Nobody Expects This Post

Inside the Sagrada Familia, Barcelona (Personal Photo)

What did you do during winter break, Laura?
Have you visited Spain? It's a beautiful place.
Laura, how's Europe? Are you enjoying it?

I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.
Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!

The city I visited in Spain was Barcelona, Barcelona and Madrid... Madrid and Barcelona. The two cities I visited were Barcelona, Madrid... and Toledo. The three cities I visited were Barcelona, and Madrid, and Toledo and Sevilla. The four ... no... Amongst the cities... Amongst the cities I visited... are such cities as Barcelona... Let me try this post again.

Get on with it!

Barcelona:

A friend asked me, “So, does the rain in Spain fall mainly in the plains?”

The answer is: “No. The rain in Spain falls mainly in Barcelaine.”

Arc de Triomphe, Barcelona (Personal Photo)

But even though it rained during my stay in Barcelona, I did not enjoy the city’s charm any less. I did another free tour, which was nice, since the historic centre of Barcelona is akin to a maze. The way our guide described Catalonia and its own language (Catalan) and desire for independence reminded me of Quebec’s efforts to separate from the rest of Canada. On my own time I visited the Arc de Triomphe (in brick) and the Sagrada Familia cathedral, which is as of yet unfinished. The outside resembled melted stone, as though it were not rock, but wax. In the pouring rain I ate some delicious, hot-from-the-deep-fryer churros, which burnt my tongue but warmed my insides. Mmm!

My hostel was not only inexpensive, but nice (and came with free breakfast). Oh, what a pleasure it is to stay at a nice one! My room even had a curtain that I could use to block off my own space, and breakfast was more than just cereal and bread. (The first time a hostel came with breakfast was during my weekend getaway to Bologna. Needless to say, it hadn’t impressed me.) I grabbed tapas with two of my roommates, Kim and Jimin, and then we grabbed probably the least Spanish thing there is—bubble tea.

Ok, Laura, you’re probably saying. That’s all fine and dandy. Where’s the action?

Patience you must have, my young Padawan.

Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família,
Barcelona (Personal Photo)

For Eurail users, Spain is a pain—as far as I know, you can’t make your reservations online; rather, you need to do it in person, or perhaps over the phone, too. At this point, I had no trains booked at all, unnerving for someone who likes to plan out everything! The train I wanted left at 9am (there was another at 10am, but sooner = better). I caught the metro at 8:25 and arrived at 8:45... and all the ticket booths were closed. The place was a ghost town. At this point, I had exactly ten minutes before the train left. So I ran to customer service.

Figures I’d experience a train strike. What else is new?

The customer service agent rushed us a group of us through security (scanning your bag in a conveyor belt) and onto the train, where we would pay for our reservations (Eurail) or buy a ticket. They even held the train for us and didn’t leave until we’d gotten on! This is why you always rush, people—it often makes the difference! (Spoiler alert: I didn’t have to pay the reservation fee—the individual who was supposed to do that never came around.)

Alfonso XII Monument, Parque del Retiro,
Madrid (Personal Photo)

Madrid:

Madrid didn’t have the same “old” feel as Barcelona, but I did have a ball taking photos of its architecture. I did my own self-guided walking tour in two 2.5-hour strolls, doing first the east and then the west ends of the city. I also bought a gorgeous scarf at one of the Christmas markets. In Madrid, I booked the rest of my train tickets, the only hiccough there being that I had to be in first class for the Seville-Barcelona train (a five-hour journey, so at least I was comfy for a long time). My hostel not only offered breakfast, but sangria and paella (a Spanish rice dish with seafood) on Friday and Saturday, which happened to coincide with the nights I was staying there!

Royal Palace, Madrid (Personal Photo)

I should mention the beggars. I've seen a couple on the streets, but one woman was on the subway, carrying a young girl in her arms and moaning in Spanish. It's the perfect language in which to wail, “Por favooor, Senoooor...” Later I saw a scrawny man running to people and saying, “Mama, Papi, where are you?” to random strangers. I also saw a man who started playing “The Saints Come Marching In” on a trumpet.

Toledo:

Toledo (Personal Photo)

Rather than doing a second day in Madrid, I opted to do a day-trip to Toledo, a medieval town situated an hour away by bus and known as the city of three religions.

Toledo was stunning. The cobblestone streets were a maze of twisty little passages, all alike, and the whole historic city made me feel like I had been transported into a different era. It was here that I bought and sent my first postcard to my friend Brittany, who had been begging me for one for a while. I also caved and bought some jewelry, a black and gold cross with coordinating earrings. Toledo was definitely a highlight of my trip, and I am glad I went there instead of spending more time in Madrid. I am sure there was much more to see in Madrid, but there was something magical about Toledo.

Sevilla:

I had an insider guide to Sevilla, compliments of Alex, one of the girls I bumped into in Rome. She recommended some excellent sights, such as the Plaza de Espana, as well as a fantastic place to get tapas. It was surprisingly warm, and I paraded around in my t-shirt and laughed at those wearing sweaters and scarves. It was a beautiful city, and I wished I could have stayed longer.

Laura, you’re thinking, I’m more. More juicy details, please.

View from the library, Toledo (Personal Photo)

Fine. I’ll indulge you. I got hit on (I think) by a persistent Spanish guy while I was chilling in the common room of my hostel. He spoke with his mouth completely full of food, so I could barely understand him, and it was absolutely disgusting. He also gave of “creepy vibes,” so I was glad I wasn’t alone in the room with him. His Spanish lesson began normally, with words for good evening and such, but then I’m pretty sure (again, difficult to tell when his mouth was full) he was asking me if I went to the bars or drank coffee. I said no. Then he pointed to himself, then me, and then make walking motions with his fingers and said, “To the bar? Or for coffee?”

At that point I gave a much firmer no, said I had to leave, and retreated to my room. I also said that it was hard to understand him when he was eating. Goodness! Obviously, if I’m travelling alone, that means I’m single and interested, right? 

Plaza de España, Sevilla (Personal Photo)

Except, as it turned out, he was sleeping in the same room. When he spoke to me I gave clipped answers and didn't look a him (partially because he was changing.. right in the middle of the room, even though we had a nice private bathroom). On my way out the door I saw him grab silver clothes from the luggage room. He was also wearing silver facepaint. Then I understood his earlier comment about being an artist—he was a living statue. However, he didn’t bother me again for the rest of my stay.

Satisfied with the amount of drama? Good.

I grabbed chocolate con churros while waiting for a tapas restaurant to open its kitchen. Los Coloniales. Fantastic place—I’d highly recommend it. You have to put your name on a waiting list to get a table, though, and arrive before the kitchen opens at 8:30pm, as it’s incredibly popular. I ordered a Spanish omelet and some pork in a garlic and whiskey sauce, and together it was only 5 euros (plus the cost for the bread basket, which you pay for regardless of whether you eat it or not).

Sevilla (Personal Photo)

On my last day in Sevilla, I did a walking tour with a local. He talked about Sevilla’s more recent history, including its former dictator, Franco (“the little motherf*****”as he called him—apparently it's taboo to talk about him). At the end of the tour I had to powerwalk to my hostel and then to the bus stop. I caught the bus with a minute to spare and made the train, although with less of my safety margin left than I had hoped (but that's why we have safety margins, right?). Then train ride was uneventful save for a constantly screaming baby and a toddler who ran up and down the aisle for most of the ride.

I flew back to Nice the next morning, but not before bumping into a girl named Juli, a fellow Canadian from Ontario. During happy hour we each got a 750ml glass of sangria (2 for 1). Let me tell you, speaking with a fellow Ontarian was refreshing! We had a great time and talked until 2am, when our bladders told us it was time to return to our rooms.

Good times in Spain!

I Amsterdam

I know I haven’t posted in a while. Between exams and booking my holiday trips (which you will read about in due time), I’ve put my blog on the back burner. However, I’m going to post double time so that the adventures you are reading aren’t *completely* out of season. Now, without further ado... 

I got yelled at by a prostitute on my first morning in Amsterdam... 

Dam Square - Amsterdam (Personal Photo)

But I’m getting ahead of myself. When I mentioned I was going to Amsterdam (mid-November), people heckled me about it, asking me if I was going to a) light up a joint in a coffeeshop or b) indulge in the carnal delights in the red light district. I mean, there’s nothing else worth doing there, right? Seriously? 

Canals in Amsterdam (Personal Photo)

Amsterdam is a picturesque town of canals, a city of narrow buildings squeezed together like novels on a bookworm’s shelf. Despite the cold and rainy weather, cyclists sped by like Hell’s Angels, all but mowing down unsuspecting pedestrians. During the day the city is calm and tame, save for the banshee cyclists, and seemingly innocent. That being said, you can still see bored prostitutes in windows if you accidentally wander into the red light district, which remains discreet beneath the all-seeing eye of the sun. But at night, the shadows purr with seduction’s call. Beneath windows lined with red halogen tubes, women wearing nothing but fancy, glow-in-the-dark lingerie pose, beckon, smile—anything to attract attention from potential customers. And when the scarlet curtains closed, the windows empty, it means the bed is occupied... with a client. 

 This trip heralded the first flight that I’ve ever booked, and in terms of travelling itself, everything went smoothly. However, staying in a mixed dorm is an interesting experience for a solo female traveller. As I experienced in Florence, guys don’t seem to be concerned with their privacy. In fact, an Australian guy came in from his shower wearing only a towel in order to retrieve his clothes and then proceeded to change beneath his towel, all while carrying on a full conversation with me while I pretended that absolutely nothing was bizarre about the whole fiasco. At one point two other guys ripped off their shirts. You know, all casual-like. I joked to some of my former travel buddies (on my phone) that I didn’t need to visit the red light district when I had guys--three of them, in fact--stripping shirtless in front of me and parading about.

Delft pottery (Personal Photo)

I did my first “free tour” in Amsterdam. Free, that is, as the only way the tour guide is paid is through tips. The fact that it rained the entire time did not dampen the tour (well, I suppose it did, in a literal sense), although it gave me a chill that took all evening to shake off. I did a tour of Amsterdam’s coffee shops (NB: not the same as a coffee house) and learned several facts about cannabis in Amsterdam. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not *actually* legal. Rather, any laws are simply not enforced.  

He posed for several other people, too (Personal Photo)

I also visited Zaanse Schans, a cute little town with traditional Dutch culture (most likely for us tourists), windmills, and a beautiful view of the river, which smells of cocoa. Regard the photo op moment with a goat, who posed with several other people and seemed to be enjoying himself. On another day, I saw Delft, which is known for its blue-and-white pottery. By chance, the pottery factory had free entry that weekend only, as it was the end of the season.

Me in the I Amsterdam sign (Personal Photo)

 I got my honorary photo in front of the “I Amsterdam” sign and saw a gorgeous sunset. I did not miss the Anne Frank House or the Rjikmuseum, either, but the fact that I went isn’t terribly

interesting, is it? No drama there.

Here’s an interesting experience: on my way to the train station, I saw floats and people with black face paint in jester costumes who danced, played instruments, and distributed candy to children holding open small plastic bags. No candy canes here! Santa Claus was on horseback rather than a sleigh. Who knew I had picked the weekend of the Santa Claus parade?

Sunset in front of the I Amsterdam sign (Personal Photo)

I had my first problem with security on the return flight. The night before I left, I spotted a dragon head in a souvenir shop and just had to have it (I call it the Amsterdragon (photo)). You can apparently burn incense in it and the smoke will leave through the nostrils. Anyway, at the airport, the head showed up in their machine and they flagged it as suspicious, so they asked to search my bag. However, my searcher was pretty nice—after showing the bubble-wrapped head to his colleague, he returned it to me and we had a brief chat about where I was from. Success! 

Oh, and as to why I was yelled at by a prostitute? I had my camera out. “NO PHOTO!” she cried. I was taking a picture of a church, in broad daylight, with the free walking tour. If I hadn’t had my back to her, I suspect she would have smashed my camera (or something likewise dramatic)! They value their privacy.

A Geek Overseas

Fodder for the imagination... all of it (Personal Photo)

The grass is always greener on the other side of the ocean... because with Facebook and Twitter, we can erect a facade of utopian perfection on an adventure of studying abroad, travelling, and cultural immersion. Mistakes can be erased as easily as a blemish in Photoshop, negative experiences omitted like unflattering photos.

But even cast iron souls can crack.

It was on Halloween when I felt my first true, metallic pang of homesickness, like when you bite your cheek while chewing bubble gum. Every year, my friends throw a cozy Halloween bash, a night of candy and Catan, of silliness and Star Wars—of good times, games, and overall geekiness. This year, I was an ocean away from the festivities, and the geek in me longed to join them. There isn’t a huge gaming community here in Nice (to my knowledge). My allusions fall on deaf ears (“One does not simply apply for a Carte de Sejour” ; "Brace yourselves: Paperwork is coming."). I also long for our Wednesday roleplaying nights, a summer evening of fellowship:

Another cure for homesickness -- a shelf of my favourite
souvenirs, colourful and fantastical... beware the
Amsterdragon in all its purple glory
(Personal Photo)

It’s seemingly casual, a group of friends sitting around a table, sheets of paper in front of them, with open bags of chips and cans of soda, pencils and pretzels scattered in a seemingly chaotic fashion across the tabletop. Perhaps there are a few hardcover books stacked on the corner for reference. You might hear background music to set the mood.

There’s a certain magic in the air that makes you lick your lips in anticipation of what’s going to happen—or, rather, in anticipation of what might happen. No future is certain, fate often being subject to the whim of the Dungeon Master (the DM) or the roll of a twenty-sided die. In one breath, they are players speaking a language of dice and strategy, and in the next, they are characters conversing with the other members of their party. An elven sorceress flutters her eyes at a human paladin while a dwarvern warrior complains about a lack of ale. Occasionally, the DM intervenes as an NPC (non-playable character) or spins a twist to the ever-evolving tale. For a few hours, these friends can escape to a different world. And then they part ways and blend back into normalcy.

Or a night wandering the Christmas markets
(Personal Photo)

It is a similar experience to when I write, where the rest of the world fades into a murky backdrop. Writing is a solitary pursuit that feeds my introverted side; however, I also require a certain type of social stimulation to shoo away the creeping tendrils of loneliness. It’s difficult to find that balance. Here, it comes in irregular bursts, such as a class wine-and-cheese night or an impromptu lunch with a classmate.

As close as I'm going to come to a Christmas tree
(Personal Photo)

I find it a fantastic way to build my confidence in improvisational speaking (for job interviews, etc.). Although some people are gifted in this way, it tends to make me nervous, rendering me tongue-tied or forcing my speech into long-winded tangents. When you write, you have the time to perfect your words, shape them like potter’s clay into beautiful lines of ink on a computer screen, music to the ear.

I’m not going to be coming home for Christmas, so I’m going to have to wait until June to rejoin my gaming besties back in Canada: Skyping our sessions simply isn’t possible (perhaps when DiceMaster gets up and running). In the interim, I’ve been using writing as an output for my creative energy.

À la prochaine fois!

Tout le reste

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)