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Thursday, June 30, 2011
Uninvited Alarm Clock It was a little difficult to get situated for sleep. I left the window open so some air could circulate in the room. Unfortunately, my room overlooks the train station, and train whistles and the station flood lights infiltrated my otherwise quiet space. I had packed my eye mask, used primarily on airplanes, and it worked magic. Combined with soft music from my iPod, my senses were dulled to the point that sleep was almost immediate.
I awoke just before my alarm to a loud whistle blast. It was morning, and the trains were up and running. I cursed that they didn’t come with a snooze button. It was pointless to lounge any longer, so I began to prepare for the day.
Complications with the Plumbing The shower was very curious. It operated kind of like the showers on a boat or in a campground, only giving a certain amount of water at once. You need to push the button for the nozzle to work, and then you get enough water to rinse whatever soap is in your hair. It actually worked in my favor, because the shower is so small,
continually running water would have spoiled the entire leg shaving operation.
Breakfast was included in the room price, and it was a very modest spread. Beverages, breads, cereal and yogurt. This is typical from what I remember of breakfast buffets on my last Europe trip.
A Lucky Break During the night it had rained, leaving the ground wet with little puddles everywhere. The sky was still overcast and wind moved from the mountains into the town with mild force. The locals were all prepared with umbrellas and sweaters. I was in my tank top and loving the cool breeze and hidden Sun. This turn in the weather was precisely what I needed.
Franciscan Convent Aimlessly strolling through the streets at, I happened upon the Franciscan convent; noted on the tourist map. Mass was in session, and I didn’t think it was appropriate to enter and start snapping photos. So I loitered in a courtyard, not dissimilar to the courtyard of St. Orso in Aosta. This place was much more decorated, with crumbling medieval frescoes and dark baroque paintings. A door to the church was open and I could hear the mass. A man sung a solo hymn
which was absolutely beautiful. His voice resonated through the church and out to the courtyard in crystal clear tones. As I watched, some of the worshipers inside wiped tears from their eyes.
The Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus Also by accident, I came upon a red brick church, also marked on the tourist map. The interior was rich and ornate, which came as a surprise since the Duomo is so bland on the interior. Crucified Jesus is the first thing you see as you enter the church, setting a mood of somber reverence. From there, you turn toward the the main room and see the gold and blue decorated ceiling and giant alter at the back. There were a couple people in prayer, so I walked delicately to avoid disturbing the silence. I was unsuccessful when I dropped some coins into a metal box as a fee for a postcard. The clamor echoed through the entire space. At least it wasn’t as loud as when one of the patrons sneezed.
I’m finding that it is important to have some knowledge of the bible stories to appreciate the art in the churches. Hollywood and Charleston Hesston cover
most of the basics, but without even a mediocre education a lot of the meaning of the art would be lost to visitors.
The Ice Man Just around the corner was the museum for Otzi, the frozen prehistoric man discovered in the Apls in 1991. All the descriptions were in German, Italian and English, though I don’t think the translations were precise. The first two floors were pretty boring, actually, with video monitors and notes on the wall describing the discovery and removal of the corpse. The next two floors had artifacts, which were much more interesting to look at. The clothing, while tattered, showed fine stitching and craftsmanship, as did the weapons.
And then there was the man himself, cased in a freezer, visible through a small window. Yep, he looks like a mummy. The descriptions posted on the walls listed his physical features, like his tattoos and the fact that he was missing ribs. There was also a blurb about how he had a gap between his front teeth, which was probably genetic, “…not unlike the singer Madonna.” That is a direct quote.
The end of the exhibit featured a mock-up of the ice man.
The wax figure was so life like, it looked like it breathed. I giggled out loud, thinking that if this was Disney, the wax man would not only breathe, but move his arms and blink his eyes and frighten young children. In totality, I didn’t think the museum was worth the whole €9 admission, as I had read up on the discovery years ago and the narratives seemed bland compared to the large amounts of information already out there. There were a lot of flashy media to distract you from the fact that there were not many artifacts in relation to the size of the museum. But when I did get a look at the actual items on display, it was cool to see possessions of a real life person from thousands of years ago.
Lunch and Siesta Hour I think I’m getting the hang of this afternoon break thing. Four hours of walking had taken a toll on my feet, and I was hungry. For the bargain price of €3.50, I picked up a salami sandwich and a chocolate coated meringue treat. That, combined a piece of fruit purchased yesterday, made an excellent lunch. And it was just
as filling as the €25 lunches I had earlier this week. I think fast food is the way to go.
In Which I Go Shopping Just like shopping at the grocery store yesterday, I spent my afternoon doing something normal for me – the mall crawl. I use the term “mall” loosely, because surrounding the city center are countless boutiques for clothing, designer cell phones, shoes, luggage, and anything that might make you look expensive. Most of the window displays had the tags on the mannequins listing the prices of the items. What a genius idea. For me, it meant I could keep walking when I saw anything over €50, which translates roughly to $75 for one piece of clothing.
I found, however, that it was difficult to find any clothes above a U.S. size 10. This was a little discouraging since I haven’t been a size 10 for a long while. And then I realized – the women here all fit within the size category prescribed by the fashion designers. If Gucci says nothing about a size 10, then the women make sure their figure stays within that limit. They might be skinnier as a result of
Love locks
Lovers put locks on the bridge and throw the key into the river.a healthier lifestyle in general, but for the purposes of my story, fashion is the reason women in Italy are skinny.
That’s not to say I didn’t find something. I stopped in a store which looked like the clothes had more fabric to them. This is different than saying the clothes were for larger women; no store would announce they sold fat clothes in Italy. They were more expensive than the price limit I had imposed, but I wanted a shirt, dammit. Inside the Nordstrom-quality store I was assisted by a lovely woman, whom I communicated with mostly through miming and facial expressions. She picked out a couple tops that fit perfectly, one of which I liked, and I purchased it for €120, which is probably $180 after the dollar conversion. Yeah, an expensive souvenir, but totally worth it. I needed an ego boost after combing through XL shirts looked like they would have fit a two-year-old.
I also purchased a new pair of sandals. These were not extravagant, even in price, and they were primarily for function. I was going to be wearing skirts more often as I moved into hotter climates, and one pair of walking
sandals wasn’t going to cut it. The brand Ecco is actually available in the U.S., and I considered them when I was buying travel shoes, so I knew they were going to work for me.
Light Dinner at a Bar After hours of cruising, I was on a shopping high. I spent upwards of $300 U.S. and had a blouse and a pair of shoes to show for it. In my glow of victory, I sat at an outside table of a bar and ordered bruschetta and white wine. The bruschetta was much different than what I’d had at home, where the tomatoes and herbs are chopped up and served over toast. This was a giant slab of bread with a layer of tomato sauce, then cheese, then herbs, all toasted. It was delicious. The white wine was forgettable, only because there wasn’t enough of it. A serving in wine anywhere besides my parents’ house is below the half-glass mark.
The man who took my photo was nursing a beer at the bar also. What I considered immaterial small talk led to a polite request to walk me back to my room. I, of course, declined. I’m not
that kind of tourist and his looks were nothing like Chippendale’s dancer (I have standards). I think part of the problem is that I answer “yes” when asked if I’m an American. Maybe if I said I was Canadian then the men would think I am frigid and curb their enthusiasm.
Rest Easy I returned to my room (alone) and dropped off my shopping trophies. Internet was a paid service at the hostel, and so I used my half hour to chat with my mother and check up on a few things. Then I just took it easy for the rest of the evening, drinking more wine and watching the people on the street below my window.
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