Pizza Margherita


After this I was becoming hungry, so I looked for an outdoor cafe where I could have a nice bite to eat. Found a little place filled with British tourists from a cruise ship.

Note to self -- ensure the restaurateur is Italian while traveling in Italy. Not that my pizza was bad -- it was not -- it was very good!

However, it was very weird thinking I just had my first Bangladeshi Pizza Margherita. Also, the Moretti was only slightly chilled, so perhaps the barman was a Brit.

While I sat there I looked across the street and spotted a gate, which opened onto a dark corridor leading to a courtyard beyond. I'm always so curious what goes on in courtyards beyond locked gates.

Via Garibaldi


My next stop was Via Garibaldi, which is on the list of UNESCO's World Heritage sites. Beginning in the 1500's grand palaces were constructed for noble families. In round-Robin, these families would host dignitaries visiting Genoa.

As I walked along I happened upon an antique shop with military medals in the window -- the kind hanging from a ribbon commemorating events or sacrifices made. I popped in.

And popped out with a WWI Italian medal. Will be pretty groovy for my jean jacket.

WTF


My first stop was at the Church of Santa Maria Maddalena, which is actually on the street in the old city where Riccardo's apartment is. The church, completed in 1661, is filled with stonework from local quarries (Carrara marble), covered with frescos, and there are even frescos designed to look like marble columns.

On my way to my next attraction I notice that as I'm walking through the maze of little cobbled streets and alleys, each darker than the next in the light of day - reminiscent of spy movies where the heroine hurries from the stalker guy and gets lost in all the turns and ends up terrified against a stone wall, before our hero shows up to save the day -- I noticed there were lots of pretty young women standing in doorways.

These are very pretty, very young women with their club makeup on, short dresses and tall platform heels and the first one or two I see I think they are still out from the night before, or waiting for the fashion shop to open so they can go to work, or perhaps they are prostitutes... but noooo, couldn't be that at 11am on a Thursday.

Until I walked through an alley on my way to Via Garibaldi where four separate women were evenly spaced between the beginning and end, each stepped up off the alley onto the stoop, balancing on the step in six inch patent leather CFMs, one of whom had cantaloupe sized breasts barely contained on a shelf inside her skin tight mini dress, only then did I actually believe they were hookers.

Warning, the following links are probably NSFW.

See more about this here, here, here, and here.

Ablution Solution


The terrace truly is a work of art. So many beautiful flowering plants in pots all spaced tightly together.

I sit with my breakfast enjoying the flowers, and looking at the roofs of the buildings all around. Many have flowers and trees, but none as colorful as Pino's garden.

After breakfast it was time to take my first shower in Italy. This is always a challenge as in the past I've experienced enclosures that actually only enclose half of the tub, shower doors that won't close, showers that are too small to close the door behind me...

In this case I have a tub without enclosure and with handheld shower-thingy. And being ultra sensitive to not be viewed as a giant water-hog American capital pig, so I try to conserve water as best I can.

So I ended up with a morph between what my friend Tom calls a 'Navy shower' and the baths I had in India last year. Wet it all down.... scrub with the various noxious chemicals, rinse, repeat as necessary.

I carried my 10 lbs of toiletries back to my sweet room, reorganized my purse and back pack, grabbed the map Riccardo and I had marked with fun things to do -- including visiting Christopher Columbus and take a long boat tour (including an hour on a beach at an ancient convent) -- and headed out the door....

.... and down the six flights of black stone steps.

Breakfast...



We had agreed on 9am for my first breakfast with Riccardo and Pina. Someone goes out early to pick up the Foccacia Genovese, and I asked that they knock loudly on my door as they're leaving, in case I sleep right through the alarm I've set. It takes two salvos of sharp raps for me to answer "OK, Grazie".

I get up and drag around the room, still tired from the travel. I throw on some clothes and head to breakfast. To get to the terrace I go through the open living / dining / kitchen area, up two black stone steps into a stair/hallway combo. Take the left and go down three steps and you're at the door to the spacious, very clean and modern bagno. Take the right up the black stone steps and you go out onto the terrace.

It is a wonderful morning. My breakfast is waiting for me - Foccacia, jam, tea, juice.

Foccacia Genovese is thinner than the foccacia we're used to in the US -- also while the bottom is moist (with oil) the top has a crust. It is excellent.

(My links, specifically Google and Wikipedia, are in Italian and I seem unable to change to English -- here's hoping if you click the links you'll be able to read.)

Winding Down


They showed me to my room, which is very large with a huge open window, and to the bagno where I was able to scrub the fur off my teeth. They took me for a quick look-see at the fabulous rooftop garden which ultimately has two seating areas, a dining table for 6, a lotus pool, a pond with goldfish, and a wonderful array of flowers and cacti. Too many to see at night.

We had a little small talk, scheduled breakfast for 9am, and I went to bed.

I didn't sleep for a long time. I was excited to finally be here, jacked up from the travel and from being lost and frustrated, and exhausted.

I started the process of charging all my electronics and logged into Riccardo's wifi, Jeesh, how amazing to be connected to the world again!

It was 65 degrees outside and the window was open wide. I love the fresh air coming in. There is a piazza close by where people were still in restaurants, but they were closing and the city was quiet by 1am.

The mattress is firm and the pillows are flat. I finally sleep.

Up into the Darkness


Riccardo's place is a narrow building, a walkup, where each floor has only a single apartment. He is the sixth floor.

The antechamber after the buzzed door is well lighted, leading into the narrow stairwell which has four risers with four right turns between each landing in front of an apartment door... The stairs are black stone and there seems to be no lighting after the lobby area... so as you climb higher and higher, it becomes darker and darker.

I hoisted my 30 lb roller and my backpack, resting in front of each apartment door. When I reached three, Riccardo and the gatto came looking for me. Thankfully he took over the heavy lifting and helped me up to the bright apartment.

There I met Sheila, Nicola, and Riccardo's friend Pino.

#17


A much larger stazione than Pisa, by this time it was 10:45pm and any businesses there were closed already. I found my way to the uscita / exit, and found wonderful beautiful taxis waiting for me just outside the door.  

I had my Google map printed of my address (geeks and anals everywhere rejoice) and while my driver spoke almost no English we were able to communicate via a map. He got me as close as possible to my destination -- limited only by the width (or not) of the street (alley?) I needed. He let me out and was amazed at receiving a tip for help.

I was looking for #17. I walked up and down this Via looking up high at the numbers on the buildings, looking for #17. I asked a group of drunken students. They pointed me in one direction, based on the numbers high on buildings (I'm validated -- I was mounting the search correctly!) .... I found a #17 which had no stack of doorbells, and when I turned on the light it was a bay filled with garbage cans.... I went up the little via next to this garbage bay, found a door with a little stack of doorbells... but all the names were illegible (to my really tired, almost-midnight, travelling-25-hours eyes).... I hit one twice with no success.

I pulled out my big travel book leaned against a wall, and searched methodically through my pristine documentation. I found Riccardo's last name, and the number of the apartment. So I strolled up and down the via again, only finding the garbage bay #17.

I could have texted or called... except my local phone with a SIM and working minutes is one attempt away from being locked, and there is no wifi for my WhatsApp or checking my email via iphone.

I stopped a single guy to ask, and he went through the same machinations as everyone before, pointed in a direction and hurried on his way. It was 11:30ish.

I took a deep breath and decided to walk back toward the piazza where the cab dropped me... hoping to find some civilization. I kept looking at the numbers high on the building, but none were #17. However, I decided to scan the doorbell names on each of the buildings for Riccardo. Almost immediate I found a Riccardo G... I grabbed my book again to compare the last name... It was correct... Last name Galadini, unit #6. This had to be it!  I looked up... #11.    ?????????????

I rang the bell and was buzzed in.

View from the Treno


I was becoming very tired, very sleepy, and like the Asian chick across the aisle I put my head on the tavalo ... I think I fell asleep for moments at a time.

It was very dark, I think we went through tunnels for miles at a time, and periodically we blew through towns and villages. I started seeing palm trees and knew we were close to the Med. The landscape was hilly, sometimes steep, I could tell only by the lights in the buildings and sometimes the streets I could see. Perhaps it was my fatigue or the speed of the treno, but I could swear that some of those buildings perched on those inclines were slanted... meaning the floors in the apartments I was looking into were radically leaning to one side or another.  I could be wrong -- it's happened.

A quick blow through, a hurried glance up a street, cars parked at an angle against four-story buildings, stop lights and street lights... Could have been Anytown USA, except all the cars were small and there were no SUVs.

The treno to Genoa was very fast and after two stops we were there.

To Pisa


Who knew 30 lbs weighed so much? I was unable to lift my large bag into the overhead, however a cute young guy (whose iPhone cover made it look like a cassette tape) lifted it up for me.

We were on a regional train (slow speeds for Europe) and multiple stops. We stopped at La Spezia, where I'd been before when going to Cinque Terre, but skirted the 5-T villages.  Pisa was about one hour away and was a VERY SMALL stop... maybe 6 platforms.... maybe more but not much.

I had recently had a guest at my home Giovanna, who lives nearby Pisa. I wanted to send a quick "I'm in the neighborhood" message, but there was no wifi to be had -- and my power was very low besides.

I made friends with a tall, young guy Ahmit (maybe 25) who turned out to be Egyptian though he was living in Paris and visiting Italy. We spoke my very bad francais and his very bad inglese. After I boarded and went to my assigned seat for the leg to Genoa, he came and sat with me (which made me somewhat uncomfortable, since we are supposed to have assigned seating [jeesh, maybe I AM German??!!!]). He left to go for cafe and I didn't see him again.

After the requisite 2 hours was up I turned on the phone, and discovered I needed to enter a PIN. :-o .... No one said anything about a PIN. I assumed it was a phone pin which had been set at the factory. I attempted with "1111".... no cigar. One down... and two left. After much thought I attempted continued my assumption that it was a factory set flipphone PIN, so I tried "9999". No Cigar. One attempt left before the phone was locked.

So I stopped until I can do more analysis.  

Getting Wired


I stood in line at Vodaphone behind four teenage girls (high school, college??). While only one was getting a phone, the cute young guy was inquiring of another of the girls -- not sure if because she was cutest, or she spoke italiano best, or what the reason was. My minutes were ticking away as he was flirting and upselling -- one can tell these things in any language.

He got to me when I was 15 minutes from treno time. He was quick as possible, as my transaction was simple... I have a flip phone, I need a SIM and some minutes to do calls and texting for 2-ish weeks. Simple enough.... However, during our transaction he had to access not only my passport and my drivers license.... but had to use THREE different keyboards (I'm assuming connected to three different SYSTEMS!!!) to complete the transaction. (Hmmmm, sounds like some money to be made integrating these systems at Vodaphone.)

30 Euro and I was ready to go... However, I cannot activate / turn on the phone for two hours... I'm already very late, I need to send a note or text to Riccardo.... but OK, whatever.

I rush back upstairs, find my platform, board my train and we're off.

Spelling?

Had dinner tonight in Gloglo Bistrot... Which seems to be misspelled in so many languages! But.. Maybe not

At the Stazione


The Florence airport is very small. I would guess it is smaller than.... Islip or Myrtle Beach. There were two baggage carousels. No mall in sight -- not like Charlotte, Chicago or Florence. No wifi. (No wifi?! NO WIFI!)

I caught a special bus to the main Florence train station where I, as a software analyst, was unable to understand how to use the automatic ticket machine. I popped to a kiosk where very helpful inglese speaking agents got Gianni to walk me over and buy my tickets. He showed me how to stick the ticket into the green machine on the wall -- to activate it for being used today. He explained about changing trains in Pisa, and about having assigned seats. He was very helpful.

"I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." -- Blanche DuBois

I had 25 minutes until my train, so I ran downstairs to Vodaphone to get a SIM for my flipphone.

Ironic Robin


The flight Frankfurt to Florence was great fun! I sat with a French hipster -- musician, prolly 25 -- who was just getting back to Pisa from a trip to Vancouver. He constantly played with his chin length hair, pulling it up into a short pony tail here or there on his head as much as the length would allow him.  I'd spotted him in the airport waiting in line, his hipster hat sitting at a near impossible angle (I guess anchored by the pony tail).

When he found the seat and unloaded I said "Please tell me how you keep that ironic hat on your head." Which apparently was a fun question because he laughed and admitted it was probably sticking to his hair since he'd been travelling so long. (Eewwwwwwww!)

His name is Robin (Robyn?) and we had a great conversation trashing the politicians of our respective countries -- greedy pigs whose only agenda is getting elected and getting elected again. (He has been watching The Donald with wide-eyed incredulity -- but then, haven't we all?) We then moved on to today's youth who waste their lives and compromise their safety posting every waking minute on social media.

He told how, at some airport of his journey in Canada, his seersucker jacket had registered some illegal substance on a scan, so he was escorted into a room for questioning for hours until the Mounties (or whoever) finally believed he was just a musician travelling with a group for cultural exchange. Apparently the Canadians are known for being very tough on border control and questioning suspicious people. Whereas America's Finest TSA -- not so much (except old ladies in wheel chairs).

All in all it was a fun flight.