The days got away from me for a bit there. Sorry I haven't written in so long. Things got busy and exhausting. Since my last post was almost a full week ago, I'll just give a quick rundown of the things we've been doing. For picture references, refer to my Facebook page (for people pictures) and Flickr for landscapes, etc.
Friday, June 26
My birthday unofficially started on Friday. The French girls made us dinner - quiche and pizza - and then we went to Meccano, one of the many clubs in the 'disco region' (my name for it) for the night. We walked there, which took almost an hour. There is an exponential decrease in rate of travel as the number of group members increases. Maybe one of the pour souls fighting through calculus this summer can write up a formula for that?
The club was lots of fun. The French are a great group. We also had Israelis and and Australian with us, if I remember correctly. The walk home took about 30 minutes as well. There's not much else to report for Friday.
Saturday, June 27
Birthday! We woke up, don't remember what time, and went to the Pitti Palace to do some museum browsing. Pitti is impressive. There are hundreds of rooms, one after the other, all full of paintings and sculptures. The ceiling frescoes are so detailed and ornate, it's amazing to think how annoyed we, Americans, get when we have to paint roll the ceiling white. "It's too hard!" Cameras were not allowed to be used inside the museums, but I managed to steal one picture (on Flickr) of a particularly interesting room. In my rush to snap the shot, I didn't get a great photo, though. The alarms in there are extremely sensitive, on another note. I walked over to a closed window in a niche to check out the view of the Boboli Gardens and set an alarm off trying to look through. Johnny was walking up close to a painting to see how it looked from up close as opposed to far away (Van Gogh style painting) and set another alarm off. That time a woman came into the room quickly to check things out. I looked at her and shrugged. She said "Too close," and we were on our way.
We had plans to meet a ton of people out for dinner at an apperitivo (if you're not keeping track, those are the all you can eat buffets with drinks), so we couldn't take too much time at Pitti. But I definitely recommend going to see it if you are ever in Florence. There are two tickets that you can buy for the palace, one takes you inside, and the other lets you into the Boboli Gardens, among other places. We didn't do the Gardens today (12 Euro for inside, 10 Euro for gardens).
To back things up a little, Memento-style, as I remember more, we made a fantastic discovery on our way out to Pitti. We had recently discovered a bakery directly across the street from our apartment that has amazing bagels (we've been getting them with lox regularly now). We wanted to get food there before heading out, but as we walked up they were closing the gate. The owner turned out to be American, and he informed us of Notte Bianco, or "White Night." It was going on tonight, and it is an all night street festival, where the lights of all the shops light up the night white. There would be bands and live music everywhere, street vendors with food and drinks, bars and shops would be open really late. He said an estimated 60,000 people would be wandering the streets.
So, we came home, got showered up and left to meet the group at Piazza del Signoria. We walked to Piazza della Repubblica by accident, which is about five minutes further, and had to double back. This made us late for the first time all trip. The French are habitually late. They say that is the custom in France, but I'm not buying it. If you tell them 8, they see it as rude to show up before 8:30, apparently. But, it is my birthday, so they can't get mad. We start the long walk around the city looking for a good place to eat. The one they were hoping to go to had just been shut down for drug deals, so that was out. We ended up going to a place called La Dolce Vita (The Sweet Life), which happens to be about two blocks from our apartment. After 45 minutes of walking, that is where we ended up. As we ate--and the food was good, but a little lacking in selection--we saw the streets begin to fill up with tents and booths and people. Notte Bianco was getting in to full swing.
We wandered around the Piazza del Carmine for a bit, browsing a big street market that had been erected, then headed to Piazza di Santi Spirito for a live band. On the way, we came across a spontaneous salsa dance lesson in the middle of the road. Onward, we discovered (and ate) crepes. All the food at all the stands looked amazing. I wish we could have eaten some of everything. Throughout the course of the night, we (meaning at least someone in the group, and I tried it) got some French fries, crepes, a pork panino, a panino with some delicious cheese and spicy sausage-like meat, and...that might be it. But it was all fantastic. The band was playing a very good set (according to Johnny, who is much more in to music than the average bear).
The rest of the group began to trickle off. Some of the French and one of the Israelis were going to Cinque Terre in the morning so they didn't want to stay out late. When it was down to just Johnny and myself, we started to wander. We ended up finding a DJ in the middle of the street blasting dance music with a huge group of people dancing around him. His turntables were hooked up to a generator for power. Across the Ponte Vecchio, we found the lucky boar that everyone touches (pictures on Facebook). Here, Johnny got hit on by an Italian guy and was not happy about it when the guy pinched his cheek.
Back south to the Arno - we ran into Jean and his girlfriend, Claire, who was visiting for the weekend. We sat on the river with them for awhile before heading back to Santo Spirito to eat (some of the food mentioned above had not happened at this point). I have no concept of time while I'm out here because there are no clocks anywhere, so I don't know how late we were there. I haven't carried a cell phone since I got to Florence, and it is extremely liberating. I may start leaving it at home in Annapolis sometimes. This trip was a great exercise in learning to detach from technology (though I've been sadly attached to the computer more than I should be - I blame my efforts at keeping all of you informed and entertained).
Sunday
Futbol! Johnny and I met Jean at Salamanca, the Mexican bar, to watch USA v. Brazil in the Confederations Cup Championship. We got there around 7 for an 8:30 start so that we could eat. And eat we did. We started with nachos, then moved on to split chicken flautas and a steak dish. All of it was magical. Jean arrived just before the game started. The US jumped out to a 2-0 lead in the first half, only to have it erased by three unanswered in the second half by the Brazilians. The US goals were not flukes, but to win the game might have been. Brazil dominated almost every aspect of the game throughout (60% possession), taking something like 4-5 times the number of shots we took. Tim Howard had a great game in the goal, but there is only so much you can do against a team like Brazil when they are knocking hard at your door all night long. The final score, 3-2, was very respectable, and this looks like good things to come for next year's World Cup. Our server was, coincidentally, Brazilian, and we had a good time joking around with him (his English was pretty decent).
After this, we walked around a bit, then met up with two French girls for a couple minutes to say bye to one of them, who was just in Florence visiting and not studying. She left early the following morning. On our way home, we ran into two Israeli friends of ours and walked with them to Lion's Fountain (remember - American Irish bar). Class at 9:30 kept us honest, and we retired relatively early to our apartment.
Showing posts with label florence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label florence. Show all posts
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
Calamity in the Cuisine: Culinary Catastrophe!
It all started one rainy morning, when gray, dreary skies kept us indoors with our meager kitchen stock at our disposal. Breakfast was coming, but in what form?
Eggs? Check.
Meat? Check, question mark.
Vegetables? Check, check, and check.
Milk? Check.
I was going to make a big, sloppy, U.S. Egg-style skillet dish with all of the above ingredients. I diced up some red and yellow bell peppers, some onion, and some tomato.
I pulled out the ground beef leftover from our spaghetti masterpiece. First question of the day: is it still good? Just a small aside, this entry is not for either the faint of heart, overly-worrisome people, or chefs, so please pardon our ignorance when applicable. We have no saran wrap or tin foil or anything of that sort to store things in. We keep forgetting to pick it up at the store. So the meat was in the 'freezer' of our mini fridge, which is hardly a freezer, until yesterday afternoon when I pulled it out to thaw for dinner last night. We didn't end up cooking, though. I'll admit, it had changed colors slightly since the last time I saw it. But it smelled like raw beef, so I assumed it was just a bit of harmless oxygenation. In hindsight, eating meat rust is probably not the brightest idea. But as I said, it didn't smell bad, and my motto with food is that if it smells okay, it probably is okay, unless it's chicken, in which case it may still not be okay, even if it smells like chicken.
So I cooked the ground beef and set it aside to wait until the other ingredients were ready. I rinsed the pan and threw in the peppers, onion, and tomato and let them sautee for a little while. Threw the toast in the toaster so that everything would be ready at the same time.
Then, I cracked four eggs into a bowl and whisked them (with a fork). Eggs come in half-dozen cartons here (that would be six if you're counting at home). Yet another sign manifested itself when one of the eggs was stuck to the carton. Eggs are not sold in a container that allows you to check them before you buy here. My Mom's words resonated deep down in the recesses of my memory banks, "Never use eggs that are stuck to the container, it means they cracked open and they might be spoiled." Smell test: check. Normally, I crack them straight into the pan, but I had so many things going on I wanted to make sure I had time to stir them around before they cooked too much. The fact that I was (quasi)-inexplicably changing my routine should have been yet another sign that all was not right with our breakfast.
I poured the eggs in, quickly sprinkled salt, pepper, and our spicy powder on them, then grabbed the milk out of the fridge. I dumped the beef back in with the rest of the ingredients in the pan. Expiration date on the milk is June 30th. Good by a long shot. It is my usual custom to smell milk every time I open it because, of all the things that can go bad, milk and eggs are the most potent and the most odorous when spoiled. For those of you who do not include milk in your scrambled eggs, I highly recommend it. It gives the eggs a perfect amount of fluffiness (I believe this is a trick from my Dad, although I could be wrong).
I only pour a splash of milk in, so it is a slow, careful practice not to overload the eggs with milk. In this instance, two things happened. One, I caught a slight whiff of something unholy. Two, I saw chunks of curdled milk plopping into my eggs. I instantly stopped pouring, my reflexes a fine-tuned machine when it comes to rescuing food. But it was too late. In the middle of our eggs was a small pile of milk lumps looking up at me with a scowling smile.
I cursed. I told Johnny what happened, but he had no immediate reaction. I thought to myself, the meat should have been my sign. The cracked egg should have been my sign. The change in routine should have been my sign. Someone didn't want us to have a delicious breakfast today. On the day before my birthday, of all times.
I grabbed a spoon and started scooping out the chunks. But with each successful extraction, I also succeeded in spreading the milk around, forcing it deeper into the non-navigable depths of our uncooked eggs. When I got what I felt was about all of the milk out, I made Johnny come look at it. We debated for a good five minutes. I cooked while we weighed our pros and cons.
Johnny hopped on the computer and Googled, "is it okay to cook with spoiled milk?"
Google's response was a resounding, no-questions asked, are you f'ing nuts, "No."
We questioned it. What's the worst that could happen? Stomach ache for a couple hours? Maybe throw up and get it out of our systems quickly enough to avoid any lingering effects?
Not on my birthday, not on vacation...er...study abroad in Florence. The eggs were a wash. We had to give in to reason. It was just not meant to be.
The toast burned, by the way. I slathered peanut butter on the two pieces and poured the last little bit of jelly on top so that we could at least have an open-faced peanut butter and jelly. Of course the jelly would be running so low that I had to scrape the jar to get a satisfactory amount on to the bread.
We will probably go to a restaurant in a little while and wallow in a slight bit of misery at the thoughts of what could have been. But we will take a little spending and peace of mind over violent bodily rejection of our breakfast.
Also, on a totally unrelated note, what is with the celebrity deaths all around us? Ed McMahon was a fixture on Johnny Carson's Tonight Show, widely considered Hollywood's greatest sidekick. Farrah Fawcett was an international sex symbol and a fashion icon in her day; she remained beautiful until the day she lost a three year battle with cancer.
But Michael Jackson: how do you pay homage to one of the world's greatest entertainers, and the butt of more jokes as a result of his transformation from child star to the King of Pop, and then freakish regression to asexual man-child who found himself constantly surrounded by criticism, controversy, and legal battles? I recognize, appreciate, even celebrate what he has done for music and culture, and he will no doubt be remembered for generations to come. But what he became was far from a role model worthy of our praises. Watching his downward spiral was both comedy gold and tragedy, woven together into an unfortunate string of bad luck, bad decisions, and bad jokes. The hard part is figuring out whether to be sad for him or relieved that he doesn't have to live in a world that hasn't accepted him since the early 90's. I don't think I care as much as I should, but I just thought I'd write something down about it. It's always a good way to figure out how you feel about something. Share your thoughts on here if you have any. I'm curious to hear how other people feel.
USA
One more quick shout to USA soccer, who stunned the world the other day in upsetting #1 Spain in the semi-finals of the Confederations Cup. Our goals may have been lucky, and the win may be written off as a fluke, but you don't shut out one of the best offensive teams to play the sport in a long time with luck alone. Spain's 35-game unbeaten streak in international play came to a crushing end with the loss.
Eggs? Check.
Meat? Check, question mark.
Vegetables? Check, check, and check.
Milk? Check.
I was going to make a big, sloppy, U.S. Egg-style skillet dish with all of the above ingredients. I diced up some red and yellow bell peppers, some onion, and some tomato.
I pulled out the ground beef leftover from our spaghetti masterpiece. First question of the day: is it still good? Just a small aside, this entry is not for either the faint of heart, overly-worrisome people, or chefs, so please pardon our ignorance when applicable. We have no saran wrap or tin foil or anything of that sort to store things in. We keep forgetting to pick it up at the store. So the meat was in the 'freezer' of our mini fridge, which is hardly a freezer, until yesterday afternoon when I pulled it out to thaw for dinner last night. We didn't end up cooking, though. I'll admit, it had changed colors slightly since the last time I saw it. But it smelled like raw beef, so I assumed it was just a bit of harmless oxygenation. In hindsight, eating meat rust is probably not the brightest idea. But as I said, it didn't smell bad, and my motto with food is that if it smells okay, it probably is okay, unless it's chicken, in which case it may still not be okay, even if it smells like chicken.
So I cooked the ground beef and set it aside to wait until the other ingredients were ready. I rinsed the pan and threw in the peppers, onion, and tomato and let them sautee for a little while. Threw the toast in the toaster so that everything would be ready at the same time.
Then, I cracked four eggs into a bowl and whisked them (with a fork). Eggs come in half-dozen cartons here (that would be six if you're counting at home). Yet another sign manifested itself when one of the eggs was stuck to the carton. Eggs are not sold in a container that allows you to check them before you buy here. My Mom's words resonated deep down in the recesses of my memory banks, "Never use eggs that are stuck to the container, it means they cracked open and they might be spoiled." Smell test: check. Normally, I crack them straight into the pan, but I had so many things going on I wanted to make sure I had time to stir them around before they cooked too much. The fact that I was (quasi)-inexplicably changing my routine should have been yet another sign that all was not right with our breakfast.
I poured the eggs in, quickly sprinkled salt, pepper, and our spicy powder on them, then grabbed the milk out of the fridge. I dumped the beef back in with the rest of the ingredients in the pan. Expiration date on the milk is June 30th. Good by a long shot. It is my usual custom to smell milk every time I open it because, of all the things that can go bad, milk and eggs are the most potent and the most odorous when spoiled. For those of you who do not include milk in your scrambled eggs, I highly recommend it. It gives the eggs a perfect amount of fluffiness (I believe this is a trick from my Dad, although I could be wrong).
I only pour a splash of milk in, so it is a slow, careful practice not to overload the eggs with milk. In this instance, two things happened. One, I caught a slight whiff of something unholy. Two, I saw chunks of curdled milk plopping into my eggs. I instantly stopped pouring, my reflexes a fine-tuned machine when it comes to rescuing food. But it was too late. In the middle of our eggs was a small pile of milk lumps looking up at me with a scowling smile.
I cursed. I told Johnny what happened, but he had no immediate reaction. I thought to myself, the meat should have been my sign. The cracked egg should have been my sign. The change in routine should have been my sign. Someone didn't want us to have a delicious breakfast today. On the day before my birthday, of all times.
I grabbed a spoon and started scooping out the chunks. But with each successful extraction, I also succeeded in spreading the milk around, forcing it deeper into the non-navigable depths of our uncooked eggs. When I got what I felt was about all of the milk out, I made Johnny come look at it. We debated for a good five minutes. I cooked while we weighed our pros and cons.
Johnny hopped on the computer and Googled, "is it okay to cook with spoiled milk?"
Google's response was a resounding, no-questions asked, are you f'ing nuts, "No."
We questioned it. What's the worst that could happen? Stomach ache for a couple hours? Maybe throw up and get it out of our systems quickly enough to avoid any lingering effects?
Not on my birthday, not on vacation...er...study abroad in Florence. The eggs were a wash. We had to give in to reason. It was just not meant to be.
The toast burned, by the way. I slathered peanut butter on the two pieces and poured the last little bit of jelly on top so that we could at least have an open-faced peanut butter and jelly. Of course the jelly would be running so low that I had to scrape the jar to get a satisfactory amount on to the bread.
We will probably go to a restaurant in a little while and wallow in a slight bit of misery at the thoughts of what could have been. But we will take a little spending and peace of mind over violent bodily rejection of our breakfast.
Also, on a totally unrelated note, what is with the celebrity deaths all around us? Ed McMahon was a fixture on Johnny Carson's Tonight Show, widely considered Hollywood's greatest sidekick. Farrah Fawcett was an international sex symbol and a fashion icon in her day; she remained beautiful until the day she lost a three year battle with cancer.
But Michael Jackson: how do you pay homage to one of the world's greatest entertainers, and the butt of more jokes as a result of his transformation from child star to the King of Pop, and then freakish regression to asexual man-child who found himself constantly surrounded by criticism, controversy, and legal battles? I recognize, appreciate, even celebrate what he has done for music and culture, and he will no doubt be remembered for generations to come. But what he became was far from a role model worthy of our praises. Watching his downward spiral was both comedy gold and tragedy, woven together into an unfortunate string of bad luck, bad decisions, and bad jokes. The hard part is figuring out whether to be sad for him or relieved that he doesn't have to live in a world that hasn't accepted him since the early 90's. I don't think I care as much as I should, but I just thought I'd write something down about it. It's always a good way to figure out how you feel about something. Share your thoughts on here if you have any. I'm curious to hear how other people feel.
USA
One more quick shout to USA soccer, who stunned the world the other day in upsetting #1 Spain in the semi-finals of the Confederations Cup. Our goals may have been lucky, and the win may be written off as a fluke, but you don't shut out one of the best offensive teams to play the sport in a long time with luck alone. Spain's 35-game unbeaten streak in international play came to a crushing end with the loss.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Homemade Italian Feast
Bored of our plain spaghetti with red sauce, we decided to get a little fancy with the Italian staple. We went out for a stroll on Monday to go to the Uffizi Gallery, only to find out it was closed. It was also raining a little bit, but not so much that it was a hindrance.
Since the gallery was closed, we took the opportunity to just wander the town. We did a little window browsing looking for souvenirs (still a fruitless endeavor) and a tee-shirt for me (also unsuccessful). We gave up eventually and got hungry, so we went to the market on the way home.
Purchases:
1 red bell pepper
1 yellow bell pepper
1 tomato
1 jar of pomodoro sauce (pure red tomato sauce)
1 package of ground beef
1 package of italian sausage
Preparation and Cooking:
Johnny diced up the veggies (add in some onion that we already had in the house) while I set some water to boil (with a little salt and oil) and cooked the meats. For those of you at home, ground beef cooks slightly quicker than sausage (which I had also cut up), so keep that in mind if you are ever combining them. I sprinkled some of our spicy pepper powder on them as they cooked. I tried to slightly undercook so that when I combined all the parts of the sauce later, they could cook a little more in the pan without being overdone.
Once the meat was satisfactory, I drained the grease and put it on a plate to hang out while everything else was prepared. I rinsed the pan (we don't have a lot of pans here) and put a little peanut oil in the bottom, then threw the diced peppers and onions on to sautee. Meanwhile, the water was boiling, so I threw in a healthy handful of spaghetti noodles (I break them in half to make serving and eating easier).
Next, I poured the tomato sauce over the veggies and let that start to bubble a little. I turned the heat down so the sauce would have a little time to absorb the flavoring from the veggies. Sprinkled salt, pepper, spicy powder, and chili flakes into the sauce.
Then I threw all the meat back in with the sauce and the vegetables, and I threw the diced tomatoes in as well.
We made toast (plain old white bread and butter). Poured some cheap white wine. Serve and enjoy!
This picture doesn't look too appetizing, but I assure you this was delicious.
Since the gallery was closed, we took the opportunity to just wander the town. We did a little window browsing looking for souvenirs (still a fruitless endeavor) and a tee-shirt for me (also unsuccessful). We gave up eventually and got hungry, so we went to the market on the way home.
Purchases:
1 red bell pepper
1 yellow bell pepper
1 tomato
1 jar of pomodoro sauce (pure red tomato sauce)
1 package of ground beef
1 package of italian sausage
Preparation and Cooking:
Johnny diced up the veggies (add in some onion that we already had in the house) while I set some water to boil (with a little salt and oil) and cooked the meats. For those of you at home, ground beef cooks slightly quicker than sausage (which I had also cut up), so keep that in mind if you are ever combining them. I sprinkled some of our spicy pepper powder on them as they cooked. I tried to slightly undercook so that when I combined all the parts of the sauce later, they could cook a little more in the pan without being overdone.
Once the meat was satisfactory, I drained the grease and put it on a plate to hang out while everything else was prepared. I rinsed the pan (we don't have a lot of pans here) and put a little peanut oil in the bottom, then threw the diced peppers and onions on to sautee. Meanwhile, the water was boiling, so I threw in a healthy handful of spaghetti noodles (I break them in half to make serving and eating easier).
Next, I poured the tomato sauce over the veggies and let that start to bubble a little. I turned the heat down so the sauce would have a little time to absorb the flavoring from the veggies. Sprinkled salt, pepper, spicy powder, and chili flakes into the sauce.
Then I threw all the meat back in with the sauce and the vegetables, and I threw the diced tomatoes in as well.
We made toast (plain old white bread and butter). Poured some cheap white wine. Serve and enjoy!
This picture doesn't look too appetizing, but I assure you this was delicious.
Monday, June 22, 2009
European Adventure: Cinque Terre
Hands down, the greatest hike a person can ever take. This, while not for the faint of heart, is a beautiful trek through the coastal hills of the Liguria region of northern(ish) Italy. If you take the low road, which we did, the entire journey is about 11 kilometers, or just under 7 miles. Don't let the relatively short distance fool you, though. There is an elevation difference of about 500 meters, or about 1,640 feet, between the lowest and highest points of the trail. And let me assure you, you don't just go up and down once. But I don't want to give anything away. Let's start from the beginning.
Sentioro Azzuro
The famous trail along the coast, sometimes called Sentioro No. 2, literally means, I think, Sky Trail, or Blue Trail, or something like that. It passes through the Five Lands of the region, so we'll take them in order.
Riomaggiore
The first stretch of the hike from Riomaggiore to Manarola is affectionately referred to as Via dell'Amore, or Lover's Walk. There is a spot along the way with a kissing bench and a gorgeous backdrop of the deep blue Mediterranean. Behind the bench, which actually has a rudimentary carving of two people kissing as its back, is the deep blue of the Mediterranean. People put locks anywhere they can with their names written on them as symbols of their eternal love. Very romantic, but Johnny and I decided that was not really necessary for our trip.
This stretch was mostly paved, but the views (below) were astounding.
Manarola
Our first sign that Manarola was close, unfortunately, was the train station. We came across it after coming around a bend in the cliff line. Our path took us up and around it, though, so at least we didn't have to trudge along the tracks.
Then, we caught a view of the city, high atop a craggy jutting rock. These towns were founded by Dark Age colonists who wanted to protect themselves from marauding pirates, so they are in very strategic places with good vantage points and sheltered harbor. Manarola's 'harbor' isn't really a harbor in the true sense of the word, though, as it would be hard to navigate much more than a dingy into the town itself, as you can see for yourself below. The two non-landscape pictures are of the central 'square' in the town and a strange carving in a little fountain just below it.
This is the Manarola harbor in all its glory.
On our way out Manarola, we got--of course--some amazing views again. I should probably stop saying that. From now on, when you see "we did x," assume the view was indescribably spectacular. The water along the coast is a blue that Crayola could never dream of capturing. There is a hint of green reflecting from the lush hillsides. Try imagining the deepest blue sky at high noon, and make that the color of the water. As we climbed and descended amongst vineyards and olive gardens, that was the glory we were treated to. There were locals living on the hills in practical little houses, fully self-sufficient, never having to leave their land for anything. The prospect of living that sort of lifestyle is intriguing, if not a little claustrophobic.
Corgnilia
The next town is the only one not directly on the water. Corgnilia sits high up in the rocks, overlooking the rest of the lands. You can't actually see any of these towns from any of the other ones, but for some reason they have always been linked as the Five Lands of the Italian Riviera. We didn't stop here for whatever reason. It seemed like we just passed the outer edge of the town as we followed the Sentioro.
This was the town as we left on our way to Vernazza. In a blunt bit of foreshadowing, it turns out Johnny is not nearly as sure-footed as a mountain goat. Throughout the hike, I either saw him stumble or heard him stumble countless times. Twice he just missed smashing his camera on the rocks. Keep that in mind. And before you clever kids try to guess what happened: no, his camera was not damaged.
Vernazza
As we made the descent to Vernazza, the fourth town, it began to drizzle. We were both hiking shirtless so it got a bit chilly. We put shirts on before arriving in town after making the decision to stop here for food since it was starting to rain.
This was on the way.
This is the approach to Vernazza. Next to Monterosso, this was the most beautiful town on the itinerary.
And the view as we left. Towards the right hand side of the picture below the food, if you look where that little cluster of blue and yellow umbrellas is, is the spot where we ate lunch. Just outside of the built up part of the city next to the coral colored buildings. I don't remember the name of the restaurant, but it was good. We got a couple beers with names we couldn't pronounce. As an appetizer, we ordered bruschetta with pomodoro (tomato) e (and) pesto (pesto). For the entree, we each got pizzas. Johnny's was a frutti di mare (literally, I think 'fruit of the sea' or 'food of the sea') that came with octopus, mussels (in the shell), prawns (in the shell, with heads) and cheese and tomato sauce. Mine was mozzarella with ham, artichoke, and something else I don't remember. I had them hold the olives. Very good pizzas, and just the right amount of carbs (and the wrong amount of beer) to get us going on the next stretch.
Forgot to mention, the red pepper flakes you see in the pizza picture were taken from the apartment as well. Again, sorry girls if you read this. We were being economical, and those things are impossible to find in Florence. We view them as an absolute necessity to most meals.
Little did we know that we were in for the hardest stretch of them all. I didn't count, but I would estimate that we went up and down at least 1,000 steps throughout the city and the trails.
Monterosso
As I said, this was the hardest stretch. We went straight up, straight down, hugged cliff sides on walkways that were no more than a foot or two wide. We had to pass people coming the other direction, which was tricky. But the place looks like a fairy tale. We went deep into the forest, crossed bubbling creeks, ran into countless stray cats. At one point, we actually found a cat neighborhood, I kid you not. There were little pet tents scattered around a rock grotto, and several cats were lounging on the rocks and in the dirt. We saw farmers at work, hikers from all over the world, lizards, birds: nature at its most purest. No one had strewn empty bottles on the side of the paths. No one had defaced the purest parts of the coastline with graffiti or office buildings or anything remotely human.
And this was all before Monterosso was in sight. That changed everything. The beauty of Monterosso is unparalleled. After climbing stairs until our legs burned, resting, and then descending more stairs until the other side of our legs burned, we were greeted with a voyeuristic preview of what was to come.
Monterosso is known for its beaches. Many would argue that Vernazza is actually the most picturesque of the five towns. It would be a tough argument to win, though. This place is incredible.
At this point, as we walked into Monterosso, where our day had started, we were beyond exhausted. To bring my foreshadowing full circle, just as we approached the final guard station checking our Cinque Terre cards to ensure we had paid our fee to hike the trail, Johnny yelps. There was a small, sharp rock jutting out of the dirt that he managed to kick head on with his big toe. At first, we thought nothing of it, but when I looked down, his toe was split open and oozing blood. He got the picture on his camera, so I can't post it here. Fortunately, we were literally five feet away from the guard post and a first aid kit when it happened. It was gross, but he soldiered on.
We went straight to the beach and laid down in the rocks around 3:30 or 4pm. Didn't even lay out towels. We just passed out laying in the rocky sand, listening to the waves gently crash, kids laughing and playing, and a soft breeze across the water. Cue music.
We took turns swimming in the Mediterranean, washing off the day's toils from our skin, while the other person stayed ashore to watch our bags.
Around 5:30, we got up to find food and a train schedule and ran into one of the Australian kids from our class. We knew he was going to be there at some point, but we never got in touch. They were on their way out, so we just walked around a bit and sad our goodbyes so that Johnny and I could find dinner.
We settled on a place called Barabba's in White. It was just after 6 when we got there and their kitchen didn't open until 7. We waited at a table and got a bottle of wine that turned out to be Prosecco. It was called Spumante Monterosso, but it was actually made further up in northern Italy, despite the name. Prosecco is, as far as I can understand, the Italian version of Champagne. Our server, with whom Johnny fell in love instantly, brought us some snacks (no charge) while we waited. It was a big panino with ham and mozzarella that she had cut into bite-size niblets. In front of us, a small, net-enclosed soccer field was full of kids playing the world's most famous game. To our right, the water. To the left, the town. Behind us, the bar in the restaurant. We just relaxed. Enjoyed the wine. When 7 o'clock rolled around, we ordered sort of tapas style. We split a pasta dish that was called, I think, Cacio e Pepe, which was a Roman-style (spaghetti) noodle in some oily sauce with pepper. We ordered calamari fritti with tempura vegetables and some french fries (strangely, we were both craving french fries when we, surprisingly, saw them on the menu) to share as well. The food was delicious. We took our time getting finished up, then paid and headed to the train station.
The train schedule to get home was nothing short of a nightmare. We had tickets already to get back to Spezia, so we did that. Upon our arrival there, we were lost as to how we returned to Florence. The ticket window was closed, as was the information desk. There was one operational machine to self-serve tickets (biglietta: "bee-lee-YETT-ah"). There was a long line full of impatient people behind some non-Italians struggling with the machine.
We commissioned a particularly fed up Italian woman to press all the buttons for us so that we would not delay people. She was more than happy to oblige. We had to take one train to Viareggio, then switch onto the train to Santa Maria Novella, our stop in Florence. The timing was absolutely perfect. We waited about 5 minutes for the train to Viareggio. When we arrived there, our train was scheduled to leave in 5 minutes. We got on, and it was delayed about 2 or 3 minutes, but left relatively promptly.
Three hours later from when we left Spezia, we were walking home in Florence, where the temperature had dropped considerably.
My hands are tired of typing, so this will do it for the details of our journey. More internet problems when we got home, but I have finally figured out the problem. Now it's just a matter of avoiding it. I will discuss that later.
Ciao.
Sentioro Azzuro
The famous trail along the coast, sometimes called Sentioro No. 2, literally means, I think, Sky Trail, or Blue Trail, or something like that. It passes through the Five Lands of the region, so we'll take them in order.
Riomaggiore
The first stretch of the hike from Riomaggiore to Manarola is affectionately referred to as Via dell'Amore, or Lover's Walk. There is a spot along the way with a kissing bench and a gorgeous backdrop of the deep blue Mediterranean. Behind the bench, which actually has a rudimentary carving of two people kissing as its back, is the deep blue of the Mediterranean. People put locks anywhere they can with their names written on them as symbols of their eternal love. Very romantic, but Johnny and I decided that was not really necessary for our trip.
This stretch was mostly paved, but the views (below) were astounding.
Manarola
Our first sign that Manarola was close, unfortunately, was the train station. We came across it after coming around a bend in the cliff line. Our path took us up and around it, though, so at least we didn't have to trudge along the tracks.
Then, we caught a view of the city, high atop a craggy jutting rock. These towns were founded by Dark Age colonists who wanted to protect themselves from marauding pirates, so they are in very strategic places with good vantage points and sheltered harbor. Manarola's 'harbor' isn't really a harbor in the true sense of the word, though, as it would be hard to navigate much more than a dingy into the town itself, as you can see for yourself below. The two non-landscape pictures are of the central 'square' in the town and a strange carving in a little fountain just below it.
This is the Manarola harbor in all its glory.
On our way out Manarola, we got--of course--some amazing views again. I should probably stop saying that. From now on, when you see "we did x," assume the view was indescribably spectacular. The water along the coast is a blue that Crayola could never dream of capturing. There is a hint of green reflecting from the lush hillsides. Try imagining the deepest blue sky at high noon, and make that the color of the water. As we climbed and descended amongst vineyards and olive gardens, that was the glory we were treated to. There were locals living on the hills in practical little houses, fully self-sufficient, never having to leave their land for anything. The prospect of living that sort of lifestyle is intriguing, if not a little claustrophobic.
Corgnilia
The next town is the only one not directly on the water. Corgnilia sits high up in the rocks, overlooking the rest of the lands. You can't actually see any of these towns from any of the other ones, but for some reason they have always been linked as the Five Lands of the Italian Riviera. We didn't stop here for whatever reason. It seemed like we just passed the outer edge of the town as we followed the Sentioro.
This was the town as we left on our way to Vernazza. In a blunt bit of foreshadowing, it turns out Johnny is not nearly as sure-footed as a mountain goat. Throughout the hike, I either saw him stumble or heard him stumble countless times. Twice he just missed smashing his camera on the rocks. Keep that in mind. And before you clever kids try to guess what happened: no, his camera was not damaged.
Vernazza
As we made the descent to Vernazza, the fourth town, it began to drizzle. We were both hiking shirtless so it got a bit chilly. We put shirts on before arriving in town after making the decision to stop here for food since it was starting to rain.
This was on the way.
This is the approach to Vernazza. Next to Monterosso, this was the most beautiful town on the itinerary.
And the view as we left. Towards the right hand side of the picture below the food, if you look where that little cluster of blue and yellow umbrellas is, is the spot where we ate lunch. Just outside of the built up part of the city next to the coral colored buildings. I don't remember the name of the restaurant, but it was good. We got a couple beers with names we couldn't pronounce. As an appetizer, we ordered bruschetta with pomodoro (tomato) e (and) pesto (pesto). For the entree, we each got pizzas. Johnny's was a frutti di mare (literally, I think 'fruit of the sea' or 'food of the sea') that came with octopus, mussels (in the shell), prawns (in the shell, with heads) and cheese and tomato sauce. Mine was mozzarella with ham, artichoke, and something else I don't remember. I had them hold the olives. Very good pizzas, and just the right amount of carbs (and the wrong amount of beer) to get us going on the next stretch.
Forgot to mention, the red pepper flakes you see in the pizza picture were taken from the apartment as well. Again, sorry girls if you read this. We were being economical, and those things are impossible to find in Florence. We view them as an absolute necessity to most meals.
Little did we know that we were in for the hardest stretch of them all. I didn't count, but I would estimate that we went up and down at least 1,000 steps throughout the city and the trails.
Monterosso
As I said, this was the hardest stretch. We went straight up, straight down, hugged cliff sides on walkways that were no more than a foot or two wide. We had to pass people coming the other direction, which was tricky. But the place looks like a fairy tale. We went deep into the forest, crossed bubbling creeks, ran into countless stray cats. At one point, we actually found a cat neighborhood, I kid you not. There were little pet tents scattered around a rock grotto, and several cats were lounging on the rocks and in the dirt. We saw farmers at work, hikers from all over the world, lizards, birds: nature at its most purest. No one had strewn empty bottles on the side of the paths. No one had defaced the purest parts of the coastline with graffiti or office buildings or anything remotely human.
And this was all before Monterosso was in sight. That changed everything. The beauty of Monterosso is unparalleled. After climbing stairs until our legs burned, resting, and then descending more stairs until the other side of our legs burned, we were greeted with a voyeuristic preview of what was to come.
Monterosso is known for its beaches. Many would argue that Vernazza is actually the most picturesque of the five towns. It would be a tough argument to win, though. This place is incredible.
At this point, as we walked into Monterosso, where our day had started, we were beyond exhausted. To bring my foreshadowing full circle, just as we approached the final guard station checking our Cinque Terre cards to ensure we had paid our fee to hike the trail, Johnny yelps. There was a small, sharp rock jutting out of the dirt that he managed to kick head on with his big toe. At first, we thought nothing of it, but when I looked down, his toe was split open and oozing blood. He got the picture on his camera, so I can't post it here. Fortunately, we were literally five feet away from the guard post and a first aid kit when it happened. It was gross, but he soldiered on.
We went straight to the beach and laid down in the rocks around 3:30 or 4pm. Didn't even lay out towels. We just passed out laying in the rocky sand, listening to the waves gently crash, kids laughing and playing, and a soft breeze across the water. Cue music.
We took turns swimming in the Mediterranean, washing off the day's toils from our skin, while the other person stayed ashore to watch our bags.
Around 5:30, we got up to find food and a train schedule and ran into one of the Australian kids from our class. We knew he was going to be there at some point, but we never got in touch. They were on their way out, so we just walked around a bit and sad our goodbyes so that Johnny and I could find dinner.
We settled on a place called Barabba's in White. It was just after 6 when we got there and their kitchen didn't open until 7. We waited at a table and got a bottle of wine that turned out to be Prosecco. It was called Spumante Monterosso, but it was actually made further up in northern Italy, despite the name. Prosecco is, as far as I can understand, the Italian version of Champagne. Our server, with whom Johnny fell in love instantly, brought us some snacks (no charge) while we waited. It was a big panino with ham and mozzarella that she had cut into bite-size niblets. In front of us, a small, net-enclosed soccer field was full of kids playing the world's most famous game. To our right, the water. To the left, the town. Behind us, the bar in the restaurant. We just relaxed. Enjoyed the wine. When 7 o'clock rolled around, we ordered sort of tapas style. We split a pasta dish that was called, I think, Cacio e Pepe, which was a Roman-style (spaghetti) noodle in some oily sauce with pepper. We ordered calamari fritti with tempura vegetables and some french fries (strangely, we were both craving french fries when we, surprisingly, saw them on the menu) to share as well. The food was delicious. We took our time getting finished up, then paid and headed to the train station.
The train schedule to get home was nothing short of a nightmare. We had tickets already to get back to Spezia, so we did that. Upon our arrival there, we were lost as to how we returned to Florence. The ticket window was closed, as was the information desk. There was one operational machine to self-serve tickets (biglietta: "bee-lee-YETT-ah"). There was a long line full of impatient people behind some non-Italians struggling with the machine.
We commissioned a particularly fed up Italian woman to press all the buttons for us so that we would not delay people. She was more than happy to oblige. We had to take one train to Viareggio, then switch onto the train to Santa Maria Novella, our stop in Florence. The timing was absolutely perfect. We waited about 5 minutes for the train to Viareggio. When we arrived there, our train was scheduled to leave in 5 minutes. We got on, and it was delayed about 2 or 3 minutes, but left relatively promptly.
Three hours later from when we left Spezia, we were walking home in Florence, where the temperature had dropped considerably.
My hands are tired of typing, so this will do it for the details of our journey. More internet problems when we got home, but I have finally figured out the problem. Now it's just a matter of avoiding it. I will discuss that later.
Ciao.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
The Weekend
Not a whole lot going on in Florence at the moment. We've had a lot of class this week, so there hasn't been much sight-seeing or adventuring. Today, however, we are heading to Pisa to see the Tower, and the one or two other sites worth looking at in that town, then heading onward to Cinque Terre.
The plan is to stay in a hostel in CT tonight after Pisa, then conquer the four hour coastline hike that takes you through each of the five lands of Cinque Terre. We will probably add on some detours into the mountains during that hike.
This entry is more to let people know we will be sans computers until Sunday night, most likely late. Have a good weekend!
Ciao.
The plan is to stay in a hostel in CT tonight after Pisa, then conquer the four hour coastline hike that takes you through each of the five lands of Cinque Terre. We will probably add on some detours into the mountains during that hike.
This entry is more to let people know we will be sans computers until Sunday night, most likely late. Have a good weekend!
Ciao.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
A Day in the Life of a Student Abroad
It started with the trip to the Accademia, which I already chronicled. I won't retell that story, so read below if you're interested.
On the way back, we passed one of the many street markets Florence has to offer. Nothing worth noting, but I stole a quick photo.
Class was the same old, same old. Half of the people in class, if they show up, leave at the break. The entire class doesn't pay particularly close attention to the lectures. And for decently good reason. The professors don't seem to agree. One frequently cuts the other one off, and he is relatively hostile with the student responses. Not so much actively hostile, but more passively aggressive with the way he scoffs or rolls his eyes no matter what anyone says. At the very least, he'll show a frustrated cringe at the side of his mouth when he is displeased, which seems to be constant.
Of course, we Americans maintain our studiousness, as you can see. As it turns out, American law school is much more difficult and demanding than any other law school. The international students treat it as if it were undergrad, where nothing particularly matters.
After class, we made our typical train ride home to the Santa Maria Novella train station. We stopped at the market to pick up a lemon and some more wine for the apartment. The lemon was for the sword fish we bought yesterday. After consulting with Melissa, I had a basic recipe for how to prepare the pesce spada, and all I was missing was lemon. On the way, we caught the sunset yet again.
I'm afraid they might stop being so spectacular if we see them every day. Though if that's the worst of our problems, I certainly won't complain.
The basic gist:
Rice
No measurements: put water in pot, pour rice in pot, pour a dab of peanut oil in pot, sprinkle some salt in pot, turn heat on, put butter in pot. Watch rice cook.
Pesce Spada
Thaw. Coat bottom of pan with peanut oil. Put a dollop of butter in pan. Put sword fish in pan after removing bone and skin. Turn heat on low. Sprinkle salt, pepper, and spicy peperoncino powder on fish. Let cook. Put a little more butter on fish. Flip fish. Sprinkle salt, pepper, and spicy peperoncino powder on other side of fish. Let cook. Flip fish. Repeat.
Rice: "I am finished cooking."
Me: "Okay. I'll turn off the burner."
Pesce Spada
Turn off heat. Squeeze lemon wedge on fish. Flip. Squeeze lemon wedge on fish.
Distribute rice evenly. Distribute sword fish evenly. Enjoy.
Results
The rice was absolutely perfect I think. It was moist, a little sticky, and flavorful. The fish was a little bland, I may have overcooked it a tad. But it was decent. We added some cayenne pepper sauce to give it a kick. That did the trick. All in all, I'd say my first time cooking sword fish was both a success and a learning experience. What more could a man ask for?
On the way back, we passed one of the many street markets Florence has to offer. Nothing worth noting, but I stole a quick photo.
Class was the same old, same old. Half of the people in class, if they show up, leave at the break. The entire class doesn't pay particularly close attention to the lectures. And for decently good reason. The professors don't seem to agree. One frequently cuts the other one off, and he is relatively hostile with the student responses. Not so much actively hostile, but more passively aggressive with the way he scoffs or rolls his eyes no matter what anyone says. At the very least, he'll show a frustrated cringe at the side of his mouth when he is displeased, which seems to be constant.
Of course, we Americans maintain our studiousness, as you can see. As it turns out, American law school is much more difficult and demanding than any other law school. The international students treat it as if it were undergrad, where nothing particularly matters.
After class, we made our typical train ride home to the Santa Maria Novella train station. We stopped at the market to pick up a lemon and some more wine for the apartment. The lemon was for the sword fish we bought yesterday. After consulting with Melissa, I had a basic recipe for how to prepare the pesce spada, and all I was missing was lemon. On the way, we caught the sunset yet again.
I'm afraid they might stop being so spectacular if we see them every day. Though if that's the worst of our problems, I certainly won't complain.
The basic gist:
Rice
No measurements: put water in pot, pour rice in pot, pour a dab of peanut oil in pot, sprinkle some salt in pot, turn heat on, put butter in pot. Watch rice cook.
Pesce Spada
Thaw. Coat bottom of pan with peanut oil. Put a dollop of butter in pan. Put sword fish in pan after removing bone and skin. Turn heat on low. Sprinkle salt, pepper, and spicy peperoncino powder on fish. Let cook. Put a little more butter on fish. Flip fish. Sprinkle salt, pepper, and spicy peperoncino powder on other side of fish. Let cook. Flip fish. Repeat.
Rice: "I am finished cooking."
Me: "Okay. I'll turn off the burner."
Pesce Spada
Turn off heat. Squeeze lemon wedge on fish. Flip. Squeeze lemon wedge on fish.
Distribute rice evenly. Distribute sword fish evenly. Enjoy.
Results
The rice was absolutely perfect I think. It was moist, a little sticky, and flavorful. The fish was a little bland, I may have overcooked it a tad. But it was decent. We added some cayenne pepper sauce to give it a kick. That did the trick. All in all, I'd say my first time cooking sword fish was both a success and a learning experience. What more could a man ask for?
Galleria dell'Accademia
The Galleria dell'Accademia was built specifically to house Michelangelo's famous David, considered to be the consummate Renaissance statute. His Prisoners--named after he died, these sculptures are possibly unfinished--are also here, as is the famous Rape of the Sabines. The Prisoners represent men twisted in strange positions, trying to 'escape' from the bed rock from which they were carved. It is unclear whether Michelangelo thought these were finished sculptures, or whether he got bored with them and moved on to other things. To quickly quash any expectations, photographs were not allowed at any point in this gallery, so I am sorry for the glaring lack of pictures. The Rape depicts a young, muscular man standing over a defeated old man, and forcefully clutching on to a nude woman. Its title was also given by someone other than the sculptor. Its design allows you a good view from any angle, which was a popular method of sculpting in that day.
Statue of David
Originally, this statue--representing the lowly shepherd boy who slayed the Philistine giant, Goliath--was kept outside of what was City Hall under the Medici rule in Florence. However, the weather, a crazed artist who assaulted the statue's feet with a hammer during a protest, and a flying bench from the window of City Hall during another protest that broke off his arm, prompted the Fiorentines to build the Accademia with a dome specially designed to do the sculpture justice. And that it does. Standing 17 feet tall, David has plenty of head space, and the skylight dome above him sheds a sort of halo of light around him. It is an amazing sculpture, perfectly carved human form.
What makes it particularly impressive, in my eyes, is Michelangelo's method. Traditionally, sculptors would build scaled models of their projects and then, with that as a reference, would carve the actual sculpture out of a slab of rock/marble. Michelangelo, however, did everything freeform. He believed that the rock contained the desired sculpture within it, and it was god that willed him to reveal it. He needed no scaled model, he only used god's guidance in finding the form with his chisel. That may not be too difficult for a small project, but to create a 17-foot tall figure, and to have it become possibly the most famous sculpture in the world, without any sort of visual aide to guide his work, is amazing.
Other Things of Note
There was a photography exhibit in this museum by an American photographer, Robert Mapplethorpe. His work was interesting, but it was surprising to see an American's work in such a prestigious Fiorentine gallery. His work centered on the human body, though, so it fit well with David.
The gallery also hosts a musical exhibit, full of extremely old stringed instruments, horns, flutes, and pianos. My musical knowledge is very limited, so I won't say any more. But it was neat.
One thing that really piqued our curiosity was a painting of Jesus in one of the rooms. I'm no religious buff, nor am I well versed in the world of art, but there are a few things in religious art history that seem commonplace. One of the big ones is the way Jesus is generally depicted on the cross - head slumped to one side with the crown of thorns, Mary Magdalene often at his feet, angels often flying around him--sometimes catching his blood in goblets, one nail in each hand, the spear wound in his ribs, and one nail through both of his overlapping feet. This painting, however, which was unattributed and untitled, had Jesus' feet nailed separately, with one nail through each one. We searched the entire gallery, which probably has over 50 paintings of the crucifixion, and did not find any other paintings with this feature. Anyone know why? We couldn't figure it out.
Regardless, this exhibit was pretty impressive. There was a wing full of sculptures--busts, reliefs, frescoes, and statues--that were the final exams of art students at the Accademia. Some of them were spectacular. The attention to detail, particularly in the folds of flowing robes and sheets (I thought), was breathtaking.
I'm not sure what else to say about the gallery. It was impressive, and we were both very glad to have seen David. This statue is a huge part of history, and I imagine the majority of the world never has the chance to see it.
On the way home, we stopped for lunch. We both got sandwiches on what I would compare to a round disk of ciabatta bread, with prosciutto and mozzarella. We shared a fruit cup (I know...) with the biggest grapes we had ever seen, canteloupe, kiwi, orange, and pineapple.
Now, I am sitting in the apartment waiting for the landlord to get here with our allegedly fixed router. Johnny has gone running.
Class at 4:45. No plans for tonight as of yet.
Statue of David
Originally, this statue--representing the lowly shepherd boy who slayed the Philistine giant, Goliath--was kept outside of what was City Hall under the Medici rule in Florence. However, the weather, a crazed artist who assaulted the statue's feet with a hammer during a protest, and a flying bench from the window of City Hall during another protest that broke off his arm, prompted the Fiorentines to build the Accademia with a dome specially designed to do the sculpture justice. And that it does. Standing 17 feet tall, David has plenty of head space, and the skylight dome above him sheds a sort of halo of light around him. It is an amazing sculpture, perfectly carved human form.
What makes it particularly impressive, in my eyes, is Michelangelo's method. Traditionally, sculptors would build scaled models of their projects and then, with that as a reference, would carve the actual sculpture out of a slab of rock/marble. Michelangelo, however, did everything freeform. He believed that the rock contained the desired sculpture within it, and it was god that willed him to reveal it. He needed no scaled model, he only used god's guidance in finding the form with his chisel. That may not be too difficult for a small project, but to create a 17-foot tall figure, and to have it become possibly the most famous sculpture in the world, without any sort of visual aide to guide his work, is amazing.
Other Things of Note
There was a photography exhibit in this museum by an American photographer, Robert Mapplethorpe. His work was interesting, but it was surprising to see an American's work in such a prestigious Fiorentine gallery. His work centered on the human body, though, so it fit well with David.
The gallery also hosts a musical exhibit, full of extremely old stringed instruments, horns, flutes, and pianos. My musical knowledge is very limited, so I won't say any more. But it was neat.
One thing that really piqued our curiosity was a painting of Jesus in one of the rooms. I'm no religious buff, nor am I well versed in the world of art, but there are a few things in religious art history that seem commonplace. One of the big ones is the way Jesus is generally depicted on the cross - head slumped to one side with the crown of thorns, Mary Magdalene often at his feet, angels often flying around him--sometimes catching his blood in goblets, one nail in each hand, the spear wound in his ribs, and one nail through both of his overlapping feet. This painting, however, which was unattributed and untitled, had Jesus' feet nailed separately, with one nail through each one. We searched the entire gallery, which probably has over 50 paintings of the crucifixion, and did not find any other paintings with this feature. Anyone know why? We couldn't figure it out.
Regardless, this exhibit was pretty impressive. There was a wing full of sculptures--busts, reliefs, frescoes, and statues--that were the final exams of art students at the Accademia. Some of them were spectacular. The attention to detail, particularly in the folds of flowing robes and sheets (I thought), was breathtaking.
I'm not sure what else to say about the gallery. It was impressive, and we were both very glad to have seen David. This statue is a huge part of history, and I imagine the majority of the world never has the chance to see it.
On the way home, we stopped for lunch. We both got sandwiches on what I would compare to a round disk of ciabatta bread, with prosciutto and mozzarella. We shared a fruit cup (I know...) with the biggest grapes we had ever seen, canteloupe, kiwi, orange, and pineapple.
Now, I am sitting in the apartment waiting for the landlord to get here with our allegedly fixed router. Johnny has gone running.
Class at 4:45. No plans for tonight as of yet.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
It Finally Happened
We have been joking that, on account of the ridiculously narrow streets, myriad parked cars everywhere in places where they don't really fit, crazy Italian drivers, and extremely narrow sidewalks, one of us was going to get hit by a car at some point during this trip.
Before anyone gets freaked out (particularly families), everyone is okay.
So we were leaving our flat on Via Della Chiesa, which is one of the more narrow streets with cars lining one side, making it even more crammed. The cars and motorcycles often park partly over the sidewalk, which is only about 2 feet wide to begin with.
As we walked, we saw a big truck coming, about the equivalent of a dump truck, slowly up the street. It seemed to be moving a bit more quickly than might be appropriate. As it got to us, there was a loud crash and Johnny yelped. At that moment, Johnny became one of the few people in the world ever to have been hit by a parked motorcycle.
The truck smashed the front end of the bike, spending it spinning directly into Johnny's hip. Hopefully, we were due that one, and we won't get hit by anything else. We have been dangerously close to getting knocked in the head by bus side mirrors on several occasions already.
Before anyone gets freaked out (particularly families), everyone is okay.
So we were leaving our flat on Via Della Chiesa, which is one of the more narrow streets with cars lining one side, making it even more crammed. The cars and motorcycles often park partly over the sidewalk, which is only about 2 feet wide to begin with.
As we walked, we saw a big truck coming, about the equivalent of a dump truck, slowly up the street. It seemed to be moving a bit more quickly than might be appropriate. As it got to us, there was a loud crash and Johnny yelped. At that moment, Johnny became one of the few people in the world ever to have been hit by a parked motorcycle.
The truck smashed the front end of the bike, spending it spinning directly into Johnny's hip. Hopefully, we were due that one, and we won't get hit by anything else. We have been dangerously close to getting knocked in the head by bus side mirrors on several occasions already.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Dinner and a (Platonic) Walk
We went to the Asian market and discovered that they sold nothing but Ramen-style dried noodles for soup, Asian sauces like soy and teriyaki, and various other things in packages of which we could only guess the contents. But they did have cheap hot sauce, so we got some. We went around the corner to a produce market and got some bell peppers--red and yellow was all they had--and a purple onion. It was 1,80 Euro, doesn't seem too bad for fresh veggies. Then we went back to Asia Market and got teriyaki, hot sauce, and two big cheap Moretti beers (Note: There is nowhere that we have found to buy cases of beer, it appears only to be sold individually here).
So we walked back. I had the daunting task of figuring out the directions for the rice in Italian, and then making good rice (which can be very tricky; rice is a much more exact science than one might think) without a measuring cup. I tasked Johnny with chopping the peppers, onion, and the remaining humongous chicken breast we had gotten the other day. For the rice, I eyeballed what ended up being a little too much water, poured a little peanut oil in and sprinkled some salt into the pan, and then poured what was probably the exact amount of rice I wanted.
I prepped the other pan with a little more of the peanut oil while Johnny finished chopping.
First, I threw in the peppers and onions and a few of those nefarious peperoncinos to make it spicy. I kept stirring to make sure nothing burned. The rice was going strong, and I slowly became aware that I had, in fact, used too much water. No big deal, though. I just made sure it didn't boil over. When it seemed like the rice was nearly done, I threw the chicken in with the veggies and then poured the teriyaki 'juice' on top. I say juice because this was not your typical viscous teriyaki. It had the consistency of soy sauce.
If I could have photographed the smell in our kitchen, I would have. And I would have blown it up and framed it and carried it with me everywhere. But here is the finished product.
We settled down to the table, cracked open our giant Morettis, and went to town. And this meal was delicious. Not to pat myself too hard on the back, but I was proud of this one.
We decided we were bored of sitting in the house and wanted to get out for a bit. A few of the French were going to walk around the city, so we decided to go meet up with them. Our timing was perfect. I'll show you why:
Sunset over the Ponte Vecchio is a "can't miss" event in Florence. I am now lucky enough to be one of the privileged few to experience it. I'm not going to bother trying to describe it because the pictures speak a thousand words.
We walked around to actually cross the Ponte Vecchio (most of those pictures were taken from the Ponte alle Grazie, the next bridge down the river). There was a man performing cover songs on the bridge with a guitar and an impressive throng of listeners. He was very good.
We went to one of the bigger squares and got some gelato at a corner shop. And guess what? This gelato was totally the BEST gelato in the world. The guide book says so. It has to be true.
I ordered three flavors in a cone - tiramisu, pistacchio, and amaretto. It was delicioso! Johnny got some fruity stuff, raspberry we think, and I can't remember what else. The five of us sat in the square and listened to another concert going on around the corner with cover songs as well. The weather was perfect. We headed home around 10. And now, here I am.
Tomorrow, we have class again at 4:45. Boo that. Sometimes I forget I'm here as a part of an academic exercise. It is quite inconvenient.
Ciao.
So we walked back. I had the daunting task of figuring out the directions for the rice in Italian, and then making good rice (which can be very tricky; rice is a much more exact science than one might think) without a measuring cup. I tasked Johnny with chopping the peppers, onion, and the remaining humongous chicken breast we had gotten the other day. For the rice, I eyeballed what ended up being a little too much water, poured a little peanut oil in and sprinkled some salt into the pan, and then poured what was probably the exact amount of rice I wanted.
I prepped the other pan with a little more of the peanut oil while Johnny finished chopping.
First, I threw in the peppers and onions and a few of those nefarious peperoncinos to make it spicy. I kept stirring to make sure nothing burned. The rice was going strong, and I slowly became aware that I had, in fact, used too much water. No big deal, though. I just made sure it didn't boil over. When it seemed like the rice was nearly done, I threw the chicken in with the veggies and then poured the teriyaki 'juice' on top. I say juice because this was not your typical viscous teriyaki. It had the consistency of soy sauce.
If I could have photographed the smell in our kitchen, I would have. And I would have blown it up and framed it and carried it with me everywhere. But here is the finished product.
We settled down to the table, cracked open our giant Morettis, and went to town. And this meal was delicious. Not to pat myself too hard on the back, but I was proud of this one.
We decided we were bored of sitting in the house and wanted to get out for a bit. A few of the French were going to walk around the city, so we decided to go meet up with them. Our timing was perfect. I'll show you why:
Sunset over the Ponte Vecchio is a "can't miss" event in Florence. I am now lucky enough to be one of the privileged few to experience it. I'm not going to bother trying to describe it because the pictures speak a thousand words.
We walked around to actually cross the Ponte Vecchio (most of those pictures were taken from the Ponte alle Grazie, the next bridge down the river). There was a man performing cover songs on the bridge with a guitar and an impressive throng of listeners. He was very good.
We went to one of the bigger squares and got some gelato at a corner shop. And guess what? This gelato was totally the BEST gelato in the world. The guide book says so. It has to be true.
I ordered three flavors in a cone - tiramisu, pistacchio, and amaretto. It was delicioso! Johnny got some fruity stuff, raspberry we think, and I can't remember what else. The five of us sat in the square and listened to another concert going on around the corner with cover songs as well. The weather was perfect. We headed home around 10. And now, here I am.
Tomorrow, we have class again at 4:45. Boo that. Sometimes I forget I'm here as a part of an academic exercise. It is quite inconvenient.
Ciao.
The Things We Do
Sorry for the short hiatus. We had a couple of lazy days, and I didn't want to just write a blog about how we are in Florence doing absolutely nothing. But I don't want to disappoint, so here we go.
Internet
The landlord finally came by to check out our internet. She had claimed adamantly that there was no way it was password protected, and she was clearly annoyed at having to come by on her lunch break. On a side note, I would expect "I'll come by during lunch break" to mean sometime around noon or shortly thereafter. It turns out that, although we were home and waiting for her, her lunch break didn't really get her here until about 2pm.
When we first got here, we had working internet on the network "Libero." It was not password protected, and when she asked us if it was working, we said it was. I pointed out that I thought it was not the right network, and that the one in this apartment was protected. The router says "Infostrada" on it, and the network that was showing up with the strongest signal was called, coincidentally, "Infostrada," and was password protected. She brushed it off and said there was no password and that we were good to go. So, with that back story in mind, here is what happened.
She came over, after some texts on Sunday in which she reaffirmed that there was no password, on Monday. After the texts seemed insufficient, I sent her an email proving that the network was protected. I had simply unplugged the router and we still had working internet. The Infostrada network was gone.
She got here, quickly made this same discovery, and quickly became annoyed. After about 30 minutes of rapid Italian on the phone, she packed up the router, said she'd get it fixed, and left. Turns out, she had set up the network herself, she should have known its name, and by leaving it unprotected, she left it open for anyone who wanted to to protect it his or herself. No admission that we were right and she was wrong, no apology for the rudeness of how she approached the problem. Such is the Italian life.
More Interesting Stuff
Monday was a relatively lazy day. We made some eggs. There was a plan to go see the statue of David, but we didn't make it. We didn't make it again today, actually, but we will. Maybe tomorrow before class.
We met all the French students for dinner at Kitsch, this time arriving early enough to get a table. This place is phenomenal. For 7 Euro, you can get an all you can eat buffet. And this isn't your typical Ryan's, or OCB, or anything like that. The spread was extensive. Everything looked like a home cooked meal, and tasted like one, too. That's no easy task in the modern world of mass-produced restaurant sludge that most buffets offer. I didn't know what half of the choices were, but I filled my plate with some of everything, literally. There was a dip that tasted like spinach and artichoke, but with brussel sprouts in it (good), and another dip that was cream cheese with truffle oil (not as good). There were rices, barley, fresh pizza slices with prosciutto and/or mozzarella. There was even a dish with sliced up hot dogs. One thing appeared to be Thanksgiving day bread stuffing. There was steamed broccoli, grilled eggplant, zucchini, and red peppers. There was penne pasta with red sauce. They had risotto in a creamy concoction. Fresh bread, both white and wheat. Cous cous with veggies mixed in. Grilled chicken cutlets that looked really dry but somehow tasted phenomenal. There were home fries (small cubes of fried potatoes).
For one additional Euro, you could get one of any drink on the menu. Johnny and I both went for Long Island Iced Teas. When getting a deal, always make the most of it. As the saying goes, "When in Rome."
So the food was spectacular. It was, hands down, the best buffet of all time.
After dinner, we went to the Israelis' apartment to hang out. Their place is very swanky. It has a huge balcony overlooking the city (6th floor). At one end is a spiral staircase leading up to a second tier of the balcony (7th floor). At the far end of that is a painter's ladder leading up to the roof (roof). We hung out up there for awhile, but the hosts were nervous having people on the roof so they asked us down.
As it got later, we got the idea to stay up there until the sunrise to see it ascend over the city. Seemed like a great idea, but no one realized the hosts weren't too keen on it until they politely asked us to leave about 20 minutes before the sun was scheduled to come up. This was not convenient. So we hustled out and walked to the river to see it rise from there instead. It was no rooftop view, but it was pretty spectacular.
Another lazy day today. We are about to go to the Asia Market down the street because I am craving Chinese food. Stir fry tonight.
Ciao.
Internet
The landlord finally came by to check out our internet. She had claimed adamantly that there was no way it was password protected, and she was clearly annoyed at having to come by on her lunch break. On a side note, I would expect "I'll come by during lunch break" to mean sometime around noon or shortly thereafter. It turns out that, although we were home and waiting for her, her lunch break didn't really get her here until about 2pm.
When we first got here, we had working internet on the network "Libero." It was not password protected, and when she asked us if it was working, we said it was. I pointed out that I thought it was not the right network, and that the one in this apartment was protected. The router says "Infostrada" on it, and the network that was showing up with the strongest signal was called, coincidentally, "Infostrada," and was password protected. She brushed it off and said there was no password and that we were good to go. So, with that back story in mind, here is what happened.
She came over, after some texts on Sunday in which she reaffirmed that there was no password, on Monday. After the texts seemed insufficient, I sent her an email proving that the network was protected. I had simply unplugged the router and we still had working internet. The Infostrada network was gone.
She got here, quickly made this same discovery, and quickly became annoyed. After about 30 minutes of rapid Italian on the phone, she packed up the router, said she'd get it fixed, and left. Turns out, she had set up the network herself, she should have known its name, and by leaving it unprotected, she left it open for anyone who wanted to to protect it his or herself. No admission that we were right and she was wrong, no apology for the rudeness of how she approached the problem. Such is the Italian life.
More Interesting Stuff
Monday was a relatively lazy day. We made some eggs. There was a plan to go see the statue of David, but we didn't make it. We didn't make it again today, actually, but we will. Maybe tomorrow before class.
We met all the French students for dinner at Kitsch, this time arriving early enough to get a table. This place is phenomenal. For 7 Euro, you can get an all you can eat buffet. And this isn't your typical Ryan's, or OCB, or anything like that. The spread was extensive. Everything looked like a home cooked meal, and tasted like one, too. That's no easy task in the modern world of mass-produced restaurant sludge that most buffets offer. I didn't know what half of the choices were, but I filled my plate with some of everything, literally. There was a dip that tasted like spinach and artichoke, but with brussel sprouts in it (good), and another dip that was cream cheese with truffle oil (not as good). There were rices, barley, fresh pizza slices with prosciutto and/or mozzarella. There was even a dish with sliced up hot dogs. One thing appeared to be Thanksgiving day bread stuffing. There was steamed broccoli, grilled eggplant, zucchini, and red peppers. There was penne pasta with red sauce. They had risotto in a creamy concoction. Fresh bread, both white and wheat. Cous cous with veggies mixed in. Grilled chicken cutlets that looked really dry but somehow tasted phenomenal. There were home fries (small cubes of fried potatoes).
For one additional Euro, you could get one of any drink on the menu. Johnny and I both went for Long Island Iced Teas. When getting a deal, always make the most of it. As the saying goes, "When in Rome."
So the food was spectacular. It was, hands down, the best buffet of all time.
After dinner, we went to the Israelis' apartment to hang out. Their place is very swanky. It has a huge balcony overlooking the city (6th floor). At one end is a spiral staircase leading up to a second tier of the balcony (7th floor). At the far end of that is a painter's ladder leading up to the roof (roof). We hung out up there for awhile, but the hosts were nervous having people on the roof so they asked us down.
As it got later, we got the idea to stay up there until the sunrise to see it ascend over the city. Seemed like a great idea, but no one realized the hosts weren't too keen on it until they politely asked us to leave about 20 minutes before the sun was scheduled to come up. This was not convenient. So we hustled out and walked to the river to see it rise from there instead. It was no rooftop view, but it was pretty spectacular.
Another lazy day today. We are about to go to the Asia Market down the street because I am craving Chinese food. Stir fry tonight.
Ciao.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Siena +
+
The buffet was not meant to be. We arrived there too late. Apparently, buffets in Italy mean you arrive, you sit down, and you don't leave until you are forced out the door at closing time. So if you don't arrive early, you are out of luck.
Instead, we walked around for a little while (we had a group of 11, so any restaurant on a Saturday night at 8:30 was going to be difficult, especially with how small most restaurants here are). After awhile, we located a spot that the French guide book recommended very highly. The girls all wanted pizza and the guys were too hungry to care what we ate.
They sat us in what was probably a dungeon at one point: down several stairs, through some hallways, and into a back room with one small door in and out, a cavernous ceiling, and torch fixtures scattered throughout the stone walls. We were the only ones in the room, yet the service was abysmal. I've mentioned before, this country is not service-oriented. They don't get tipped, so they don't particularly care how good of a job they do. The fact that we were a mixed group of French and American students certainly didn't help our cause. Johnny and I got a bottle of Sangiovese (they were out of the Santa Cristina Antinori we requested)--pictured above--and an appetizer of prosciutto e melone (same as before, canteloupe and cured ham). It was, again, delicious. I ordered spaghetti carbonara, which I have recently learned may be the most basic of basic European dishes, available anywhere and everywhere (not just Italy). It is not all that common in the States, though, so I'll take it where it's cheap! Johnny got a huge calzone, and most of the French got pizzas or calzones. The waiter was very slow to get anything done, and when he did finally bring the food, Johnny got the wrong calzone. We didn't discover this until one of the other servers came with another calzone to investigate.
As luck would have it, the one we had was already partially eaten, so they were just going to throw it away. True to my nature, I swooped in and managed to keep it, language barrier and all! It was delicious - ham and mozzarella. And it ended up being the perfect amount of food.
After dinner, all but five of us went home to call it a night. Remaining were myself, Johnny, Jean, Florian, and Claire. If you (French students) are reading this, I apologize for having to make this clarification, but Jean and Florian are guys. We went to a nearby piazza and hung out on some steps. The place was packed, but we had a good time. It's very interesting learning about their culture, language, and experiences, and getting their perspectives on America and its culture, language, and experiences. We are gaining all sorts of worldly knowledge outside of the classroom, making this trip a success already in my eyes.
We arrived home to discover that we had no internet. Tragedy!
Siena
We awoke to discover, still no internet. Worse tragedy! This meant we couldn't coordinate our trip to Siena with the French students. We were, of course, late, and our tardiness was expounded by the fact that they decided to meet earlier. They sent us Facebook messages to inform us of the change in plans, but of course we had no way of knowing. We had managed to avoid phone use up until today, but today it became a necessity.
We got to the train station around 9:15 and found out they had left on the 9:10 bus. We had no idea where to catch the bus. And everyone we asked pointed in a different direction and gave us different misinformation. Finally, after a dead sprint to the real bus station at 10 o'clock to catch the 10:10 bus to Siena, we could relax. It turns out the bus station is not actually in the train station, as we were told it was. It is around the corner. But we made it, we got round trip tickets, and we got seats on the bus.
Quick Note: Thus far, we have ridden on at least five buses and at least six to eight trains, and have only had our tickets checked once. I point this out only because it is bringing us dangerously close to temptation.
Anyhow, we arrived in Siena about an hour and a half later. For any novice who wishes to travel through Italy, remember this little tidbit: "diretta" does NOT mean direct. If you want a "direct" bus, take the express. The group, expecting our arrival, had waited for us at the Piazza di Camp. This was a huuuge, open square with an enormous church at its base. The square sloped down towards it with nine sections patterned into the stone ground, representing the nine districts of Italy that existed at the time (if I understood the French explanation correctly).
Siena is advertised as a medieval town, which didn't really mean anything to me until I got there. It is pretty amazing though...incroyable, as the French would say. Every building looked like part of a castle. The Duomo here was not as impressive as the one in Florence, but still pretty humbling. Especially on the inside (we have yet to enter the Florence Duomo, but it is on the agenda).
We grabbed lunch at a crappy little ristorante. The food was overpriced, there was very little meat on the sandwiches, and they forgot two of our dishes. I think we need to find some locals to show us the ropes on how to choose a restaurant, how to order, and what not to do. It was extremely hot today--the French kept mumbling 'chaud'--so we got some ice cream (gelato) as well. Their guide book (Le Guide) recommended a gelateria, 'best in the world' of course, so we headed in that direction. While I'm hesitant to conclude that any gelato is different from any other, this place was probably better than the gelato we had in Rome near the Pantheon. I got a three flavor mix in a cup: mascarpone e nutella, stracciatella, and extra fondente (dark fudge, as far as I could tell). It hit the spot in a way I can't describe.
After some more wandering, we found ourselves ascending to the upper heights of Siena where we were graced with some pretty incredible views of the city.
Further on, we found a park with a small pond full of pigeons, ducks, and a pair of swans. Two women were feeding the swans ice cream, which I imagine is not too good for them. We rested in the shade as a few people in the group went to look at the Palace di Medici (had I understood the French when they announced that plan, I would have accompanied them, but such is life).
We boarded the return bus, the express this time, a little after five and bunkered up for the hour long ride home.
+
Johnny and I stopped for some groceries at our usual market on Santa Monaco (Monica?) to make dinner. We got some more eggs, chicken, pasta sauce, and olive oil. Our first meal to include protein (other than eggs) was a success. It was Johnny's first time cooking chicken in a frying pan. I was tending to the internet problems. I meant to show him how to use the oil and everything to grease the pan, but I forgot. He ended up coming as close to deep frying the chicken as you can without actually using a deep frier. It was delicious! We made spaghetti with chicken, toasted some bread and buttered it, and finished off the last of our jug of red wine. We are again living in a dry house.
No one made plans for tonight, so we are staying in and getting rested up for the new week.
Unrelated Author's Note: Melissa did most of my packing for me while I 'supervised' and hung out with my Grandmother a little (she was staying at my Mom's house, but my Mom had an executive seminar to lead and so she was alone for the evening). She did a remarkable job, but in my usual distracted mode before any big event, I didn't listen to all of her careful instructions as to where to find all my stuff. I just today found a secret pocket full of goodies that I had, up to this point, been missing. The sad part is, these 'goodies' were four pairs of boxers. The happy part is, I'm overly excited because it means I have four more days to go before needing to do laundry!
The buffet was not meant to be. We arrived there too late. Apparently, buffets in Italy mean you arrive, you sit down, and you don't leave until you are forced out the door at closing time. So if you don't arrive early, you are out of luck.
Instead, we walked around for a little while (we had a group of 11, so any restaurant on a Saturday night at 8:30 was going to be difficult, especially with how small most restaurants here are). After awhile, we located a spot that the French guide book recommended very highly. The girls all wanted pizza and the guys were too hungry to care what we ate.
They sat us in what was probably a dungeon at one point: down several stairs, through some hallways, and into a back room with one small door in and out, a cavernous ceiling, and torch fixtures scattered throughout the stone walls. We were the only ones in the room, yet the service was abysmal. I've mentioned before, this country is not service-oriented. They don't get tipped, so they don't particularly care how good of a job they do. The fact that we were a mixed group of French and American students certainly didn't help our cause. Johnny and I got a bottle of Sangiovese (they were out of the Santa Cristina Antinori we requested)--pictured above--and an appetizer of prosciutto e melone (same as before, canteloupe and cured ham). It was, again, delicious. I ordered spaghetti carbonara, which I have recently learned may be the most basic of basic European dishes, available anywhere and everywhere (not just Italy). It is not all that common in the States, though, so I'll take it where it's cheap! Johnny got a huge calzone, and most of the French got pizzas or calzones. The waiter was very slow to get anything done, and when he did finally bring the food, Johnny got the wrong calzone. We didn't discover this until one of the other servers came with another calzone to investigate.
As luck would have it, the one we had was already partially eaten, so they were just going to throw it away. True to my nature, I swooped in and managed to keep it, language barrier and all! It was delicious - ham and mozzarella. And it ended up being the perfect amount of food.
After dinner, all but five of us went home to call it a night. Remaining were myself, Johnny, Jean, Florian, and Claire. If you (French students) are reading this, I apologize for having to make this clarification, but Jean and Florian are guys. We went to a nearby piazza and hung out on some steps. The place was packed, but we had a good time. It's very interesting learning about their culture, language, and experiences, and getting their perspectives on America and its culture, language, and experiences. We are gaining all sorts of worldly knowledge outside of the classroom, making this trip a success already in my eyes.
We arrived home to discover that we had no internet. Tragedy!
Siena
We awoke to discover, still no internet. Worse tragedy! This meant we couldn't coordinate our trip to Siena with the French students. We were, of course, late, and our tardiness was expounded by the fact that they decided to meet earlier. They sent us Facebook messages to inform us of the change in plans, but of course we had no way of knowing. We had managed to avoid phone use up until today, but today it became a necessity.
We got to the train station around 9:15 and found out they had left on the 9:10 bus. We had no idea where to catch the bus. And everyone we asked pointed in a different direction and gave us different misinformation. Finally, after a dead sprint to the real bus station at 10 o'clock to catch the 10:10 bus to Siena, we could relax. It turns out the bus station is not actually in the train station, as we were told it was. It is around the corner. But we made it, we got round trip tickets, and we got seats on the bus.
Quick Note: Thus far, we have ridden on at least five buses and at least six to eight trains, and have only had our tickets checked once. I point this out only because it is bringing us dangerously close to temptation.
Anyhow, we arrived in Siena about an hour and a half later. For any novice who wishes to travel through Italy, remember this little tidbit: "diretta" does NOT mean direct. If you want a "direct" bus, take the express. The group, expecting our arrival, had waited for us at the Piazza di Camp. This was a huuuge, open square with an enormous church at its base. The square sloped down towards it with nine sections patterned into the stone ground, representing the nine districts of Italy that existed at the time (if I understood the French explanation correctly).
Siena is advertised as a medieval town, which didn't really mean anything to me until I got there. It is pretty amazing though...incroyable, as the French would say. Every building looked like part of a castle. The Duomo here was not as impressive as the one in Florence, but still pretty humbling. Especially on the inside (we have yet to enter the Florence Duomo, but it is on the agenda).
We grabbed lunch at a crappy little ristorante. The food was overpriced, there was very little meat on the sandwiches, and they forgot two of our dishes. I think we need to find some locals to show us the ropes on how to choose a restaurant, how to order, and what not to do. It was extremely hot today--the French kept mumbling 'chaud'--so we got some ice cream (gelato) as well. Their guide book (Le Guide) recommended a gelateria, 'best in the world' of course, so we headed in that direction. While I'm hesitant to conclude that any gelato is different from any other, this place was probably better than the gelato we had in Rome near the Pantheon. I got a three flavor mix in a cup: mascarpone e nutella, stracciatella, and extra fondente (dark fudge, as far as I could tell). It hit the spot in a way I can't describe.
After some more wandering, we found ourselves ascending to the upper heights of Siena where we were graced with some pretty incredible views of the city.
Further on, we found a park with a small pond full of pigeons, ducks, and a pair of swans. Two women were feeding the swans ice cream, which I imagine is not too good for them. We rested in the shade as a few people in the group went to look at the Palace di Medici (had I understood the French when they announced that plan, I would have accompanied them, but such is life).
We boarded the return bus, the express this time, a little after five and bunkered up for the hour long ride home.
+
Johnny and I stopped for some groceries at our usual market on Santa Monaco (Monica?) to make dinner. We got some more eggs, chicken, pasta sauce, and olive oil. Our first meal to include protein (other than eggs) was a success. It was Johnny's first time cooking chicken in a frying pan. I was tending to the internet problems. I meant to show him how to use the oil and everything to grease the pan, but I forgot. He ended up coming as close to deep frying the chicken as you can without actually using a deep frier. It was delicious! We made spaghetti with chicken, toasted some bread and buttered it, and finished off the last of our jug of red wine. We are again living in a dry house.
No one made plans for tonight, so we are staying in and getting rested up for the new week.
Unrelated Author's Note: Melissa did most of my packing for me while I 'supervised' and hung out with my Grandmother a little (she was staying at my Mom's house, but my Mom had an executive seminar to lead and so she was alone for the evening). She did a remarkable job, but in my usual distracted mode before any big event, I didn't listen to all of her careful instructions as to where to find all my stuff. I just today found a secret pocket full of goodies that I had, up to this point, been missing. The sad part is, these 'goodies' were four pairs of boxers. The happy part is, I'm overly excited because it means I have four more days to go before needing to do laundry!
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