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A vineyard to your left, a city to your right. Continuing on with my being difficult, I was less than plussed with the idea of us going to Rome for x number of days. I wanted to see the Amalfi Coast. I wanted to see a beach and lay on it. I was in Italy - I wanted to take my perception of Italy in while I could.Bags were packed, sleep wiped out of our eyes and a piece of coffee cake was in our stomach - we were off to experience the city that is Florence. I underestimated this place - it had more history to it than you could imagine. The beauty was top notch and made only that much better knowing that we had all day to take it in - and we could walk. My pants were becoming increasingly looser, yes! A four hour wait to enter the science museum to see the famous David was not in order. Why wait that long when you can see replica statues through out the city? Views were seen better from up high at Piazza Michelangelo - a short hike up a steep hill. The contrast of colours between the rustic red buildings and the vibrant lush vineyards and farms that surrounded the city was what Tuscany was to me. I was mesmerized. After shared panini from a street vendor, our mission was to head back to the hostel to grab our bags and begin our next trip to Rome. I wished I was as excited as he was. Who would have known what was in store for us? Posted by Bella at 10:28 PM# No leaning tower for you! The saying "when it rains it pours" was first said by a person who experienced the downfall in Tuscany. The person was bang on - it poured and it poured some more. Today would be the worst day of our trip. I was cold, I was bitter, I was tired and my feet hurt. I was pmsing and you did not want to get in my way.We managed to catch the first train from Padova to Florence and we were on a mission. Padova to Florence, Florence to Sienna, Sienna back to Florence and then Florence to Pisa then back to Florence. Thank goodness for the Eurorail pass; 700 Euros well spent. Although our intentions were in the right place, the Gods were acting against us. We would not see what we wanted to see, our tensions would ride our coat tails the whole day and taxis would hate us and would attempt to spray water on us at every opportunity. The hostel was a plethora of emotions. I was mad that it wasn't the Sheraton and nervous that I would have another naked German lady sleep above me. I just wanted to be comfortable and safe where I was staying, not be concerned about getting up at the crack of dawn to fetch a piece of the famous coffee cake the hostel made every morning. Our bags were put in a "secure" room and we were back to catch the train with our borrowed umbrella from the hostel. It was raining like I had never seen rain before. A two block walk back to the train station, we were soon off to Sienna, the second destination on our day excursion. Sienna was dark and wet and immediately gave off bad vibes from the lack of buses and taxis which passed the bus station. We stood in a bus shelter for over an hour, waiting for some form of transportation which would bring us into town. After the frustration hit the point of insane, we managed to find a taxi and shared it with a girl on her way into town. This would be the last taxi we would see that day. Our mission was simple - we need to see the Duomo. We were pointed in what seemed like the right direction and hustled in order to complete the days list of activities. A picture here, another one there - I posed for one only to find out I had the most sour look on my face. I was unimpressed beyond doubt. We headed back to the train station in order to make the next connection to Pisa. We stood at bus stops and ran around looking for taxis. We had to walk back down the streets to the bottom of what seemed like a colossal mountain. After my knee giving out, pants soaked with rain, umbrella caving under the pressure of wind - we finally made it but not in time to make it to Pisa. No leaning tower for us. Back in Florence, dinner was needed and the only place which would do that for us was a little well known place recommended by the locals. Later, a walk through the city, over the famous bridge, to the gelato shoppe and back to bed. We could explore the city better tomorrow - we had all day before the train to our next destination left. Posted by Bella at 10:07 PM# Destination: Not this place, but it will do. We were up earlier than anyone else in the city, and it was obvious by how quiet everything was. The city bus was suppose to be at our stop just before 6 a.m. but never showed up. In a panic we began walking to the train station - a walk that should take roughly 40 minutes on a good day - but add a couple more when a backpack the size of an adolescent child is strapped to your back. We were cold, nervous, excited and hungry all in the same minute. We were going to miss the train we didn't book reservations for.A bus finally catches up to us and we hop on only to get off three stops later at the train station, unbeknownst to us that we would be right back on it in a matter of minutes. After hurrying inside, standing in line and realizing the bitter reality that is a full train, we were turned away in search of the next best thing: a Greyhound to Florence. Who would have known that the Italians have never heard of such a thing. Back to the hostel to rebook our cancelled beds, to dump our bags and figure out the day plan. A tour of Padova was in order; a picnic lunch, shopping the street vendors and taking in the beauty that is this beautiful authentic town. Sure, our itinerary was off by a day now, but we were able to take in everything this town had to offer us. The next day would send us to Florence, Sienna and Pisa. If we had looked into a crystal ball and seen the outcome of the roadblocks ahead of us, we might have done things differently. Posted by Bella at 10:42 PM# Already making a movie about it... The unfortunate part about this movie is that this one's true.Posted by Bella at 5:39 PM# When in Venice, do as the Venitians do. I was warned of the smell of the city. Garbage was suppose to be plaguing the murky waters, the sinking city was to be expensive and incredible. What I learned though was that everyone has their own perception of how things are. Some people loved it, others hated but all that mattered was my own opinion.Everything about Venice was the way I thought it was. The ocean water spilled over the sidewalks, the residents knew their hangout spots and stayed close, and stray cats roamed free. We had a one way ticket around the city in a boat but got off at various spots to check the city out. Pictures were taken, overpriced chocolate bars were purchased and a pre-packed lunch was ate. This is exactly what Venice was suppose to be. Because Venice is known for it's canals and singing boatsmen, a trip in a gondola could not and was not to be passed up. Batering the price only got us a small deal, but a deal nonetheless. Although he didn't sing he told us the reality that is the sinking city. Traveling down each canal it was obvious that the buildings were rotting because of the wood used when building these houses. If only they knew then what we know now. Although one would think there would be lots to explore and see when in this ancient city, one would also find themselves wandering through the streets lost for things to do. Sure, we could purchase some Murano glass or see a street performer who really just wanted my money - but the reality was this: if you don't want to spend oodles of Euros, taking pictures and window shopping was what was in order for your trip. Some may think that's boring - but some may walk away with the most interesting trinkets and stories of what their perception of Venice was. A place I will probably never visit again, but a place that will forever remain locked in my mind as a provocative yet innocent city. The train back to Padova was long but short enough that you couldn't get comfortable enough to have a snooze. Dinner was on the menu next and a pizza place down the street and around the corner to the right was the choice. Posted by Bella at 2:45 AM# A new day, a new scene. Milan nights are funny. I was expecting something extraordinary to occur. Something to announce to me that I was finally here, I wondered if it was worth it - I hoped it was. Maybe it was just where the hotel was; down the street and under a tunnel from the train station. I was excited about a floor to ceiling window but less than excited when I opened it. Rows of clothes lines and the sounds of a restaurant kitchen just below us. Luckily I was tired enough that the sounds didn't matter.As hard as I did, I couldn't figure out the attraction to this fashionista capital. I saw nothing attractive in this city besides the Louis Vutton store which was only a short subway ride from the hotel and was more than happy to board the train to Padova, the city which turned out to be my second favorite destination on this epic journey of mine. There is a saying that goes "it's not what it looks like on the outside, it's what inside that matters", and that was definitely the motto to fly with when arriving in this city. Luckily the scenery did change and it turned into the most authentic Italian town I will have seen on the trip. With the backpack attached tightly to my hips, we boarded a city bus and were later graced by five drunken students who would later kiss me on the cheek after finding out we were Canadian. Couldn't have been the Canadian flag... Although warned that we would be sleeping in hostels, in the back of my mind I heard "hotels". Each time I was given the warning that there might be communal showers, bunk beds and other guests snoring, I pictured a penthouse suite at the Hyatt with an individually wrapped chocolate on the pillow - my eyes must have grown tenfold when shown to the arrangements at this true hostel. The tears which were swelling up in my eyes must have been obvious to everyone around me. I don't know what I was more afraid about, the make shift toilets which were a single hole in the ground, or the nude German lady sleeping on the top bunk. Walking through the streets which looked only like cobblestone alley-ways, passing authentic Italian gentlemen with their lady of the evening and attempting to decipher the map which was scribbled on by the clerk at the hostel. The search for food seemed like an uphill battle. But this was ok. I was in a new place, opportunities knocked whenever we turned down a new street. the bizarre and the wonderful happened that evening - and it was a wonderfully expensive dining experience. That was our first meal together, also the most expensive. Posted by Bella at 10:46 PM# A friendly Norwegian showed me the way. He was a godsend starting at the halfway mark of our plane trip to Milan.I didn't take any notice of him when I took the window seat beside him other than that he was blond and didn't look Italian. He slept most of the way, making it hard for me to escape to the washroom. I had to find ways of not thinking about relieving myself after all the Coke I drank. I knew I shouldn't have bought the third bottle. He finally woke up and asked me where I was going. His accent was hard to make out - I couldn't figure out where he was from and I was almost frightened by someone talking to me on a plane. But, it was english he was speaking to me so I thought I couldn't do him or myself any harm by talking conversing with him in my native tongue, knowing it was challenging for him. His name was Palle and he was from Norway. He took cheap flights from Norway to Switzerland to ski, Italy to eat and drink, and France to soak up the sun. His job allowed him the luxury of taking an unusual amount of time away from work, but still be paid as if he was there. He sounded important in the food chain, but he was trying to impress me with his stories of travels. That or I was jealous of his ability to hop on a $13 cross-European flight at a moments notice. After gathering enough information about me, he was amiable enough to say he would help and protect me until he saw me off in Milan. What was the worst that could happen, I thought. The list was endless. The rain was falling hard, the sky was pitch dark and we were landing in the fashion capital of the world. Palle became my guide, my forty minute hero and a much better resource than my Lonely Planet's Guide to Italy. He looked after my bag while I rushed to the washroom in the arrival gate, showed me to the bus which would take me to the train station in Milan where I needed to end up, he taught me how to say thank you in Italian, gratzie! so I could thank the bus driver, and told me of the crazyness that is driving and parking in Italy. His lessons helped a great deal, in more ways than I could express. Dead tired, hungry to the point of starvation and as excited as a girl on her first date, I was set out again - backpack on my back, to find my hotel and my friend. It only took a single knock on the door to know I was in the right place. An animated and very western "Yahoo" echoed from the hotel room. I was finally here. Posted by Bella at 6:24 PM# Someone start doing the anti-rain dance. I want blue sky and hot weather; Tofino has exactly one month to get to that. 
Posted by Bella at 11:01 PM# And it suddenly became real. Everything about arriving in Copenhagen was confusing; the language was unknown either when printed on a sign or spoken by a passerby. I definitely wasn't in America anymore.My connection was ontime, but still made it so I had more time than bearable until my next flight to my final destination. I pass through customs but not without being eyed by the two officers behind thick glass. I was sure they were mafia. Maybe they were talking about how horrible my hair looked, or that my make up was smudged from sleeping on the plane. Maybe they were plotting ways to mess with me seeing how I was just a girl in a new country, looking lost and tired from my 9 hour flight. They finally let me through, but not before I was able to throw in the word "eh" into a couple sentences when they asked me a question. Copenhagen was beautiful. I was sure of it. If the people were any indication of how beautiful their country was, this was the place of Gods and Goddesses. It was cruel and unfair to throw me into this. I was an obvious outsider with my striped blond and chestnut coloured hair, fake tan and Canadian bag strapped to my back. Maybe the advanced hiking boots indicated it to them too, I was so blinded by the blue eyes and blond hair that I hadn't had the chance to notice what they were noticing on me. A sample of Britney Spears' new purfume "Curious" was handed to me by a petite Asian girl. She definitely wasn't Scandinavian, she had the accent of an Asian. I was on to her. I took it from her and thanked her; she bowed. I left. The next store had a sign in the window indicating the rules of purchasing the fabulous rattle snake skin pumps: "Not legal in these countries: Italy, United States, Canada, France, Britian". I gracefully took the hint, I wasn't purchasing shoes in this airport. Besides, my feet would most likely have not fit in them after all the walking through the airport in my hardly broken-in hiking boots. Chocolate coloured hardwood floors were laid throughout the whole building. It was stunning; in fact I was afraid to walk on it. It was modern, new and easy on the eyes, everything Ikea is - but better and more reliable. Windows offered views of a hazy outside. I had the option of leaving the airport to see the city and enjoy Denmark for four hours, but decided to purchase the postcards instead. It was cheaper and probably photographed better. Besides, I helped the economy a tad with the swipe of my Visa. I stood waiting in the central part of the airport for my next flight information to appear. It was situated in the intersection of 4 shoppes: a bar serving delicious looking apple green drinks, the convenience store where I purchased my postcards and a bottle of Cocca-Cola (I hadn't eaten since leaving Seattle. My appetite left me when I saw the three year old child beside me lose his chicken cordon-bleu being served by the flight attendants), a store similar to Marks and Spencer where I was bowed at, and a tie kiosk employing three of the most sickingly beautiful people I had ever seen. The flight information appeared on the screen and I was out of the intersection, avoiding a collision with the other travelers at all costs. The waiting area for my next SAS flight was grim and bleak, an extraordinary change from the main airport. Although, I was graced with a sudden influx of Italian speaking people. My heart skipped a beat as various men passed me; it was a real Italian really going to Italy. Of course, there were older men gawking over me and the single state I was in, but the older women caught my eye. They were so old yet so full of life. They talked to one another as if it was their last flight and they needed to tell each other everything they knew from their life until now. The boarding line began and I joined them. Although the offer of 300 Euros and a flight to Milan on their next available flight (roughly seven hours from my boarding time) sounded appealing, the thought of being in Italy was even better. Besides, it wasn't my issue they overbooked the flight... Posted by Bella at 7:56 AM# It started with a southern drawl in a busy airport... Everything about that backpack was awkward, from the way it hugged my hips to the way it sat below my ass when I walked. Of course, I didn't experiment with it before I left for my adventure, I just assumed everything would go ok and it would be better than what I was offered by my brother. Never assume. The token Canadian flag was the perfect necessity sewn on the back of the bag. Seeing other people with this flag was curious to me, were they really Canadian or Americans traveling in disguise? Whatever the reason, it was almost comforting to see. This was a comfort I would grow closer to in the next three weeks.I checked my out-of control backpack about five hours before I needed to at the Scandinavian desk. The lady behind the counter was blond, middle-aged and had an accent. This threw me off a bit - she had a southern drawl to her voice and was clearly not Scandinavian as I wished she would be. "Welcome to Scandinavian Airlines. May I have your ticket please?" I eagerly had it waiting for her. My hands shaking a bit and the butterflies in my stomach dancing down to my feet and back up to my neck. "Is this all you are checking in, dear?" I nod and smile with my eyes. She smiles back and hands me the ripped portion of my ticket. "Your flight leaves 5 hours from now and you will need to be in the other building across the tarmac. There's signs everywhere around this place if you get lost ". I smiled, still shaking a little. "Is there anything else I can do for you, dear?" she asked. "I think I'm ok, thank you for asking. Can you tell me when I am going to see my bag again?" I asked nervously. I was more afraid of losing the new clothes I purchased before my trip, rather than my bag itself. Maybe it was another comfort thing I needed to hear from her. She seemed to know the answers. She knew where I was going, where I was suppose to board the plane, when I needed to board the plane and that my ticket voucher meant I didn't have to check in when I arrived in Copenhagen. And to me, at the time, that was all I needed to know in order to trust her. "You won't see that bag there until you reach your final stop, Milan I believe." She was smart and I liked this. I was impressed with the most random things. Maybe I was in a daze as to what was going on at that moment. I was in the United States. I was flying into something that would become one of my most memorable experiences thus far in my life. "Is there anything else?" She wasn't trying to rush me out of the check-in counter, that's for sure. There was no one behind me. I gather only eager people check in 5 hours early. "Thanks, no. Um - have a good day. Thank you!" I replied like a high school cheerleader. I pick up my carry-on MEC bag and begin walking down the hallway towards the busier part of the airport. Over the next couple of weeks, MEC bags worn by Canadian travelers alike, and the royal blue and white logo SAS has employed will be a great comfort to me. I learned that when flying into territory not known, seeing tidbits of home are exciting. I would spend the next 3 hours searching through the airport looking for things to do, people to check out, chocolate bars to stock up on and Halls throat candies to suck on so I could get rid of the head cold I feel coming on. Everything about the Sea-Tac airport was confusing. The air smelled of construction and the dust it kicked up, and the various passengers, pilots and random other people were in a constant rush. There was nothing slow and calm about this place. I took my time wandering through stores, through hallways and eventually through the terminal to the next building which required a 3 minute high speed underground train ride. The box-like building was even more quiet than I expected it to. I had hoped to get some reading in but was more enthralled with the parrot-green Pierre Belvedere writing book I picked up before I left home. My intention was to have this book filled with all my stories, thoughts, observations, and emails of people who I've met along the way. I was shortly on my way. The story had just begun... Posted by Bella at 7:17 AM# There was a time... Taking me to the airport was the easy part. Getting me to settle down was another.I was going somewhere where I had only gone in my dreams. The chance of a lifetime to eat as they do, see the things they do everyday, and experience life as it is in the simple yet complicated, Italy. What was about to happen would change my life forever. Conflicts with cherished friends, understanding a new way of life, trying to fathom the appreciation of large sunglasses, tangled hair and skinny jeans was just the froth of what was about to happen. It began with a two hour flight and some M&M's in my backpocket... Posted by Bella at 11:40 PM# Q. You can read my latest piece here.Posted by Bella at 5:44 PM# Monday. I bought a $4 tin of sodium free tuna this weekend and holy crap did it suck. Apparently the sodium makes it taste good. Damn. So much for cutting back on my salt intake...Have you ever stood in front of your closet doors, throwing every shirt/pants/skirt/sweater on your bed/floor until you finally find the right ensemble for the day? Welcome to my morning - every morning. What sucks is that I have the same clothes and have for the past couple of years. I might add the occasional random piece of something from a high end store on recommendation from the quirky size .5 saleschick but in the end, my wardrobe is still something of a gross sham. Oh how I need new clothes. On that note... I can't wait to wear my Nine West sandals again. I stare at them each morning before putting my real shoes on (the tall Hush Puppy boots which are scuffed to the nines) fantasizing about the next time I get to wear them. How silly is that, I have quick love affairs with my shoes every morning. Posted by Bella at 7:54 AM# My random banter for tonite. a. Gangs are a problem in this cityb. The gangs we hear about are most commonly Asian gangs c. The mayor says he wants more provincial funding to help fight gangs in our city d. More funding isn't going to solve the situation at hand The gangs we hear about are Asian - not Caucasian, not African-American, not Jewish. He says we shouldn't classify these gangs as just Asian and that the term only sensationalizes the issue at hand. But when that is the nationality we are told about, why can't the news report it and tell it like it is? Posted by Bella at 10:23 PM# Blind students must pass driver's education. I like to think of most people as equals but this is ridiculous.Posted by Bella at 6:08 PM# Diggin' the chik-lit books of late.  Can you believe it dad? I'm reading! I'm actually reading! She's hilarious. Those bloggers turned REAL writers are somethin' else... update: In a rather odd twist of events, I have taken to reading. Odd - especially for those who know you: I have the attention span of a goldfish. The book I'm reading, erm, enjoying - LOVING right now is called "Bitter is the New Black - Confessions of a condescending, egomaniacal, self-centered Smart-ass, or why you should never carry a Prada Bag to the unemployment office" by fellow blogger, Jen Lancaster. Seriously I don't think I have laughed so hard while reading a book. Why? Because every word she speaks is how I think. It's marvelous. I need the balls, erm, boobs like her. Seriously Allie - go buy this book.You will love me for finding it for you. Posted by Bella at 8:17 AM# Might be a good place to find someone. "I'm thinking that if this afternoon it immediately jumps to $2 million, then Belinda (Stronach) is in."- Rick Mercer Posted by Bella at 7:40 AM# Greedy fucking society. It's only coffee...Posted by Bella at 7:14 AM# And another reason my mom is a trooper. Lung cancer is the number one cancer killer. It's awfully sad that it's looked upon as a dirty or an ugly form of cancer as more women than men are diagnosed with it. More women are diagnosed with lung cancer than breast cancer.Lung cancer put out another shining light last night; Dana Reeve was only 44. Posted by Bella at 12:11 AM# Nipples. I think these ladies just want people to see them. Like really - they're not even that attractive to look at.Posted by Bella at 8:12 AM# Wednesday nite.  Ok so I wanted one. Ok so I really wanted one. For Valentines Day - I finally got one. Pretty entertaining little thing. It has 4GBs of space for all my hot tunes (I have hardly filled half that space). So because all the cool cats are doing it - I am going to do it too. What MEGAN is listening to on her iPod.
ps - Thanks again! Posted by Bella at 10:51 PM# Who wants to go? Cuz right now, it's looking pretty damn hot.Posted by Bella at 7:41 AM# |
