Leapfrog

Florence is lovely, as all the places I’ve visited have been. Behind the pervasive scent of urine that all European cities have Florence is something special. It’s not the sparkling designer store fronts or the vein-like pattern of the little streets but rather the the art history that feels present in every moment of this pulsing city that make it feel alive and unique.

The trip from Rome to the central train station was smooth, and my hostel is a 5 minute walk away, even with a quick stop for some delicious gelato, a necessary pause in the afternoon of every visitor to this city. I spent a little bit of the afternoon walking around near my hostel and ended up by the Duomo. It was a beautiful introduction to the city, just happening on this gorgeous chess board skinned building, and I felt very lucky to have stumbled on it.

I decided to spend my first full day in the city completely devoted to its art. I planned on going to the Uffizi Gallery and the Bargello Museum, which doesn’t sound like a packed schedule, but I was confident I would have plenty to do. I started at the Bargello, it has a more modest collection, and I had pre-booked more Uffizi ticket for the afternoon. (A process I highly recommend, 4 euros made the difference between an hour to an hour and a half wait and 5 minutes in line) The Bargello is a really nice little museum, full of sculpture and some religious artifacts. I took my sketchbook and spent the morning sketching masterworks indoors and out. It was wonderful.

The Uffizi was my entire afternoon. It felt as overwhelming as The Louvre, even though it is much smaller in scale, but I didn’t get the feeling it was any smaller in ambition. I walked in with the intention of moving slowly and purposefully through the galleries thinking, writing, and sketching as I went. I was very quickly overpowered by the weight of what I was experiencing, the generations of craftsmen and artists whose only surviving memory was the work I was walking by. My eyes glazed over quickly, and while I kept moving through the museum at my own slow pace and thinking, my mind was inside and outside of the art at the same time. It was a very odd experience. I was still kind of groggy as I headed out, so I got a little lost on my way back to the hostel, but I found my way, as I always have over the past few weeks.

On my way back in I stopped by the front desk to ask for directions to the nearest grocery store. After a quick rest and a change of shoes I headed back out to pick up some essentials for the next couple of days.

Day two in Florence was just as nice as days .5 and 1. I walked to the Boboli gardens, the gardens behind the Palazzo Pitti, which I didn’t visit, but I did spend plenty of time in its garden. The grumpy lady at the entrance didn’t accept my student I.D. as proof that I was under 18, she seemed very suspicious all around, but I handed her my passport and she begrudgingly let me in for free. This green space is absolutely amazing, full of little secret passageways and fountains and spectacular views. I spent several hours just wandering around and occasionally resting on the plentiful shaded benches, taking in the gorgeous Italian weather, hot sun with just a hint of a cooling breeze. A+ from me.

I also took this time to explore the neighborhood on the other side of the Ponte Vecchio, that famous Florentine bridge covered in gold smith’s shops. There were many fewer people over here, which was splendid, and I got the chance to hear some Italian being spoken again, which was really nice.

On my way back to the hostel I walked by the Accademia, where the David is housed, but the line was prohibitively long so I didn’t pop in. I will attempt another visit in the next couple of days.

One thing I haven’t mentioned in the blog is the constant military presence I’ve seen so far. In every major city I’ve visited there have been armed soldiers in train stations and places where large numbers of people gather. Their presence has never made me feel more or less safe, but seeing the uniforms, rigid postures, and large weapons is certainty striking, and a reminder that these nations feel very threatened.

Day 3:

I spent the morning in Zagarolo, the small town I was staying in outside of Rome. It was completely charming with its worn wooden benches, sunset colored houses, unique doors, and cobblestone streets. If someone sent you a postcard with a picture of “Italia!” on it, that picture could have been taken in Zagarolo. The people there spoke Italian differently from those in the city, harsher, more percussively, almost like Russian or German. There were old men joking in familiar doorways and ladies wearing heels far taller than they ought to toting bags full of groceries that they had just bought from the argumentative butcher and sweet noodle lady. The excitement of the day seemed to be a small blimp-shaped balloon flying around in the central courtyard, all the young people were gathered around watching it sway with the wind. I couldn’t help but wonder, “who lives in Zagarolo, besides the people that have always lived in Zagarolo.” I couldn’t give myself an answer.

I walked back to my hostel and was driven to the train station so I could catch my train to Termini, but not before signing the guest book and being lovingly bullied into a selfie with the staff. When I got into Rome I had one simple mission– find my new hostel. The directions seemed simple enough so a got on the right bus and waited with the attention that all travelers know for my stop, checking and rechecking my screen shot directions to make sure I had the right Piazza. I got off the bus and crossed the Tiber, quickly finding the hostel, making my way inside, settling in, and planning a quiet afternoon activity.

I decided to just walk along the river for a little while, it was a beautiful day and the Tiber is a lovely shade of pea green crossed with milky jade. I strolled along until a came across a startlingly large number of tourists and decided to follow the stream. And it turns out that I crossed country borders and went into The Vatican City. I wanted to go to The Vatican museums, but the lines were just crazy, so I wandered around the perimeter for a little while and then headed back. I really enjoyed watching the nuns and priests slowly proceed through the “Holy Door,” their solemn march was a beautiful contrast to the camera-toting bright-color-wearing tourists fluttering all around.

Day 4:

I chose to spend my last full day in Rome wandering around Villa Borghese, a park in the north part of the old city  that Papa recommended I check out. It is a lovely Park, and there was a good mix of tourists and Romans enjoying the greenery on such a lovely Sunday morning. I spent a couple of hours just wandering around, but my legs started to complain about the many miles I’ve asked of them over the past few weeks, so I decided to head towards the Galleria Borghese and then back to the hostel. I walked over to that little museum only to discover that the museum was booked until a week from the next Monday! I had no idea that it was such a popular spot. As I sat outside trying to enjoy the warm weather and soak up the art from the outside a lady came up to me and said that she had an extra ticket that I could have. It turns out she had pre-booked for a sister that wasn’t going to show up and I happened to be in front of her in line. I went in and enjoyed the beautiful museum, thanking the extraordinarily kind Canadian on my way in. The building was full of Bernini’s and the ceilings were elaborately decorated. It was amazing, and I am so grateful that I was able to experience it.

I walked back to the hostel and had a relaxing afternoon catching up with my people from home and looking into Florence, my next stop.

Oh Roma, how pretty you are. And how filled with tourists. Well, that one is partly on me, I spent my first full day in Rome hitting all of the big sites, The Colosseum, Roman Forum, Pantheon, and Trevi fountain. It was a lot, and I walked all of it, but these were the sites that I felt were must-sees for my visit to Rome, so I wanted to cross them off my list. These places do feel old and powerful, and I don’t think I could visit Rome and not see them, but the tourists were overwhelming. There were just so many people who wanted to take pictures of their faces in front of inspiring pieces of history. I’m hoping that my next couple of days here will be spent in quieter more local-friendly zones. Rome feels like a completely different from the cities I’ve visited so far; it’s the first place I’ve actively felt would be better to share with someone else.

Wandering around gardens and walking on cobblestones that people having been wandering around and stepping on for thousands of years is a very odd experience. I think I was expecting to feel more connected to the past, but instead I felt simply distant from the present, sort of rootless in time. I had less of that feeling at the Pantheon, which seemed like every other fancy church to me. I still think spending time with the historic sites was a good use of my day.

When I got back to the hostel I got to work downloading my photos and checking in with my parentals because I knew it would soon be pizza night, which was great. We all got a chance to make a pizza and stick it in the wood fired oven. Tasty and fun! At first I felt awkward, I am much younger than the other people staying here, and I was one of the only one’s not drinking, but I started talking to a very nice Philippine- German lady who immediately offered me her contact information for a trip to Germany and potentially a place to stay. I informed her I was heading away from the country, but I appreciated the gesture.

The train from Genoa to Rome was very simple, it is a direct route, which was nice, because last time I changed trains was the taxi incident. The tracks follow along the coastline, so I spent the trip watching the ocean and dozing. The countryside is beautiful, small bright red poppies grow all along the track, the fields are bright green, and the water is a pure and strong blue. As soon as I got into Rome yesterday I hopped on another train, this time a local one headed for Zagarolo, the little town 30 minutes outside Rome where I would spend my first two nights. It’s a cute little place, and the hostel here has won international friendliness awards. I tried calling the hostel to pick me up from the station, a free service they provide, but the call wouldn’t go through, so I headed into a nearby newsstand. As soon as I said “Scusi” the kind gentleman looked up, said “Wikihostel!”, grinned, and pulled out his phone, giving them a call for me. 5 minutes later a very sweet lady from the hostel showed up and drove me to the hostel, gave me a tour, and showed me my room. I settled in for the evening and got some work done. I ordered some roast chicken and potatoes from the hostels recommendation and it appeared in 10 minutes, delicious and warm. After a chat with my Canadian dorm mate, I went to sleep.

p.s. More photos in the gallery! 🙂

I had an amazing day in Genoa. This is a very nice town, although I must admit the tiny roads freak me out a little bit, the buildings loom overhead in an almost menacing way. I woke up and leisurely ate breakfast at my hostel, nothing fancy, but enough to start the day. Then, with nothing more than a vaguely google mapped out plan I headed out, ready to explore Genoa. (Or Genova. I’m not totally sure which I should use…)

I wasn’t really sure where I was going so I went where I knew, Via Garibaldi, the main historic street in Genoa and a street I took to get to my hostel. As I was strolling along the cobblestone street I realized I was passing one of the museums I wanted to visit, the Palazzo Rosso. I hadn’t realized that the Palazzo Rossa, Palazzo Bianco, and Palazzo something Italian with a T were all linked and accessible by the same ticket, so I decided to start my day there. I walked up to the ticket lady and floundered my way through a half english half terrible Italian conversation, getting to the point that because I was 17, my admission was free. Yay! One odd thing I’ve noticed is that none of the museums I’ve visited have asked for my ID, save The Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam and The Musee Beaux Arts in Lyon. It’s not like I look particularly young for my age, but even if I try to hand it to the ticket person, they just smile and wave me away.

The palaces were beautiful, all three of them have been converted into museums, mainly focusing on, of course, old Italian masters. Walking through almost deserted galleries spending time with masterpieces, writing, and sketching was the perfect way to spend the morning. It helps that these palaces have courtyards and gardens that let the warm Italian sun stream in.

After a quick phone consultation I made my best guess as to the way to the aquarium, the real star of the show in Genoa. It is by far the most expensive thing I’ve done on my travels, the tickets for adults (anyone over the age of 12) are 25 euros, but it was well worth it. As I excitedly texted my mom, they have MANATEES. Sea cows are a favorite of mine, and being able to see them up close and in action was amazing. Walking in and the first display being of seahorses didn’t hurt either. The whole time I was there I felt nostalgic for the Baltimore aquarium visits of my childhood, the dark rooms, blue tanks, and fishy smell are instant triggers. I loved being in that aquarium, and being in that space again made feel feel peaceful and comfortable.

After a lengthy stay at the underwater zoo I muddled my way through ordering some very late lunch and headed back to my hostel. I made it safe and sound without consulting any sort of directions/ map. My sense of direction may no longer be my biggest weakness! I can learn!

I spent my evening editing videos and planning for Rome, with a quick break to walk through some of Genoa’s old streets and grab some pizza for dinner. For me, this was an ideal day.

p.s. More photos in the gallery!

Usually I don’t write on long train days, but this trip was particularly exciting. I had to get up on the early side as my train left at 8:30 and I planned on walking to the train station. The walk to Part Dieu was really nice, Lyon is different at 7:30am, softer, and I got to watch the last of the sunrise trail off from the tops of the tallest buildings. I think one of the reasons I liked Lyon so much was that it didn’t feel like a place where people survive as Paris did, but like a place where people live.

I picked up my ticket and got on the train, found my seat and settled in to do some quality scenery watching and dosing. The landscape was beautiful, with green plains and adorable little towns that eventually turned into snow capped mountains and yellow mustard fields.

One odd moment on that journey was the border crossing. We were all asked to produce our documents, not the most polite police officer I’ve ever interacted with, but just fine. The man sitting across from me on the train could not produce his identification so the police swept him and his stuff up and whisked him off the train and down underground.

The train got to the Turin station and I got off and grabbed a cappuccino, knowing that I had an hour wait before the local train to Genoa departed. About 30 minutes before my train to Genoa was supposed to leave I went to the board to watch for the departures information. I waited for a little while but my train wasn’t showing up so I asked a lovely older couple. They were very patient with my “Scusi…? Genova?” and quickly launched into english. They were also confused so the husband went to check the schedule for me and reported back that I needed to be at a different train station. I hadn’t realized that the arrival and departure train stations were different. WHOOPS! The lady said, “It is too late, you must catch taxi.” so I rushed out side and grabbed a taxi saying desperately, “Porta Nuova” through his window. The drive wasn’t long and I made my train in plenty of time, but it’s the first time something really could have gone wrong.

The walk to my hostel from the Genoa station was easy and I got a good look at the city. It’s really beautiful and only smells like pee in some places, a real winner for European cities. 🙂

p.s. There are more photos in the gallery. Fun fact- the people from Lyon call themselves the Lyonnaise, and yes, that does rhyme with mayonnaise.

I spent my second full day in Lyon in the city’s main garden/ public space.

Parc de la Tête d’Or is absolutely astonishing, especially when you see in ideal conditions as I did. You walk through grand black and gold gates and into a magical green kingdom with a beautiful clear blue lake and children laughing. It’s wonderful. I spent hours wandering through the jardin botanique, jardin zoologique, and the big green fields filled with French with baguettes. Sunday morning picnics seem to be a tradition in Lyon. The park was filled with joggers, bikers, roller skaters and strollers (people who stroll, but there were also the baby-holding variety.) The sun was warm and the breeze was cool, a perfect Sunday morning in the park. One of the delights of the park for me was a little exhibit on urban bees by a running path, with several hives in full swing. I love watching bees buzz around completely busy and focused, and seeing them sparks good memories from my time as a beekeeper at Park. I didn’t stay for too long because I didn’t have an epi-pen with me and it’s best to be careful with allergies. It is hard to imagine anything more pleasant than sitting in the warm sun in a beautiful garden in the south of France with nothing pressing on your time.

The garden took up most of my day, but I wanted to see the museum that my father had recommended, so I started that walk. I couldn’t find the museum as there are a few schools with similar names in the area, and I was starting to get tired from the 8 miles I had already walked that day so I headed back to my hostel.

I spent my third full day in Lyon catching up on the logistics of backpack living and as a rest day. That meant doing laundry, which was a bewildering process as I had no sense of the vocabulary involved in a French self-service coin-op laundry, but I made it work. The walk to the “laverie” also gave me a chance to explore a little more of the neighborhood around my hostel. Sitting in the chair of a laundromat for a couple hours wasn’t my first choice of a way to spend an afternoon, but it was peaceful and I got to listen to my music.