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Published: August 16th 2009
There we stood in the center of a piazza in Florence, locals and tourists streaming around us as we scanned the skyline for the looming shadow of the Duomo we just
knew had to be somewhere nearby. Back to back we stood, looking vainly in every direction for the landmark that would lead us back to the hostel. No such luck. Such is the joy of backpacking through Italy, even if you do it with a rolling suitcase.
This is the story of the two-week Italian odyssey I embarked upon with my brother, Reid, and our mounds of dirty laundry. It began about two months ago when my job in China fell through and the U.S. job market was still looking less than promising. I decided the best thing I could do was to have another adventure. My brother had a couple of weeks free before beginning his first job and so we decided we would conquer the center of Western civilization: Rome and the country surrounding it.
After weeks of research and the perfect, customized itinerary in hand, I boarded the plane bound for Venice, Italy with my brother on July 29, 2009. As luck would
have it, we found ourselves with a space between us- the only empty seat on the entire plane. After a short 6.5 hours, we landed in Venice. The adventure had officially begun.
VENICE/VENEZIA
Bleary-eyed and jetlagged, we staggered through customs and found ourselves on a bus bound for downtown Venice, unsure whether we had just been ripped off while purchasing a 48-hour transportation pass, but too tired to care. We checked into our two star Italian bed and breakfast located on the Grand Canal and fell sideways into the room for an hour-long nap. Later that afternoon, we took ourselves on a walking tour of the surrounding neighborhood, wandering farther and farther down the tiny, twisting alleyways and up and down ancient stone bridges over the meandering waterways until we were thoroughly lost. Eventually, we located St. Mark's cathedral, a beautiful and ornate old church located on an enormous piazza. It was there that Reid first encountered his Italian nemesis: the pigeon. They were everywhere: pecking at the remnants of foodstuffs on the ground, dive bombing tourists' heads, landing on the outstretched arms of pointing children. It was like a scene out of Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds," but
in broad daylight. I was horrified. Didn't anyone realize how filthy those European rats were? Apparently not, as sweaty, exhausted parents forked over wads of cash to allow their shrieking offspring to gleefully throw birdseed all over one another and the unfortunate tourist caught in the crossfire. Reid and I decided to hightail it out of there and seek solace in the view of Venice from atop the piazza's 600-year-old clock tower.
By our second day in Venice, we'd adjusted to the time difference and arose bright and early to embark upon a self-guided walking tour of the Grand Canal. We began at the Ferrovia vaporetto stop near our hotel and crossed over the Ponte degli Scalzi bridge, one of the 416 bridges remaining in Venice today. Of these, 300 are made of stone and only one has no handrails, which was a standard building practice for centuries. Over the course of our four-mile tour, we glimpsed the grand old palaces of the noble families of Venice, the former prostitute street where 11,000 of the city's finest flashed their yellow stockings at boats passing by, and the 15th century headquarters of German, Austrian, Flemish, and Hungarian traders. The tour
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Grand Canalended with a vaporetto (public water bus) ride back up the Grand Canal, passing under the famous Rialto Bridge, which is now lined with little shops and vendors peddling overpriced crap. We jumped off the vaporetto a number of times to take a closer look at things of interest on shore, as well. Just as we began figuring out the maze of Venice, it was time to move on.
PISA
We arrived in Pisa in late afternoon after a confusing transfer in Florence. We had elected to take the slower regional train instead of the high-speed Eurostar to save ten euro and enjoy "the scenic route." Did we ever. After a smooth transition to Firenze Centrale (Firenze is how the Italians pronounce 'Florence' (and we should, too)), we learned that our train to Pisa had been canceled. Reid and I began the refined and graceful process of running back and forth between the reservations counter, staffed by bored, irritable railroad employees, and customer service, staffed by even more bored and irritable Italians. Eventually, we figured out an alternate route to take with the help of a gruff and scowling security guard. Our next task was to locate our
hotel upon arrival in the town of Pisa. Hot and sweaty we were. Tired and hungry we were. Lost and confused we were. Pride we had not. Thus, I marched inside a posh gelateria and bravely busted out my best Italian to ask for directions. The elegantly dressed maitre'd looked me up and down, raising an eyebrow at my sorry appearance, pulled out a map of the town from an enormous stack under the counter, and explained how to get to Ariston Hotel in fluent English. I sheepishly took the map, thanked him, and made a hasty exit. This scene was to repeat itself countless times during our journey.
After checking into our charming hotel, located at the literal foot of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, we paid a princely sum for the privilege of climbing the nearly 400 steps to the top. Huffing and puffing, we made it up. They weren't kidding- that tower really leans! What both Reid and I found interesting was how short the tower appeared from the ground- probably due in no small part to the degree at which it leans- but the view from the top was quite expansive. The enormous, nearly full
Venice
Grand Canal moon looked close enough to reach up and touch.
The town of Pisa consists of a main thoroughfare of small restaurants, cafes, shops, and vendors. It had an "old world" feel that I loved. That was the "real" Italy that I had been hoping to experience. However, the day and a half we spent in Pisa was more than enough time to get a feel for the area.
CINQUE TERRE/RIOMAGGIORE, MANAROLA, AND CORNIGLIA
The Cinque Terre are the five cliff-side villages of Riomaggiore, Manarola, Corniglia, (or, as Reid insisted on calling it, Cornholio), Vernazza, and Monterosso, located along the western coast of Italy and a 50 minute train ride from Pisa. National hiking trails connect the villages, making it possible to hike through all five in about five hours. Since Reid and I had only half a day to devote to the hike, we elected to hike through the first three. As we climbed ever higher into the cliffs of Italy, the first village came into view. The brightly colored houses and shops shone in the sun as the dazzling blue water far below glistened. It was gorgeous. We stopped for lunch at a cliff-top restaurant and
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Grand Canal were seated on a patio dangling over the sea below. The olive oil on the bruschetta we ordered was a show-stopper. It was at that moment that I truly felt I'd arrived in Italy.
FLORENCE
Some of our best experiences in Italy occurred purely by chance. Our first day in Florence, we arrived and checked into our hostel, which was tucked away at the end of an extremely long street filled with outdoor cafes, family-run restaurants, clothing boutiques, and small grocery stores. The hostel was bursting with young, loud, widely excited backpackers who seemed more ready for the next party than to take in the history of Florence. It was certainly a change from the quaint, very quintessentially Italian inns we'd stayed at in other cities.
We began the Florence experience by wandering around the city center in search of Il Duomo, supposedly the most beautiful church in Italy. As we walked, we passed a multitude of gelato shops- good news for me, as I'd vowed to try a new flavor of the delicious, creamy Italian ice cream each day of the trip. We turned a corner and suddenly there it was: an ornate, gothic cathedral and
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Grand Canal bell tower constructed out of white, pink, and green marble and carved with angels, saints, and cherubs. It was, unquestionably, one of the most beautiful churches I'd seen. We took a look inside the hushed, sacred interior of the church before emerging, blinking at the brilliant sunshine, outside once again. After drinking in the cathedral, we decided to climb the 400 steps of the campanile, or bell tower, to see the skyline of Florence. Although the climb was arduous, the view at the top was well worth it. The whole of Florence went on as far as the eye could see in every direction. Red clay rooftops brightened the cityscape as we glimpsed tiny chapels perched atop the hills of Tuscany in the distance. The entire city appeared to be laid out in a grid; the streets were impossibly straight and the rooftops rose to identical heights. I felt a sense of awe for the regional planners of centuries ago. They were good.
The square near Il Duomo was beautiful in its own right. Gothic statues and looming archways invited the enthralled tourist to step inside, enjoy an iced cappuccino, and appreciate the majesty of the area. It was
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Chinese art exhibit at the marina near St. Mark's Square as we were exploring the tiny side streets that we happened upon a small church, tucked away in the middle of a nondescript street. My Italian had improved to the point that I was able to surmise from a flier on the fence that there would be an organ concert held at the church that evening. I was elated and Reid not so much, but we agreed to return to the church at 21:30 to attend a concert in Italy.
That night, we were treated to pieces by baroque composers written for organ, oboe, and contra-tenor. As I listened to the music, I gazed around the church, looking at the elaborate stained glass windows, the statues of the Virgin Mary, and the flickering candles that were strategically placed around the small chapel. My reverie was soon broken, however, by three sharp yips of the small dog enjoying the concert from the last pew. Dogs are welcome everywhere in Italy: monuments, restaurants, trains, and, yes, even churches. It made me chuckle and I couldn't help thinking of the story my Grandma Ruth told me so many times of when her own dog trotted down the aisle of her childhood church
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St. Mark's Cathedral looking for her in the middle of Mass. Some things, it seems, are shared worldwide.
The second day in Florence, we signed up for a bike tour through our hostel. As luck would have it, all eight of us on the two-hour tour were from the United States. Our guide, however, was from Australia and had a penchant for pasta. Throughout the course of our tour, we learned that we had been eating pasta incorrectly our entire lives. Apparently, it is blasphemous to cut up one's spaghetti; one should instead slurp up each long noodle, splattering sauce be damned. We had also been buying the wrong type of pasta; the only way to go is with fresh pasta, not the boxed dried stuff found in supermarkets here in the U.S.
Armed with our new knowledge, we had a great time on the tour. We stopped at Piazza della Signoria, a square full of 14th century statues (including a copy of Michelangelo's
David ); Santa Croce, the church containing the remains of Michelangelo, Galileo, and Machiavelli; Piazzale Michelangelo, which gave us a view of Florence across the Arno River; and Ponte Vecchio, the one bridge in Florence not
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Rialto Bridge bombed by the Germans during World War Two because they thought it was too beautiful to destroy.
Our last day in Florence was spent touring the famed Uffizi Gallery, which houses thousands of Renaissance period paintings and statues. Since neither Ried nor I are art afficcionados, there was a lot of "Hey, look, another serious-looking woman posing with a serious-looking child and a bowl of fruit." We were not the ideal tourists who could appreciate all the museum had to offer, but we spent an interesting couple of hours poking around really, really old stuff.
That evening, we had the best dinner yet in Italy. I ordered ravioli stuffed with zucchini and mascorpone cheese, while Reid had a pizza cooked in a stone oven directly in front of us. To top off the night, James Taylor began playing in the background. We heard an abundance of varied American music during our trip, often in the most unlikely places, such as a tiny Italian eatery staffed by employees who spoke no English. It was all part of the charm.
ROME/ROMA
We arrived in Rome from Florence on a blisteringly hot summer day. As had become the routine,
we exited the train station and made a beeline for the nearest ritzy-looking hotel, which was sure to have city maps and an English-speaking concierge who was obliged to take pity on wayward tourists. Sure enough, the grudgingly kind man in the suit pointed us in the right direction and we arrived at the Hotel Nardizzi in no time. Our major activity for the day was to wander the city streets to get an idea of how things were laid out and then visit Campo De'Fiori, a locale where Romans outnumbered tourists and a chance to glimpse daily life in Rome. We showed up around 3 PM to find a deserted ghost street. It appeared that all the shop owners had closed up for the afternoon siesta. As we sat fanning ourselves in the shade of the piazza's sole statue, we noticed several other tourists wandering around, looking bewildered, pointing to maps and gesticulating confusedly. It appeared that our secret hotbed of local life wasn't so secret after all. The afternoon wasn't a total loss, however. Reid's ongoing vendetta against the pigeons of Italy was finally concluded with a dramatic, and unexpected, turn of events. Every city we had visited
seemed to be inundated with the filthy scavengers, annoying Reid to no end. Day after day, he fruitlessly stalked them, only to be rewarded with a panicked pigeon flying in his face in its quest for safety. However, that first day in Rome, Reid realized his dream. He snuck up behind an unsuspecting bird, wound up his food, and, as if in slow motion, firmly punted the bird forward several inches. The bird gave a squawk of surprise and turned its bobbing head to glare at us accusingly. These are the things one puts up with while traveling with one's younger brother, I suppose.
The second day in Rome, we visited the greatest of Roman landmarks: the Colosseum. We arrived at the monument in late afternoon, the sun creating dramatic shadows behind the locale of so many violent and brutal deaths. Our guide looked like a modern day Hercules, with glistening olive skin, tousled blonde hair, broad shoulders and bulging biceps, and with a penchant to pose. Despite his quirks, he revealed many interesting facts about the amphitheater and Roman life. Built in 72 AD, the Colosseum seated 50,000 and witnessed over 700,000 deaths of gladiators and wild animals
Riomaggiore
First village of the Cinque Terre over the course of its 500+ year history. Our guide relayed the gruesome details of those untimely deaths with special relish. Contrary to popular belief, however, only one Christian died in the Colosseum during all those years of battles. Gladiators were both slaves and volunteers. Bound to a seven year contract, slaves who fought could win their freedom if they survived to the end of the contract. The vast majority did not. At the conclusion of its bloody history, the Colosseum was converted into apartments before being returned to the state it is in today. In addition to the Colosseum, we toured the ruins of the political, military, and social center of the Roman empire, the Roman Forum. During this tour, we learned how the Romans influenced social life as we know it today. For instance, the phrase "hand in marriage" came about because in ancient Rome, a man and woman had only to shake hands to be considered legally wed. Another familiar phrase, "something up your sleeve," was derived from the Roman tradition of carrying daggers in the sleeve next to the bicep for protection. Upon meeting, two men would shake hands by first gripping the wrist and then
Cinque Terre
Unbelievably clear water the bicep in order to reveal they truly had nothing up their sleeves. We learned a plethora of useful facts such as these. I will never again be at a loss for conversation on a first date.
The third day in Rome was a religious experience: we went to the Vatican. Our guide for this tour, Alex, also had a real penchant for posing with his considerable biceps. Each new statue in the Vatican museums became another opportunity for Mr. Meathead to bend and flex, although I can't be sure whether anyone was impressed. What was impressive were the 1,100 paintings and statues housed in the museums. The Sistine Chapel was much smaller than both Reid and I had envisioned, but still a remarkable, and massive, work of art. At the end of the tour, Reid and I ventured into St. Peter's basilica and were absolutely blown away. I have never seen a cathedral so awe-inspiring. The stained glass, marble and stone walls and floors, and vaulted ceilings were amazing. The dome of the basilica was so high that the Statue of Liberty could have comfortably fit inside, flame and all. We finished our experience at the Vatican with
a visit to the underground tombs of the popes, including John Paul II, who passed away in 2005. Although I am not Catholic, I felt a certain reverence to be near the final resting places of these powerful religious figures that inspire so many around the globe.
Our last day in Rome was spent visiting the most touristy areas of the city: the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, the Capitol (formerly a summer palace for popes, it is now where the president of Italy lives), the Pantheon, and Navona Square, where the fountains are lighted at night, street performers abound, and Reid and I were sweet talked out of precious euros by two bracelet-making swindlers. Live and learn.
POMPEII
We arrived in Naples shortly after 1 PM, checked into our hotel, and immediately caught the circumvesuviana (commuter train) to Pompeii. I didn't know much about the ancient city apart from the fact that a volcano had leveled the area and killed everyone in its path in 79 AD. I was not prepared for what we saw when we arrived. Pompeii was not a tiny little village that naive townspeople had constructed at the foot of the volcano.
Manarola
The second village of the Cinque Terre It was a sophisticated metropolis that must have fallen victim to one of the worst natural disasters in the history of humankind. Although the origins of the city are uncertain (the oldest reports are dated between 7 and 6 BC), we do know that it was a blended civilization of native, Etruscan, and Greek elements. It was eventually colonized by Rome and struck by a violent earthquake in 62 AD. The extent of the damage was so great that reconstruction efforts were still underway when the volcano erupted on August 24, 79 AD. The site was discovered in the 16th century, but exploration did not really begin until 1748. Pompeii is enormous- the archeological area extends for 66 hectares, only 45 of which have been excavated.
Reid and I were both struck by how sophisticated the city was and how well preserved the ruins remain. Cobblestone streets ran between rows of houses with stepping stones built in for the inevitable flooded streets (gutters and drainage systems were apparently not yet popular with regional planners). We saw bakeries, administrative buildings, temples, amphitheaters, homes of the wealthy, bath houses, and just about every other conceivable component of a developed city. It
Manarola
The second village of the Cinque Terre blew my mind that we were walking the same streets that were once part of a bustling metropolis nearly two millennia ago- one that was utterly decimated in a matter of hours. The bodies of those desperate victims remain true to form in plaster casts formed by the raining ash of the volcano. In fact, it was the ash, and not the slow-moving lava, that ultimately killed the citizens of Pompeii. I was honored to have the opportunity to visit the historical and archeological site that paints such a vivid image of daily life as it existed thousands of years ago.
NAPLES/NAPOLI
Reid and I took the train from Rome to Naples originally for the sole purpose of visiting Pompeii. Then, a kind old gent from church sent me a New York Times article containing information about English language tours of the underground city below Naples. We were intrigued.
The Napoli Sotterranea office was just a couple of streets away from our hotel. By the time we arrived, a small group of Europeans had assembled for the English language tour. It appeared that Reid and I were the only native speakers of the bunch. We filed into
Corniglia
The third village of the Cinque Terre what appeared to be a normal Neopolitan ground floor apartment, but as we'd learned, appearances can be deceiving. Sure enough, the bed moved aside and a trap tour opened to reveal a dark and musty staircase leading down into the bowels of the earth. A hidden theater was revealed beneath the apartment building with walls made of tufa, the most flexible and resilient building material available. It was used in the construction of many of the ancients buildings of Rome, due to its great ability to withstand earthquakes. It is said that Emperor Nero performed in the theater during an earthquake, although he was convinced the shaking was the Gods' applause for his performance and so sealed off the exits from the panicked crowd.
As we continued our tour, we learned that the first excavation dated back 5,000 years ago at the end of the prehistoric era. The Greeks then dug deep into the ground to carve out tufa blocks for the construction of Naples' city walls and temples. The Romans continued the digging during the Augustan Age, creating a 400 km long aqueduct. However, in 1884, a cholera epidemic hit Naples, closing the contaminated aqueduct for good. The
Florence
Il Duomo Neopolitans emptied the tunnels and used them as air raid shelters during World War Two for protection from Hitler's bombs (this was after they'd changed allegiances).
Reid and I both found the underground history of Naples to be fascinating. After emerging from beneath the city into the brilliant sunshine, we took a walk along the marina. As we found Naples to be uncomfortably hot (and I lived in China!) we were glad to be returning to Rome the next day.
ROME/ROMA
Little did we know that our desire to return to Rome would be taken far too literally. We arrived at the airport about 2.5 hours before our flight. Our first indication that something was amiss was when we trotted up to the departures information screen that listed our 12:45 PM flight as having left at 9:00 AM. Reid and I looked at each other in stunned disbelief. Was it possible that an international flight had left nearly four hours early? We hurried to the international terminal to find out what was going on.
The scene we descended upon can only be described as mass chaos. People were everywhere, lugging overstuffed wheeled suitcases behind them. Children
Florence
Il Duomo darted in and out of the crowd, while citizens from a multitude of nations gesticulated excitedly and spoke to each other in rapid-fire foreign tongues. Security officers dressed in army fatigues stood at attention, gripping machine guns. I happened to hear the tail end of a conversation nearby and surmised that our fllght had been canceled, due to the ever-present, maddeningly vague "technical problem." We were told that the airline would put us up for the night in a hotel and get us on a 9 AM flight to Detroit the next day. Many of the over 300 passengers seemed resigned to this statement and headed outside to wait for the hotel shuttle. But I am my mother's daughter and I was determined that the airline was not going to screw me over. Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath and plunged into the fray, dragging Reid with me. The time passed slowly. One half hour, then 45 minutes, an hour, and an hour and a half. We had moved forward three feet. To make matters worse, groups of pushy Italians and French citizens were slithering their way into the cracks in the line, known in the United States
Florence
Il Duomo as "personal space." As the Americans in line around me began to grumble, the mood in the terminal became decidedly more tense. Breathing quickened, the crowd surged forward, and the soldiers' grips tightened on their guns as they surveyed the restless crowd from a balcony. I found myself half-amused, half-irritated by the French family who had crept into place in front of me, ignoring my protests by pretending they spoke no English. However, I think my gesticulations were universal.
After two hours in line, an official-looking man with a badge strode into the center of the mess and announced there were no more seats on any flight out of Rome that day. This claim seemed doubtful at best, but as a foreign citizen in a country where I did not speak the language, I was at the mercy of the airline employees. Reid and I dejectedly picked up our luggage, boarded the hotel shuttle, and prepared to spend another, unexpected, night in Rome.
The next morning, we were awoken at 4:30 AM by an automated phone call in Italian, which, of course, we didn't understand. After repeated calls and failed efforts to indicate via the pound or star
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Dome of Il Duomo as viewed from the Campanile key that we had received the message, the problem was solved by soundly hitting the keypad with the palm of my hand, effectively engaging all the buttons. The wake-up calls ceased.
After a pathetic attempt at breakfast, we boarded the shuttle back to the airport and began the exhilarating process of waiting, yet again. Thankfully, our flight took off only half an hour late and landed in Detroit after minimal turbulence. The American gate agents were extraordinarily pleasant and helpful as compared to their counterparts in Rome, even booking us a flight directly to Madison instead of our original itinerary to Chicago. After the 20 hour delay, we were very appreciative.
Although a less than ideal end to our adventure in Italy, it makes for a good story and was an excellent exercise in patience and negotiation skills. This trip to Italy was the first time I'd been to Europe. It was everything I'd imagined it would be and at the same time, nothing at all like what I'd imagined. The trains between cities were quite similar to Chinese trains, with the exception that the clean bathrooms remained as such for the duration of the journey. Italian food
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Santa Croce- church with the tombs of Michelangelo, Galileo, and Machiavelli in Italy wasn't immeasurably superior when compared to the food at an Italian restaurant in the United States as I'd speculated it would be, but perhaps I didn't order the right dishes with the correct wine, or maybe my expectations were too high. After experiencing the vast differences between Chinese cuisine in China and at home in the States, I'd expected Italy to be similar. Dining at restaurants proved to be tricky. In addition to the meal and drinks, service and cover charges were also tacked onto the bill, some as high as 15%. Reid and I soon learned to find counter service places for breakfast and lunch, saving extravagance for the dinner hour (which, by the way, begins after 8 PM). I was pleased to discover that I picked up Italian much more easily than I'd envisioned (although my six years of Spanish classes probably helped). By the last day in Naples, i was able to have an entire conversation in Italian, albeit a short one.
In the end, I found more similarities then differences between Italy, the United States, and, yes, even China. I've always been struck by the similarities between countries, no matter how small. Stopping
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Michelangelo's David for red traffic lights and going for green. Using currency to purchase goods. Believing in a higher power and attending religious services, be it in a church, synagogue, mosque, or temple. These small things bind the world so much more tightly than the seemingly bigger things that currently divide us. I hope that this blog and my own experiences are able to shed more light on cultures and peoples for those who don't have the time or opportunity to travel. If I may make one small difference in the world, I hope it can be one that helps us to understand that we are all more alike than we are different. If all the world's citizens can realize this, maybe someday we will finally have peace on Earth.
Thanks for reading.
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Martha Kilgour
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Merritt, Thank you for that wonderful description in digital and word pictures. If I ever get to Italy, I feel as if I would recognize the people, the places, the streets, from your lively descriptions. I think Reid is a man after my own heart! I traveled through England with Evelyn Lawson and was horrified at the way the people loved and fed and interacted with the pigeons. One of Evelyn's favorite things that she told everyone about the trip was Martha walking through the plazas and muttering through her teeth, "Out of my way! I kick pigeons!" I never did, though. So I really admire Reid for doing it. The only thing better than reading your account of it would have been to see it in person.