I can't really remember the train ride from Milan to Florence. I do remember waking up early in Milan to make an early train to Florence. I can't tell you anything about the train ride. I'm pretty sure we played more rummy (in which I most likely got my ass whooped) and probably were jovial to each other.
We arrived in Florence and immediately went to the tourist information place so we could get a proper map. We walked down a long ass street to get to the hostel called Plus Florence. It was actually a fabulous little place. A real hostel. I thought "Finally, Dave will get to have a real hostel experience." Well...no that didn't actually happen. Dave is one smart cat and got us a double room with our own bathroom for less than it would have cost each of us to get a shared room. Really, all he did was listen to the lady behind the desk and pounce on the actual deal. After checking in, we decided to walk to the Ufizi, the big museum that houses the Botticellis and various other spectacular, artsy things. We walked along the old building, watching all the street vendors trying to sell drawn portraits or watercolors of the city. We couldn't figure out where the line began or even if the line that was there was the correct one. We decided to jump on the end of the line we saw and hoped for the best. We were sandwiched in between a group of high school students from Spain. At least I'm pretty sure they were from Spain. Their particular brand of Spanish included a bunch of lisp sounds and they had all the sass of Spanish students. David and I listened to their conversations, trying to dust the cobwebs off of the high school Spanish that is stored in our minds. They were loud and the line was long. I began to shift my weight from foot to foot before finally coming to rest leaning on a metal railing. We were close enough to the door to see that no bottles would be allowed. I was still carrying the bottle of wine from Milan and I had lost the cork while we were walking. We had a choice: either down the bottle or throw it out. Dave wasn't about to throw the bottle of wine away. It had just shy of a quarter of the bottle left. So we shared (really Dave drank most of it) the wine and the water I was carrying and threw the bottle away. I smiled at the image of the pair of us: again looking like semi-clean winos. We stood in line forever it seemed. Dave and I shared minimal conversation. We were mostly listening to the Spanish and occasionally Dave's iPod. He played Franz Ferdinand's "Lucid Dreams" for me since we didn't get to hear it in Milan. The line inched closer and closer to the door about every 15 minutes. The British guy behind us checked his watch and cursed. I only remember this because the British guy looked like Guy Pierce but only slightly.
Once we finally got into the museum, I was exhausted from the line. We paid and I started to feel done with the museum after about five rooms of paintings and large groups of people. I heard more American(!) English in the Ufizi than anywhere else which was kind of nice but it mostly felt weird. The Botticelli painting of the Birth of Venus was really amazing. It was bigger than I imagined though really who thinks about the size of the actual painting?
Museums are like time warps so I couldn't tell you how long we actually spent in there BUT I do remember thinking that I was going to die. My legs and back hurt from walking and carrying my small bag with the huge Italy book. I bought a few small trinkets at the museum store and dragged David into a t-shirt store. I eyed the "Ciao Bella Italia" one but didn't buy it. (We went back the next day and I bought it then-It was still there so it must have been meant to be) We decided to eat dinner at the restaurant next to the t-shirt store. Dave ordered the gnocchi with a cheese sauce and I got lasagna.
The details are a little fuzzy as to what we did after that. I think we just went back to the hostel because we were museum exhausted, which we all know is different from regular exhausted. We were tired but really wanted to do other stuff. The room we stayed at was pretty awesome. It had a bunk bed which made me and Dave excited. Who doesn't get excited about bunk beds? I guess people who had bunk beds wouldn't or those who were involved in a horrific bunk bed accident. Dave and I do not fall into either of those categories so we were stoked. I called top bunk (for obviously reasons I think) and realized the whole thing shook like an earthquake when I was getting up there. That only made me a little nervous which must have been obvious because Dave offered to share the bottom bunk with me (it was the size of a double bed), which I declined. Honestly, when would be the next time I would get to sleep on the top bunk in Italy?
The next day we were going to tackle the Science Museum and few sites across the river. The Science Museum was right by the Ufizi. We walked down there taking in the sites. After searching for the entrance of the place for a while without finding it, I made an executive decision to skip it. We decided to walk to the bridge which had a slew of jewelry dealers. On the way there, the sidewalk was tiny, I stepped off for a moment to miss a bucket of yuck on the ground and nearly got hit by a tiny Italian car. Talk about heart attack. Walking across the bridge meant being tempted by tiny vendors selling "I heart Italia" stuff and those awesome bags that said Florence in white or gold lettering. I spied a "I heart Italia" bag as we passed one. Dave noticed and offered to stop. I said no and we kept going. (I did buy it on the way back through though-I have no self restraint) We passed by a bunch of little pizza places and touristy shops. We made our way to this one museum that had a big garden. After seeing the ridiculous price they were charging we decided to get some lunch and sit in the sun, just outside of the gardens. We walked back toward the bridge and got pizzas and two small tortas at this tiny shop. While we were eating, a few guys were playing football (that's soccer for most of you) behind us. We ate quietly, watching a creepy guy take pictures of these girls that were sun bathing. Then, out of no where, the football (soccer ball) came and smacked into my spine. My mouth was full of pizza and so was Dave's. Dave looked at me clearly shocked by the unwarranted bash in the spine and he laughed. The guy came to collect his ball and said "Mi scuzi" which is "excuse me" in Italian. Dave later said that he was going to tell me that I was going to get hit by the ball but his mouth was full of pizza. We then had the most delicious torta I've ever eaten. They were little bundles of vanilla pastry deliciousness.
After that we walked back toward the main part of the city and decided to get gelati at the place my Italy book dubbed "The best gelati in the country." After a flash rain storm, we got directions to Isla de Stinke (I only remember the street because I thought it was hilarious), stopping at a wine shop to get a small bottle of Chianti. We then found the gelati shop; it really was epic. There are no words to describe how good this ice cream was. Suffice it to say that I would buy a plane ticket to Florence for the night just to get it again.
We spent the rest of the day and part of the next day in Florence. I'm having a hard time remembering everything so I'll just tell you the highlight of the next day. We went to a church and looked at all the religious art. I can't remember the name of it now but it had a wall depicting Dante's Inferno. It was one of the things David really wanted to do while we were in Florence. We had a really nice conversation about God and religion and just spent time talking about stuff we never really talked about before. We then bought tickets to Rome and spent an hour waiting for train. We would have done other stuff but I was afraid I would be too tempted to buy more stuff so we hung out at the station just people watching. I did get a smashed one Euro cent that said Firenze (Florence) on it. We bought the slow ticket train ride to Rome because it was cheaper and we spent the next four hours (yea four) sitting across from these two German girls who spoke German, English, and Italian. Impressive thing was they would swear in all three too.
Here the link to the pictures: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2359175&id=15933734&l=c76a423c08
Next stop: Rome
Listen to Falling Into Reverie
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
We've Just Hit the 'Pause' Button from the Adventures
Time for a little reflection.
I posted this blog on my myspace page some time ago, under the category of "Life," titled "Jealous is for the birds":
I looked over that list and for the most part I still feel the same way even though I posted it almost a year ago. I do think that I've make strides of progress in accomplishing some of those things on that list. I've gotten better at letting go the things that I can't change or control. I've started taking responsibility for my choices and the situations I find myself in. I've trimmed the fat, so to speak, off my so called friends list. I still get jealous but only on the days I find myself exhausted from always having to be the one to pull through for myself. But those moments are fleeting because I know that I am never truly alone and I will always have a safety net in the form of my family and close friends. Let's be honest anyway: being the one to pull through for yourself is kind of what life's all about. Seriously, if you can't do it for yourself, who will? Should anyone else?
I learned that I don't know the difference between living the life I live and the sort of life that might seem easier or harder for that matter. I'll never know because this is the life that I live and have chosen to live. I spent a small period of time thinking about what it means to be happy and deciding if the definition I came up with and what I've felt are the same thing. Evidently it was too small of a period of time because I don't know.
Missing just being at home hasn't stopped. In fact, while I always knew that my family was the most important thing in my life, I never realized, until recently, what that actually meant.
I also realized that being in England for such a long time is one of the most exhilarating and frightening things I've ever done in my life. If I can do this, I can do anything. It's sort of like in the movie Fight Club, Edward Norton's character said something along the lines of "Once you've been in a fight, everything else in your life gets the volume turned down." Things have changed for me. Nothing really seems out of reach now. (Okay, I realize that reference might be lost on some of you and others probably won't see the connection. I don't know why but these two ideas just seem to be linked in my head.)
I spent some time thinking about graduation next May (yes friends, I will be graduating college next May. You might be shocked-how do you think I feel?). I'm afraid to graduate college because I don't know what to do next. College is pretty much the last strictly planned out event of my life. The next step is obviously to get a job but there is a lot of wiggle room. I can do anything. The most likely next step is more schooling. I'm really anxious but excited about the idea of baking school (something that's been talked about more and more the past year or so). The only thing I'm really anxious about is money (i.e. paying for it) and moving away (i.e. away from my family). I was thinking about San Francisco (as I'm sure I mentioned) but I just don't dig on cities. To be honest, after baking school I'll just face the same question: what next? That question is enough to make my chest tighten up, my heart to beat uncontrollably, and my breath to quicken. I suppose that's what happens at the ends of things.
I heard (or maybe read?) this quote once: If you're not prepared to look stupid, then nothing great is ever going to happen. I'm working on letting go of fear of looking/feeling stupid. I know I am meant to be great. Maybe not "all of America loves me" great but great enough for my life, my family and friends.
I don't know what's brought on this...whatever it is. I go through it every now again. I'm probably too serious for my own good. I personally blame it on Sheryl Crow and her "I'm leaving the shit behind and having a good time" type of music. At least this time.
I'm off to bed so I can wake up and make peanut butter cookies for my very lovely international friends.
To my beautiful mother and wonderful sister: I have not forgotten Mother's Day. I'm just very Mexican here so your cards will be late. I love and miss you.
To my fabulous brother: I miss watching movies with you. I saw a movie trivia book at this store and I almost bought it so I could quiz you. But I don't have a lot of money and I thought our brains could probably use the memory space for something other than movie trivia. I love you.
I posted this blog on my myspace page some time ago, under the category of "Life," titled "Jealous is for the birds":
So...I've been thinking about a few things.
One) I'd like to live up to my own expectations and not anyone else's.
Two) I miss my counselor, Reid. I didn't know that I would but I do. I miss talking to him. I wasn't really worried about what he would think about things. I just said them.
Three) I'm tired of being jealous of people I know. Kids whose parents pay for their college and buy them brand new cars. Kids who can travel to Europe four times in a year. It makes me sad because sometimes I burn so fiercely with jealousy. I'd like to be happy with my own life.
Four) I miss just being at home.
Five) How is it that some people don't realize that they suck at being friends with someone? I mean, I bet I do it too (I can't say that I'm better than anyone else) but some people just don't know what it means to be a good friend.
Six) I'd like to let the stupid shit go. I'd like to stop getting upset over things that I can't change or control; things that happened in the past.
Yep...that's all I've got for now.
I looked over that list and for the most part I still feel the same way even though I posted it almost a year ago. I do think that I've make strides of progress in accomplishing some of those things on that list. I've gotten better at letting go the things that I can't change or control. I've started taking responsibility for my choices and the situations I find myself in. I've trimmed the fat, so to speak, off my so called friends list. I still get jealous but only on the days I find myself exhausted from always having to be the one to pull through for myself. But those moments are fleeting because I know that I am never truly alone and I will always have a safety net in the form of my family and close friends. Let's be honest anyway: being the one to pull through for yourself is kind of what life's all about. Seriously, if you can't do it for yourself, who will? Should anyone else?
I learned that I don't know the difference between living the life I live and the sort of life that might seem easier or harder for that matter. I'll never know because this is the life that I live and have chosen to live. I spent a small period of time thinking about what it means to be happy and deciding if the definition I came up with and what I've felt are the same thing. Evidently it was too small of a period of time because I don't know.
Missing just being at home hasn't stopped. In fact, while I always knew that my family was the most important thing in my life, I never realized, until recently, what that actually meant.
I also realized that being in England for such a long time is one of the most exhilarating and frightening things I've ever done in my life. If I can do this, I can do anything. It's sort of like in the movie Fight Club, Edward Norton's character said something along the lines of "Once you've been in a fight, everything else in your life gets the volume turned down." Things have changed for me. Nothing really seems out of reach now. (Okay, I realize that reference might be lost on some of you and others probably won't see the connection. I don't know why but these two ideas just seem to be linked in my head.)
I spent some time thinking about graduation next May (yes friends, I will be graduating college next May. You might be shocked-how do you think I feel?). I'm afraid to graduate college because I don't know what to do next. College is pretty much the last strictly planned out event of my life. The next step is obviously to get a job but there is a lot of wiggle room. I can do anything. The most likely next step is more schooling. I'm really anxious but excited about the idea of baking school (something that's been talked about more and more the past year or so). The only thing I'm really anxious about is money (i.e. paying for it) and moving away (i.e. away from my family). I was thinking about San Francisco (as I'm sure I mentioned) but I just don't dig on cities. To be honest, after baking school I'll just face the same question: what next? That question is enough to make my chest tighten up, my heart to beat uncontrollably, and my breath to quicken. I suppose that's what happens at the ends of things.
I heard (or maybe read?) this quote once: If you're not prepared to look stupid, then nothing great is ever going to happen. I'm working on letting go of fear of looking/feeling stupid. I know I am meant to be great. Maybe not "all of America loves me" great but great enough for my life, my family and friends.
I don't know what's brought on this...whatever it is. I go through it every now again. I'm probably too serious for my own good. I personally blame it on Sheryl Crow and her "I'm leaving the shit behind and having a good time" type of music. At least this time.
I'm off to bed so I can wake up and make peanut butter cookies for my very lovely international friends.
To my beautiful mother and wonderful sister: I have not forgotten Mother's Day. I'm just very Mexican here so your cards will be late. I love and miss you.
To my fabulous brother: I miss watching movies with you. I saw a movie trivia book at this store and I almost bought it so I could quiz you. But I don't have a lot of money and I thought our brains could probably use the memory space for something other than movie trivia. I love you.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Italian Adventures: Venice to Milan
Okay, here is part two of our "Italian Adventure" or "So I Suck, I"m Sorry it's taken Me Ages, Pt.2" (although in reality it's probably what? Part 20?)
Before I begin I have to describe to you the area I am in right now. I'm in my room, it's a modest room with a single bed, desk and wardrobe combo. It's nice. My window is open and the sound of the Beach Boys "I Get Around" is wafting through. Yes, the Beach Boys. Oh these crazy Brits.
Anyway back to the Italian adventures.
You'll have to forgive me, I cannot remember if I wrote about missing the train to Milan or not and I'm way too lazy to check or to really do much editing on this baby. In Venice, due to the whole time change business, me and Dave were an hour late for our train to Milan. We were pissed so we decided to get a bottle of wine and drink from it under the trees on a bench near the train station like a bunch of dirty Italian-esque winos (we are Italian after all, we pulled it off nicely). When we finally got on the train, we sat across from each other and played a competitive game of rummy. I'm sure you won't be surprised to find out that Dave kicked my ass. He later told me it's a little bit easier to play with me because he can anticipate my moves and what cards I want. While he was kicking my ass, a lovely young Italian lady sat down next to Dave. As I was sitting across from her, we'd occasionally catch eyes and smile. After a thorough ass whipping, Dave and I decided to discontinue our game. I don't know how it happened exactly but Dave started to talk to the girl. Her name was Tatiana. She was really nice and spoke decent English. We talked about Milan because she went to school there. We talked about what our plans were for Milan (which pretty much was going to see Franz Ferdinand and find our hotel at that point). She wrote out on a piece of paper her favorite places in Milan for us. Dave then asked her about the squirrel population of Italy. That was quite an interesting turn in topic. I laughed at him (honestly, who asks about that?) but then I had to agree. There really aren't many (if any at all) squirrels in Italy. Once we finally arrived in Milan, we all got off together and she tried to point us in the direction of our hotel. Unfortunately she didn't quite know where it was but she did her best. Then we parted ways.
I, being the keeper of the map, tried to get us to our destination in a timely fashion. Our bags were heavy and we still had to find the venue for the Franz concert. Well, we started walking off in the wrong direction, mostly because street signs like to do a vanishing act in Italy. I quickly realized the error though and we got going in the right way. It took us a while to find the place and I got snippy with Dave. He kept commenting on all the nice cars (yes, they were nice-audis and BMWs and what not) and I was frustrated because our map was what can only be described as inadequate. We managed to get to the street that our hotel was supposed to be on. We found a door that was locked that was supposed to lead to the hotel. Next to it was a panel of buttons, most with residences and one with our hotel name. Me and Dave exchanged dubious glances and Dave pressed the button. The door unlocked and we wandered through, still unsure of where the hotel actually was. The door opened up to a courtyard. This place was apparently an apartment structure with a hotel stuffed in the rear. We found the stairs to the hotel and entered. I told the guy at the desk, who evidently lived just to the right of the front desk in a small room, that we had a reservation. He took our passports (to copy records and the like from) and gave us the key. He told us to get settled and come back in three minutes to get our passports back. We opened our door and were greeted with a decent sized room with two dressers, one bed and a bathroom. We were happy enough with it. After the check in process was complete, we asked for a map (thankfully it was a decent one) and asked where the Franz Ferdinand concert was. He looked up the name on his computer (which was a generous touch, he could have said "I don't know. Fuck off."), found it on the map and told us how to get there. We had booked two nights in Milan, one full day and two half days, so we opted to get the three day metro pass. Milan has a fabulous metro system. Easy to understand and speedy as all hell. We got to the Franz concert in like 30 minutes and got our tickets. It was a mob of Italians, all speaking Italian. Me and Dave just stood near each other, occasionally speaking but mostly just observing, waiting for the opening band. It seemed to take ages. While we were waiting, I had this awful realization. We were standing next to a group of Italians, one guy with his hair up. I was (creepily) watching them and they must of have said something to this guy about how long his hair was getting because he took his hair tie out and let it all loose. I watched in horror as his gloriously beautiful, long hair tumbled down. I turned to Dave and said "Italian men have better hair than I do." Dave looked, smiled and nodded his head. My hair is at best a frizzy mess. These Italian men had shiny, soft (looking-I did not touch any) hair that shamed the rat's nest on top of my head.
Finally the band came out. Dave looked at me in surprise. "No opening band?" Evidently we got there just in time to miss the (most likely) lame Italian opening band and were just going to catch the top bananas-Franz Ferdinand. Everyone pushed forward as the band began their opening chords to "Dark of the Matinee."It took me back to the summer I listened to their self titled CD exclusively. I was 17 and volunteering at the VA hospital. I still remembered most of the words but I was hearing it in a whole new way. Italian accented English voices were shouting the lyrics all around me.
Now, it's been a really long time since I went to a huge concert like that. The last one I remember going to that had more than say 60 people was Regina Spektor almost two years ago. I'm used to small bar, local scene type of venues. So being constantly jostled by all the dancing Italian bodies that were pretty much uncomfortably close to me was off putting. But when the group of kids near me decided to start moshing, that was a whole new thing. I've seen moshing before, I've just never been that close. I was being pushed every other second. I kept looking at the girl that was being shoved into me with apologetic eyes but she understood and kept on singing along. Then, on top of the moshing and constant jostling, a girl and her boyfriend danced up to my left. No big deal until she stepped on my foot three times and slammed her elbow into my forearm with enough force to give me a visible bruise the next day. So I started to do what I like to call "defensive dancing." Basically I poked my elbow out a little more than is polite and made some sharp movements. After contact was made, not just with my elbow but also my shoulder, she stepped off to the left a little more. I smiled at my victory and was immediately shoved forward by the moshers. Honestly, who moshes to Franz Ferdinand?! I thought as I righted myself and tried to get back into the music. Franz finished their first set and walked off stage. Everyone was clapping and shouting so they came back for their encore. I looked at Dave. I was tired and the whole experience, while being amazing and definitely one of a kind, made me really uncomfortable. Dave said we could leave unless they started to play the song "Lucid Dreams" which was his favorite off the new album. Lucky for me, they played Jacqueline, the opening song from their self-titled CD. Dave firmly clasped my hand and we pushed our way through the crowd, dodging moshers and drunken idiots on the way out. We finally reached fresh air and we spent a moment letting our ears adjust to normal volumes. Outside there were tables and tables of Franz souvenir shirts, etc. I glanced at them, trying to decide if it was worth it to buy something to commemorate this experience. An older Italian gentleman motioned to us and started talking in Italian. Dave told him we only spoke English. He only spoke Italian. At first he looked defeated but the scent of a possible sell made him press on. Using hand signals and very broken English he told me the prices of the t-shirts and hoodies. "Diece euros" he said, pointing to the t-shirts. Venticinque euros for the hoodies. My Spanish days kicked in. 10 euros for the shirts, 25 for the hoodies. Then he threw me a curve ball, 30 for both. I held my breath and looked at Dave. "It's up to you," he said. I weighed my options quickly and bought a green Franz Ferdinand t-shirt. We thanked the man and walked off. "He almost had you with that 'deal,'" Dave said.
It was very late by the time we got back to the area our hotel was. We were hungry but couldnt find any place that was open. We walked into this little restaurant that had all the lights on but evidently was closed. Dave asked if he could buy a bottle of water, he later told me that he would have died without that water. The lady let us buy a bottle of water, despite not knowing a word of English. We thanked them (in Italian) and left. We decided that we were too tired and it would be best to go back to the hotel and sleep.
The next day we decided to find some of the places that Tatiana (the girl from the train) wrote down for us. I'm not going to go into detail about the day. Here are some of the highlights: We took the metro in the direction of destination number one (the name of which escapes me), ended up at a supermarket where we bought water (another lifesaving bottle) and walked to a closed restaurant that let us sit down if we would wait 10 minutes for them to officially open. No one but one guy spoke English and because we didn't speak Italian we have no idea what they said about us as "Americanos." We walked to a park and spent a few minutes sitting on a bench reflecting on how much we weren't enjoying Milan. Then we walked to a castle and were accosted by a group of African who were "giving away" bracelets. I don't know how many times I said "No grazie" to this guy and tried to follow Dave away from them. Dave got caught up one and got a bracelet tied to his wrist. As I waited, the guy who was trying so desperately to give me one tied a bracelet around my wrist. I knew they'd want some kind of money for it and I didn't have any. The guy that was talking to Dave was all about Obama. He turned to me and smiled. "Is this your wife?" he asked Dave. "No, my sister" "Oh she is very beautiful" and then he asked me if I loved him. I just smiled and looked away. After giving them some money "for the orphans in Africa" we managed to get away.
We went to a square and saw the Italian TRL being filmed.
There was a huge crowd and a big screen that was airing the show. After watching the crowd for a bit, me and Dave walked away and talked about how Milan is like the Italian New York. Then we tried to figure out the degrees in Fahrenheit. We both knew the Celsius to Fahrenheit equation but it took about 20 minutes to work it out properly. While walking around, we met another African who talked to us about the orphans in Africa. We told him we already gave money earlier in the day. He started talking to Dave about exchange rates and the "economic crisis." Then he looked at me and asked "Is this your wife?" No, I'm his sister. "Oh! I'll trade you 10 goats for her like we do back in Senegal. Ha! Ha! Ha!" Yes, David was offered 10 goats for me. I still don't know if I'm supposed to be flattered by that.
After being really unimpressed and underwhelmed by Milan, we decided to get some food and go back to the hotel. We were going to leave for Florence early the next morning.
Here's the link to the rest of the Milan pictures: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2359174&id=15933734&l=2a65ab760d
Next stop: Florence.
Before I begin I have to describe to you the area I am in right now. I'm in my room, it's a modest room with a single bed, desk and wardrobe combo. It's nice. My window is open and the sound of the Beach Boys "I Get Around" is wafting through. Yes, the Beach Boys. Oh these crazy Brits.
Anyway back to the Italian adventures.
You'll have to forgive me, I cannot remember if I wrote about missing the train to Milan or not and I'm way too lazy to check or to really do much editing on this baby. In Venice, due to the whole time change business, me and Dave were an hour late for our train to Milan. We were pissed so we decided to get a bottle of wine and drink from it under the trees on a bench near the train station like a bunch of dirty Italian-esque winos (we are Italian after all, we pulled it off nicely). When we finally got on the train, we sat across from each other and played a competitive game of rummy. I'm sure you won't be surprised to find out that Dave kicked my ass. He later told me it's a little bit easier to play with me because he can anticipate my moves and what cards I want. While he was kicking my ass, a lovely young Italian lady sat down next to Dave. As I was sitting across from her, we'd occasionally catch eyes and smile. After a thorough ass whipping, Dave and I decided to discontinue our game. I don't know how it happened exactly but Dave started to talk to the girl. Her name was Tatiana. She was really nice and spoke decent English. We talked about Milan because she went to school there. We talked about what our plans were for Milan (which pretty much was going to see Franz Ferdinand and find our hotel at that point). She wrote out on a piece of paper her favorite places in Milan for us. Dave then asked her about the squirrel population of Italy. That was quite an interesting turn in topic. I laughed at him (honestly, who asks about that?) but then I had to agree. There really aren't many (if any at all) squirrels in Italy. Once we finally arrived in Milan, we all got off together and she tried to point us in the direction of our hotel. Unfortunately she didn't quite know where it was but she did her best. Then we parted ways.
I, being the keeper of the map, tried to get us to our destination in a timely fashion. Our bags were heavy and we still had to find the venue for the Franz concert. Well, we started walking off in the wrong direction, mostly because street signs like to do a vanishing act in Italy. I quickly realized the error though and we got going in the right way. It took us a while to find the place and I got snippy with Dave. He kept commenting on all the nice cars (yes, they were nice-audis and BMWs and what not) and I was frustrated because our map was what can only be described as inadequate. We managed to get to the street that our hotel was supposed to be on. We found a door that was locked that was supposed to lead to the hotel. Next to it was a panel of buttons, most with residences and one with our hotel name. Me and Dave exchanged dubious glances and Dave pressed the button. The door unlocked and we wandered through, still unsure of where the hotel actually was. The door opened up to a courtyard. This place was apparently an apartment structure with a hotel stuffed in the rear. We found the stairs to the hotel and entered. I told the guy at the desk, who evidently lived just to the right of the front desk in a small room, that we had a reservation. He took our passports (to copy records and the like from) and gave us the key. He told us to get settled and come back in three minutes to get our passports back. We opened our door and were greeted with a decent sized room with two dressers, one bed and a bathroom. We were happy enough with it. After the check in process was complete, we asked for a map (thankfully it was a decent one) and asked where the Franz Ferdinand concert was. He looked up the name on his computer (which was a generous touch, he could have said "I don't know. Fuck off."), found it on the map and told us how to get there. We had booked two nights in Milan, one full day and two half days, so we opted to get the three day metro pass. Milan has a fabulous metro system. Easy to understand and speedy as all hell. We got to the Franz concert in like 30 minutes and got our tickets. It was a mob of Italians, all speaking Italian. Me and Dave just stood near each other, occasionally speaking but mostly just observing, waiting for the opening band. It seemed to take ages. While we were waiting, I had this awful realization. We were standing next to a group of Italians, one guy with his hair up. I was (creepily) watching them and they must of have said something to this guy about how long his hair was getting because he took his hair tie out and let it all loose. I watched in horror as his gloriously beautiful, long hair tumbled down. I turned to Dave and said "Italian men have better hair than I do." Dave looked, smiled and nodded his head. My hair is at best a frizzy mess. These Italian men had shiny, soft (looking-I did not touch any) hair that shamed the rat's nest on top of my head.
Finally the band came out. Dave looked at me in surprise. "No opening band?" Evidently we got there just in time to miss the (most likely) lame Italian opening band and were just going to catch the top bananas-Franz Ferdinand. Everyone pushed forward as the band began their opening chords to "Dark of the Matinee."It took me back to the summer I listened to their self titled CD exclusively. I was 17 and volunteering at the VA hospital. I still remembered most of the words but I was hearing it in a whole new way. Italian accented English voices were shouting the lyrics all around me.
Now, it's been a really long time since I went to a huge concert like that. The last one I remember going to that had more than say 60 people was Regina Spektor almost two years ago. I'm used to small bar, local scene type of venues. So being constantly jostled by all the dancing Italian bodies that were pretty much uncomfortably close to me was off putting. But when the group of kids near me decided to start moshing, that was a whole new thing. I've seen moshing before, I've just never been that close. I was being pushed every other second. I kept looking at the girl that was being shoved into me with apologetic eyes but she understood and kept on singing along. Then, on top of the moshing and constant jostling, a girl and her boyfriend danced up to my left. No big deal until she stepped on my foot three times and slammed her elbow into my forearm with enough force to give me a visible bruise the next day. So I started to do what I like to call "defensive dancing." Basically I poked my elbow out a little more than is polite and made some sharp movements. After contact was made, not just with my elbow but also my shoulder, she stepped off to the left a little more. I smiled at my victory and was immediately shoved forward by the moshers. Honestly, who moshes to Franz Ferdinand?! I thought as I righted myself and tried to get back into the music. Franz finished their first set and walked off stage. Everyone was clapping and shouting so they came back for their encore. I looked at Dave. I was tired and the whole experience, while being amazing and definitely one of a kind, made me really uncomfortable. Dave said we could leave unless they started to play the song "Lucid Dreams" which was his favorite off the new album. Lucky for me, they played Jacqueline, the opening song from their self-titled CD. Dave firmly clasped my hand and we pushed our way through the crowd, dodging moshers and drunken idiots on the way out. We finally reached fresh air and we spent a moment letting our ears adjust to normal volumes. Outside there were tables and tables of Franz souvenir shirts, etc. I glanced at them, trying to decide if it was worth it to buy something to commemorate this experience. An older Italian gentleman motioned to us and started talking in Italian. Dave told him we only spoke English. He only spoke Italian. At first he looked defeated but the scent of a possible sell made him press on. Using hand signals and very broken English he told me the prices of the t-shirts and hoodies. "Diece euros" he said, pointing to the t-shirts. Venticinque euros for the hoodies. My Spanish days kicked in. 10 euros for the shirts, 25 for the hoodies. Then he threw me a curve ball, 30 for both. I held my breath and looked at Dave. "It's up to you," he said. I weighed my options quickly and bought a green Franz Ferdinand t-shirt. We thanked the man and walked off. "He almost had you with that 'deal,'" Dave said.
It was very late by the time we got back to the area our hotel was. We were hungry but couldnt find any place that was open. We walked into this little restaurant that had all the lights on but evidently was closed. Dave asked if he could buy a bottle of water, he later told me that he would have died without that water. The lady let us buy a bottle of water, despite not knowing a word of English. We thanked them (in Italian) and left. We decided that we were too tired and it would be best to go back to the hotel and sleep.
The next day we decided to find some of the places that Tatiana (the girl from the train) wrote down for us. I'm not going to go into detail about the day. Here are some of the highlights: We took the metro in the direction of destination number one (the name of which escapes me), ended up at a supermarket where we bought water (another lifesaving bottle) and walked to a closed restaurant that let us sit down if we would wait 10 minutes for them to officially open. No one but one guy spoke English and because we didn't speak Italian we have no idea what they said about us as "Americanos." We walked to a park and spent a few minutes sitting on a bench reflecting on how much we weren't enjoying Milan. Then we walked to a castle and were accosted by a group of African who were "giving away" bracelets. I don't know how many times I said "No grazie" to this guy and tried to follow Dave away from them. Dave got caught up one and got a bracelet tied to his wrist. As I waited, the guy who was trying so desperately to give me one tied a bracelet around my wrist. I knew they'd want some kind of money for it and I didn't have any. The guy that was talking to Dave was all about Obama. He turned to me and smiled. "Is this your wife?" he asked Dave. "No, my sister" "Oh she is very beautiful" and then he asked me if I loved him. I just smiled and looked away. After giving them some money "for the orphans in Africa" we managed to get away.
We went to a square and saw the Italian TRL being filmed.
There was a huge crowd and a big screen that was airing the show. After watching the crowd for a bit, me and Dave walked away and talked about how Milan is like the Italian New York. Then we tried to figure out the degrees in Fahrenheit. We both knew the Celsius to Fahrenheit equation but it took about 20 minutes to work it out properly. While walking around, we met another African who talked to us about the orphans in Africa. We told him we already gave money earlier in the day. He started talking to Dave about exchange rates and the "economic crisis." Then he looked at me and asked "Is this your wife?" No, I'm his sister. "Oh! I'll trade you 10 goats for her like we do back in Senegal. Ha! Ha! Ha!" Yes, David was offered 10 goats for me. I still don't know if I'm supposed to be flattered by that.
After being really unimpressed and underwhelmed by Milan, we decided to get some food and go back to the hotel. We were going to leave for Florence early the next morning.
Here's the link to the rest of the Milan pictures: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2359174&id=15933734&l=2a65ab760d
Next stop: Florence.
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