it arrives the driver tells me I can't take my "luggage" (I wish, it was only a backpack) on board. As I try to argue with him, he just gives me this look like I'm the stupidest of idiots and I'm even more frustrated. I then proceed on the almost hour long bus ride where I'm not able to stop crying and have had trouble completely stopping ever since. I was even too delirious to enjoy driving on the wrong side of the street. Once I finally get to the correct terminal, I find it even colder and the information desk closed. Then I go to hunt for the BA ticketing.
I found it.
Closed.
Until closer to 2:30.
Of course.
So now I'm sitting (at least the chair is cushioned), phoneless (it is the worst), waiting for 2:30 am (London time) to come faster, imagining that I should actually be in my pre-booked hotel in Florence.
I have been awake and in airports for almost 48 straight hours.
I can honestly say that I am still considering asking them to book me a flight home as soon as the offices open because I am not even excited for Italy anymore. But I guess that might just be the cold, hunger, and exhaustion speaking.
8 more hours till my next flight boards. Can only imagine what else will happen in that time.
And yes, two nights in an airport is a pleasant as it sounds.