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Temple of Apollo at Pompeii (Personal Photo)

Pompeii

Pompeii went smoothly.

Did I kill the suspense? Let me spice things up with some details. To get there from Naples (Pompeii (ruins) =/= Pompeii (town)), you need to take the crowded local train on a special line. I ended up standing for the entire 45-minute ride to Pompeii, squished like a sardine and struggling to breathe with the humidity.

From some advice I got online, I purchased an audio tour in lieu of hiring a live guide. This gave me the freedom to explore Pompeii and take pictures on my own time (as well as get lost). Not only was it cheaper, but there weren’t swarms of people invading my photos. Like my exploration of the Roman Forum, I spent several hours there exploring beneath a solid expanse of cerulean.

The Duomo (Left) and Baptistery (Right) in Florence (Personal Photo)
PS: Doesn't the Baptistery look like it's falling over? Hehe

Florence

The train to Florence that evening was a fancy, high-speed train—compared to the local Naples-Pompeii train (max 60kph), one maxed out at 300kph.

My hostel was beautiful, and I had no problems finding it (thank goodness!). The problem with mixed dorm hostels, aside from the occasional guy who parades around in his boxer shorts and sleeps across from you, is the snoring. I awoke last night to the sound of the most bizarre snoring I have ever heard. It sounded... constipated, a wheeze and then a very un-snorelike sigh.

View from the Florence Old Bridge (Personal Photo)

Florence was pretty, much less touristy than Rome. I took it easy [well, I tried to] since my days in Pisa, Rome, and Pompeii were rather hectic. I saw the Uffizi and Academia Galleries, which hold Botecelli’s “Birth of Venus” and Michaeangelo’s “David” (respectively). I also visited the Duomo, a huge cathedral that was absolutely stunning. Like in Pompeii, the weather was perfect.

Cinque Terre

The following day, I did a day trip to Cinque Terre, a series of five towns along the coast. I arrived in La Spezia at 9:19 and looked for the Cinque Terre info booth. When I found it (9:27), I was told the next train was 11:02 and that I had just missed the 9:25 train. However, having had prior experience with Italian trains being late, I ignored her and ran to the platform. Lo and behold, it was still there and did not, in fact, end up leaving until 9:35.

The paparazzi found me in Corniglia. While I was enjoying the view, I found myself the object of interest for a photo-op. Like in Rome, I thought these Chinese tourists* wanted a picture of the view, so out of courtesy I went to move, but they insisted that they wanted me in the photo. The wives would put their arms around me as if we were best buds. And then before I could even breathe, there was the next one! And the next one!

Manarola (Cinque Terre) (Personal Photo)

* (I knew they were Chinese because after the photo, they said, “Shia shia,” which means “Thank you” in Mandarin.)

I visited the other towns, hopping them train by train, until I came to Vernazza. From there I did a vigorous 2-hour hike to Monterosso. It was a beautiful but exhausting walk, and I ran out of water halfway through. The path became so narrow at one point that I had to put one foot in front of the other. 

By the time I hit Monterosso, it was getting dark, so I went back to Florence. I had a muscle hangover the next day and could barely move! I am an expert liar when it comes to saying, “Don’t worry, tomorrow will be an easier day.”

Venice

The Bridge of Sighs in Venice (Personal Photo)

I arrived in Venice a bit before lunch and used the day to wander, letting myself get lost as I did a circuit of the city. Unlike Florence, it was incredibly crowded, and the weather was dreary and wet. Although my hostel was outside the city but significantly cheaper than anything on the island itself.

Recall my dialogue about asking for directions. I will have you know that I successfully bought bus tickets while speaking entirely in Italian! Broken Italian (with one word in Spanish - can you find it?), but Italian.

Murano glass in Venice (Personal Photo)

 It went like this:

- Buon giorno.

- Buon giorno.

- Dos biglett... (I train off, having partially forgotten the word)

- Biglietto?

- Si. Per bus.

- Due persone?

- No. Una persona.

- Andata e ritorno? (he gestures with his hands)

- Si. Grazie.

(Cue the appalause.)

I bought a pass for the water bus, the only form of public transit in Venice. There are no roads, only pedestrian walkways and the canals. It's expensive but I wanted views from the water, respite for my feet, and passage to the island of Murano, where the glassblowers work. Every store there is an art gallery, and I saw some glass-blowing demonstrations. Then I hopped to Piazza St Marco to see the famous Bridge of Sighs connecting the Doge's Palace to the New Prison.

St. Marco's Square in Venice (Personal Photo)

Perhaps my story would have ended there, with a brief summary of an uneventful train trip home; however, this journey has been one touched by fate. No sooner did I check my email before leaving then did I learn that someone had attempted to break into my apartment, busting the lower lock so that it no longer turned. I ended up crashing on the couch of one of my classmates.

I was not a happy camper, considering I had two exams the next day (I shake my fist at you, would-be thief!). Thankfully, I had the foresight to bring my notes with me on my trip, in case inspiration to study struck me. It figures that the beginning and ending of my first adventure in Europe would be the same: a locksmith. The full-circle-ness of it is so literary that I feel like a character in a novel.

Perhaps I am...

When in Rome...

Colosseum (Personal Photo)

My Italy trip would not be an adventure without further misadventures, would it? By the time I arrived in Rome, it was late, so I headed straight to my B&B.

Small problem: it didn’t exist.

I found the building described by my directions, but there was no sign. No name plaque. I buzzed the only occupant with a name and was told no B&B existed in the building, that it was mostly for psychologist and doctors' practices (later, I tried emailing and calling, but never received a response).

I was stranded in a foreign city with sore feet and nowhere to sleep.

Roman Forum (Personal Photo)

I heard singing from a nearby building and entered it, thinking it was a youth centre. Regardless of what it was (I later learned it was a photography studio), the man there took pity on me and gave me water and access to their computer so I could seek accommodation. I eventually found a place to stay. With all the excitement and anxiety, I slept fitfully—even though I was exhausted.

(I also got my ass groped on a crowded subway train on the way to my new hostel... nothing like forward Italian men.)

* * *

My first day was relaxed. I did a hop-on-hop-off bus tour around the city, which was a fun way to orient myself. I sat on the top of the open-air double decker bus and let the Italian wind whip through my hair. I visited a few churches, ate at a nice Italian restaurant, and saw the outside of all Rome’s fabled tourist attractions.

* * *

Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele (Personal Photo)

My second day was action-packed. First I hit the Colosseum, which was definitely worth seeing, although the cloudy weather was not ideal for snapping beautiful photos. As I was meandering over to the Roman Forum, I asked a group of American girls to snap a photo of me in front of it. They thought I was really brave for travelling by myself. (I suppose I was).

When we noticed a Japanese lady standing beside us, looking like she wanted her own picture of the Colosseum, we courteously stepped away. She gestured for us to come back. Apparently she wanted us in the photo, too!

Uh, sure?

The Roman Forum was one of my favourite places in Rome, and I ended up touring it with those American girls (read: conversation buddies and convenient photographers). I love Greek and Roman mythology, and the architecture was a feast for my eyes. I took so many photos that my camera’s battery was half-dead by the time we parted ways (they were headed to the Colosseum, which I had already seen).

Pantheon (Personal Photo)

So I decided to visit the Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele (pictured). It is, according to the outside signs, a sacred place. You are not allowed to sit on the steps: security will whistle at you if you do. At the top there are two bowls that emit flames. Up a few more steps are two soldiers in uniform whose job, I suppose, is to stand there.

Another highlight that day was the Pantheon. Unfortunately, it was crowded, although it was awe-inspiring. Its dome was so huge that I couldn’t get a picture that included the oculus (the hole in the ceiling) and the floor! 

On my way to the Trevi Fountain, I noticed a girl who seemed disoriented. She was looking for the Pantheon, and so (rather than try to give her directions in an area filled with tiny streets), I detoured and walked her there. She asked me where I was from and I proudly said I was Canadian. (Canada represent!). 
 

Getting lost is no problem for me—I have two maps, and since I am familiar with how streets are signed in Nice, I know where to look here (i.e on the sides of buildings). To check my bearings I will ask people in tourist shops. Our conversations often go like this:

- Mi scusi...
- Si? 
- Parla inglese? 

Trevi Fountain (Personal Photo)

If I get “si,” I proceed in English. If I get “non,” I can say “Dové ____?” and point on the map. Graztie is something I use often, to which I hear “Preggo” in response. I feel like a tourist (as opposed to in France) because I am forced to rely on my English, but I am proud of what Italian I can say. However, I find myself slipping into French.

The Trevi Fountain, albeit pretty, was so crowded that it was hard for me to snap a picture of it, let alone with me in it! I noticed rose petals floating on top of the water and men selling flowers—as well as a bride in a wedding dress, lifting the bottom of her gown while descending the steps.  

Speaking of steps, I then headed toward the Spanish Steps, which were also super-crowded. I couldn’t get a decent picture. Considering all the other gorgeous sites in Rome, I didn’t understand why it was so popular. By that time, my feet were getting sore, so I returned to my hostel. Nobody else had booked for that night, so I ended up having the six-person dorm all to myself!

 * * *

St. Peter's Square (view from the dome) (Personal Photo)

The third (and final) day began with a tour of the Vatican museums, the Sistine Chapel, and St. Peter’s Basilica. I avoided bringing a backpack, since they make you check it, and managed to fit everything into my fanny pack—my water bottle conveniently fit into the knee pocket of my purple scrubs. Some advice for would-be visitors of the Vatican: book in advance. The line is enormous. (I booked and smugly entered right as the museums opened.) At the end of the tour, I climbed the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica and had a wonderful view of St. Peter’s Square... which is a circle, but whatever.  

I bussed (HOHO) to Circus Maximus and wandered around a bit, finding two interesting churches. While asking for directions, I met a girl named Flavia who showed me to the Roman baths (which had unfortunately closed) and walked me along Circus Maximus to the Mouth of Truth. The legend goes that slaves were made to out their hand in the slot and if they didn't tell the truth, their hand would be bitten off.

 It reminds me of the trials for witches. 

At night, Rome looks completely different, so my bus ride back was spectacular, even if most of my photos did not turn out. Every time I ride this bus, however, it seems to take a slightly different route. I’m not sure if I was crazy or whether there was simply construction or heavy traffic the bus driver was trying to avoid.  

Anyway, there were other things I could have seen, but ran out of time as energy for. I have no idea how you could do Rome in a day. Two, I imagine, would be pushing it.
 

Pisa and Pizza

After conducting research, reserving trains, and booking hostels all month, I was all set to go to Italy for Toussaint, the week-long holiday at the end of October. The morning before I left, butterflies pressed at the inside of my stomach, fluttering up my throat and bursting through my lips in a series of half-nervous, half-excited giggles.

If we didn't hold up the tower,
it would have fallen already (Personal Photo)

My journey began with a locksmith.  

Since I had an early train (read: 5:30am) the following morning, I crashed on the couch of one of my classmates, who had the apartment to herself. I live about half an hour from the train station by speed walking, whereas she lives only ten minutes. Considering buses don’t run at 4am, taxis are expensive, and solo strolls in the dark often merit unwanted attention from men, I thought it was a smart move. Plus, she was having some other guests over for dinner, and it would be a good time. 

 I arrived, and lo and behold, I discover that my hostess has locked herself out of her apartment (oops!). While she called the locksmith, her other guest and I attempted to pick the lock with two hairpins. Neither of us had done it before. While I read from tutorials online, he followed my impromptu tutelage and wiggled the pins. 

The Baptistery at Pisa (Personal Photo)

An hour later, just as the locksmith is coming up the stairs, he successfully opens the door (Murphy’s law!). His triumphant cry was (almost) worth the 30 euros it cost just for him showing up. “Achievement unlocked,” I quipped, before proceeding to enjoy a fantastic evening of wine, food, and laughter.

Nothing exciting happened the next morning until the ticket machine ate my Carte Bleue (debit card).

The security guard said a guy could come open it at 7:30am. Since I had a train to catch in 20 minutes, and since I also had my Canadian credit card and plenty of cash, I figured I'd plough on ahead and notify my bank when I had wifi. (More on this subplot later.)

I was on the train, reviewing my itinerary and my next steps:

1) arrive in Ventimiglia,
2) get my Eurail pass stamped, and
3) board my reserved train to Pisa.

I would have eighteen minutes. Plenty of time, right?

Wrong.

It's really heavy, trust me (Personal Photo)

Partway to Ventimiglia, the train stopped. My heart crashed against my ribcage with anxiety, thinking that every passing second was one fewer I would have to do the aforementioned tasks. It was only when I saw another train pass by that I realized why we had stopped. 

(I would later learn, after several more train trips, that Italian trains have an unhealthy habit of being late, much like university students.)

However, the delay meant that I only had six minute to make my connection, not eighteen. Eek! Thankfully, I am well-trained at running to catch trains, planes, and buses, so I made it.

As I wandered around, looking for a seat, I bumped into a Brazilian guy named Diego. As luck would have it, he was my seatmate and was also going to Pisa. We became travel buddies for the day, snapping touristy photos of the Leaning Tower of Pisa and splitting a pizza. He even carried my travel foodstuffs in his backpack. Diego was a gentleman, the kind of man who helped people with their luggage and offered to take pictures of people without being asked. We parted ways when it was time for me to climb the tower (that's right, I climbed it, warped steps and all!), and then I caught the train to Rome.

Warped steps from tourists (Personal Photo)

View from the top of the tower (Personal Photo)