Adventures Overseas 13/16

These sixteen updates will be the condensed and often more erratic version of my adventures overseas, comprised of the updates that I sent home to my family at the time.

Author's Disclaimer: The following were written when I traveled overseas with my sister. They were the short and sweet version of what was going on in my daily journal. Often, I watered things down so that our parents wouldn't know how scared we really were or how bad a hostel really was. We didn't want to scare them. Also, I wrote these updates on my iPod, and in the interest of authenticity, I haven't edited or changed the formatting much. This may be less to do with authenticity and more to do with all those darn buttons I'd have to press if I edited it all. Anyway, there are plenty of little typos to go around I'm sure. I'm sorry. They bug me, too.

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Update 13:November 16, 2018 FRIDAY

Let me start this update off by telling you, in case I didn’t excuse myself before, that I type these things out on an iPod. So if there are spelling and grammatical errors, just know that I’m doing the best I can with big thumbs on a tiny touch-screen keyboard that occasionally puts words in my mouth (auto-correct). I tell you this because I recently went back to look at my previous update and found a word that made no sense in the sentence. I can’t even imagine it would make sense in another sentence, because it was “Woh”, which I don’t think is even a word, but spell-check had no issue with it.

Now, I didn’t go back to that update to just do some pleasure reading because I think I’m funny (though I do find myself hilarious); I went back to try and get my bearings on what the heck we did this last week. I thought I would get another early start on it, but having procrastinated until Wednesday night so late that I will surely go to sleep before getting fully through the intro, that early ship has sailed.

Well, I was right, I’m going to bed...

As I suspected, it is Friday as I write this due-Friday update. It’s like the college kids say, I guess: “Due today, do today.”

Anyway, let’s get this thing cracking.

Last Saturday, we were still in Florence. Sister didn’t feel so great, so we got a later start in the morning. We decided to walk around in a different part of the city, since we had mostly stayed in the central part. We crossed the big bridge and walked around to see some old churches on the other side of the river. Since drawing had been such a fun activity the other day, we decided to pick a spot to do it again. We got cocky and pulled up a spot on the span of pavement outside of Pitti Palace, a huge stone building. We seriously underestimated how long it would take to draw a stone building, so we sat there for quite some time. We didn’t only draw, though; I got us a pizza and we ate that, too. It was a pleasant way to spend a sunny afternoon, even if there were altogether too many bricks to draw.

After that, we found some gardens to go into. Well, we actually found three gardens, but only the third one was free, so we went into that one, of course. It was beautiful and luscious, and was high on a hill, so we had a great view of the city. We couldn’t stay there long, as we had decided to go to an English Mass at the cathedral that evening. We went back to our hostel and changed, then went to Mass. It’s a Mass that is meant for tourists, so there weren’t a lot of people in the side-chapel for Mass, but around 40-50, and mostly American from what we saw (or heard, rather). Just before Mass was to start, someone approached us to ask if we’d do a reading. Actually, he approached the guy in front of us, first...

“Will you do a reading for Mass?”

“Um... in English?” The guy asked. A fair question.

“Yes, yes!”

“Ummm... no.”

I thought that perhaps the young man didn’t speak English very well. I gave him the benefit of the doubt because I couldn’t discern his accent in the short exchange that occurred directly in front of us.

The Asker straightened and was about to turn his head, I knew, and continue down the aisle, I knew, to ask the next person down, I knew.

All of this I knew, but in a last ditch attempt to avoid being asked, I looked away and pretended to speak German. I didn’t actually make noise or even move my lips for this farce, I just looked away and tried to look German. So, I just looked away.

Anyway, it didn’t work because this guy wasn’t racial profiling, he was just going down the aisle. I wore my Helga braids for nothing.

“Would one of you do a reading for Mass?” He asked pleasantly.

Now, I really don’t mind reading in Mass; I even thought it would be kind of neat to have done a reading in the Florence cathedral. It’s just the anxiety of it all - of saying yes, then having to walk up the middle of the chapel, then up the steps. There are a lot of places to trip.

To buy myself some time for dwelling on all of the worst-case scenarios, I asked, “In English?” I was kind of hoping he would change his answer from the last guy and say no, which would make this decision a very easy one. He did not.

Before I even had time to really thoroughly think all of the scenarios through, my dear sister answered for me, “Yes, she’ll do the reading!”

Sister is all about expanding my comfort zone.

I thought that she’d have to do one too, as enthusiastic as she was, but the Asker wanted a guy to do the other one.

Of course, none of the bad things happened; no Freudian slips or trips in the aisle. It was all fine and dandy.

After Mass, a lady came up and complimented me on my reading skillz. She ended with saying something like, “What a privilege and an honour!”

I think she was saying that I was privileged and honoured to have been able to read in the beauteous cathedral. Sister maintains, however, that the nice lady was expressing what a privilege and an honour it was to listen to me.

Maybe Sister’s starting to realize how much she takes me for granted.

Anyway, according Sister, this makes me an internationally-renowned speaker, so I’ll just give all of you a blanket “you’re welcome” for any time I’ve graced you with my presence.

You’re welcome.

There.

After Mass, we toodled around and appreciated the city lights, as well as some gelato, then headed back to our luxurious hostel room.

That night, we video-chatted with some of our family. We chose that moment to share with them our suspicions that our luxurious hostel room had, perhaps, a couple of bedbugs. We had been waking up with some very itchy bites, and had been researching a bit about bed bug bites. That’s a fun phrase: a bit about bed bug bites.

Anyway, one of the first symptoms of bedbugs in your life is denial of bedbugs in your life, but I’m not sure if that’s true.

I really think we just had some really indecisive mosquitoes that were biting us in multiple places because they couldn’t pick a spot. The bites didn’t even really look like what the internet says bedbug bites look like.

In any case, talking to our parents put our ease at ease, which is to say, they burst our bubble and advised us to check our sheets, then wash all of our possessions after we left that place.

We agreed to wash everything, but we weren’t sold on the idea of looking under our sheets, since ignorance is bliss.

On Sunday, we decided to go back up to the garden we had found the previous day, since we hadn’t explored it much and it was really lovely. We spent some time wandering and weaving through it, then decided to climb higher up the hill, as there were churches and lookout points at the top.

There was a large lookout point further up that I didn’t remember we’d been to (seven years ago) until we got to it and the memory slapped me across the face. It was like déjà vu, but for real; a strange sensation. Again, the views were gorgeous, and we could really see the scale of the cathedral as it jutted up above the rest of the city.

From there, we climbed a little higher still, making our way to a couple of churches. At the gates of one of the churches, there was a table set up with two men attending it. One of them, we recognized from one of our first days in Florence. He had approached us in the street, clipboard in hand and lanyard around his neck, asking us if we’d sign some sort of petition to fight drugs. It seemed like a worthy cause, and autographs are free, so we agreed. I was handed the clipboard first, and I began to fill out my information as the friendly young man talked to Sister.

First Name: Prairie (easy peasy)

Last Name: Chicken (lemon squeasy)

City of Residence: Home Town... Canada (should I have just put Florence...?)

Pledge €: dang it.

There was a noticeable pause here, and Sister, who was suspicious already and glancing over my shoulder, was not the only one to notice it. As I handed the clipboard over to her, the schmoozer started telling us about what a worthy cause it was and that if we had just a few coins to spare, it would be most appreciated. I would have given him something just to get him gone, but Sister has more nerve. She also had all the money.

She explained, in a way that would probably have gotten one of those weird, appreciative head nods from President Donald Trump, that if we were going to give money to a cause, we would give it to a Canadian one. Sister’s a nationalist.

Anyway, the point of this story is that, as we approached the gates to the church in Sunday, the same guy was manning the table there. His buddy tried to drag us in for another signature, but we politely declined, saying that they already had our signature.

Anyway, wandering through Florence was pretty much our day on Sunday, so I’ll tell you a little bit about our run-ins with the suave Italian salesmen here instead.

Basically, if you ever need a pick-me-up or confidence boost, just go for a stroll down some street that’s full of buskers in Italy. They call out to you, try to snag you by starting up a conversation, and try to endear you to them through compliments.

Wearing jeans and a grey athletic sweater (both unwashed for many moons), I received a friendly, “I like your style miss!” Sister thinks it’s because I made eye contact with some of the bags he was selling, but I’m pretty sure he just has good taste. She’s jealous.

Not that Sister’s without her suitors. One brazen busker approached her and asked, “Hey, baby, where are you from?”

“Umm... Canada,” she replied, and shuffled away.

I was even offered an Italian boyfriend, because it’s not just buskers who try to ban you. Waiters/hosts stand outside of their restaurants and approach you as you walk by.

“You want to eat? We have spaghetti, pizza!”

We continued walking, and I threw a courteous “No, thanks,” over my shoulder.

“Drinks? Dessert? An Italian boyfriend, maybe?”

I looked back and gave him a shrug.

I didn’t say no.

Despite the anxiety-fostering environment, I did manage to find a bag to buy there. I wanted something to use as a carry-on in our upcoming flight from Rome, as well as for the buses, so I got a cheap ‘leather’ bag.

On Monday, we were set to roll on out in the late morning, so we got all of our bags packed and headed out. Halfway into a 20-minute team ride to the bus station, an older gentlemen came in, pushing a striker with a small toddler. He sat down across from us and started speaking Italian to us. We did the whole, “English, sorry.” Thing, and he understood, but still he was trying hard to communicate. Eventually, we figured out that he wasted to see our tickets. I thought he wanted to check the stamps on them to make sure he did it right, but when some ticket-inspectors came around, it became clear that he was kindly making sure we had stamped our tickets, so we didn’t get fined. We had, fortunately, but we were very appreciative.

After that, he talked to us for the rest of the ride. He knew we couldn’t understand Italian, but I think he thought we understood his cryptic hand gestures. We were nodding and smiling based on what his expressions were, and a little bit based on what we thought he might be talking about. I suppose that was kind of misleading of us. I think he was telling us about how he was going to pick up his daughter at the bus station, and that the toddler was his grandson. He may have also told us the number of grandchildren he has.

Sometimes, I think we responded to questions that were not yes or no answers with a smile and a nod. At these times, the man would kind of chuckle and wave his hands as if to say, “Ach! We can’t understand each other!” But he would keep talking, anyway.

After that, the trip to Assisi was uneventful. We got to the ancient little town around 3pm, and walked up, up, up to our hotel.

That’s right: H.O.T.E.L. Private room. Private washroom. Little soaps. Someone comes in and makes our beds. TOWELS!!! For the same darn price as our Florence room.

It was glorious.

We got checked in there, then started emptying our packs of flotsam so that we could take the whole lot down to a laundromat.

It’s amazing the amount of stuff that collects at the bottom of a pack! I mean, there were some bits of a plastic knife and fork that I had stored there for in case we ever needed a knife and fork. That one, I recall doing, and I only wish that I had remembered it at some point during its useful life, as we could have used it for sure.

Then there were the free souvenirs I’ve collected. I’ve been pretty honest about how I collect shells and rocks, so those were bound to be down there, but other free souvenirs include a lego storm trooper head and a llama pin.

I still didn’t throw them out.

I also found a small gift that we’d bought in London, oh so long ago. We had only bought about four of them, and just to amuse our siblings. They were a liquid-filled candy called Camel Balls (the illustration on the wrappers made the written name unnecessary). Of course, forgotten in the bottom of my pack has good and ruptured them. Three managed to survive, but only in the sense that they weren’t yet bleeding out of the packaging, so I thought I would write about them, as they may not make it home to amuse my siblings in person.

Anyway, after the scourging of the backpacks, we reloaded them and took them down to the laundromat.

All I had left to wear was a skirt and a dressish thing that I would have worn by itself if I’d had leggings available, or even if I didn’t have monstrously hairy legs right now. I looked like a real pilgrim, anyway, but needs must.

As it turned out, it was a laundry business, where the lady does it all and you just come pick it up. It was the only thing in the area, though, so we left most of our worldly possessions in her hands and went on our way, told to pick them up at 11am the next morning.

We got a few groceries from a store just down the road, then went back up to our HOTEL! room.

On Tuesday, we wandered into some churches near our hotel, so that we could go back at 11 and pick up our clothes. We toured St Claire’s and the temple of Minerva, then in the afternoon, we went farther out and saw some more Churches, making our way to the basilica of St Francis, on the other end of Assisi. Assisi is such a lovely, slow-paced small town! Everything is smaller and simpler there, but still so beautiful!

On Wednesday, it was my turn to plan a hike: Mount Subasio (Assisi rests on the side of this mount). I know we kind of said no more hiking, but this hike sounded easy peasy lemon squeasy, so I wanted to give it a try. Also, at the top is some pasture land that hosts cattle and horses, so I was excited to get up there.

Either I’m better at planning hikes, or I just accept the task more readily when it is self-inflicted.

I think it’s probably both.

The hike was certainly taxing, with the steep trails covered in loose stones, but it was a wide, well marked trail and it had no snow. It was leaps and bounds above the enjoyment level of Chur. At the top, the trees ended, and we could appreciate the rolling native grass hills that are reminiscent of the prairie hills back home. The thick, stocky horses at the top were beauteous to admire, even though I’m pretty sure they’re going to France. We even got to see a lovely, white cow up there, but the pasture seems to hold mainly horses.

From the up of Subasio, we would have had a view of Assisi and the valley below, but the whole bowl of a valley on that side of the mount was obscured by a thick, white fog (or smoke?). The castle of Assisi was the only thing that rose high enough to see. As we looped around the summit to head back down, we could see the valley on the other side of the mountain, as there was no fog there. It was a great view.

On the way down, we stopped at the site of St Francis’ hermitage, where a Monastery bows stands. We got to go in the little room where the saint once secluded himself!

We were pretty tired when we got down the mountain, but we got some groceries, namely chips and ice cream, and went back up the hotel. We thought we’d eat the ice cream, then do rock, paper, scissors to see who had to go get a box of pizza for us. By the time we ate that, though, our exhaustion really set in and neither of us wanted pizza if it meant we would be the ones to have to get it.

I had the foresight (coupled with the desire for pizza) to know that we would regret not eating once the pizza places closed, so I took one for the team and got us a pizza.

It was delicious, as pizza is wont to be.

Thursday was our last day in Assisi, and we had planned to get tickets that would take us inside the Roman Forum and the castle.

The Roman Forum is an excavated tunnel under the square where the temple of Minerva is. The square used to be sunk into the ground quite a way below the temple, but now it’s almost par with it. It isn’t a very big museum at all, but it is pretty neat. It’s crazy to reflect on how ancient that civilization is. They were fighting wars over vast empires while, in Canada, Buffalo were being stampeded over a ravine for lunch. DaVinci drew diagrams for man-powered flight while, in Canada, the horse was named “misatim” or “big dog” because it looked like a big-as dog.

After that exhibit, we went back tot the hotel and packed up a lunch, then trekked up to the castle. It is more of a fortress than a castle, at least “castle” as we experienced in Salzburg. This one was just an outer wall and a tall square structure in the centre. I don’t think anyone would have lived in it, except as a lookout. It was still really neat to walk around, as we were the only ones there for the most part, and you can just wander freely. We climbed the sketchy spiral staircase up to the top and got a great view of Assisi, which was clear of fog that day.

After looking around the castle, we found a spot in the sun and ate lunch, then did some sketching of the view.

The Forum and castle didn’t take as long as we thought it would, so we found a couple more churches to look at. One of them had a really neat Marian art exhibit, and one of them was as built over the home where St Francis grew up.

We watched the sunset that evening, got ourselves some more pizza, and booked our FINAL BUS TICKETS!!!! And our second last hostel!!!

From here, we go to Pompei, then on to Rome; from there, we fly to Reykjavik, and from there we come home!!!

Sometimes we talk about the food that Momsy will make us when we get home and we make ourselves giddy with excitement.

Friday is pretty much going to be spent in transit, so I have nothing to report. I think I elaborated in excessive detail on other points to make up for it thought.

We are currently driving along a road with the sea to our left. It’s supposed to be on our right, but Italy is kind of narrow, and we have a long way to go, so I’m not too worried yet.