Day 1: Burglary
This day doesn't count. It was all travel and excited anticipation. Swiss Air was a lovely airline. Brian would steal an airplane blanket that would serve me well on many train-rides to come. Also, my ankles would disappear on the plane ride, not to be seen again for another two days.
Day 2: Open the Door, Let Us In
Arrival in Rome! We were given the first of three hotel room keys we would receive that weighed approximately 12 pounds. And it was fringed. We learned that the Italians do not want you to lose your room key. And that if a stranger knocks on your door, the room key can be used as a weapon to bludgeon the perpetrator with. Also, they do not actually want you to leave the hotel with the room key, instead you turn it in to the front desk upon exiting. Strange. But, when in Rome...Day 3: All things Pagan, a.k.a. Caesar's Shuffle
We explored the Colosseum, Roman Forum, Palatine Hill, the Pantheon, and took a fabulous night-time walk through Rome after dark. Several things are discovered on this day.
- First of all, Rome's public fountains are the best thing since
sliced bread. There are little fountains everywhere for drinking out of or filling one's water bottle. (And I know your saying, "duh, they're called drinking fountains." But they're not. Please refer to the picture.) I don't know that we ever passed one without filling the bottle, whether or not there was room in it for more water. I wish these fountains were everywhere. (So does Brian - who refused to fill our water bottle in our hotel room but instead waited until we were outside each morning and walked - out of the way - to the fountain to fill it.) - PDA (Public displays of affection) are not optional in Italy. If you are with someone in a piazza, romantically linked or not, you are required to make out with them.
- Brian is unable to identify certain bathroom equipment. Our room had both a toilet and a bidet. On this particular day Brian came out of the bathroom and declared that he didn't think the bidet was that at all, but rather an extra sink of some sort. I, incredulous, said that if I walked in there and saw him washing his face in that "extra sink" that we were going to have problems.
In the morning we visited some catacombs which were creepy and cool. Literally, it was the first time we were comfortable temperature-wise since being in Italy. (We had several encounters with the hotel staff trying to figure out how to use our air-conditioning, which we eventually gave up on.) Our tour guide was dressed in: a sweater, a vest, a scarf, and a hat. She also had the most delightful and stereotypical Italian accent. In the afternoon we visited Vatican City with a tour group, led by Raul the sometimes boring, always informative, liar. (That might be harsh but you'll see why I call him that.) I discover the worst job imaginable. The Sistine Chapel is supposed to be silent. No one is silent. So the Vatican employees have to run around shushing people...and yelling at them not to take pictures. And no one will shut up or stop taking pictures. I would think it would be more frustrating than teaching wayward kindergartners all day long.
The Vatican tried to confiscate our bag, with all our money and public transit
tickets in it. Here's the "Angels and Demons" adventure that we were led on: We are told by Vatican security upon entering that we must check our bag. When we walk to the bag check desk we ask what's wrong with our bag. We are told that we would need to talk with the clerk's colleague. He has no explanation, although I'm convinced it's because our bag contains olives and the Vatican security wants to eat them. We are led on a very nice tour of the Vatican. At the end of the tour (4:30) Raul tells us that we should go collect our bag, the Vatican closes at 5:00 and it will take at least 15 minutes to get back to the entrance and the doors will probably be locked. He claims that we can knock on the door to reclaim our bag. Brian heads back to claim our bag and returns in about five minutes seeming concerned. He ran into Vatican police that told him that we can NOT get back into the Vatican, our bag has been moved and that we should reclaim it in another area. As the minutes tick by, we search for this "other" area. No one is concerned about our problem, and I begin to panic. It's the VATICAN. You don't just go tapping on doors asking to be let in for your pathetic bag. Dang it Raul! (They probably had sniffed out that we're Anabaptist heretics.) We finally find a Vatican official who is sympathetic, although somewhat derisive, of our problem/blunder. He makes Italian phone calls, and I can tell that the person on the other end is not feeling very patient or accommodating. We are led through back passages of the Vatican, handed off to another official after a heated Italian discussion, where it is clear to me that number 2 is not comfortable with this breach in protocol. We are guided through more back passages and told to find the bookstore by the exit. After regaining admittance (through the back door) of the Sistine Chapel by yet another Vatican official, we begin our search for the bookstore by the exit. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BOOKSTORES AND EXIT SIGNS THERE ARE IN THAT PLACE??? We are told there is a curving staircase we must go down by another Vatican employee. We go through never-ending Vatican corridors and museum rooms, the Vatican Post Office (where people are happily writing notes on postcards to be sent), through wonderful souvenir shops with cheerful shoppers, down stairs, into the basement, by the restrooms - searching for this elusive curved staircase...all the while I am having sincere panic about ever finding our bag. I can't imagine what we'll do if we can't get our bag with our money and transit tickets. We would have to curl up to sleep in a corner of the Vatican, waiting until morning where we would seek out the Pope and beg him to have mercy on us, mere sinners desiring our commoner's bag. Eventually, we are reunited with our bag and I do not think the clerk had ever seen anyone that was so very, very overjoyed to see their luggage. My olives were intact.Day 5: Pompeii - Or "Every one's a Thief"
We take to the train station with a rough idea of how to get to Pompeii and the information from our Rick Steve's guide that every person we encounter in the train stations on the way there will likely be a pickpocket or thief. We eyeball a little old lady and exchange knowing glances with each other - clearly a thief. A couple making out - definitely creating a diversion in order for their "colleague" to steal our belongings. We suspect everyone - there is no discrimination in our suspicion.
We safely arrive in Pompeii. I had discovered earlier in the week that Brian is a guide-book-hog. He so thoroughly enjoyed leading us on the self-guided tours in our Rick Steve's book that he had virtually banned me from handling the books at all. Every time I asked to look at the book he gave me a suspicious, mistrustful look and instructed me not to read a word of the tour, grabbing the book from my hands the moment I was finished with it. However in Pompeii, he had great difficulty in keeping us on the tour route, getting us hopelessly off course. I tell him to enjoy the adventure of just exploring. He tries but I can tell that he is not truly comfortable until we are back on the Rick Steve's route. It was a great, adventurous day.
Our last night in Rome we visit Trevi Fountain for the fourth time and enjoy another helping of gelato. Ah Trevi, how we hope that throwing that penny into your waters will, like the legend states, ensure we visit your fair city again some day. We loved Rome.
Day 6: Venice - "When the going gets rough, shop with somebody tough."
We say goodbye to Rome and our hotel with intimidating staff. (They are very polite and nice, but stern men, who I felt could turn on me at any moment and declare me an idiot American.) I am looking forward to our train ride to Venice. I can't wait to enjoy the scenery and see what the countryside looks like. However, I discover that the gentle rocking of the train puts me to sleep like a baby. I slept the entirety of every single train ride we took.
Venice is GORGEOUS and delightful. Every corner you turn is a photo opportunity. And this is the day I begin shopping...and once that faucet has been turned on it's a little difficult to stem the flow. I declare a love of Murano glass and from that point forward am drawn to it like a moth to flame. Brian is traumatized in a linen store. Two middle-aged Japanese women are interested in purchasing a lace blouse but are not convinced it will fit. While I'm looking at lace, Brian witnesses one of the women strip off her top in order to try on the blouse. When she is ready to change back into her clothing she asks me to shove Brian into a corner. I comply. Poor Brian.
Day 7: Venice - One Magical Day
At breakfast, sitting outside on the canal surrounded by beauty, all Brian talks about is a group of men loading scaffolding into a boat. He marvels at how much they can fit into the boat, how they throw things on the boat without missing and hitting the water, how it takes one man to just hold the rope, etc. Silly man.
We share a glorious day in Venice and in the evening we pay
the cover charge to sit at one of the restaurants in St. Mark's square to listen to the dueling orchestras. The people who don't want to pay to sit, stand just beyond the seating and do, what we dub, the "freeloader shuffle." We watch the freeloaders go back and forth between the two wonderful ensembles as they take turns playing, and scorn them. (Just kidding.) I force Brian to try an olive, and after taking a bite he reverts to three year old behavior, making faces and declaring he will throw up. It's a magical evening.Day 8: Florence - and Our Encounter with Claustrophobia
We take another, blissfully sleepy, train-ride. This time to Florence, our final destination. We had been lucky that our hotel rooms had been large by European standards up until this point. This hotel would provide us with a glorified closet and the tiniest elevator/lift I have ever been in. After checking in, with the delightful front desk staff, we entered the lift with our luggage. We shoved in, my face plastered against the wall, Brian's body barely allowing the door to close. One had to hold the elevator button the entire way to the desired floor or the lift would stop. I had moments of panic in that tortuously slow lift that had no oxygen being provided to it. But we made it and took to the streets to explore. 
We head to the Accademia where Michelangelo's David is housed. I take some illegal pictures of him and plead ignorance when I get yelled at. (It was worth it.) Another discovery made in Italy is that no art is placed where it was originally intended to be. In Pompeii we would look at a statue and the guide book would say, "this is a replica, the original is in the Naples Archaeological Museum." After awhile it became oh so predictable, and Brian and I became somewhat jaded.
Day 9: Florence - Scarf Obsession
Florence is full of outdoor markets with stalls FULL of beautiful scarves. I couldn't stop buying them, I brought home seven total. (Another discovery, if you ask someone a question in Italian you should probably be prepared for them to answer in Italian. i.e. I was proud that I knew how to ask how much scarves cost, but was totally unprepared when Italian numbers were shot back at me.) I had a few last souvenirs I felt I had to have before leaving Italia. One of these must-haves was yarn. We found a lovely stall owner who we bought a hat from. On a lark, I decided to ask if he could direct me to a yarn shop, much to Brian's chagrin. He said, "oh, that's easy." And before you knew it, I had Italian yarn to bring home with me! (Cue Brian rolling his eyes.)
We began the day by hiking up 463 horrible and exhausting stairs to enjoy a truly beautiful morning vista of Florence. I wasn't even allowed to stop to catch my breath because there were signs everywhere instructing us to keep moving. Also there were signs telling us not to write on the walls but I informed Brian that if I was going to die from this grueling climb I was going to sit down and write on the wall, "Here Lisa died. She was a brave but wimpy woman." Almost to the top we encounter a woman taking a rest off to the side. The sight of something wet and the smell of something sour made Brian yell out, "Did someone throw up?" Clearly someone had. We both exclaimed over this unwelcome treat for our senses...and then we realized that the poor woman taking a load off in the corner was undoubtedly the puker and we felt very bad. It's no wonder she threw up what with all that climbing and being told by the signs she could not stop to rest. Or maybe she just had vertigo. Either way it must have been miserable and embarrassing for her. And the worker cleaning it up on the way down was a tad pathetic with his running from the puke and gagging. Men seem to have weak constitutions where unpleasant smells are concerned.
We enjoyed the rest of the sights the city had to offer and then decided to take in a Rick Steve's recommended
restaurant for our last supper in Italia. We gussied up and took to the streets trying to find it. We found the street, which looked totally deserted and like we might be mugged by a gang of Italian hoodlums or taken by the Mafia, and were about to give up when we saw the storefront. It looked small and unremarkable, but when you walked inside the door it opened into an amazing local Italian restaurant with all the ambiance and colorful personalities you might expect in a local neighborhood haunt. (Such a contrast with all the places on the piazzas with outside seating geared towards tourists.) We ate the largest steak I've ever seen and thoroughly enjoyed every moment of the experience. Day 10 - Arrivederci
Our flight home wasn't until the afternoon so we woke up and took one last walk through the morning streets of Italy. We took nothing with us, no camera or video camera, no guide book, no bag. We just walked the streets together and soaked in one last helping of the country we'd come to love. (Imagine one lone tear trickling down my face at the memory.) Oh Italia. It's amore.
