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Happy Endings

Today will mark a day in history, where I left everything to chance, put my trust in a misdirected wanderer and road the waves.

After a wonderful time in Lucca and Montecarlo, we made our way to Cinque Terra, a place, that I was told by multiple sources, I needed to go. So even if we could only spend 18 hours here I was determine to see it.

I should've known that this was going to be the interesting part of the trip based on how the day started. We woke up in our beautiful BnB to the pleasant sounds of a pigeon outside of our window. When I say pleasant, I mean pleasant enough to wake lonely boy at five AM so he could open the windows and yell, at the top of his lungs, 'fuck you pigeon. I see you! And your fucking girlfriend!' This happened twice between the hours of five and nine. After our wake up call we headed to lunch with the family which we thought was just a quick salad before we get on the train in an hour. Turns out, just a salad means three different types of home made 'crustini', three different types of meats, formaggio with marmalade and honey and two different wines that were grown down the street... Literally, one had no label.

As the conversation flowed and the time passed (I'm getting pretty good at understanding Italian and I think I just coined the phrase 'Spaniano'... The locals love it) there came a point in the conversation where lonely boy didn't understand a word, 'no capicio, nacchera!' After about 3 exchanges we arrived at the translation 'clam'. Immediately my ears perked up and I said, 'Scuzi? Uhhh. What?' Any one who knows me knows that I turn into Hitch at first sight of shellfish. When I heard the word clams I damn near passed out. Images of navigating the health care system in a foreign land flashed across my eyes. 'There are clams in this???' All I could do was say 'Allergico! Allergico!!!' Everyone's faces dropped. They immediately reached for the drawer that contained the benedryl and cortisol, there was even an epi pin. I popped two nondescript pills (meaning I couldn't read the packaging) and tried to pray that I would be alright. In the meantime we were about to miss our train so decisions had to be made.

I was convinced I was fine, really trying to work on mind over body, even though my breathing was escalating, my eyes were heavy and I was unusually warm. We made our way to Cinque while I had a mental 'sit down talk with my body'.

Maybe it was my fault for pulling focus from the activity at hand, but we got on the wrong connecting train. All we could do was hope that it was going the right direction. According to a local man sitting next to us we had gotten on the train going towards Cinque Terra, BUT it was a local train so it would take 35 minutes longer. I can live with this.

Once we finally get to Cinque it takes a minute to find somewhere to stay, but it all works out and we're in a randomly amazing room for a good rate. Now, it's time to take a train to the first town and walk back (obviously not all the way, but at least through one town; 'ain't nobody got time for that'). The genius that is Lonley Boy purchased tickets to the closest town instead of the further one (not the plan at all). Then he ushers us onto a train which is supposed to be a two minute ride to the next stop. As we blow right through the next stop at full speed, we realize that today, we are two for two for getting on the wrong train. The woman next to us explains this is the express to the first town. This is actually good news, since this was the original plan, except for the small fact that we didn't pay for it; if we get caught there is a considerable fine. Luckily we make it and all is well...for now.

Its around 530 as we walk around Montessoro (Cinque Terra is amazing by the by). After we eat al fresco and hide from the rain, it's time to head back. The whole point of being in this area is that all of the five towns are connected and you can walk. So we decide to walk to the next town then take the train back. This plan sounded so much better in our heads.

When I read about walking from town to town, never did it cross my mind that 'walking' was short for 'hiking through the mountains'. Yes, this was my fault for being so naive. I kept seeing folks with camel packs and walking sticks, thinking how foolish they looked. Little did I know that it would be me who was the fool in my slip on shoes and a cute dress trying to hike up a mountain side while its raining. True story. But wait! Did I mention that we chose the two towns that are the farthest away from each other. It took 2 hours! There was rain, 6 inch slippery pathways, more stairs than I've seen in the past year combined and the fact that i had acl reconstruction on my knee about 3 months ago (two weeks ago, they just started letting me jog for 0.1 miles at a time). Every time we passed someone coming from the other direction they just looked at me like 'poor thing' and then tried to tell us how far away it was, thinking we might go back... I'm a boss! Don't sleep on me. I will admit, there were times I wanted to turn around or even thought I might not make it, convinced this could not end well.

After 2 hours and no falls (a few close calls that kicked my knees behind), we finally made it Venzia with enough time for a beer, a cocktail and a train ride home with some cool new FB friends. All in all, I guess we got our happy ending.

Lucca Who's Talking Now!

I didn't know what to expect when The Wanderer told me we were going to visit his Italian speaking family who he's only met once, almost 9 years ago for a few hours. I'm usually game for most things and I love meeting people's families, but the language barrier did worry me.

His cousin Luigi came to pick us up from the train station (I know, where is Mario). Luigi is exactly what you want your Italian family to be. He had a wealth of knowledge about his home town, interesting stories and wonderful connections around town. He hooked us up at his friends BnB in Montecarlo, which by the way is where you should film any picturesque RomCom taking place in Tuscany. Having come from Milan, Rome and Florence, Montecarlo was exactly what I was ready for.

Luigi immediately took us to his mom's house to meet the rest of the family and have a homemade meal (which was obviously amazing). We chatted, ate and drank and walked around the house, taking in the beautiful day; I got to hold a goose (she has four chickens, two geese and two dogs; good times). After lunch, we got dropped off in Lucca to go explore this beautiful walled in town (there is a massive wall around the entire town with only one entrance). With the sun on our side we rented bikes and set out to cause some trouble like only Americans can.

After putting in work at the Vespa shop (get your mind out of the gutter, I merely did some fiscal damage), we drank, sat, napped, drank some more then headed back to Montecarlo for dinner.

Luigi's wife, daughter and son in law work in a restaurant called...wait for it... Trattoria Montecarlo. I was not prepared for this dining experience. We put our trust in these wise folks and told them to deliver the most authentic Italian culinary experience. And that they did!

We started with a Papa Pomodora, which I'm convinced I can reproduce on a regular basis. Then we moved on to a bean soup followed by, hands down, the best bistecca I have ever had (that would be steak, florentine steak to be exact). The Wanderer said it was his favorite meal this year and I will have to agree. Re-donkey-pants!!! I'm not even going to attempt to describe the orgy that happened in my mouth, it just wouldn't be fair.

I'm pretty sure I ate and drank equal to my weight and was very content on walking, or should I say, rolling the 100 feet back to the BnB, when all of a sudden I'm pretty sure I hear us getting invited to a birthday party. What? I could barely keep my head from hitting the table; I was overly satiated and now I was headed to a party.

When we arrived, there was a lovely mixture of young and elderly (shout out to my kp ohana) folks and we were quickly ushered into the kitchen where the youth had gathered around endless tortas and sparkling wines. There was a random moment when I noticed that I might be the only English speaker, but I was laughing and joking with the best of them. There were no language barriers, only bridges and we were crossing them (haha, that was cheddary). By the end of the night I had coined the term 'Spaniano', one guy (who was HOT, but had a gf) started suffering from English Terets and The Wanderer became the center of attention. By far, one of the most random, weird and amazing situations that I will probably not be able to recreate even if I tried.

Lucca and Montecarlo are divine and normally I would say 'should be had by all', but I want this one for myself. So back up!

Fine Leather Goods

TREAT YO SELF TWO THOUSAND THIRTEEN!!!!

Today I treated myself to some fine italian leather goods. As soon as you get off the train station in Florence you can smell the rich leather aroma that is wafting in the streets. It's alluring. It's seductive; and dammit it was calling my name.

I might've been the only woman who has never wanted a real leather jacket of her own. Call me crazy, but I never saw the need for it (I mean I live in southern Cali). Well I guess I came to my senses when I got here because as soon as I took one long breath of this Tuscan air, I was a goner.

Now that I had the leather bug, I couldn't just have any jacket, it had to be the right one. It took me a day and a half to find it, but when it happened, I knew it in an instant.

There are leather stores every 15 feet piled high with everything and anything leather. Searching for the right thing can be a very daunting task. Especially when you're a bargain shopper and you know that the man on the next street has a better price. Then it dawned on me that I was going about this all wrong. I can't get my fine Italian leather jacket from some man on the street who is soliciting me with the same 'Ciao Bella' as the two hundred people that came before me. I need to be wooed; court me! The selection of this jacket should feel like the sorting hat in Harry Potter, it should choose me... And choose me it did.

I had been eyeing this one jacket for a day now and something just kept pulling me back towards it. It was from a shop on the same street as our hostel so I had been passing it a few times a day. What caught my attention was the cut. I hadn't seen it in any of the other locations. It had a cowl neck line and an asymmetric body. My jacket needs to have personality and it needs to be unique. I finally decided to go into the shop and was immediately treated like family. This wonderfully tall Australian woman who spoke beautiful Italian said a little phrase that would forever change my wardrobe game: 'why don't you try it on'. She sized me up, reached for the appropriate jacket then held it up for me to slide in to. It was like holding a treat up to a puppy. Everything that happened next was like an out of body experience happening in slow motion. As the leather caressed each inch of my bare skin I knew in that moment that I was home. It fit like a glove. A glove made out of a baby's bottom. It was like butter; so smooth. She started to explain how this leather would age and wear well. How it will have so much character. Well, that was a wrap, I was a goner. I almost forgot to ask how much it was before I bought it (I know this is 'treat yo self' but I'm not that crazy). When I came back that evening to pick it up her husband was there too, a beautiful dark olive skinned man with so much spunk. The four of us chatted about life and traveling for a solid half hour and it was in that moment that I knew I had a made a 'fine' decision.

Treat Yo Self!

Old Farts

I had every intention of trying to check out the night life in Florence. After all, this trip is supposed to be where idery meets opportunity. Now, when you start your morning off with a few cups of cappuccino (do remember I do not drink coffee), pounds of some of the best carbs in the world, liters of wine and aperol spritzes, then add miles of walking, photo taking (and photo bombing) and even more drinking, by the time 8pm rolls around, all I wanna do is pass out. But... When in Rome! (I realize that I'm not actually in Rome, but let's not get caught up in semantics. You get my point).

Our second day in Florence was filled with all of the above. One of the most amazing things about this town is you can literally walk everywhere. To this westerner, the dots on the map looked very far away and my immediate reaction was 'what bus do we take?' So color me surprised when we walked the majority of the city in half the day, stopping for gelato (again, should be had at every meal) and vino whenever possible. I had the best aperol spritz from Cafe del Borgo, which was a recommendation by a friend and is now one of my favorite places (the fly server, Marco, could have something to do with it as well). Marco told us about this great panini and vino place around the corner, All'Antico Vinaio. It was ridiculous. The picture speaks for itself.

So the moral of this very long story is this. Even after all of this over indulgence, I was still determined to not be an old fart and at least make an attempt to throw some shapes on the dance floor, Italian style (is that what the kids are saying? I don't think I used that right). After a long nap and almost changing our minds multiple times, we sucked it up and went to the local discoteca around midnight. We'd been told that this place is where all the young American girls go to get hit on by Italian men (Mr. Traveller saw much potential in this situation). As soon as we walked outside, I knew that this would be a bust. It was a Tuesday night, I was exhausted and MT was trying to thwart off a cold. Nothing good could come of this. But again, we trudged on. We trudged the half a mile over to Club Twice, only to stand outside and see 5 people inside... Three of which most definitely worked there. The only thing left to do was turn around and walk right back to the hostel. We thought we might stop at one of the bars on the way back and at least attempt to salvage this outing, but as we approached our last option, we paused, looked at the folks standing around and kept on walking. We arrived back at the hostel approximately 25 min after we left. Sometimes there is just no fighting the inevitable.

Hostel Cherry

When I think of the word 'hostel', I picture Jay Hernandez in the epically horrible horror film. For most Americans, that film is as close to a hostel as they will ever come, as we are a culture stupefied by fear.

Now, I wouldn't say that I was hesitant to embark on a hostel adventure; weary might be more apt. Either way I knew that I would eventually know the feeling of a mixed dorm, shared bathroom, multi lingual lifestyle. I just had to find opportunity and motive. And who better to do that with than Mr. Traveler himself.

We decided to do the ultimate traveler move and just find a hostel when we get there. We had looked up a few places to get the lay of the land, but ultimately we were to rely on his passable Italian and my sense of direction.

After arriving in Florence we immediately set out on our journey, looking for doors that could also be hostels. I was no help with this because I couldn't figure out how to differentiate between a place of business and a BnB. Once we got in the swing of things a lovely pattern started to develop: hit the buzzer, door opens, walk up at least 2 flights of stairs, asks for vacancies, get rejected and walk back down. Now, this would have been fine had it not been for the 30-40 lb bag on my back. After hearing no from the third place, I had to start waiting at the bottom of the stairs until I got the green light. It finally came at a place called David's Inn.

David's Inn is exactly what I needed my first hostel experience to be. It's fairly well groomed, a good size, and disease free. In our 6 person mixed dorm there are 3 other people here... All men. Another American and two Spanish speakers (I finally get to show off). Nobody snores and they are all very nice. For a cherry popping experience, I must say we done good.

Roma

Got off the train at 11am and we hit the ground running. Ran into some trouble at our BnB, or our first BnB. The woman thought she had a room for the night even though she couldn't find the keys. After fighting with her brother she gave us her keys and we walked, bags in hand, across the street, up the stairs and in the miniature elevator, only to open 3 separate doors, which were all filled with other people's belongings. We had to trek all the way back to the woman, wait for her to realize she made a mistake and then spend the next 15 minutes on the phone trying to find us a new place. We finally end up about a 5 min walk away. After getting settled we hit the town. We are 2 minutes away from the Vatican. We went to Trevi fountain and St. Peters square, the Pantheon and more. Every time you turn a corner a masterpiece is awaiting you. I feel like a junky trying pump this towns history through my veins.

We ate and drank the night away. After a really intense game of beer pong (don't know when this became an international sport), a beer pong tattoo, a cool Aussie who surprisingly dropped the N-bomb, some new friends and the comfort of hookah, we finally made it back to the room and knocked out until the next afternoon. Now that's what I call a welcome wagon.