The Renaissance Capital, a few Guiseppes, and the place for honeymooners and women on foot

---

I am really looking to cover a lot of ground in taking you back to Florence and Sorrento with my study abroad group, but I realized that it could work well that way. For one, I met two different Italian guys that were named Guiseppe, one in Florence, and one on our last night in Sorrento. But each place had special little niches where I could go sit and work on my scrapbook journal, or where I could just sit and gaze out into space, relishing the fact (again) that I was in Italy. To stay in Sorrento and take little trips out to Pompeii and Capri was an added bonus, but as one group member asked me (and a male friend on the trip, coincidentally enough) if I would like to go back to Sorrento for my honeymoon, I thought, most definitely yes. And that doesn’t have to be contingent on whether or not I married someone I had known on this trip! :-)

The train ride to Florence yielded train cars akin to those of the famed (and sadly, still make-believe) Hogwarts Express. I sat with my luggage on a seat next to me, my feet propped up on the seat across from me, and MD sitting diagonally from me, sharing the car. I never saw a trolley being pushed by a kindly older witch with treats for sale, but amid the blinding sunlight, I tried to look out the curtains occasionally to get an idea of what we were passing as we entered Tuscany. It was really that thought that had me looking to see any drastic changes or scenes that I would attempt to convey or photograph for my mother. She can’t wait to see this part of Italy, so while I was there (and in the cradle of the Renaissance, no less), I needed to take full advantage of what being in this region was like.

In Florence, we got all situated to become mobile again, and those of us that ended up at the front of the group made sure to let our main program leader go first. What followed turned out to be the epitome of Suitcase Olympics, aka how to move quickly while speeding your suitcase behind you, traveling narrow sidewalks that were sometimes right up near the street, avoiding hurting someone’s foot or other body part that was trying to pass you or get around you on a corner, and so on. It was exactly the same way going back to the train station, but like before, I was intent on getting the arrival into Florence (that usually topped off each location as being the most arduous or tiring part) and to the Hotel Cellini completed. Besides, I never knew what hotel I was about to walk into with my two roommates. We had already been on quite an adventure in living quarters, so why stop at this point?

Our hotel used to be a nice residence, I believe, and there was a small elevator, but along with a sphere-like star hanging lamp, book cases, elaborate rooms with curtains over the entrances and a sitting area that we would spend time in waiting on the rooms to be ready, the stairs were of varying styles. Some were wood and some were a set of standard metal-like stairs, but again, being on the second floor did not mean that one floor was below us. We climbed a few levels and made a few turns to get to our door, and along with another massive keychain attached to our one key, we had a room that was no bigger or small than the others had been. The bathroom with the ‘standing room only’ shower was the memorable feature, especially when the drain didn’t cooperate so well. I ended up using the wardrobe to place my suitcase in, having to work around it creaking loudly every time I opened it for something. At least it looked like one of those suited for a wardrobe double in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe movies. Our dinner locations weren’t reached through a complicated maze of the streets of Florence, although I still felt better about exploring on my own or confident with my map to get back to the Hotel Cellini by the time I did as such on our free day. In our first restaurant we sat inside and at the same section each time, but the open doorway always revealed the diners that sat on the outside, separated from the walking traffic by the little black steel gate that showed up at nearly every restaurant in town (and more commonly in a lot of the places we saw—it seemed only right to have indoor and outdoor dining, and to have the men selling roses or coming by with an accordion to play for some change).

For our first full day in Florence, the choice seemed obvious to the purpose of my particular study abroad tract and group: Italy’s national art museum, the Uffizi. I actually learned more about what it was and what all I could find there as I went along, found myself solo for a larger portion of the day there, and later, when I wanted to recall what I may have missed or what waiting outside for and dining in the café of the national art museum meant in relation to the general experience visitors (or just Americans, come to think of it) have there. The Uffizi is apparently going to be expanded, or restructured, or something, for the art and other photos on a black board wall across from where we waited served to tell the public that something was coming soon. That was all well and good, but when my long time guy friend and fellow program participant decided to photograph others in the group sitting with people in a photo or “stepping” onto a bicycle that was in it, I think creativity was working its magic there. I recall being a little lost in the museum itself, consulting my map when I journeyed down to the restroom or back up to hope that I was in the main hallway that connected to that short hallway that connected to, well, probably the other long hallway.

I walked through a darkened series of rooms, one box after another that opened into another, and after I had seen The Birth of Venus and spent time admiring the Botticelli room, I had only a few other artists to reach, and a plan to meet MD for lunch up at the café. We would not be able to enter back into the Uffizi once we left it, so MD and I took sandwiches out to the open-air but closed in deck outside the café. The top of Piazza della Signoria was to our immediate right, and it was fun to watch tourists and others poke their heads out of the windows that looked more like little boxes cut out of the building with a board propping each lid open. There was no climbing up on this long concrete bench to look out over another side and photograph the Duomo very well, so I climbed up on the side that didn’t have a sign, still getting the top of the wall that seemed to work to be sure that only the tops of the buildings around us were the close-ups that we would get to practically reach out and touch.

I found some promising views when in the little hallway, and when I felt no shame about getting out my camera to take pictures of the River Arno out of the windows. On one side of the Uffizi’s hallway, a few windows faced the Ponte Vecchio and gave me views of all the other bridges beyond it. I saw a kayak-looking boat with a man paddling himself swiftly down the river, and despite all the priceless (and I won’t disagree about a lot of it being just as good as it is priceless) art that was around me and mostly behind me, I loved having this view over Florence. I could feel like I was in a central part of the city. Later I finally gave in and left, finding that the rectangular-shaped ‘concrete piazza’ that stretched between the two halves of the Uffizi held artisans and on a little stage, four musicians entertaining the crowds, the pigeons, and the scene at large a few times a day. I was to meet up with my program coordinator and others to head back to the hotel after a while, so I went out into the Piazza della Signoria and took more of the pictures that I had wanted to take on our way to the Uffizi. I met the first Giuseppe when I had settled myself against a granite-like column of the Uffizi to wait on the rest of my party, perching on the top stair facing the ‘concrete piazza.’

He was sitting against the next pillar just a foot or two away, and while others were doing the same, I suppose that I might have seemed like the perfect candidate for starting up a conversation (and maybe to gauge what cultural differences might lie within). This younger man, dressed in a button-up white shirt and later smoking a cigarette, managed to be a suave Italian gentlemen while not exactly emulating the charming type that I would really go for. He said “Buona Sera,” and that’s how we began to talk of what I had seen and thought of Italy so far (I had mostly good things to say, fortunately), and that we thought Americans were “interesting.” He introduced himself early on as Guiseppe, and I found it a change from the U.S. to hear a new acquaintance I’ve met tell me about where his parents were from. Someone came along and asked for a light for their own cigarette later, but after a little while, I was unsure how to politely say again that I would rather not go “for a walk” and basically set up a date with a man that I was content to talk to just that one day. I should mention again that he was nonthreatening, easygoing, and likely meant well (for the most part), but under it all, I figured that my interaction with Guiseppe as a woman traveling (or sitting) alone was likely something that could use an ounce of caution as well as a personable demeanor on my part.

I told others in my program later that I conveniently misplaced my hotel’s correct name and exactly where it was, but then again, the Hotel Cellini can be the type of name that, when wanting to say it correctly, may be harder to recall for someone. I did have set dinner plans and my own thoughts on what I’d like to do with my free time that day and around our itinerary in Florence (I took a city bus tour on my day off, enjoying Santa Croce, a “leather school,” and more), so having this glimpse into an everyday Italian citizen was exactly enough interaction for one day. Also, I never did find out what he did for a living—I wonder what he was intending to do that day after crowd watching and talking up friendly American study abroad students. A portion of my group did indeed show up, and I smiled again and said goodbye, not quite so surprised that Guiseppe asked me again to stay, calling me “baby” as he did so. This sort of encounter was a first, but when in Italy, I would say that you really can expect anything.

Florence is a bustling sort of place, Vespas and buses and more, yet in walking by the Duomo several times in our stay there, we came across women that were practically flat on the ground, reaching out their hand for money. Some muttered Italian as they came up to our group, and while the common term that we heard for them is “gypsies,” I am of the mind to look for another way to describe them. These weathered ladies played no instruments or entertained, but when some looked so desperate and sick or injured, I suppose that that spoke for itself. I mention this to point out that every city has people with needs right on the street in front of you, and Italy is no different. There’s no need to feel unsafe or intimidated by the locals that aren’t so self-sufficient that they gravitate to you when all your intentions for a certain tourist attraction is to stand in front of it for your one picture. I also wish to take a bus tour or a car ride out into the Tuscan countryside, allowing for fields and farmhouses to take over banks, hotels, and the red-tinted roofs that while fascinating to take in from above, are still purely city-like. In fact, unless I knew that the sites of Rome were only a few bus stops or minutes away, I could feel as if Florence was just as impressive of a major metropolitan city. The romantic feel of standing up on the highest level (a little metal deck with a small spiral staircase leading up to it and a bench that one could stand on to get to the highest point) of the rooftop terrace at the Hotel Cellini is unmatched, however, for along with seeing the outlines of mountains, most of the top of Brunelleschi’s Dome, and one night, some fireworks in the distance, I found no better way to enjoy an Italian city than having the view of it from on high. I never really found this kind of view in Rome, and at night, sometimes I think that that makes all the difference.

After riding the next train (not a Harry Potter on the Hogwarts Express feel here) to Naples, we were entering the coastal region of Italy (that is, the side that faces the Tyrrhenian Sea this time), taking a bus to Sorrento, our next major stop. At this juncture in the trip, we got a constant run-down of the towns we were passing through, along with other trivia, from a woman at the front of the bus with a microphone. Thanks to her, though, we knew that the big mountain seen from a multitude of angles outside our bus windows was Mount Vesuvius. Being an amateur travel photographer bent on having some of the best views that I have seen with my own eyes, I tried my hand at capturing a lot of what we saw, switching from side to side on our roomy charter bus. Once we saw a large body of water that continued on with every beachfront resort and soon, below us as we traveled higher up on cliffs that made such beaches and people and more establishments quite small, I recall that we were seeing an entirely different side to Italy. This one was mountainous and filled with beaches and an ocean at the same time, but in general while I was in Sorrento, I still wasn’t viewing the Mediterranean, much less the Atlantic. This was not the type of water and coastline that I saw when I went to the beach near home back in the States. I was feeling a little bit breathless as I photographed and gawked over some actual towns that were built cliff side, knowing that we would be staying near one of the towns I had heard so much about, Positano. We found out that Sorrento was known for its lemons, so going and coming from the town, I saw the lemon groves. This was a place to sample a lemon granita, for while the others that we had had (one program friend that I’ve actually known for years made a science out of this, tasting almost every flavor that there is) were superior to any “Italian ice” that I had had in the States, one could practically watch the lemon that was to be in their drink come from its orchard.

In Sorrento, we were in the most comfortable and spacious room that we had seen so far on the trip. It took a few tries to understand that a room key had to remain in the wall for any of the room’s lights to work, but one that was figured out, our group took advantage of the hotel’s pool and for me, to sit with the others or by myself on the sixth floor’s balcony. There was no roof to climb to for lounging on couches high above our rooms or to sit and enjoy some wine, but this high-rise offered some views between buildings of the ocean, also being a different place to spread out my scrapbook journal as I sat on a deck chair, looking out onto the Corso Italia, Sorrento’s main road. I thought that this place reminded me of an Italian version of Hilton Head, with a beach feel and people out at night walking streets that had been closed off, going into cafés and stores that were re-opened after the siesta of the afternoon (this tradition of closing down everything during the middle of the day was upheld the most in Ravenna). The students and I enjoyed such a night, and all of us took our first full day to visit Pompeii. Pompeii was another site that I had heard about a great deal, but I had not read up as much about it as I could have. We rode the train cars that functioned like an above ground subway to Pompeii, sitting as group and trying to occasionally stand up to see what we could over the graffiti that lined most every wall of the train car.

One of the more non-traditional students on the trip, an art teacher, was talking to my long-time friend and Italy travel buddy about something, and I found nothing unusual about her inquiring whether or not we would like to come back there for our honeymoon. She asked it as two individual people that might consider it for their own honeymoon trips (in terms of how I heard the question), and since I had known my guy friend so long, it didn’t offend me anyway. I knew that I would really be marrying someone else and that he would be much more likely to honeymoon with his current girlfriend (should all go well). Some of that feeling must have been how serene and scenic Sorrento could be, and of course, not far from Rome and at times, akin to taking any tropical-themed vacation. Sorrento even accomplishes this while having not the first traffic light! Later on my friend gave his seat to an older woman, but when some traveling musicians stepped on board and began to play, he made sure to point out to me what they were playing—some classic swing music. Yes, this kind of thing just doesn’t happen while en route to any other ancient, preserved city.

I could write at length about what Pompeii was like, for everyone can enjoy a bit of a mystery, and nothing extends a mystery like having an entire town or village that is impossible to take in fully in one day. Yet I will say that it was like being able to touch and be involved in a massive relic, a part of history that seems better suited to legend that actual fact. I saw the Villa of the Mysteries and walked the cobblestoned steps, looked at the artwork painted on walls and saw the residents that were in ash and placed in the Garden of the Fugitives. I even found myself alone again while wandering the street with map and water bottle in hand, so I have to tell others of the self-flushing toilets I found or the modern mix of things for tourists with the baths, kitchens, or other structures left as they were since Vesuvius’ eruption in 79 A.D. As always, I recommend carrying much water for such a journey, but especially when you need to take stock of what happened here, and how insignificant you still are in the scheme of Italy’s or any other place’s history.

Soon, our last night in Sorrento had arrived, and we had dinner at the hotel’s fancy restaurant. This place has the white tablecloths and multiple forks and all, but this was also a place that we paid for our water and wondered how much one roll cost. We ordered from little menus left on our plates and everything else, but by our last night, we were pretty well used to it. Our stay in Sorrento wasn’t as long as the others had been in Venice, Ravenna, or Florence, but since this was sightseeing mixed with a touch of relaxation more than studying the art of cathedrals and museums, it fit in just right as our summer tour of Italy was winding down. We were to head to Rome the next morning by bus, but the early morning report time didn’t seem to matter as I watched the students (including the one still in high school along for this outing—I had heard stories of his meeting a nice girl from Spain a night or two before, so he must have wanted to go back to see her) get ready and just leisurely primp. As one of my roommates told a relative on a long-distance call that she was being “forced to go out,” I figured that I would have someone else that also wanted to go out for a bit, not until the sun came up. Along with not wanting to miss every night out (I did have a low key one in Venice, for the students that always went out had found a café and bar that they frequented like actual regulars), I wanted to factor in this experience for the students as they lived out this study abroad. They had found their own haunts to re-visit in various places around Italy, so if it meant something to them in the scheme of things for my writing and research, then it meant a little something to me too. I may not have had the same sort of favorite places while temporarily living in England (for if talking in terms of the hang out we were heading to, I guess that a pub would be the equivalent for my other study abroad), but I could understand that feeling of wanting to embrace the way of life that the locals had, and the places that they went to for a night of letting loose.

We walked a ways out of the hotel and back down the Corso Italia, seeing lots of people out again, but a fair amount up at this bar that had the party going on outside. It was the kind of club-like setting I could appreciate, for there were plenty of tables and even some stools to go along with the chairs. Candles were on the tables, and off to one side, a sort of covered wooden shelter open on all sides housed the little dance floor and the bar. Our group stayed together for a little bit, all sitting at one table, but more and more of them left to go to the dance floor, and to start creating the stories of what they said while intoxicated or who they met while not quite “themselves.” I just let my mojito last, so that was enough for me, but I remember much more about my old friend’s conversations with a girl in our group about how and why men approach women, and our high school boy wonder finding some friends of his girl, but not his girl. No matter, for he was dancing with another in the group before long. If MD had come, we would have had all the ‘students’ out at once that night. One faculty member that was along on the program had seen us leave the hotel, but he was not up for the festivities that we were out for. While little cliques had formed and everyone could easily get each other’s nerves after hours each day together, I think that a night like this was the kind of thing that could obliterate any age (or general) differences. For a few hours, anyway.

Amid Rihanna, Kanye West, Justin Timberlake, and a good bit of American rock (and upbeat music that I knew was playing in clubs across the Atlantic) and some cool Latino new to my ears, I watched the locals and our group, not feeling as if a great divide was up between those of us that were obviously out of town and those that probably came out to meet us crazy Americans. My experience was that a few guys were standing nearby, and the one that turned out to speak the best English came up to me, asking me if I would like to dance with his friend. His friend mostly smiled, so that was probably one reason why his name escaped me shortly thereafter. We never had our dance, but I smiled back and talked and moved around, wondering if I should worry at all about one girl in our group missing for a while (I later found out that she had made out with a guy there…standard last night out in Sorrento, I guess!). I was also facing the fact that I would likely be walking home by myself soon; my roommate that wanted to go back early had done just that, I was told. I ended up talking a lot more to my local (and verbal) guide to the scene, and sure enough, his name was also Guiseppe. I asked him about the music and lots of other cultural-type things, and only later did I see that he was fine with making a move on the girl that he was supposedly setting his friend up with.

The night had about gone on long enough for me, so while I had put it off, I went over to my fellow college students and told them that I was heading back. One had gone on ahead of me, but I knew it was useless to check to see if anyone would leave with me. I had to time my departure just so, for earlier as I had been talking with Guiseppe, the personal space between us closed in a bit too rapidly as he moved towards where I sat on a stool off of the dance ‘porch’ thing. I knew that Guiseppe had to go to work early the next morning, and that he worked in Positano and drove a Vespa (too bad I didn’t get to see him ride off on it!), but like the first Guiseppe, he did want to get away from the carousing and walk around. Or maybe he had asked for his friend first—it didn’t much matter. This time I didn’t get as much back story, but at least I had more time to cool the friendliness and look to get home safely—I didn’t have a group to leave with, after all. When I did choose to leave, I made haste as I walked down the street, but when I was a few blocks from the hotel, a rather American-looking little black hatchback car (no Vespa, so that kind of takes away from the romantic view I could paint for this very true story) slowed down almost beside me. It turned out to be guy number one, or the one that didn’t do the talking back at the bar’s patio. I did gather that he asked if I would like a ride, but I kept my walking up, smiling as I did so and trying not to appear intimidated or uneasy with playing Miss Daisy to this Italian on a deserted street in the early hours of the morning.

After my polite waves and insistence that I was fine, he finally drove off, nearly gunning the motor as he roared off into the night. Since I was now in the clear in terms of letting anyone else down easy, I could find this ending to the night somewhat poetic, in a “this was great, but I’d rather not see him or his friend again” sort of way! I was relieved that I didn’t have to pretend to go to another hotel or anything drastic, for I swept into the automatic doors a few minutes later and got to my room, being sure not to disturb my roommate that had come back earlier. I think I got a little bit of sleep that night, but I also recall my other roommate coming in even later, and somehow, not with everyone else that had to stumble back from our night of revelry. She coughed a lot in the bathroom, but the fellow student that made waves was the one that knocked on our door even later than that to see if we were all there. Her show of goodwill was nice, but she also told someone off in the hallway—these comings and goings were told as a series of stories later that day. Of course, the bus ride to Rome and a few hangovers didn’t mix well, but instead of having that, I was just out of it from so little sleep.
Good thing I was accounting for one night like this, and to be able to have two vivid Guiseppe stories for posterity. However, I don't have pictures of the new friends mentioned, or the night out. I just have witnesses to it having happened to back me up. Plus, I suppose the trip wouldn’t be the same if we didn’t leave a few locals behind (or backpacking around Europe like our boy wonder’s special pen pal) wondering if all American college students were like us, abroad or at home! :-) I apparently can be laid-back and take it all in while experiencing a variety of scenes in Italy as well.


Coming soon: Tales from the Chapel and other ruminations of Rome

---

Photos

View of Florence on the way to dinner
This was from our first night in Florence as the sun was setting. A bit of a Tuscan experience had begun!

Walking by the Duomo
Here's one angle of it. I would have liked to have gotten many more, but that's why there should always be a "next time" for a lot of places that I see!

One view the Uffizi can let me have
Here's one of my "through the window" kind of pictures that I took while actually inside Italy's national art museum. Lot of other people around me couldn't resist either, and no guards said otherwise, so yay for little loopholes!

On the balcony of the Uffizi
This is the place where I could stand and pose with some of the Duomo, but not climb up on the stone bench-like thing to get a better picture. I did go to the side where there wasn't a sign telling me not to climb up, but anyway, you can tell what is in the background here, I think!

Musicians outside the Uffizi
A little "Carmen," a little classical that I don't know but still liked, and basically, a little bit of everything that a mini-orchestra should play!

Palazzo Vecchio
This was beside the Uffizi, and I stood as far back as I could to take a picture of most of this building.

Roof view of Florence, nighttime
The roof at the Hotel Cellini was one of the best features of any place that I stayed at while in Italy, hands down.

Mount Vesuvius
Here is one of the better shots I took of Mount Vesuvius (it's definitely in there somewhere!) on our way to Sorrento. I tried my hand at taking several, but when I saw the same volcano while in Pompeii, I could then appreciate how it towered over us all. Interesting how I read that it could still just erupt one day (with a little bit of warning, I guess, now) while tourists such as myself were trying to capture it on camera!

One view from up high
This was one of the many amazing views seen on the way from Naples to Sorrento from our bus. This picture is also posted on the entry about Sorrento itself, but since I figured that that entry (and so many of my earlier ones) was shorter and just a dashed off piece that I did while abroad, this will help tie the two pieces together. I'm all about trying to write to describe the full experience!

Main hub of Sorrento
There may have been no traffic lights, but this was where a lot of the streets came together, and where one could climb down what felt like several stories to get to the water's edge. I did such a thing to get to the hydrofoil so that I could ride over to Capri. This photo has also been posted again since my initial entry about this gorgeous place.

Sunset on the 6th floor deck
A few buildings were in my line of vision, but I still had some nice sunsets to go on as I sat up on the 6th floor deck of the Hotel Michelangelo in Sorrento.

Water with ice!
Yes, this was free water, and water that we actually got with ice to begin with! I know it's cheesy, but I took a picture of it anyway. This was at the nicest restaurant that we went to while on the trip.

A quieter street in Pompeii
There were so many tourists out in Pompeii that day, but I had a few stolen moments when I could appreciate the journey I was taking around the city when I wandered it alone (after getting acclimated with the rest of my group).

Overlook of the scenic side of Pompeii
This was seen after a little climb of a hill, and where I could look out over the amphitheater and so on.

Former resident in the Villa of Mysteries
This is one victim of many from the volcanic eruption. I saw this person as I walked around the Villa of Mysteries on my way out to meet up with those leaving at our group's appointed time.

Something cool from the hydrofoil
I'm honestly not sure what town or establishment this was across the way, but anything seen out through the rolled-up windows of the hydrofoil seemed worthy enough of a photo.

One of the residents of "Cat-pri"
I just gravitate towards orange cats, and this one happened to live on Capri. The place seemed more like "Cat-pri" after all the varieties of cats that I saw amid restaurants, hills, and designer shops!