Day 26: Ravenna and Venice

After a long day of walking around Bologna I crawled onto a train to Ravenna, where I had arranged a couch to surf on. I was staying with fellow Couch Surfer, Robby. I'm constantly astounded how an email can catalyze a real friendship. Another amazing experience for my Couch Surfing success list. Couch Surfing – my backstage pass to the culture. Robby showed me so much culture that I barely slept!

Before we opened his door, we were greeted by laughter. I followed Robby inside and saw he had a handful of friends over. After spending the day on my feet I wasn't expecting a relaxing soak in the tub, but I wasn't expecting a party. As I was introduced to one person after another, their names blended together and I felt bad for not remembering any of them. Exhausted, I joined them, sitting around a table. I felt slightly awkward, unsure of what to do or how to act. However, when they offered me food, I happily obliged. Sausage calmed my nerves.

Robby and friends – what a group!

The wine flowed and food was plentiful, thanks to Robby's own in-kitchen fireplace. Contrary to popular belief, every Italian kitchen doesn't have a fireplace.

The morning after. That's the fireplace, below the stairs.

Robby's and his friends were speaking a mile a minute in Italian. Laughing at one another and smiling. While most of the conversation was incomprehensible, Robby graciously translated and summarized. I really appreciated him including me. I was never a part of a fraternity in college but I feel that Couch Surfing is similar. They joked about this and that, made fun of each other for anything and everything they could think of. One of them burned the vegetables so bad they were inedible. He got ranked on all night. From Robby's translations, everyone got their fair share of verbal abuse. These were good people.

We all nearly wet our pants when Robby's chair broke!

Hanging out with Robby and his friends gave me another glimpse into how Italians live their lives. Robby and his friends are all around 30 and they still live with their parents. In Italy this is completely normal. In America moving back with your parents is a fate worse than death. For Italians, home is a comfortable place to be. "Italians are lazy," he laughed. Even if they are, I think Americans are too uptight about moving back home and work in general. We focus on independence in terms of financial success while Italians focus on enjoying life. Someone once told me that Americans live to work and Europeans work to live. This got me thinking about myself. I feel compelled to work, but I enjoy working. Perhaps after more time in Europe I won't be so sure! Take this blog for example. Posting three times a week is a metric ton of work, but I enjoy it. By forcing myself to produce I must formulate my own thoughts and learn about the world. Many of the highest points of my life were the result of incredible amounts of work. Take the Pratt year book for example. We may not have slept the week before our deadline but it's something I'll have forever and look at how many people's lives we improved in the process. While my work ethic has benefitted me in a multitude of ways, at some point during my European travels I would like to open myself to this 'lazy' way of life. I'm sure I'll discover a part of myself in the process.

Italian generalization #2, "Italians stay up late." We chatted around the table until it was two. Some people had already left, and we decided it was time to leave also. To the bar. Since the bar was right next to the train station, I joked with Robby "Thanks for showing me around." Inside the dark wood paneling produced a relaxed smokey tavern sort of atmosphere. Perhaps there was a full moon or something because the bar was replete with a ridiculous cast of characters. We were greeted by a man slumped over a table who had taken out his teeth and left them on display. The booth behind us was occupied by another woman and a man. She looked about 40 years older than him and she was so drunk she couldn't even stand up. She kept knocking her beer over while the man kissed her. However, the best was a man who was lying on a bench in the back of the bar. He was asleep and snoring loudly. We laughed at him so hard that I think every bar should have one as a selling point. Amidst conversation, two of Robby's friends started playing with a deck of cards that I had never seen before. The suits were the same as the tarot but they were playing cards. Apparently this is a classic Romagnole deck of cards. Intrigued, I learned two games and was excited to buy my own pack tomorrow.

Image courtesy of Andy's Playing Cards

The next morning, fueled by 3 hours of sleep, Robby showed me around Ravenna. Ravenna is famous for its mosaics. I believe it's where the mosaic was first invented. Of course you've got to pay to see the exquisite ones. Robby took me to see one in a church, and you get what you pay for. For a mere €0,50 you could see a mosaic in the church that had been flooded. It was totally neat. Despite the mosaic, my favorite part was putting the coin in the slot to turn on the lights. Unfortunately time wasn't on our side, and that's all I got to see of Ravenna. We stayed out to 6 and I left on a train to Venice at 10:30. I had a blast staying with Robby, despite how briefly I surfed on his couch. Who's got time for sleep when you've made six new friends and you're headed to Venice?

Ravenna's main square, decked out for the holidays.

A flooded mosaic in the church basement. See the fish?

Brooklyn represent!

Thanks again, Robby!

If I had to pick, my mental equivalent to Venice is Atlantis. The only images I've seen are from art history textbooks and TV and Venice always seemed like more than a city – an ancient wonder. You can imagine the excitement I felt when I decided to visit. Despite the rain, I was excited to see it for myself. Yet somehow, as the train skimmed towards the city and we passed an oil refinery, I felt like I was going to the Jersey Shore. Thankfully the feeling was fleeting, and as I emerged from the train station the city's beauty shone through.

Venice, right out of the train station.

I've been putting together a list of travel tips and was eager to try out Ross' Recommendation #6, don't buy maps. I made a beeline for the first hotel I saw in search of a free map. I learned that Venicians walk nothing like bees. I was lead down a maze of twisty little roads, bridges, and dead ends. When I found the hotel and got my map, I was so lost that the shoddy map they gave me was useless! Thankfully someone at a caffé took pity on me and asked if I needed help. After the two hours it took me to get to my hostel I soaked up a lot of sights, and a lot of rain. The best part is, my hostel was right by the train station, literally a short walk across the bridge from where I arrived. Even better, the map they gave me had all the names of the streets. Lesson: HostelWorld has convenient "from the station" directions to your hostel – follow them.

Pretty surreal.

Classic Italian businessmen.

If any of you, lovely readers, decide to visit Venice, don't buy a map, but do get good directions to your hotel from the train station. Oh, and follow the signs, they're the only way to get around. Your best bet is to wander aimlessly and be thankful when you find something you wanted to see. Perhaps we could draw some parallels between Venice's street plan and European lifestyles.

By the time I got set up in the hostel it was dark. Did I mention that Venice is gorgeous at night?

Everyone out and about.

I loved these snowflakes!

Anyone up for a swim?

Too bad I couldn't find a date that would pay for dinner.

Who can resist?

Per Rialto.

One of my favorite photos.

Some big church things.

Who's up for a kiss?

In Venice, even drug deals are stylish.

Santa Maria della Salute.

Santa Maria photomerge. Wide angle lenses are for suckers.

My favorite photo. Note the gondolas.

During 'high water' people walk on the platforms on the left.

Piazza San Marco.

Piazza San Marco - the water was bubbling up through the stones.

Headed back to the hostel.

I feel bad for the mail man.

After a long day of aimless meandering, it was time for bed. Meno Mali. Seeing Venice was a treat. Although it wasn't the Atlantis that I had dreamed about, any city where you can step out of your house and drown is pretty sweet. Ciao!

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Day 19: Cinque Terre and Pisa

I hope everyone reading this had a lovely Thanksgiving and weekend. Being my first Thanksgiving away from home, I had a lot to be thankful for. Joking aside, talking to y'all on the phone was almost as good as Aunt Jo's sour cherry pie. If missing my family's Thanksgiving isn't bad enough, I also missed the CouchSurfing Thanksgiving. I can only imagine what sorts of delicious mystery dishes ended up there. Thankfully, I was having an death defying adventure in a small Italian group of towns called Cinque Terre.

"The Cinque Terre is a rugged portion of coast on the Italian Riviera. It is in the Liguria region of Italy, to the west of the city of La Spezia. "The Five Lands" comprises five villages: Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore. (Wikipedia)" Until a few days ago, I hadn't ever heard of Cinque Terre. When two of my hostel mates said they were going to Cinque Terre, the name alone grabbed my attention. After they told me more I was interested, after looking at a few pictures, I knew I would be missing the CouchSurfing Thanksgiving.

Bas and Eva are lively 18 year old cousins from Holland and California. We've been hanging out for the past few days, having a blast. I was excited to explore Cinque Terre with them and enjoy some local food, wine, and architecture.

Getting up at 9 yesterday morning nearly killed me. After a quick grocery store breakfast, the three of us got to Firenze SMN Station. We got on our first train, headed to La Speiza.

Eva writing in her journal alongside my "Free Tarot Reading" sign.

When we arrived at La Speiza, Bas was as disgusted as he was surprised when a drunk dropped his pants in the bathroom and started peeing next to him. Luckily we were shortly underway on the final train to Cinque Terre.

Can you tell Bas is from Holland?

Quite the pair.

We entered into a tunnel where the ocean teased us through holes. It was blue and magnificent. As soon as we arrived in Riomaggorie we were immediately held captive by the scenery around us.

My first Mediterranean encounter!

We hopped off the train, psyched and full of life. Ready to explore. Beautiful. Awesome. Let's go! The towns of Cinque Terre are built into the cliffs so the paths extraordinarily steep and include a lot of stairs. I felt like I was climbing the hills around Florence (only with full pack). The fun started when we got to the hostel only to realize that it wasn't open. In true Italian fashion, no one cared to post on the website and no hours were posted on the door. Thankfully I found another hostel while on Wikipedia, in the next town over, Manarola.

Under the street there was waterfall.

Manarola's hostel is all the way (or so we thought) at the top of the hill. After a climb through the town's windy streets, we found the hostel. "Chiuso"… Closed… Sweet. Every place we went was either closed or wanted an exorbitant amount of money. Feeling uneasy about our sleeping situation, I start joking about sleeping in my tent.

The town of Manarola at sunrise (the next morning).

They decorated the hills above the town for Christmas.

No wonder Italians only need a small breakfast to start the day.

Don't you love it when something you've joked about happens? While Eva and Bas went to look at more rooms, I pursued my own agenda. I started up a flight of steps that lead straight up the hill. As I got higher and higher the steps got narrower and more crooked. Once they began looking like an ogre's teeth I found the perfect spot for my tent. When I met back up with them, we went to check out one last room. €80 for one bed? No thanks. My mind was made up – I had a date with Mrs. Mountain.

Bas and Ross.

You do the math.

Setting up camp devolved into a dangerous collision of treacherous climbs, bruising falls, and expeditions to find the ultimate spot. Carrying a 35 lb pack up and down slippery stone steps with worn moccasins along a cliff's edge is exhilarating to say the least. This land is used for growing grape vines and most of it wasn't tent (or backpacker) friendly. After a thorough search, we settled for a nice patch of grass, further up the cliff.

Sunset over Manarola.

You could totaly get blown off the path into the ocean.

Snug as three goons in a one man tent...

Setting up the tent went smoothly, despite the darkness and a chilly breeze that was picking up. We squeezed into the tent like clowns in a tiny car and enjoyed some downtime. For dinner we savored a hobo hodgepodge of a cold can of lentils, slices of bread, basil, apples, and oranges. We laughed and carried on, blissfully unaware of events to come.

Take it from me, three backpackers, one sleeping bag, and a one man tent have unfavorable odds against howling sea winds, Italian rain, and 4ºc weather. Despite sleeping in our jackets and huddling together, mother nature taught us a lesson. Poor Bas nearly froze to death, and Eva and I didn't fare much better. In my tent's defense, we would have been fine if we each had a sleeping bag. Between waking up and constant shivering, the three of us collectively managed a normal night's rest.

The morning sun illuminated the side of our tent, along with our weary spirits. As we emerged from the tent, we were greeted with a view so spectacular it made our night not seem so bad. In fear of getting busted we packed up the tent in a jiffy and started our descent. This path was terrifying! I wish the picture showed it better. There was a totally deadly drop off here. Thankfully we all made it down so I can finish writing this blog entry.

Holy Moly! Good morning!

At least our room had a view.

Taking down the tent.

Survivors!

After a night of elemental abuse and spiritual growth we headed back to Florence.

Happy to be warm on the train.

Along the way we stopped in Pisa. There wasn't much to see there other than the tower. Failing to be original, we took pictures with the tower "come si deve." I empathize with everyone that has laid in the road gutter to get these shots. Pisa was beautiful. We saw a group of college students protesting higher tuition. Go get 'em!

The Pisa church compound.

If I was taller I'd have better leverage.

Now kids, play nice.

Weird ninja moves.

When we got on the final train back to Florence, we all breathed a sigh of relief and had a good laugh. We feel like we've been kicked all over. I can't wait to return to Cinque Terre when it's summer and the hostels are open!

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