Gloryfades.org

I awoke the next morning bright and early. That night I had decided to leave Pisa early - without seeing the sights - and head straight for Florence. That way I could get a full three days of Florence and I’d see Pisa on the way back. Besides, I had to check out in the morning and lugging my backpacks across town to see the leaning tower didn’t really appeal to me all that much. Better to save it for last.

My first train ride in Italy was memorable if only because I nearly missed the bloody train. I must have not looked at the platform number right because the train pulled up to the next platform over. I took a chance and asked someone whether the train was going to Florence with a shy “Firenze?” and they nodded so I clambered aboard. When I finally arrived in Florence I was quite happy. I ended up convincing myself that someone was playing a mean joke on me and I had in fact hopped onto a train heading in the exact opposite direction.

The train station was supposedly only a hop, skip and a jump away from the hostel but it took me the better part of an hour trying to find the place. I first went in the opposite direction of the actual street I was looking for and I had to fish out my Giant Guide Book to find my way. When I finally found the street I, of course, went in the opposite direction again of where I was supposed to go. I ended up walking over two blocks before the street name changed and I had to find my way back again. Eventually, though, I found the bloody thing. It was literally two seconds away from the train station. I was not impressed having spent fory-five minutes with a ten kilo backpack trudging through the thirty degree heat.

I dumped my backpack after checking in and set off to look for stuff. Not ten minutes after I began walking was I accosted by a strange Italian man who wanted to take me somewhere. It was quite unnerving how bold he was and I walked a hell of a lot faster after shaking him off. It wouldn’t be the last time I’d see him, though. I had my guidebook with me but I wasn’t carrying it around. I was quite content with just walking the streets until I hit something familiar and it wasn’t long before I did that. As I tried to shake off the amorous Italian I stumbled upon the piazza where my hotel was the first time I was in Florence! It was still there - the Hotel Universo - and everything was literally the same as it was three years ago. The church that dominated the piazza, though, was covered in scaffolding, which isn’t a surprise. You’re lucky to find anything over a century old without scaffolding.

I sat down in the piazza to familiarize myself with the area and enjoy the sun for a bit. It was lovely to be back in the spot where my first love of Florence began.

I wanted to find the Duomo so I could start taking pictures but it was a little bit hard at first. Although I kept seeing glimpses of it over the roofs it seemed to evade me constantly. Finally I came upon a street that looked quite familiar. It was large and I could see a piazza ahead of me so I headed towards it. This is what I saw:

I had found it! I joined the throngs of picture takers and snapped some of my own

The sky was this gorgeous fierce blue - I believe it’s a Tuscan blue - the entire time I was there. It was hot but boy was it gorgeous!

After enjoying myself at the Duomo for quite some time I headed off in the direction of the Ponte Vecchio (really old bridge) to find the shop where I wanted to buy a journal. I’ve been dreaming of buying myself a journal ever since I left Italy. It was my one regret and I’ve totally rectified it. I found a shop called Signum that sold stationary, notebooks and all sorts of tourist-y things. I went in and looked around and finally found one I was happy with but I faltered! Can you believe that? I debated over whether I wanted to buy the journal I’d been wanting for three fricking years! I left the shop totally unsure and walked further. I found the Ponte and the Uffizi which I was going to visit later that afternoon. Having plenty of time to spare before my visit to the art gallery I kept walking around, enjoying not being in one of those awful tour groups. I was very conscious over how frustrating they were to get through. No wonder everyone hates a tourist. Tourists often come in groups of thirty or more!

As I was walking around I found the shop again - Signum. This time I went in and I picked up the journal. I headed straight for the cashier and bought it. I left no time to think about making this purchase because I knew if I left Florence without it I would hate myself. It’s a gorgeous brown leather journal with the trillium crest of Florence embossed on the cover. It’s quite pretty and I can’t wait to fill it’s pages with my thoughts. I did my best trying to record my entire trip in it but sadly, I couldn’t finish it. I will eventually but it’s still going to take some time. I stopped writing when I reached Milan, I think.

Once I bought my journal I itched to write something down so I found a gellateria and ordered some gelato. It was hot as sin outside so a gelato was just perfect. I sat right at the entrance of the Ponte Vecchio watching people cross the bridge, avoid the speeding motorbikes and the pestering street vendors.

The Ponte Vecchio

I went to the Uffizi Gallery that afternoon. I was really glad I reserved myself a ticket to the gallery because the line to the entrance was gigantic. All I had to do was pick up my reserved ticket and head inside. Inside, though, it was packed. It’s a shame that these places are so popular because the experience is almost ruined when you need to fight through a throng of tourists in order to get a glimpse of some of the art. I know that’s an awful thing to say - why can’t they shut the museums down for me?! - but I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who felt a little crowded. Either way, I still got to see the Birth of Venus by Botticelli, Piero della Francesca’s portraits of the Duke of Urbino and his wife, which I loved, loved, loved. Also there was an exhibit of Leonardo da Vinci’s drawings and writings including this self-portrait which I was stunned to see. It’s quite remarkable to see in person. I’ve never seen the Mona Lisa but his artwork on paper alone is exquisite.

I walked home after the Uffizi gallery having spent about four hours in there, scouring the rooms. When I came back to the hostel I simply crashed around 9 and slept until morning. I was exhausted from the entire day.

In case you’re wondering, I’m home. I didn’t die on my trip nor did I get mugged nor did I lose anything (apart from my way a few billion times). It was a wonderful experience and I’m better for it now that I’ve taken it. Not only have I now travelled as far as Europe alone, I’ve seen some really awesome things, met quite a few interesting people and brought back about an assload (yes, an entire assload) of pictures back. Until I can set up a seperate page on this website for it, I’m going to type up my account of my trip through a series of entries. I say a series because it was sixteen bloody days! It’ll be a huge entry if I attempt to fit it all into one. So I’ll give you small doses coupled with the photographs. I make no promises of my photogenic genius, but I have to admit it’s hard sometimes to take a bad photo in Italy. Things are just so damn pretty!

So let’s begin with Day One: The Day I Left
I left on June 5 in the afternoon. My father took me to the airport where he was an absolute sweetheart and bought me a hundred extra euros to take with me. I hadn’t thought of taking actual euros because a) I’m an idiot and b) I don’t think farther than five minutes ahead. I had the British pound sterling I would need to haul my cookies around London for the eight hours I’d be in England before catching my connecting flight but I had no cash to pay for a cab once I landed in Pisa. My father graciously took care of that.

We said our goodbyes after having a final slice of airport pizza (the very irony of that dinner was totally lost on me at the time. I was just hungry and needed food!). The flight to England was average - cramped seats, dismal supper and horrendous inflight movies. I arrived in Gatwick airport and found myself a bus that would take me to Stansted airport which is on the other side of London. I was goggle-eyed over being in England since I had never set foot Her Majesty’s Kingdom (Queendom?). Everywhere I looked there were people speaking Proper English, speed bumps were called humps and they really were driving on the opposite sides of the road!

Despite the fact that I wanted to absorb everything London (or rather, London’s outer boroughs cause I only fleetingly passed through the city proper) had to offer but alas, I was exhausted from the flight. Despite the fact that I slept for a few hours I nodded off on the bus, although, not until after taking this sexy photo of myself:

Oh, I can hear you cringeing! Yeah well, you try taking a nice photo of yourself after being in transit for over seven hours! I arrived at Stansted airport, which looked more like a bus depot than an airport, midafternoon and had some lunch. My flight wasn’t until 8pm so I had a lot of waiting to do. The airport had a grassy knoll right by the bus stops so I sat out there and read my book for a couple of hours before becoming unbearably bored. Exploring the airport was the best option and I soon discovered why there are so many shops in airports. There’s absolutely nothing to do in an airport except eat, drink and shop. I bought another book since the one I had brought with me was nearly done and sat out the rest of the hours until I could actually check in.

I took Ryanair from London to Pisa and for cheapass seats the flight was … not the worst. There were no assigned seat numbers, you just sat anywhere and the seats didn’t recline. At that point, though, I could have been sitting on Satan’s lap, I really didn’t care all that much. I was exhausted and I spent the entire hour and a half flight asleep. I barely remember taking off or landing but somehow I ended up in Pisa by the end of the flight.

It was late when we arrived, close to midnight. The airport in Pisa was even smaller than Stansted but I suppose it got the job done. Being the scared little girl that I am, I opted to take a taxi the two or so kilometers into the city to my hotel. Pisa doesn’t have any hostels that aren’t either outside the city or camping grounds so I was left with the option to sleep in the airport (haha, yeah right) or find my ass a hotel. I chose to find a hotel room.

When I arrived at the hotel I found that I had booked a room for the night before. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am a royal idiot. Luckily he had a room available still, though. Not fifteen minutes after my arrival in my hotel room did I get a phone call. I was bewildered as to who would be calling me, in Pisa, after midnight.

It was my mother.

That woman can find me in the middle of Africa, I think. Granted, I gave her the number to the hotel, but I didn’t actually expect her to phone at my arrival! That’s just craziness! It was really comforting to hear her voice though. Arriving in Italy was incredibly stressful for me cause everything seemed to be a hurdle to leap over: going through customs with my shiny Canadian passport, finding a taxi, checking into my first hotel, using a European bathroom for the first time in three years (:P). Knowing my mom was looking out for me, a continent away, made things a little easier. After all, I had no time to be homesick, I was in Italy!

I’m off to Italy for two weeks