Florence, day 2

Our second day in Florence was deemed "Museum Day", as we had previously been clueless about the intricacies of trying to purchase tickets. So, Neil and I got up early and headed to the Uffizi Gallerie. Kyle decided to stay behind and have breakfast at the Mila, and then take the Duomo tour that takes you up into the dome itself, thus giving a fantastic view of the city.
   Even though Neil and I arrived with plenty of time before the museum was set to open, there was still a line forming, which we joined, with the newly acquired Italian-weary shrug of 'this-is-probably-right-but-who-knows-...whatever.' While in line, we chatted with the New Zealanders standing in front of us about the ticketing process, etc. The white haired gentleman's large wife quickly tired of standing in line, and went to sit down to the side. The museum was about 20 minutes late in opening (it's Italy), but once it did, we were thankfully in the third wave that they let in. The man from New Zealand proceeded to walk in without his wife. While Neil and I debated whether or not to remind him that he was married, we were swept to the ticket booth, where we paid the entrance fee, and the man remembered to go and fetch his spouse sitting outside. According to our research, the ticketing agent here also sold tickets to the Academia, which we wanted to go to later on. When inquiring about this, the worker pressed on us the "fast-track" ticket, which essentially meant you could wait in a smaller line. Since it didn't cost much more, and we had heard horror stories about the waiting, we acquiesced (the one and only time they got us). We tried to get tickets for around 4:00, so we could do things in the interim, but he kept pressuring us for the 1:00 time (who kows the motivation), so we gave in with that little shrug that I mentioned before.
   The Uffizi museum is organized as a main gallery with rooms and smaller galleries opening to either side, with artwork dating anywhere from Roman and Greek to Renaissance-era. I referred to this main gallery as "Statue Hall", as Greek and Roman-era statues, including a long line of Roman emperors and their consorts, lined the walls. Above the statues, near the richly decorated ceiling, the room was circled with a series of paintings of the Medicis, including their illegitimate children.
     Even though we felt a time crunch, since we were meeting Kyle, and had to elbow our way through Japanese tourists the whole time, you really can't not be awed by the art here. Every few steps, you stumble upon something and think, "Oh! That was in my art history textbook!" or "Hey look! My Christmas card!" Just to name a few, here are some of the artists featured in the Uffizi: Titian, Collegio (which is the one to inspire the Christmas card comment), Boticelli, Fra Angelico, Da Vinci, Rafael, Durer, and Donatello. The most recognizable pieces, at least to me, were the Duke and Duchess of Urbino, Venus with the Long Neck, Botticelli's Birth of Venus and Spring, and a copy of the Lacoonate (we would see the real one in the Vatican). For these, I had to squiggle my way through Asian tourists to get a good eyeball on them, but it was completely worth it, because seeing these in person can make the jaw drop, as I stood there surrounded by a half-circle of Japanese, with a tour-guide making stink-eye at me.
     In the "interesting fact" category is the fact that some of the pieces that are now in the Uffizi were once stolen my Nazis, and recovered after the war. It was interesting to see what pieces Hitler was drawn to, or what Goering had hanging in his study.
     On our way out of the Uffzi, we happened upon an odd painting of one of the Medici's dwarves. What made this one particularly eye-catching was that it was propped in the middle of the floor, and when you walked to the back side of it, you got to see another painting of the dwarf's, well, backside. This would not be the last of the dwarf art. Oh, those Medicis!
    We met Kyle, and had lunch at a little roadside shop, mine being a prosciutto and mozzarella sandwich. Neil and I had our tickets for the Academia to see the David, and we decided to head that way. Kyle headed back to the hotel to see if we had gotten a message from a friend of ours who had said that he might meet us in Florence. After waiting a very short while (thanks to our pre-purchased tickets), and buying some souvenirs from a street vendor, we gained admittance. Off the bat, we saw another version of the Rape of the Sabines, this one covered in scaffolding for construction. Off to the side was a small gallery, which seemed mostly forgotten in everyone's rush to see David. But, actually, it was a nice surprise, with some  modern art by Picasso, Warhol, Duchamp (his famous Mona Lisa with Mustache, or L.H.O.O.Q), and others. We then proceeded down the long hall towards the David. Lining the way are Michelangelo's "slaves" or "prisoners", those unfinished sculptures that art historians (somewhat over) praise, but are still interesting to see up close. And then there is the David. Okay, so I suspect Neil's friend George would say that my anticipation colored my perception, but there really is something special about seeing it in person, and not the copies that stand at various points throughout the city. Was it because the environment was specially designed to showcase it? The money we paid forcing us towards appreciation? The fact that pigeons weren't actively pooping on it? All of the above? Maybe. But I did spend many minutes staring at it. There are times when something just inherently takes your breath away.
       I looked through another gallery that had some more statuary, and then we went outside of the nondescript Academia to wait for Kyle. And wait. And wait. Did I mention that it was hot in Florence? That there is very little in the way of shade, as if the plants themselves gave up? I ended up reclining on the sun-baked curb, squinting into the sun, when, lo, Kyle appears! And he agreed to go to a museum with us, wonder of wonders. The next one on the agenda was the National Museum, or Bargello, in yet another nondescript building. Once you enter, you come to a square that has seen a lot of history, and feels as such. For instance, this is where the instruments of torture were destroyed after the practice was outlawed in 1786.
     This museum, being a national museum, is as concerned with history as much as art, and there are a lot of objets d'art and artifacts from Ancient Rome, the Etruscans, Germans, and early Renaissance,  including a room devoted to ancient coins, and one devoted to jewelry. There is a large gallery of bronzes, my favorite being (of course) the bronze of a dwarf riding a giant snail and slaying a dragon. Of the actual art included are Donatello's famous David, Verrochio's David, Giambologna's Mercury, and a couple of pieces attributed to early Michelangelo (including a crucifux). There was a class of art students there having a lesson. Also of interest were Brunelleschi and Ghiberti's original prototypes of what were to be the Duomo's baptistery doors. They had been asked to make these prototypes as they were the finalists in the competition to create the final project (Brunelleschi won, by the by).
     After the museum, we stopped to get some Italian air conditioning, otherwise known as gelato (my flavor was strawberry...mmmm). Kyle opted out of going to our last stop, which might be because the Bargello was not exactly as exciting as it was interesting (and only in a specific way). But I gave him a lot of credit for trying.
     So Neil and I headed to the Pitti Palace and Boboli gardens, a structure originally constructed by an ambitious banker in 1458, and later purchased by the Medicis, who mostly used it to store their vast art (and other) collections. An imposing brick fortress of  a building, what I remember most about the area is it being very hot. We settled on a tour (like many of the attractions, they split the interesting things up in the hope that you'll purchase access to everything) that would get us into the gardens, as well as sections of the palace itself. Neil and I trekked through the gardens, seeing as much as we were able, including a square garden surrounded by statuary, a tunnel formed from trees, and slopes that led to pegasus statues. Tucked away in the gardens is a building that houses the Medicis' china collection, which we breifly visited. Many parts of the garden did afford lovely views, and a woman kindly offered to take a picture of Neil and I with the Duomo in the background. After we couldn't walk any farther (it was unbearably hot, so much so that one had to really watch their hydration levels as the sweat poured off of you), we went into the palace, seeing a photo of a statue of a dwarf riding a turtle that is in the gardens, which we had somehow missed. Nuts.
   Inside the palace, we got to see some of the ornamentation and ostentatious details, including the gorgeous painted ceilings. Our tour included two exhibits in the palace proper, one on Italian fashion throughout the ages. This included designs by Schiaparelli, Cavalli, and Gauthier, and ended with a display of the Medicis' actual clothing, deteriorating and highly delicate, laid out to view, some with the portraiture in which it was worn.
     The other exhibit we got to see was, hilariously, one on American Indians. Yes, that's right, we traveled to see a Native American exhibit. We went through it regardless, for me, mostly to see that part of the palace.
     On the way back to the hostel, we stopped at a vendor selling belts that he would custom cut, and we purchased one for Paul (using our better-than-ever gesture-speech). When we finally arrived back "home", I collapsed on the bed. I would not rouse for 12 hours. Neil and Kyle would venture out to a local pizza joint, Jacopino Pizzeria, which they described as "very local", as they, for all intents and purposes, did not speak English. Through the use of gesture-speech, an Italian/English dictionary, pointing, and very limited Italian, they managed to order a calzone and the Atomic pizza, and the food was quite good. As for me, I was out for the count. Practically comatose. When they got back, they tried to get me to eat some leftovers. I don't remember this. Supposedly, they became so worried throughout my mini-coma that they began checking every once in a while if I was still breathing. Now that's what I call a deep sleep.
   Let's just say I was gathering my strength for Rome.






   

Florence, day one

We arrive in Florence thinking that our bed and breakfast (the Mila) is no more than a 15 minute walk from the train station. These plans are quickly waylaid by the appearance of a block-long construction project that we have to find our way around, dragging our luggage behind us. We finally reach the Mila and are greeted by Marco, our tattooed host with a shaved head and an alternate life as a food and travel writer. He warned us about the construction.
   We had scoped out the rooms online, and, since there are only four bedrooms in addition to the community kitchen, bathroom, and dining room, we had made a guess that the room with the gigantic picture of a yellow rose would be ours. And, indeed, we walk into the room and see that we were correct. "Is there a tunnel behind that thing?" asked Kyle.
   We freshen up a bit (and I shake my head at the still mysterious 'squat sink' and shower cord), and head out to the city.
   This first day became our 'let's explore the city because we don't really understand how strange the ticket situation is, so we'll have to figure it out for tomorrow.' Which turned out to be fine, because it was nice to just wander a bit in Florence. While I already covered many of the main points, when I think of Florence, I also think of how bright it is there, and how much history is crammed into very small spaces. Everything is within walking distance of each other, really, and, for once, probably due to the heat, Italy has free public water fountains and spigots, at which people line up to refill bottles and splash themselves. You can even find places that dispense mineral water.
   First walking into the heart of the city, we pass by the specialty cheese and meat shops, and get a first glimpse of the dome of the Duomo, engineered by Bruneulleschi, which is very famous, and rightfully so, as it gives me a little thrill just seeing it. We first, however, see the Basilica di Santa Maria Novella, with its richly patterned black and white exterior. While the church itself is very beautiful, it is worth noting that the surrounding area is essentially brown and lifeless. We even step over dead pigeons.
   After that, we head towards the Piazza della Signoria, which is an L-shaped courtyard containing (besides hundreds of tourists), the famous fountain for Neptune, the Palazzo Vecchio (the crenelated, fortress-like, old town hall), a copy of Michelangelo's statue of  David, and the Loggia dei Lanzi, which is an open-air statue gallery, containing such works as the Rape of the Sabines by Giambologna and the statue of Perseus and Medusa by Cellini. Nearby is the Uffizi gallery, one of Florence's famous art museums, which we check out and promise to return to tomorrow. We say the same about the Bargello, or National Museum, which has very odd hours/ticketing, and the Academia, a rather bland building that houses Michelangelo's David (infamous for its long lines).
   For lunch, we stop at a small place that George recommended, where we dine outside, and I have truffle risotto, which is quite good. The highlight of lunch, though, is our happy plump middle-aged waiter who looks like he belongs on a jar of tomato sauce, who simply can't help singing a little bit as he serves us.
   After lunch, we cross the Arno River on the Ponte Santa Trinita, getting a clear view of the famous Ponte Vecchio, which has shops like tiny houses hanging off of it. We would cross the Ponte Vecchio and window shop at the wares, mostly high-end jewelry stores. Also on the Ponte Vecchio are signs warning people not to attach love locks (which are ignored by some), and gaggles of priests and nuns. That is one thing that differentiates Italy from other European countries-the high level of Catholic religious.
   The afternoon was also devoted in part to seeing the Medici landmarks, which is necessary for a Florentine trip. Included with this is, of course, the Palazzo Medici-Riccardi, their main residence, with its lovely courtyard. Staring at it makes you wonder about all of the crooked deals and mechanization that was planned behind those walls. Nearby, we saw the Medici Chapels and Basilica of San Lorenzo, which is one of the many churches that claim to be the oldest in Florence, but it might have the most legitimate claim with records of it being consecrated in 393. It was also the parish church of the Medicis, and many of them are buried there. Therefore, a lot of the refurbishment, additions, and so on were financed by this prominent family. Other stops on the Medici tour were the Pitti Palace with the Boboli Gardens, where some of the Medicis would reside (and later, briefly, Napoleon), but was purchased mainly to house their monumental art and porcelain collections.
   Our main site for this first day is the Duomo, with the Baptistery and Giotto's bell tower. Impressive from a distance,  it is perhaps even more incredible close-up, with intricate designs adorning nearly every surface of the buildings. The baptistery, where people such as Dante received their first sacrament, has the famous octagonal shape and the golden baptistery doors. Since we went later in the day, we got in the Duomo with very little waiting. Inside the Duomo, you're not going to find the incredibly ornate artwork and architecture that you might in other churches, rather, it is very open, large, and austere. The center of interest is in the interior of the dome, upon which is painted a surprisingly luminescent depiction of the Last Judgment (it takes you a second to realize what the subject material is).
   One of the interesting things about the Duomo (and, indeed, many Italian churches) is the fact that they take respecting the cathedral very seriously. Firstly, there is a dress code that is enforced (which is why many street hawkers sell scarves outside of the churches), meaning no cleavage, no short shorts or skirts, and no bare arms. If you do not meet these requirements at the Duomo, you are issued a modesty smock, which is the green color and paper-like texture of cheap hospital gowns. It was always a kick to see people annoyed that they had to wear one, and watch some girls try and twist them into fashion (modesty smock sarongs were popular). I, fortunately, was never in danger. Secondly, the Duomo was also insistent in keeping the noise down, so every once in a while over a loudspeaker, a recorded message would say in a booming voice, "Shhh...Silencio, per fevore...Silence, please."
   We ended the day with a trip to the Basilica of Santa Croce, bookending day one with another intricate decorated black and white church. The facade was actually designed by a Jewish architect (which you can kind of tell) who hoped to be buried there, but is instead buried under the porch due to his religion. Who is buried there is Michelangelo, Galileo, and Machiavelli.
   At this point, we are tired and hungry and ready for some dinner. Unfortunately, we are not yet acquainted with the Italian way of dining, which is that dinner is usually not started until around 8 or 9 o'clock, with meals lasting 2-3 hours, and many restaurants close up in late afternoon/early evening to prepare. We had several restaurants in mind, but they were all closed. We decided then to just purchase a hunk of parmigiano reggiano with some fruit and crackers from a local store, and return to the Mila. We ate our meal in the sunny shared dining room. At one point, Marco came out and said, "Dinner, eh?" (this would be the second to last time we'd see Marco). And another girl passed by and asked us how much the bus into town cost (which we didn't know). I think we were all thinking, "Seriously? Just...walk for 15 minutes..."
   Knowing that we would have to get up early the next day for the museums, we retired for the night.

Florence, an introduction

We arrive in Florence, and into what is truly the Italian leg of the trip. Venice is a city filled with such an "otherness" that it is probably not indicative of what the rest of Italy felt like (however, we would find that each region of Italy can differ vastly from the others). Considered to be the heart of the Renaissance movement, and with the prominent shadow of the Medici family still felt, Florence seems driven by three forces: art, money, and politics. The true beauty of the area, I feel, lies in its surrounding countryside, with its vineyards, stone pines, and cypresses. Once you leave this, you enter into a rather pedestrian outer layer of the city, with many modern complexes and architecture, which is where we stayed. From here, it is about a 15 minute walk into the densely packed historical section of the city, where most of the interest lies, and where most of the tourists gather. At this point, we had been traveling for weeks, but nothing we had seen in prior cities prepared us for the overwhelming gobs of sightseers in Florence. Unlike, say, Rome, Florentine visitors tend to wander free of tour groups, surrounding us in an odd and, to be honest, mostly obnoxious, English cocoon. While I know that I've complained about Americans acting holier than thou about tourism (I've never claimed to not be a hypocrite), I think everyone in our group became increasingly annoyed at having to constantly overhear pretentious and/or clueless people groping their way through the city. My eyes rolled so much, I worried someone would think I was having some sort of seizure.

   So, let's talk a little about that "art, politics, and money." Florence, thanks in large part to the aforementioned Medicis' patronage/greed, has an astounding amount of incredible art, most of it housed in some of the world's most amazing museums. Yes, it really does garner that many superlatives. For me, the art and the history oftentimes outshone the architecture, and, indeed, the city itself. Florence in July is hot, and hot in a uniquely inescapable way. You simply get used to sweating all the time (or, as I once said, "I'm glistening like the top of the Chrysler Building!"), and only lying perfectly still in the shade offered any sort of relief. Along with the heat came the smells, and Florence has the tremendously dubious distinction of being the stinkiest city that we visited. Essentially, about once every few minutes, you got a big whiff of sewage. Once when I was buying gelato, one of these odors wafted by, and I wrinkled my nose. The gelatiere looked alarmed and said, "It's not me, it's...," and pointed down to the sewer grate. Also, being about the height of most people's armpits, I got that odoriferous delight as well. The heat and the smells were compounded by the fact that the main areas of Florence are very dense. Like Venice, it has the small streets (though nothing compared to Venice, where you can get a 'the walls are closing in' feeling), interspersed with courtyards. In most of the historical section, cars are not allowed, excepting taxis and tiny service vehicles. Florence is a bike city, and we're not talking bicycle. And we're not talking 'hogs'. Vespas and Suzukis are everywhere, and everyone, from little old ladies to businessmen in 3-piece suits, zip around in them. Walking down the streets, sometimes it looked like a Japanese motorbike dealer had just parked his entire inventory on the street.

   Where were we? Ah, yes. Politics and money. Everything costs in Florence. Everything. Accustomed to the other nine countries we visited, it was a little disconcerting to be confronted with prices on what was free everywhere else. Additionally, Florence is really quite skilled at breaking things up to maximize their earnings. Many places have "packages" where they put one interesting thing in each package, along with a lot of fluff. So, you have to buy every package if you want to see all of what any logical person would want to. Pretty sneaky, sis. 

   Additionally, the bureaucracy and institutional organization (or lack of it) had me longing for other countries' which I had previously disparaged. Museums, ticketing offices, etc. tend to keep very odd hours. Essentially, the hours are "we are open when we feel like it." Information on the Internet is often wrong or outdated or conflicting with what is officially posted (which might be ignored anyway). Often, people show up to work when they feel like it, and it seems so ingrained that a lot of Italians seem to greet it with a sigh and a shrug. And, while some complain, they'll also participate in it themselves. In addition to the opening and closing times being confusing, Italian (and especially Florentine) sights frequently have a bewildering ticketing system. Here is a typical example.

"I would like to buy 2 adult tickets."

"No, you do that at (names a totally unrelated business/museum that is blocks away)."

"Oh, okay..."

"But they're closed for three hours right now."

"Oh. Well, I guess I can purchase tickets for tomorrow morning..."

"Oh, we're closed tomorrow morning. But, I can sell you this premium ticket for when we open at (names a time that is not on the sign, nor advertised anywhere in existence). With it, you get to join the smaller line."

*Sigh*

So, there's a common exchange. And they don't feel any sort of pressure to improve it because the general attitude seems to be, 'We've got a million of you people. You seem to come no matter what. We don't care if you get a little frustrated or we lose a few of you.'

   And, admittedly, the slowness sometimes forced you to give up and slow down for awhile. And that was something that was nice about being in Italy, the flip side to the frustration if you will. You have to relax. You have no other choice. Calm down, look around, discover some art. For a small fee.

Venice, day 2

The next  day, we catch the (incredibly crowded) bus back to Venice proper, and the first thing Neil and I do is head for the Gallerie Accademia to see lots of illuminated Medieval art, as well as Renaissance pieces, including a lot of Bellini and Giorgione's "The Tempest." The interior of the building of the Gallerie itself is beautiful, and a proper environment for the art.
  While we did this, we sent Kyle to get something to eat, as the museums don't really interest him. When we emerged, he was sitting on the steps, claiming that he couldn't find anything. "We passed a sandwich shop on our way here, " said Neil. We go down the street and Neil and I split a salami sandwich while Kyle gets some kind of wrap.
   Afterwards, we finally find the real Ca Rizzonico (apparently the building we found yesterday is the ticket office, located blocks away from the castle, as per the Italian way), which is right along the canal, and the "staircase" castle, Scala Contarini del Bovolo, located in a small courtyard.
   We proceed to perhaps the biggest tourist draw in Venice, the beautiful San Marco with the bell tower, clock tower, and Museo Correr lining the square filled with pigeons. People stand with their arms outstretched and pigeons land on them. Many children run screaming. Neil tried to lure the birds, but apparently they find him suspicious.
   Right by San Marco's is Doge's Palace, as well as the Bridge of Sighs, so named because it was the bridge across which prisoners would be transported, perhaps seeing their last glimpse of the outside.
    We cross the Rialto Bridge, packed with tourists and stalls trying to hock their wares. Venice's 2 biggest products seem to be Murano glass and Venetian masks, a reminder of their annual carnival masquerades that started in 1162. There are little shops selling both all over the city, and many of the masks are very beautiful and/or interesting (we pass the shop that provided Stanley Kubrick with masks).
   For lunch, we stop at a very small hole in the wall called Cantina du Mori. Neil and I have a glass of wine and an assortment of bites, including bruchetta, anchovies on little toasts, shrimp, and melon with prosciutto, which we eat standing at a wooden bar to the side.
   After eating, we visit the Ca d'oro, a lovely palace on the Grand Canal, and San Giacomo dell'Orio, a church founded in the 9th century.

   All day, we had been debating whether or not to do the ultimate touristy thing in Venice, a gondola ride. Already toying with the idea, when we saw one dock near a bridge and inquired about the price. Feeling like the opportunity to do this might be once in a lifetime, I agreed. The gondelier asked us how we were related. After finding out, he sat Neil and I on the heart-shaped seat in the back and Kyle to the side of his shiny black gondola decorated with golden dragons. As he poled us along the Grand Canal, and eventually the lesser canals, he pointed out the churches of Mary the Nazarene (Chiesa di Santa Maria di Nazareth) and Santa Lucia, as well as the residences of Wagner, Casanova, and Napolean ("You know Casanova? I feel like he is the greatest of all lovers. And not just because he is Venetian"). Every once in a while, he would softly sing, and, as we turned corners, he would shout, "Oooo...eee!" "I am not crazy," he said, "It is how we warn motorboats since we have the right of way."
   Our ride lasted about 1/2 an hour, and then we got gelato, and caught the bus back to Venice Mestre. Tired, we defaulted to the restaurant next to the hotel, which turned out to be run by a Chinese family. Neil and I got mushroom pasta, which had a watery "sauce" obviously made with condensed cream of mushroom soup. It wasn't exactly a great meal. But we did get to see the Chinese family sit down and consume mountains of delicious-looking Chinese food. Oh well. At least we got ice in our drinks, the only time we got any in Europe. I took a picture of it.

Venice, day 1

Kyle has discovered my hidden talent. It is 'train squiggling', as in, "Ann, squiggle your way in there and save us a seat."
  The train into Venice was actually quite nice, as we somehow ended up in a weird in-between car that was technically 1st class. We had an enthusiastic dread-locked conductor, and decided to eat in the dining car. I got the tabbouleh, which came out in a drinking glass.
   When we step off the train in Venice Mestre (the city outside of Venice where we are staying), it becomes very apparent that we're in someplace completely different. Firstly, we've left the relative coolness of the mountains and are smacked in the face with sticky heat (and it's supposed to be in the 90s the entire rest of the trip). In a way, Italy fulfills some of the stereotypes, with a little of the popped collar slickness mixed in with some street-level grunginess.
   We check into the Hotel Centrale, whose interior reminds me a lot of a 2010s version of 'Lucy Ricardo goes to Italy' (but with a working elevator, thank God). The staff is busy and brusque, but the rooms are air conditioned, which is a shocker, and we get our own bathroom. In the bathroom is an odd mini-sink, which we think can't possibly be a bidet because there are no jets, just a regular faucet, and a mystery cord in the shower, which I pull on, but nothing happens. More about these things in Rome.
   Having to buy the tickets from a tobacconist (which keeps very odd 'I open when I feel like it' hours), we take the bus into Venice itself, crossing the water. In a way, exploring the city in the late afternoon/evening like this was a good way to first experience the city, as a great portion of the tourists had cleared out by then. Venice is beautiful in a way completely different from any other place we visited, in a unique, almost ethereal way. It seems like it came out of a fairy tale, or was designed as a set for a movie called "Old World Charm". With winding tiny side streets (we're talking so small that I could put my palms flat on the walls on either side) and large and small waterways, Venice is an incredibly difficult city  in which to navigate, but it is a good city to get a little lost in, as it's not so much a city filled with landmarks; the city itself is the big attraction. And we did not find any of the "Venice smells and has giant water rats" rumors to be true. It is true, however, that Venice is touristy to the extreme. We hadn't heard so much English since London, and certain areas are packed during the day. One amusing incident happened as we were passing over a bridge our second day. An American girl stopped me to ask if I would take her group's picture. "Pho-to?" she enunciated slowly. "We speak English," said Neil, wearing a 4th of July T-shirt. "Oh! They speak English," she tells the group. Still, one of the guys said, "Grazi," in a painful American pronunciation when I was done. "They speak English!"
   We wander through the city a bit, seeing what we think might  be the Ca Rizzonico (but isn't), and finding the Galerie Academia and discovering that it closes early on Mondays. We walk along the Grand Canal and in the surrounding area, seeing a few churches, including S. Maria del Carmelo, S. Maria della Salute, which is a beautiful domed church, and San Travaso and its square. Reaching the tip of the island, we find Punta Della Dogana, a museum with a statue of a naked boy holding a frog in front.
   We get gelato (Neil and I get mango), and explore a bit more before having dinner at Pizza Zola. We are served by a tattooed woman with short hair whom we can't understand well, as she speaks in a rapidfire staccato and seems to take 4 people's orders at once. I get eggplant pizza, and Kyle gets hot dog and french fry pizza. Mine's okay, but not great. Kyle says he wouldn't eat his again.
   We return to the hotel around 8:00, and soon the lights go out, as the power has popped off in our room. Neil goes to tell the front desk, who gets it working again with the directive to not use the plug for the T.V. (which is way up by the ceiling, so why would we?) and to only use the plug in the bathroom. We decide to ignore this ( Neil: "I'm not using my computer in the bathroom"), as we didn't think we had caused it anyway since we had only one light on and one tablet charging. It might have been the girls down the hall, as we heard a hair dryer and giggling right before the power blew.

Zurich

We are headed through some pretty impressive mountains from Switzerland into Italy, which means alternating between amazing scenery and total darkness as we go through tunnels. We made our connection at Bern, even though our train was late getting in and we had to run up and down stairs to catch it. Kyle’s had his daily morning sugar rush, and he and Neil are now playing Pokemon on their gameboys, as they usually are on these train rides. It’s a good time for me catch up.

            Yesterday was our last day in Switzerland, so we’re leaving behind a country that I found clean, classy, organized, and expensive (We’re also leaving behind the German language, which we’re pretty happy about. After spending so much time with Slovak/Czech, German sounds very harsh).

            Yesterday, we took a day trip from Lucerne to Zurich. As the forecast called for pouring rain, the first thing we decided to do was go up into Uetliberg to see the mountains and the view, as hiking in the rain did not sound like fun. We took a tram up and then had a short hike before reaching a good vantage point (for some reason, the path up has these large moose creature lamps). Kyle and I (and Neil up to the 1^st platform) climbed a tower for a fantastic view. We worried that it might be foggy, but it wasn’t too bad.

            We descend the mountain and walk along the water to see the Ganymede statue and the flower clock. We see the Swiss National Museum and walk down the famous Bahnhofstrasse (or “shopping mile”, with Prada, Chanel, etc.) to the historic section that lines the river, which includes Stadthaus, Rathaus, Munsterhof, and the 4 churches along the water: Wasserkirche, Fraumunster (with a tall steeple and unremarkable interior excepting the Chagall stained windows), St. Peter’s (with the giant clock in its steeple), and Grossmunster (which is gigantic and impressive and interesting because of its modern stained glass, including geode windows, and its illuminated Bible from the 1500s).

            It is about this time that Neil sees a weird bird and identifies it with a guide. I’m only including this because they made a big deal about “this is the kind of thing your readers want to hear about.”

            A final place we saw was Grossestadt Kleiner Hafner, which used to have prehistoric dwellings in the water, and is now a park with yellow buoys in the river to mark where they used to be.

            We lunch at Café Odeon, and have fried cheese salad (Neil), a swiss-style burger with egg and a hash brown patty instead of a bun (Kyle-who declared it one of the best burgers he’s ever had and started carrying around the little Swiss flag that it came with), and steak tartar (me). While there, we saw a guy drive into a trolley (no kidding) and reminisced about the trip (“Remember that time I had to buy you something that cost one pound, but only had a 20? So then I had pockets of change that I had to keep emptying again and again when I changed money in Belgium. And you were just laughing and laughing…”).

            We have a little trouble getting the check (“maybe if I wear this bread bowl on my head…”), but eventually do, and it’s about this time that the rain really breaks. Neil and Kyle share my umbrella, and I have my slicker from Liverpool. At one point, Kyle ducks into a phone booth for cover (“They’re playing creepy music in here!”)

            Getting back to Lucerne, we decide to get ice cream for dinner (they didn’t seem to be serving real food). Kyle and I get big sundaes called Swiss Chocolate Doodles. Then we wander back to our hostel through deserted streets as everyone is watching the Eurocup final between Spain and Italy. Spain won, which somehow translated into falling asleep to cars honking for 2 hours in Switzerland.

            P.S. Random notes about our hostel in Lucerne: The elevator makes alarming sounds like it’s going to break down every time you use it. The front door looks antique and wooden, but lacks a doorknob, and automatically slowly opens up for you. It is both cool and creepy.

Lucerne

            The next day, we leave Germany and head for Lucerne, Switzerland. At the train station, we eat our breakfasts (Kyle: giant cinnamon roll, Neil: apple, me: pretzel), and boarded the train. The ride was uneventful, excepting the pretentious Americans, a problem I fixed with earphones.

            Arriving in Zurich, we realized that the ticket lady had given us tickets to Lausonne, not Lucerne, and we had to get that straightened out. Once done, we were waiting for our train when a woman with cat eye eyeliner, black hair with blunt-cut bangs, and a cigarette asked us, “Excuse me, are you going to Lucerne?” After we affirmed this, she warned us that this day was Luzerner Fest and there would be thousands of people pouring into town.

            This train ride was also uneventful, excepting the sleeping guy who tried to snuggle up to Kyle, and we pulled into the station and stepped into a postcard. Seriously scenic, Lucerne is surrounded by mountains and has a river running through it, which one can cross by using one of two covered bridges, the Mill Bridge or Chapel Bridge.

            We find our hostel and are informed by a skinny man with an eye patch that our room is not quite ready yet. So we decide to use the time exploring the old city walls, which are quite a hike in the heat, especially going up into a tower for a great view (huffing and puffing).

            We head back, check into our room (double and single beds with a bathroom across the hall. Plain and small, but fine). We head into town, explore Old Town for a bit, and see the lion monument. We investigate the fest a little bit, which is indeed large and packed, and hear some musical acts. One funny thing about the fest was that there were these people selling plastic hearts for charity everywhere. We had already bought one, which I was wearing, but a volunteer still accosted Kyle, grabbing his arm and practically shaking and yelling at him.

            After eating burgers with mystery sauce, and buy Swiss Chocolate ice cream. We took our cones to the riverbank, and were standing in the water when we heard the thunder rumble. Soon, it was pouring, which felt great. Finding shelter for a minute with some other people, we walked back to the hostel during a break in the rain.

            Neil actually went back to the fest after the storm let up, braving the crowds (which were, according to him, even worse), and buying me a mango smoothie and some nuts. When he got back, we heard fireworks going off, so we watched them from a nearby classroom window (they teach hotel management here), from which I also “borrowed” a fan with which to cool our sweatbox of a room down.