The Giant Oat

I finally did it! I managed to make my way in to a local eatery, a wine bar, for lunch where I enjoyed a glass of wine and a bunch of Italy’s version of tapas, including olives, sundried tomatoes, various things wrapped in other things, and tiny sandwiches. All for six euro.

xxx

What can happen to me one night in Venice?

I could venture out for a dinner at a nice restaurant. I could be seated with a German couple in their sixties. I could share a few medicinal drinks with them upon the man’s insistence. I could meet a half Russian, half Ukrainian girl named Luba from NYC who also randomly is seated with us. I could eat Bakala and polenta. I could drink too much. I could sing Mnohaya Lita with Luba for Ursula, who’s birthday it is. I could stand in teh foggy night, alone, waiting for the vaporetto to arrive. I could bob up adn down on the platform watching the waves and the creme de menthe coloured green water. I could almost fade into the mysterious mist surrounding ancient buildings lit by chandelier and lamppost alike. I could soothe my melancholy at being here such a short time witht he knowledge that I will return again.

I was feeling crappy on Wednesday as I headed for Venice. I was lonely and sad and blah, so when the train police woman got all crazy on me for not validating my train ticket, i totally lost it. she insisted on the forty euro fine. I told her i didn’t have the money and started to tear up. She insisted, and I gave her my documents. then she said Oh, you are CANADIAN. Meet me between the cars. And in the outside of the train car, I gave her five euro and was on my merry way. Ridiculous.

I was in a bad mood until I stepped off the train in Venice. Immediately, I had salt air in my nostrils and I was filled with a sense of calm and happiness.Also, I realized that work and life at home don’t particularly want or need me there, so there is no point in pining for home.

The water here is a strange green colour. Opaque. I am guessing it is also polluted, though I didnàt see any garbage.

Venice is like nowhere I have ever been before. To continue the metaphor of cities beingh like women, Venice is an old but classy and spritely centenarian who still walks on her own, tells good jokes, drinks and laughs with the youngsters, and has a better memory than those half her age. This is one healthy old dame, Venice. Her lipstick might be a little smudged and her hat may be crooked, but when she throws a party, you want to be there.

The buildings are all very old, the newest ones being built in the eighteenth century. Nobody in their right mind could have ever dreamed up such a place. It has the feeling of having been dropped in from another universe.

Despite a bad start with directions, I found my way to a hotel for the night. On my walk over, which was totally confusing, I knew one night would not be enough in this place.  I walked about, then lay down for a short nap which turned into a thirteen hour sleep. I think I had sunstroke.

Waking on Thursday morning, I was stunned by Venice without the hordes of people. Venice is absolutely stunning. It is terrible to say, but I feel like I am in Disneyland, the original. What a crazy fantastical magical place this is!

St. Mark;s square in the early morning mist is not to be missed.  I lined up early there to get in first thing, when  a woman came around telling us the church is closed for the morning due to a service. So I went around the side, said I was there for a service, and I was let in (for free). Finally! an experience of one of Europe°s great churches while it is alive and in action! This was one of the most beautiful churches i have ever been in. This one dates back a thousand years, though it existed several hundred before but burned down.

The inside of the church is covered in mosaic icons and gold backgrounds. It is a Byzantine style church, and I felt at home.

The liturgy was mostly sung, with a small choir of a dozen or so cantors leading the way. I sang along and loved it. There were no fewer than 365 priests, deacons, servers, and bishops and patriarchs in attendance. Crazy.

St. Mark’s Cathedral has an interesting history which I cannot fully recount here because it is one in the morning and I am tired and I have many days to catch up on. But the best is the story of how St. Mark the Evangelist made his way to this particular spot. His relics were smuggled out of Turkey (I think) in a barrel under a whole lot of salted pork — this story makes one of the most interesting and amusing mosaics I have ever seen on a church wall.

Well, on day seventeen, here it is: I just want to go home. I am off to my beloved;s favourite city, but without him. I am lonely and tired of loneliness. Ah well. Not sure what possessed me to do this.

I know I wrote a post earlier today or yesterday saying that I am fine. I only now read the news reports about the earthquake. I didnàt realize how big it was, adn that aftershocks continue in the area. It was actually quite close to where I was that night, though I was asleep and felt nothing. I feel very grateful for not having been hurt. I apologise for not having written to let you know that I am okay!

Apparently 209 people are now dead. I was actually thinking on the train the day before the quake how the landscape shows so much evidence of tectonic instability. Whole hills cut in half from landslides and such. Also, Assissi had suffered a major quake in 1997, which destroyed parts of their main Basilica.

If anyone at any time doubts my whereabouts or safety, Luis is in touch daily and can fill you in.  He has my cell number, and so does Danchyk.

I have learned why eating is actually a social thing. Eating alone is okay, and I often write in my journal to keep myself occupied, as if I were talking to someone, but in the end, I really really enjoy sharing meals with others.

So today, when I found myself on a Bolognese street cafe, ordering the traditional tortellini in brodo (tortellini in broth) and a cheese plate, I soon felt overwhelmed with all the food and the lack of company to share it with. My solution was to wave over a Japanese traveller who had wandered by the restaurant three times to check it out. His decision making skills seemed akin to mine, so I invited him to sit with me and share the cheese. He ordered his own tortellini and finished it off, but I still had half of mine left over, and we did not finish the cheese!

I must say, cheese in Italy is not as good as in France, except for the parmaggianno cheese.

I spent the afternoon (am still spending it, actually) hanging about the Piazza Maggiore, where I see all kinds of people doing everything from kicking around a soccer ball, so chasing pigeons, to sleeping on the sun-warmed stone ground. Only here have I seen a woman in her late fifties, with very blonde hair, a dark coat covered in bright pink flowers, fishnet stockings, a mini skirt, and hot red high heels riding a bike through the street. Iàm pretty sure she was not working the streets.

There is free internet here, which I find terribly civilized and convenient. I just had to sign up for a card.

I thank everyone for the gastronomical suggestions. Had I planned a bit more, I would have made it out to Modena and other places for sampling the fare. As it is, I will now go hunt for a gelato sandwich of some sort that my brother tells me about.

The main church of this square, San Petronio, looks half finished, and it is. The top half is missing it;s marble facade. Funny to think something begun more than seven hundred years ago is still under construction! Inside the church, which is massive, there are no less than twenty small chapels, each with their own altar. I donàt understand why these churches were whitewashed at some point. Thankfully, some restoration shows the iconshidden beneath, though I also wonder why they do not restore all of the walls.

I would really like to be in one of these grand churches for an actual service, instead of as a tourist.

….Now for that Gelato Sandwich….

I left Florence yesterday morning. I have heard many extoll her beauties and splendor, but I could not get out fast  enough. Perhaps had my love been with me it would have been different. Or if I were looking for a love it would have been different indeed. But as it was, I was far too lonely in the city full of people. Funny how being alone in nature is fine, but alone in a crowd of people makes me desperate.

I will remember my brief sojourn in Florence with a few images. Everything seemed a faded royal blue, kind of grimy, lots of shadows, and the skeletons of what must have once been an absolutely stunning city in its hayday. Now it needs a good scrub. Apologies to all Firenzeophiles out there. I know full well i did not stay long enough to take in her splendours. The museum hours are crazy there – it seems every place has different hours, some open at certain hours, half days, first third or fifth sundays only, etc. And you need to pay to reserve a ticket for a museum. Kind of silly. And made me miss dear London.

I was happy to find myself on the train. I am finding this to be true in general. As long as I am moving, i feel well. I know I am going somewhere. When I am in one place, sometimes it overwhelms me with loneliness or internal drama of which I will not write.

But NOW. Now I have arrived in a beautiful city in which I feel totally fine wandering on my own. Bologna is beautiful, like a well dressed lady in her fifties: classy, clean, fun. The city has far less tourists, and far more places to sit, congregate, chat, take in the views, etc. I love the main piazza which is full not of statues (though Neptune and his water-spurting-boobied female friends are impressive), but of people to watch. Some lying down, some doing tricks on bikes, some drinking and watching, many talking, some sketching, and so on.

Last night I fulfilled my purpose of coming to Bologna. I ate a superb meal, though not without wandering the streets for hours first. Anyone who knows me well will know that if I do not have meals at least at semi-regular times, I go a bit mad. I was in full food crisis mode, resorting to re-entering a cheese shop multiple times to sample the huge chunks of parmaggiano cheese. The cheese melted in my mouth. It was far creamier than any parmesan cheese I have ever had. Fantastic. I will have to go buy a bunch today.

Eventually I found a little restaurant where I could sit outside and watch people go by. I ordered the local pasta specialty, whose name escapes me of course, with bolognese sauce. The sauce was amazing. The meat was dry, and obviously cooked in wine. No veg or other spices as far as I could see, but this sauce was incredible. My secondi involved a caprese salad tomato, basil and buffala mozzarella. It was also incredible, and the cheese was CREAMY! Mmmmmm…. I was ambitous and ordered half a litre of wine, though I only managed to get through half of it.

After stuffing myself with food and wine, I spent a rather scary late night trying to find my way back to my hostel, which is located way out of town among farm fields, essentially. The bus I knew did not run after eight, and it was already past eleven. I got a good look at some unsavoury characters, one of whom came right up to a girl beside me and got right in her face, slamming his fist beside her. I would have cried, I think. Anyway, I was thankful that a few other girls on the bus were headed for the hostel, so I stayed near them and eventually rolled in to bed safe and sound.

Today I am getting a good look at this hostel. I am currently in a common room full of teenagers singing along to music videos blaring on the TV. The showers are cold, and the whole place rather industrial, but it is cheap and fine and safe (aside for getting here late at night).

I have decided to stay in Bologna until tomorrow, then I am off to Venice where hopefully I will meet up with Zoe, my Assissian friend.

Today;s objective: more tasty food.

There was an earthquake somewhere in Italy yesterday morning. I was not in it, and I am okay, for anyone checking this for my whereabouts and safety. I am now in Bologna. I did not even hear of an earthquake. I guess that is what happens when you are on vacation, and news reports are in Italian.

April 3

I arrived in Assissi on Friday andpromptly had my first schooling in the ways of men in these parts. The train dropped me in Santa Maria Degli Angeli, which is at the base of the hill on which Assissi finds itself. While waiting for the shuttle to arrive to give me a lift, a suave looking “local” started chatting with me in French. He was young, well dressed, and did not have any luggage with him, but I still thought him a tourist. Anyway, he helped me witha  ticket, adn on the bus we were chatting away. I asked about where the hostel is, and he said he did not know of any hostel. Strange, I thought, since there is one there, adn he said he had been workign in Assissi for seven years. He is from Morocco.

He promised to help me find a place to stay, and boy did he take on the task. Up the hill, with fifty pounds on my back, we raced from one place to the next, adn he really pressured me to take every place we went to. I started to think it was not a great idea for him to know where I was staying. He kept askign me to stop to have coffee or food. I just wanted to get to an info office. He would not let me talk to people… he did it all for me. Finally, after he was way too vague answering my questions about what he did in Assissi, I just told him to bugger off and that I was scheduled to make a call home. When he left me, I was relieved that my suspisions were wrong…until he returned and looking as if the idea had just popped in his head, he whispered to me “would you like to sleep with me tonight.”. I laughed, told him to go away (I had the word “basta” ready to use…Thanks, Ned!), and was rid of him.

After roaming the all too touristy town for a bit, I finally opened the guide book and called the hostel. Apparently, out of town here means five minutes walk down a hill. I made it to Ostella della Pace, a beautiful stone building (though spartan inside), set among olive groves. I soon met Zoe, a fellow Canadian, with whom I shared a nice, though touristy, meal up in Assissi.

April 4

Waking to the sound of birds, which really did not stop the whole time I was in Assissi, Zoe and I, along with our new Mexican hostel-mate Natalia, set out for a day of exploring Assissi. The town is very small, but beautiful. Though still low season, the number of peopel astounded me. So many tourists, so many chachki shops. The streets are pink, narrow, and windy. The gelato is plenteous, adn I had straciatella for lunch. We climbed a hill and took in the views. When we descended for lunch, we shared two pizzas and a LOT of laughter. We sat for three hours almost, eatign two pizzas and waiting for the bill. At one point the manager came over and wrote me a love note, though it was not very nice.

Of all that I saw in Assissi, I will remember teh lower church of the Basilica de San Francesco the most. It is unbelievably painted, with really rich colours.

We made a picnic in teh evening, hung out with two new arrivals, a Bavarian girl walking to Rome and an American guy studying in the Seminary in Rome, and delved deep into religious and philosophical discussion over wine deep into the night. I went to bed exhausted. From the lower bunk, Natalia said to me “you do not seem thirty at all” and suddenly I felt very old.

April 5

This morning was Palm Sunday, and I found myself still in Assissi. The place, despite touristyiness, really is special. The natural surroundings, the olive trees, the melodic birds that do not quit, the trees whose silhouettes do magical things in the morning mist, just make you want to stay forever. I hiked, with my pack, the long way, to San Damiano, the church that is part of the monastery where St. Francis lived. I was there for mass, or part f it since I was late, and i then headed for town. I was hoping to see grand processions or soemthing, but all i saw were lots of people holding olive branches.

I decided at the train on a trip to Florence, since it was the next train to arrive. Now in Florence, Im thinking Sienna may have been a better call. There is something beautiful about Firenze, but it is dark beneath the high buildings, adn it is dirty and feels unfriendly. Perhaps I am just in that frame of mind. I am sure that with my love here with me, it would be different.

With the help of a few nice british ladies, I found a convent to stay at for a mere forty euro. You would think the nuns would charge a little less, but still it is nice and close and secure.

The Duomo is massively impressive from the outside, adn I plan to climb it tomorrow morning. I suspect the rest of Florence will need to wait for another visit. I havent the energy right now. Ive been feeling a little under the weather and just want to get back into the lovely Tuscan and Umbrian country side.

Bologna is next on my city list, though, adn I have high gastronomical expectations. Then Venice, where I will meet up with Zoe. We made a pact to visit the romantic city together, so we wouldnt feel too lonely!!

I am turning golden from the sun, and today I even sported a skirt. No locals are showing any skin yet, but it was at least 20°. Besides, there,s more than a skirt to give me away as a tourist. I,d say the backpack pretty much does it.

And the journey continues… (apologies for the spelling…these keyboards are sticky…)

How to Cross the Road

In PARIS the Champs Elysees: wait until there is a break in traffic, look left, and run like mad to the centre of the road, between two pylon-esque things, and wait for another break in traffic, look right, and run like hell again. If time, take a photo between the pylons…it is the best shot of the Arc de Triomphe…

In LONDON: Look RIGHT, not left, cross to the centre island thing, walk around the gates, wait, look LEFT, not right, and wait to cross. Verify your left and right every time by extending your index and thumb of each hand, and recalling that left is the one that makes an L shape.

In ROME: Look straight ahead and walk. Pay no attention to traffic from the left or the right. Gesture with hands in animated fashion and keep your pace. Do not slow down or speed up, as this will render you dead.

If it wasn,t for my cousin, I would have been on the wrong train this morning, and likely fined a pretty penny for it too. I had bought a regional ticket heading for Assissi from Rome, but was about to get on the fast inter-city train (five times teh cost) headed in the same direction when my cousin wisely asked a conductor if we were on the right path.

All is well, though, and I am now in Orte waiting to transfer to Assissi. This appears to a self-serve internet cafe. The town is tiny, and this was the only internet stop. Thereàs a desk with a computer and a little tray for you to leave your money in when you go. Interesting concept.

The weather here is beautiful. Yesterday I wanted to write that the absolutely most perfect weather day is April 2, 2009 in Rome, Italy. It was sunny, a few clouds for aesthetic touch, a breeze, no chill, a warmth, no sweat.

I am eagerly heading for Assissi to commune with nature in the spirit of that town’s most famous son.

I have not thought about work in forever, and am frequently needign to ask which day it is. I suppose that means I really and truly am on vacation!!! Yay!