Rocket Coffee

At the train stations in Italy, there are drink machines and vending machines beside virtually every track in every station. We tried lots of different things, but our favorite was a type of candy we fondly refer to as “Rocket Coffee.” It is chocolate candy filled with liquid coffee. You bite into it, and your mouth is filled with coffee. Strange at first, yes, but incredibly addicting and wonderful. Especially in the afternoon when you’ve been walking forever and you’re starting to drag. It’s really called Pocket Coffee but we apparently didn’t look very closely at it, and now the name has stuck.

Grappa

Mom and I had plans to have a picnic in one of the parks. We went into a grocery store and found some fruit, cheese, and bread. We wanted to get some grapes, so Mom oh-so-confidently marches up to one of the store workers and asks where she might find “grappa”. We were slightly confused as he headed away from the produce, and then stopped in front of the wine section, pointing, and repeating “grappa.” I’m sure he was disappointed and probably somewhat frustrated when we didn’t purchase any wine… I don’t think we ever found any grapes. :)

Paged in Rome

My Mom and I are planners. We are list people. We have lists for our lists. We have an item on our to-do list that says “Make a list of to-do lists to make.” Haha. We do not like to be late, and we like to be prepared. Oh, and neither of us necessarily likes to be the center of attention. I point these things out to you so you will keep them in the back of your mind as you read this next story.

Our flight home from Italy had one stop. We flew from Florence to Rome, and then from Rome to Atlanta. Our layover in Rome was about 3 or 4 hours, if I remember correctly. We had missed seeing St. Peter’s during our visit to Rome earlier in our trip, so we actually toyed with the idea of zipping over there and seeing it before our flight left. Being the sensible gals that we are, we decided against it, thinking it more prudent to just hang around the vicinity of the airport until our next flight. We had a blast wandering all over the airport, people-watching, shopping, and just walking around. We got our last serving of gelato, and ate it while sitting next to a window that was right beside the runway. Mom and I are both fascinated with planes, so we sat there forever watching planes take off and land.

Finally, we decided we should go ahead and start making our way to our gate. On the way there I stopped at the ladies’ restroom. It was quite crowded, so I was standing in line… All of a sudden mom dashes into the bathroom, eyes wide, and says, “They are paging us to our gate!!!” Forgetting any necessity of bodily functions, I immediately followed her out, and we proceeded to practically run to our gate. We finally got there and the two people working there verified who we were, and then practically shoved us through the terminal. We boarded the plane where dozens of passengers were patiently (ha) waiting.

This story is just a testament of the irony that exists in both of our lives, especially mine. With a four hour layover, most people would have tried to squeeze in some last minute sight-seeing or shopping. Not us. Being the ever responsible travelers, we had decided to just park it and wait until it was time for our flight. And in doing so, we just about missed our flight. :)

My sleep aid contraption

We had a few very long train rides while we were in Italy. Many times we were very tired, having walked all day, speed-touring the various bustling Italian cities. You know what it’s like when you fall asleep in a sitting position, like in a car or on a plane. Your eyelids start drooping, until it’s like pure torture to hold them open. Your head starts to feel like it’s about 60 pounds. Eventually you allow your eyes to close, and you are able to enjoy the first 2 or 3 minutes of your sleep in an upright and civilized (albeit totally unnatural) body position. But then your muscles relax, and your head falls forward slowly, until your chin is on your chest. Or until it slams into the window of whatever mode of transportation on which you happen to be riding.

Furious at the law of gravity for not allowing my head to stay in an upright position while sleeping, I hastily sought to fashion a contraption whose sole purpose would be to keep my head back while I slept on the train. I took a quick look around me and immediately my eyes landed on my oh-so-hip travel bag. This bag had a shoulder strap. I immediately saw the potential. I carefully placed the top part of the shoulder strap against my forehead, and held it there as I slung the bag over the back of my seat. Looking back, this plan does not seem quite as intelligent as I had thought. Innovative and efficient? Perhaps. Intelligent? Not so much. Painful? Quite. But hindsight is always 20/20, so do not judge. I was desperate for sleep. Anyway, needless to say, the contraption did not quite work as planned. The shoulder strap slipped from my forehead down to my neck just as the bag dropped over the back of the chair. Essentially I had attempted a hanging. I am going to post a picture on here. It does not do the situation justice, but you’ll get the general idea.

Duomo di Milano

One of Mom’s favorite things in Italy was the churches. She loved to walk slowly around each one, soaking up each detail. The first one we went in on our trip (I couldn’t tell you which city it was in), I too took a slow stroll around the interior, taking in the details of the walls, sculptures, and stained glass. I enjoyed the dark, cool dampness of the air. It was a welcome change from the hot sun outside. I amused myself long enough for mom to finish looking around. Then we went back outside and continued our journey through whatever city we were in. In my mind, I had mentally checked “Visit church in Italy” off my to-do list. Haha. Little did I know that Italy has so MANY churches and cathedrals, and somehow I had forgotten just how much my mom likes to visit them.

We spent one day in Milan. Honestly, the main reason I wanted to stop here was just to be able to say I’d been. There really wasn’t anything I specifically was dying to see. I knew Milan to be a major fashion-minded city. Meaning they had lots of stores full of lots of clothes and accessories I could not afford without taking out a loan.

When we got to Milan, we took the underground train from the train station to a point in the city that we knew would be close to the “Duomo di Milano.” (Duomo means church/cathedral in Italian. See, I did learn some things in Italian after all.) We climbed the stairs that led from the train to the streets of Milan. Taking a cursory glance around, I immediately spotted the enormous cathedral. I said, “Oh, wow, it’s so pretty!” Then I continued looking around, and said “So, what’s next?” HA. Mom thought that was hilarious. I would soon learn that she not only wanted to see the inside of this cathedral, she wanted to inspect every last square inch, take note of every sculpture and piece of stained glass, and basically check the building for structural soundness. :)

The First Bus Ride

Before we left for Italy, Mom and I would sit for hours and plan the details of our trip. We each picked out places we wanted to visit, things we wanted to do, and tried to think of things we would need to know before we landed ourselves in a foreign-speaking country. Mom purchased several travel books, which of course had some common and useful phrases translated into Italian. Being the dedicated, diligent traveler, she wanted to learn at least some of the basics in Italian to help in our day-to-day adventures. She asked me if I was going to learn any Italian before our trip, and I said “Nah.” She said, “Well what are you going to do when you need to say something to somebody? “ I said, “I won’t need to speak to anyone over there except you, and you speak English.” She said, “What about in a restaurant, when you’re trying to order food?” I said, “I’ll point” and I held up my finger and demonstrated with prideful satisfaction.

When we finally arrived in Florence, 13 hours after leaving Atlanta, Mom and I were both dead on our feet. You know that level of exhaustion where you cannot think clearly, let alone navigate in a foreign country where you don’t understand the native language. We made it out of the airport, and across the street to the bus stop. The plan was to ride the bus to the train station, and take a train to Pisa. Standing at the bus stop, backpacks strapped on, suitcases the size of Pisa itself sitting beside us, we waited. We had gone to an ATM inside the airport, to get some money out in Euros. The smallest currency we had was 50 Euros, or roughly $75. We panicked for a bit, trying to decide if we should go back in the airport and get change, wondering if the bus driver would take such a large amount, if he would even have change, and most importantly, how the heck we would ask him whether he would take that amount and if he had any change.

So, when the bus finally arrived, I left my poor mother standing on the sidewalk with our mountain of baggage, and joined the crowd of people who were filing onto the bus 4 at a time, and paying the driver 1 at a time. When it was my turn to hand my money to the driver, I held up two fingers to indicate that I wanted two tickets, and I shoved the 50 Euros into his hand. He didn’t bat an eye as he handed me my change and two tickets. Success! Except that my mother and everything I owned was still sitting outside the bus on the sidewalk. Looking back over the heads of fifteen people, I looked at her helplessly, wondering if I’d ever see her again. Haha. I must have really looked that forlorn, because some of the people in line behind me saw what was going on, and allowed mom to squeeze through, and even helped us get our luggage onto the bus. Now if I had attempted to get on that bus and say in Italian “Two tickets please” and “Do you have change for a 50?” I probably would have butchered the language, and landed us in some unknown, forsaken desert in Italy. You may be thinking, “There aren’t any deserts in Italy” but that’s what they want you to believe. It’s where they toss all of the idiotic tourists who hold up the line at the bus stop.

Tuna

My mom and I went on a trip to Italy last May. It was so much fun, and Italy was absolutely amazing, with breath-taking scenery. I would go back in a second. Mom and I talk about our trip frequently - about the funny things that happened, the things we would like to go back and see or do, etc. Anyway, we just had so much fun, and we had a few pretty funny stories, so I thought I’d share some of them here.

Oh, and don’t worry, I am not secretly blogging during basic training. I discovered the secret of scheduling posts for future dates. Hahahahaha. I’m so clever it’s kind of scary. ANYWAY, the next several posts will be Italy-related. So grab a coke, sit back and enjoy. But do so with guilt, knowing that is probably NOT what I am doing right now… =)

Our “home base” while we were in Italy was the city of Pisa. On some days we made day trips and then returned to Pisa for the night. On other days we traveled further distances and would spend the night in another city. But, let me start from the beginning:
We departed from Atlanta on an evening flight. We were flying from Atlanta to Paris, and from Paris to Florence. We were served dinner first… I think it was pretty late, maybe around 9 or 10 pm? After dinner the flight attendants gently closed the shades on the windows, and pretty much everyone leaned back, sighed a collectively cramped sigh, and tried to sleep. Much the same way a sardine tries to catch some shut-eye when he’s in the sardine can with his buddies.

About 4 hours later (yes, 2 am), the flight attendants, who only hours before had seemed human, snatched up the window shades, allowing a brilliantly bright light to come flooding into the cabin. “Surely not,” I thought. But surely indeed… A few seconds later I heard “good morning everyone, breakfast is about to be served.” Come on people. It’s 2 am. You can try to trick me all you want with your sunshine and perky attitudes. But I have on a watch. I am not fooled. It is TWO FREAKIN O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING. So while I’m still reeling from this unpleasant jolt of morning perkiness, they begin serving breakfast. I don’t remember everything that was in that breakfast, but I remember one thing that was on my plate – tuna.
So, after a trilingual greeting over the intercom: “Good Morning, Bonjour, Buon giorno,” I ate my breakfast. Tuna. At 2:00 in the morning. At least it wasn’t sardines.

Note: At least 3 of our subsequent in-flight meals included tuna. blech.