Arrivederci, Y’all

Our second day in Venice started not with a bang, but with a splash. When Aubrey left our Airbnb to walk the mere two minutes to the cafe, we were met with a good inch or two of water. That may not sound like much, but when you’re carrying a suitcase and don’t have water proof shoes, a couple inches quickly proves to be a problem. And it wasn’t just our street- parts of the main street and most of the side streets seemed to be unwalkable due to flooding. After soaking our socks and walking fifteen minutes in an attempt to get somewhere that should have only taken two, Aubrey and I coughed up $15 for what we now call the Boots of Shame. These glorified grocery store plastic bags come in a variety of bright colors sure to let everyone around know that you are a stupid tourist who came to Venice, the city of canals, in November, the rainy season, without rain boots. The real kicker (boot pun) was that by the time we finished breakfast, the flood waters had receded and the streets were miraculously dry. 

• 

• 

After breakfast we caught a ferry to Murano, an island famous for glass blowing. Murano is a huge tourist attraction and there are only two ferries that will take you there from Venice proper, so we waited in line with everyone and their mother and accidentally ended up on the local ferry. (Side note: One thing I really do miss about America is the concept of personal space. Europeans will stand so close they’re practically in your back pocket. I prefer America where we’re equally as impatient about waiting in line, but would rather shove someone out of the way than pop their personal bubble.) 

The local ferry essentially gave us a free tour around the circumference of Murano. We circumnavigated the whole island before arriving at our stop, but Aubrey and I were in no rush and thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful view of the water and colorful houses. Our stop was marked by a big white lighthouse with a carving of Mary and Baby Jesus on the side of it, surrounded by rocks that were the perfect size to do a little canal-side dance. If you’re the sort of weirdo who likes that sort of thing. We danced, window shopped (every single non-restaurant establishment sold beautiful glass figurines, jewelry, etc), and headed to the meeting place for a tour of a glass making factory. 

The factory was way larger than it appeared from the outside, and was full of stunning glass work. The walls were all mirrored and the glass work was in a range of beautiful colors. I simultaneously felt like a bull in a china shop and Dorothy when she wakes up in Oz and everything is suddenly in technicolor. The glass blowing demonstration was similarly amazing. My favorite part was when the glass master made a perfect glass horse right in front of us. He seemed to pull a horse out of a glowing blob of light. The skill level was absolutely insane, not to mention the fact that with one wrong move the man could burn his skin clear off. 

• 

• 

Aubrey and I each made a small purchase from the glass factory and headed back to the mainland. We took the express ferry this time and ended up on board with a troop of Italian girl and boy scouts wielding large sticks and knapsacks. (All I got when I was a girl scout was a dumb sash. I definitely would have preferred a big stick and I definitely would have stabbed my own eye out by accident.) 

Back on the mainland Aubrey and I had a late lunch/early dinner of spaghetti bolognese and watched the sun set at an obscene 4:30pm. Then we said goodbye to Venice and each other… until Thanksgiving, which we’re spending together in London! 

• 

• 

• 

This weekend, Aubrey and I spent a whirlwind three days in Venice. I say whirlwind because we did not plan a single thing aside from our Airbnb, so the weekend was spent ping-ponging across the island to museums, restaurants, and many, many canals. We were like moths to light, flying towards whatever seemed most fun and attractive in each moment. This is how we accidentally stumbled upon the Jewish quarter on our first day in Venice. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

I’ve written before about my experiences (or lack thereof) with Judaism in Italy. Before Venice, that experience was limited to the singular Jewish textiles exhibit tucked all the way past the gift shop in the Uffizi. The Jewish Quarter of Venice was a wonderful dive into Italian Jewish history after being inundated with Christian history and artwork for nearly three months in Florence. Aubrey and I explored some small Judaica shops, ate a delicious meal at a Jewish/kosher/Italian-inspired restaurant called Gam Gam, and wandered around the Jewish Quarter in general. Even in a foreign country, matzo ball soup never fails to make me feel at home. 

Of course, the history of the Jewish Quarter is not all matzo ball soup and mezuzot. The word “ghetto” actually originated in Venice and comes from the Venetian word getto, which means “to throw away.” Although the Jewish population is currently thriving in the Jewish Quarter, it’s important to remember that Jews were historically forced together into the least desirable areas because they were seen as alien and less-than. It’s also important to remember that Jews create thriving social and cultural communities wherever they go. The Gheto Vechio is a prime example of this. 

• 

• 

After exploring the Jewish Quarter Aubrey and I had two weird interactions with some locals. The first local was a gigantic seagull that was absolutely mauling a dead pigeon. Feathers were flying. It was very disturbing and exactly the sort of thing that would be an omen for death in a Greek tragedy or something. The second local was an old man who took pictures of us from his window while we were sitting on a dock. Only after I yelled at him and flipped him off did the man explain that he was taking our picture to show that the docks were dangerous (???) and that he is going to use the pictures as evidence that someone could fall off the docks into the canal. So I’m looking forward to the local meeting in which a picture of me flipping off an old man is used to lobby for safety.

The next day Aubrey and I got breakfast at a local cafe on the canal. Even though it was only 10am, almost everyone else in the cafe was drinking aperol spritzes and eating potato chips. We ate breakfast at the same cafe both mornings and saw the same elderly couple having a 10am happy hour both times. With any luck, I will also spend my golden years in Venice getting day drunk with the love of my life. 

• 

• 

Nearly every water taxi, ferry, and billboard we’d seen in Venice so far was plastered with the old adage “May You Live in Interesting Times,” which was apparently the newest art installation at the Biennale Contemporary Art Museum. Whoever was in charge of that marketing strategy should get a raise because it convinced Aubrey and me to trek forty minutes across the entire length of Venice to check out the museum. We stopped along the way to admire the beautiful view over the Grand Canal, stroll through a really wacky sculpture garden, and accidentally end up in what we thought was a single exhibit but ended up being a multi-level free art museum. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Museum is really not the proper term for the Biennale. It’s not an orderly building with nicely displayed paintings and sculptures. It’s many uniquely styled individual structures filled with everything from paintings to videos to crocheted sea anemones to automated cows on wheels. Each country gets a building that houses one contemporary art exhibit. My favorite was the Nordic pavilion. The artist created a landscape that looked uncomfortably fleshy and spongy, almost like if you liquidized a human and then gelatinized the liquid before it could just pool onto the floor. I have provided a picture (top right above) so you can maybe understand that ridiculous description. 

As we all know, sometimes contemporary art is ugly and sometimes it is pretentious and sometimes it is confusing or preachy. There was definitely art in the Biennale that fit all of those descriptions (I’m thinking specifically about the video of a woman peeing in her backyard titled “Urinating Outdoors” or something like that). If you enjoy going to museums because you like to see beautiful art, have a pleasant time, and leave without turning your brain into mush, this will not be the museum for you. But if you’re willing to get out of your comfort zone and see something weird, the Biennale probably has the highest freaky stuff to square inch ratio in all of Italy. 

• 

• 

To wrap up this post, here’s a lightning round of things that make Venice different from all of the other cities I’ve visited in Italy so far:

1. The canals, obviously. I took an early train from Florence to Venice and I was drowsy enough on the ride there that I kind of forgot where I was going until all of the sudden we were surrounded by water and beautiful bridges.
2. The dialect. My Italian is not excellent to begin with, but the Venetian dialect and spelling really threw me off. Aubrey expected me to translate and handle most of the communication on this trip and I was pretty embarrassed about having a hard time understanding literally everything.
3. The street lights near the Grand Canal are pink! Love that.
4. The amount of gluten free options. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t really on the look out for gluten free restaurants on any trip except this one, but I was impressed by the options, especially in a country that is famous for particularly glutinous foods like pasta and pizza.
5. The flooding. But I’ll talk about that in my next post, when I cover the Boots of Shame and the island of Murano!

• 

• 

Maggie and I started our first full day in Paris with crepes and coffee at a cute little outdoor cafe. It was raining lightly but the seating area was covered and warm. We planned on going straight to Shakesepare and Company, which was right next door, but apparently it was All Saints Day so the bookstore was opening late. Side note: I didn’t know what All Saint’s Day was until I googled it to write this blog post. Apparently it is a day to celebrate all of the people who have gotten into heaven. This is difficult for me to wrap my head around. ALL of the people who have gotten into heaven? Either far fewer people get into heaven than I imagined, thereby making getting it way more exclusive and holiday-worthy, or this is a lot like giving out participation trophies for dying.

• 

• 

• 

While killing time before the bookstore opened, we happened upon a patisserie and got one macaron each for an after-breakfast dessert, took some pictures on one of the beautiful bridges, and then made our way back to Shakespeare and Company. For those who don’t know, Shakespeare and Company is a world-famous bookstore where Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, and other prolific authors would gather. To think that Hemingway and Fitzgerald drunkenly repressed their homosexual tendencies at this very bookstore! Today it is mostly famous for being adorable and absolutely jam-packed with books from floor to ceiling. A slightly lesser known fact about the bookstore is that it allows lodgers. That’s right- you can live at Shakespeare and Company and sleep amidst the bookshelves as long as you read a book a day, help run the store, and write a one page autobiography. Thousands of people, known as tumbleweeds, have done so. I know what I’m doing this summer! It’s also full of cozy reading nooks, movable ladders to reach high shelves, and a cat named Aggie who kindly tolerates the constant petting from book nerds like Maggie and me. I’ve wanted to visit Shakespeare and Company for years and it did not disappoint. (Spoiler alert- nothing disappointed me all day.) Once I had found a couple books I definitely wanted but could not take home on the plane, and once my eyes were starting to cross from reading so many book spines, Maggie and I headed out.

• 

• 

• 

Our next stop was the Musee Orsay. It was about thirty minutes away, so we took our time and enjoyed the view and book/poster/knick knack vendors along the river. Paris really seems to be the ideal city for readers. There are famous bookstores, humongous Hogwarts-esque libraries, coffee shops on every corner, and a perpetual hazy rain that drives you off the street and into a cozy cafe to huddle up with a book and a cup of coffee. I’m making myself sad writing about this. I want to go back! 

• 

• 

And WHEN I go back, I will have to return to the Musee Orsay because Maggie and I severely underestimated how staggeringly gigantic that museum is. There are SIX floors! Each floor has multiple wings full of paintings and sculptures and artsy young people dressed in that specific ugly-cute way you’re supposed to dress when attending museums. We got through three floors: the first floor, the Impressionism floor, and the special exhibition of Degas al’Opera. The first floor was a really enjoyable combination of styles, and I saw some paintings I recognized and some that I did not.

• 

• 

• 

The Degas exhibit was beautiful, but the sheer number of people in the exhibit at once made it difficult to see the art, let alone have an experience with it. But the exhibit did make me think. In my opinion, the charm and beauty of Degas’s paintings of ballet classes and performances come from their composition. The performers are not perfectly centered in the frame, the way the audience sees them during a performance, but painted from the wings or from the orchestra pit. Sometimes Degas includes the top of the musicians’ heads or a bit of the curtain, which gives me the impression of a picture snapped on a phone in a busy place. As people crammed into the exhibit and took blurry pictures of the art on their phones, I had a better appreciation of what makes Degas so compelling. You don’t look at his paintings to see a perfect ballerina, you look at his paintings to see his imperfect experience of a ballet. You don’t take a picture at a museum to have a perfect picture of the artwork, you take a picture to remember your imperfect yet unique experience with a shared piece of culture and history. 

• 

• 

The Impressionism floor was similarly crowded with people. It was very cool to see some of these famous paintings in person, but I was hungry and tired of being elbowed, so my enjoyment was somewhat dampened. In fact, after this floor Maggie and I decided to leave the museum and get some food because crepes and macarons are delicious but somewhat lacking in energy-sustaining nutrition. 

So obviously we headed to another patisserie. Dare I say… the BEST patisserie. Granted I only went to like four, but I can’t imagine that it could get better than this one. This was where we had the perfect caramel eclair that I mentioned yesterday. The universe conspired for Maggie and I to eat this eclair. We were about to order a coffee eclair but the moment we got up to order, the customer ahead of us bought the last two, so we decided on a caramel eclair and a citron tart with meringue and split both. It’s useless to try and describe the taste bud sensation I experienced when eating these two pastries, but I can only imagine that all of the people in heaven that we were apparently celebrating on All Saint’s Day all have constant access to caramel eclairs and citron tarts because they are the food of angels. 

After even more walking around and honestly just killing time until we had an appetite again, we ate dinner at a tiny dumpling restaurant. For the past year or so I have been on what I call my Dumpling Quest, which essentially means that I eat a lot of dumplings in search of the Best Dumpling. As of now the Best Dumpling is at a Michelin star hole-in-the-wall (whose name I forget because my brain was too clouded with dumpling euphoria to write it down) that my friend Liz and I stumbled upon in New York City. BUT I now know that the best dumpling soup broth is at Jixiao’s Buns in Paris. When in France, skip the French Onion soup and go straight for the Chinese dumplings. 

• 

We took the metro back to our hostel and made the very dangerous decision of renting Lime scooters and scootering to a local bar. I say dangerous because the moment we realized how fun Lime scooters are our wallets and any nearby pedestrians were goners. Scootering through Paris was amazing exhilarating fantastic and made me feel like Charlie in the tunnel scene of The Perks of Being a Wallflower. We ended the night with drinks at a local bar (I learned that I really like margaritas) and scootered home. I went to sleep in my shitty hostel bunk bed aware that I had just experienced the best day of my life, and that I would get to wake up tomorrow and probably have the second best day of my life. 

• 

• 

This weekend I achieved a lifelong dream of traveling to Paris, and it lived up to or exceeded my every expectation. It was truly and genuinely the best weekend of my life, full of seeing beautiful things, having exciting adventures, and eating my way through every little cafe in the city. 

My flight to Paris was in the morning and my friend Maggie wasn’t arriving until the evening, so I had almost a full day to explore by myself. But before I started exploring I had to make my way from the airport to the city center all on my lonesome. I had never seen a map of Paris before and I had no idea where I was even attempting to go, so I camped out in the airport to spend an hour frantically googling things like “Where is Paris city center” “Tourist map of Paris” and “What to do in Paris alone in the rain with all of your luggage.” 

It was during this hour that I committed the first sin of the trip, which I confess to you now:

I went to use the bathroom in the airport and noticed a beautiful blue gift bag hanging on a hook in the bathroom stall. Upon further inspection, the beautiful blue gift bag contained a perfectly sealed beautiful blue box of pastel macarons. $17.50 worth of pastel macarons, to be exact. I know this because the receipt was still in the bag. Reader, I confess this to you now: I opened the perfectly sealed beautiful blue box, shoved one beautiful pastel colored macaron in my mouth, dumped the rest in my purse, left exactly one macaron in the beautiful blue box, and fled the scene. The fact that I left one in the box is what truly haunts me. If I had just taken the box and ran, maybe it would’ve been okay. But if that poor person rushes back into the bathroom to retrieve their forgotten $17.50 worth of macarons only to find an opened box with all but one taken? That’s just disrespectful. I can only assume that because I didn’t get drugged or sick, I am in for some truly horrific karma in the near future. 

And so, my first experience with Parisian cuisine was bathroom macarons. 

Anyway. With the power of Google I figured out how to get from the airport to Paris’s city center, and then with the power of the incredible growth I have experienced in the past two months I navigated two metros in a foreign country by myself. Remember in my first blog when I said I tried to get from Allentown to New York City and ended up in Philadelphia? I’ve come a long way, folks. I listened to Maggie Rogers’ album on both metro rides and cried a little bit about being independent and untethered and alone in a country whose language I don’t speak more than three words of. Sure, I eat macarons out of airport bathrooms, but I’m also living my dreams and growing into an Independent and Confident Young Woman. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

From 11am to 6pm I explored Paris alone. Mostly I just walked through the city, stopping in any free church or museum I passed and zig zagging across every bridge. I didn’t have a plan or a destination. I didn’t have to meet anyone’s needs but my own. I know literally zero people in France, but I didn’t feel lonely or anxious. I just felt like myself, in a beautiful new place. 

I also had the best meal I’ve had in Europe so far, including the food tour I went on in Rome. I stopped at a random restaurant because it looked busy and I was hungry (I hadn’t eaten since the bathroom macarons, you see). I ordered roasted chicken with mashed potatoes on a whim. They blew my mind. If the police catch up to me and decide I should get the death penalty for my macaron thievery crimes, I want my last meal to be the roasted chicken and mashed potatoes from that one restaurant in Paris. Maybe also the salted caramel eclair I had the following day… but I’ll post about that tomorrow.

Last weekend the man who sells pressed flowers on the steps of Piazzale Michaelangelo recommended the town of Lucca for a fun, easy day trip. I’m not so foolish as to turn down advice from wise flower-pressing men, so I took my mother to Lucca. 

He was right. Lucca was a short 90 minute train ride away and the perfect start to our Tuscan adventures. It’s easy to be deceived when you first get off the train- Lucca doesn’t look like much until you pass through the city walls into the tightly spiraled houses and shops. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

The highlight of Lucca was definitely St. Martin’s Catherdral, Lucca’s duomo. As always, I spent most of the time inside staring up at the ceiling. I just can’t seem to get over the fact that often the most beautiful art in these historic buildings isn’t even at eye level. I live in the 21st century. I have a device in my pocket at all times that allows me to look at any beautiful thing I want at any time of day for as long as I want. I live in a time where attention spans are the shortest they’ve ever been and information is more accessible than ever, and I get completely overstimulated in these humongous, gilded buildings. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like to see St Martins Cathedral as a 17th century peasant who didn’t even have steady access to books. 

• 

• 

After losing our tiny 21st century minds over St Martins, we moved farther into the center of Lucca. Center is a fitting word, actually, because Lucca is shaped like one big circle with all the houses and shops facing inwards, sort of like an urban Italian Stonehenge. We lost our minds anew over the adorable buildings and atmosphere that was only partially obscured by the giant Netflix-sponsored tent in the middle of the piazza. 

Next we headed back to Florence for dinner at Vini e Vecchi Sappori (shoutout to Pizza Brama at Rockland’s Winery in Maryland for the recommendation). My mom had been hyping this place up since we planned this trip, and it did not disappoint. Luckily we were able to get a reservation and enjoy some delicious homemade pasta, wine, tiramisu, and panna cotta. We ate at 9pm like true Italians and rolled out of the restaurant and into bed at midnight, exhausted from a fantastic day. 

• 

• 

• 

So I’ve been in Florence for a pretty good amount of time by this point in my study abroad program. And I’ll admit it, I was starting to get a little jaded. New things were still completely blowing my mind, but some parts of my daily life were starting to lose their charm. My annoyance at the traffic surrounding the Duomo was starting to usurp my appreciation of the fact that I walk past the Duomo everyday. Well, here’s a good remedy for jadedness: have your mother visit. 

My mom has never been to Europe before. Ever since we decided that I would spend a semester abroad in Italy, my mom has been planning her trip to visit me. This week it finally happened, and my mom is here for a whole week, which we’ve filled with day trips to neighboring cities and jam packed days of sight seeing in Florence. 

We had barely left the train station when my mom started taking pictures. Every alleyway was beautiful and quaint. We weren’t even in the nice part of Florence yet and my mom couldn’t believe her eyes. 

After dropping her bags at the Airbnb, we made our way to my apartment, which meant we had to pass by the Duomo. I didn’t want to give my mom any warning as to what she was about to see so she could be blindsided by the beauty. It worked. My mom’s jaw hit the floor and she actually started crying when we rounded the corner. Watching her experience the Duomo for the first time made me feel so lucky to see it every day, but also so lucky to see it with my mom. 

I then schlepped my mother another 20 minutes to Gustapizza, a popular pizza place on the other side of the river. The adrenaline from being in a new city was starting to lose out to the jet lag and exhaustion of a red eye flight from America to Florence, and my mom was tired and ready to eat about 30 minutes before the food was ready. But we both agreed that eating the most delicious pizza in Florence (in my humble opinion) outside of Palazzo Pitti made up for the post-flight hangry-ness. 

• 

• 

• 

Our last activity of the day was the Uffizi Gallery. We took in the beautiful artwork, with me whizzing around, pointing out my favorites, and showing off my new knowledge of Renaissance art. Yup, nothing but sophisticated adult appreciation of art here. No laughing at penises whatsoever. Certainly no mocking of these culturally significant masterpieces. No sir. 

• 

• 

This weekend I visited my dear friend Aubrey in Barcelona! She really gave me the full Spanish experience in three days. Every day that I was there we were out and about for ten full hours seeing the beach, the mountains, the city, the pigeons (so, so many pigeons)… 

Although ultimately successful, my travel arrangements had a rocky start. I had to walk by myself from my apartment to the bus station at 5:00 in the morning. For some reason I thought the sun would be up by that point. Obviously it was not. I also thought that because 5:00 is technically the morning, nothing bad would happen because bad things happen at night, not in the morning. Wrong again. The moment I walked out my front door I was met with a very drunk and actively still drinking man screaming into his phone about all the stupid Americans in Florence. I tried to look as un-American as possible, we didn’t interact, I moved on. I was completely alone on the street for the first half of the walk, until I heard someone singing and yelling. For the second half of my walk I was accompanied by a singing, screaming man dressed all in black who followed behind me and laughed at me whenever I turned around to check if he was still there. It was literally just me and this man alone in the dark on an empty street. I can honestly say I have never felt less safe in my entire life. I ended up pounding on the door to a hotel which was technically closed but luckily the concierge let me in when he saw that I was visibly upset and once I explained that a scary man was following me. I waited, the man passed by, and I walked the rest of the way to the bus stop without becoming a cautionary study abroad tale.

Fast forward a train, plane, and bus ride later to my arrival in Barcelona! Aubrey met me at the bus station and we had a very cinematic reunion during which I screamed and ran into her arms and she gave me a caramel iced coffee because I had been deprived of Starbucks for over a month (woe is me). After a quick meal, Aubrey had to go to class and I was left to explore El Corte Ingles, a massive multi storey shopping mall, and the surrounding area. The top level of El Corte Ingles is a cafeteria with a fantastic view of the city. The other seven floors are the seven levels of capitalist Hell (Dante Alighieri’s lesser-known opus) and a great way to kill five hours. I also walked through a plaza that is famous for having a lot of pigeons. My review: There were, quite frankly, too many pigeons. 

• 

• 

After Aubrey’s classes the two of us had a romantic dinner for two on the beach. It was the most expensive meal I’ve had but it came with a view of the ocean AND a swarm of hot men doing a workout on the beach AND two adorable dogs AND the food was delicious, so it was worth it.

• 

• 

The next day started with a journey to The Bunkers. Aubrey brought two supermarket salads and a bottle of cheap wine to a mountain top overlook that used to be a military fort. We started drinking at approximately 11:00am and, like the wild and crazy college students that we are, nearly fell asleep before noon because of it. After shaking ourselves awake and taking in the view, we headed to the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona for some more exploring. 

That evening was my favorite of the whole trip. Aubrey and I planned on going salsa dancing, but we were both tired from a long day and decided to hang out in Gràcia instead. We sat on a park bench for something like two hours talking, catching up, and having some intense Being In Your Twenties Is Hard And The Future Is Scary conversations. We ended the night with (more) wine and chocolate cake. Honestly, just explaining what we did doesn’t really do this night justice. I can’t overstate how cathartic, important, and meaningful it is to me to have friends with whom I can speak openly and honestly. I am so lucky! I would have been happy having that conversation with Aubrey anywhere. The fact that it happened in beautiful Spain after a full day of seeing beautiful sights? Insanity.

The next day we journeyed to a different mountain, this one with a castle at the top. One thing I have learned about myself while in Europe is that I LOVE castles. I’m not really sure why, but it probably has something to do with how transportative they are. Despite their grandeur, I feel very aware of the fact that people lived within their walls. Like whenever I’m in a castle I think about the fact that a couple hundred years ago a girl my age probably stood in the same place I stood while walking to a crown fitting or an execution or a balcony to gaze out over her kingdom or something. Actually a couple hundred years ago a girl my age was probably already married off or dying of the common cold… Hmm. 

• 

• 

• 

Anyway, Aubrey’s lovely friends met us at the castle, and after exploring we went to an amazing Indian restaurant for lunch. After lunch we checked out La Sagrada Familia, the famous incomplete cathedral designed by Gaudi. It was absolutely humongous and unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. One side looked like if Las Vegas had a crucifixion-themed hotel, and the other looked like if a melted candle got turned into a castle. 

• 

• 

• 

After one final dinner at a hole-in-the-wall tapas bar, I went back to my Airbnb a little early so I could wake up and take all of the various planes, trains, and automobiles that would get me back to Florence. Because I had to study for my midterm exams. Because I accidentally planned this trip the weekend before midterms. How did they go, Rachel? Well, I’m writing this in between large gulps of wine and spoonfuls of nutella, so that should answer your question.

But honestly, this weekend was spectacular and exploring an amazing city and seeing a close friend is way more important to me than getting a perfect grade on a midterm during my semester abroad. And I probably passed. And what’s more important in the end, lifelong memories or midterm grades? 

• 

• 

This weekend has been really fun, although not as busy as I thought it would be. My roommate Elizabeth and I bought train tickets to Bologna to see a museum of still lifes (I hate still lifes but I love Elizabeth) but she woke up sick so I ended up having the day to myself. Instead of going alone to a museum I wasn’t interested in in a city I know nothing about, I visited the Palazzo Strozzi museum in Florence to see the Natalia Gonchrova exhibit. This was definitely the right decision. I think this exhibit was my favorite one I’ve seen so far. The paintings were stunning, full of bright colors and interesting subjects, but what really made it stand out was the design of the exhibit itself. Instead of boring white walls, each group of paintings was on a brightly painted background or wallpaper. This made all of the paintings seem more connected to each other and as if they were meant to be in this museum. 

• 

• 

After the Palazzo Strozzi I finally got up the courage to go to the Gucci store, which was basically like going to another museum.  To my surprise, no one kicked me out even though I was obviously not there to purchase anything. I did try on lots of ridiculous sunglasses and touch lots of expensive clothing. I was super disappointed to find out that most of the clothes, which cost $800 and up… are not even soft. It’s true what they say, kids: Sometimes, things that are expensive… are worse. 

• 

• 

• 

On Saturday Ariana, Izzy, and I went to Pisa. Getting there only cost $10 and honestly I got about $10 of value out of Pisa. It was a little disappointing, but that might be because I didn’t do enough research before going. The Leaning Tower was stunning. It was shocking to see it in real life. You round the corner onto the main street and bam, there it is! That tower sure is leaning! Also there are two other very impressive buildings next to the Leaning Tower which I had never seen pictures of or heard of before going to Pisa. I’m not sure if this is because I’m uninformed or because their perpendicularity to the ground just makes them so much less interesting in comparison to the Leaning Tower.

• 

• 

• 

• 

Next we had the worst food I’ve eaten in Italy so far. We had bad pizza in Pisa. It was a $7 tragedy. I was very annoyed by this so to make up for it we went to the most highly rated gelateria in Pisa, which happened to be next to an adorable park! It’s crazy how absolutely buckwild we all go whenever we see trees nowadays. Florence is depriving us of nature (although literally everything else about Florence makes up for this). There were young children riding bicycles, a small farmer’s market in the process of closing up for the day, and lots of pigeons that kept landing in a small pile of sparkly confetti so that every once in a while a burst of colorful sparkles would fly up next to us. Izzy said that this park was her favorite place in Italy so far. I think this might be a slight exaggeration, but it was definitely a good place to relax and eat some gelato.

We ended the day by checking out Pisa’s Keith Haring mural. It was really exciting to see a real live Keith Haring piece, not just a reproduction on a shirt or a poster (although Keith Haring himself voiced support of the commercialization of his art since it allows people who don’t have access to museums to see his work) (That’s not relevant to our day I just like to make sure everyone knows how much time I’ve spent watching art history videos on YouTube). We took lots of pictures and then made our way back to the train station. 

Today a bunch of museums were free so my roommates and I went to see the Academia Gallery. I think I would have enjoyed it more if I had never seen pictures of the David before. My experience with a lot of the super famous Italian landmarks and art has been this: I’m amazed to see these world-renowned sites and sights and usually experience a moment of shock that they’re actually truly in front of me. But after the initial shock I’m kind of like “Okay, I’ve seen hundreds of pictures of this before in high resolution and without all of these people’s heads blocking my vision, and now I’m here so I can take a picture of my own so that everyone knows that I have seen this famous thing, and now I can move on.” I’m not trying to sound unappreciative or snobby. I just sort of wish I lived in a world with fewer pictures so that I could fully appreciate things in person in the moment. Or maybe I wish I had a list of all the famous things I’ll see in my lifetime so that I can avoid pictures of them until I see them for real.  I’m not sure why having seen pictures of the David made the real thing less exciting, but having seen pictures of Keith Haring’s work before made it more special.

I’m worried that this sounds very ungrateful. To clarify, I’m amazed every day by the beautiful things in Italy, and I know how ridiculously lucky I am to see these famous things that many people will never get the chance to see. It’s just that some of them wow me more than others. Verona was better than Pisa, and the Uffizi was better than the Academia. I’m blessed to see all of them.

Yesterday Izzy, Elizabeth, and I took a day trip to Verona because I saw a cool picture on the internet. We had three goals: visit Casa di Giulietta (Juliet’s house from the little known play Romeo and Juliet), see a castle, and eat good food. We accomplished all three and had one of the nicest days I’ve had in Italy so far.

• 

• 

• 

The three of us successfully navigated five trains in total to get to Verona and back (three to get there, two to come home). It was about four hours each way, and completely worth it to visit such a lovely city.

Verona is absolutely adorable. The ground in the main part of the city is made of pink and white marble, and the buildings are all sorts of pretty colors with plants coming out of the windows. You can shop and eat your way through the city center, explore the historic castles and churches, or relax in one of the cute little parks! I sound like an advertisement! You try writing a travel blog without sounding like an excerpt from Eat Pray Love okay it’s a lot harder than you might think.

Anyway. After a delicious but slightly odd lunch at a pizza and fish restaurant (???) we stopped by Casa di Giulietta with every other tourist in Verona. It was very romantic and also so packed that it was hard to move. The two Things To Do at Casa di Giulietta are write yours and your lover’s names on the walls, and take a picture of yourself grabbing Juliet’s boobs. She’s just a statue so it’s okay, but I would like to take this moment to remind everyone that in the play Juliet is only thirteen years old.

• 

• 

Next we visited Tomba di Giulietta, or Juliet’s tomb. This was slightly off the beaten path and therefore much more quiet. We didn’t feel like paying for a ticket to explore the museum and see the actual tomb itself so we just admired the outside and the beautiful area for weddings.

• 

• 

• 

After the tomb we walked twenty minutes to Castlevecchio, the real reason why I wanted to visit Verona. Again, we didn’t want to pay for a ticket to get inside so we walked around the castle grounds and crossed the bridge above the Adige. This was definitely the right decision. The bridge is beautiful and has all of these cool ledges to climb and look out over the water and take pictures.

• 

• 

We went down to the river bank beside the bridge and admired the view of both the water and the most adorable dog who was basically giving a course in How To Be A Dog 101. He was digging holes in the sand and playing fetch with an actual stick like a dog in a cartoon. His name was Iago.

• 

• 

We ended our time in Verona by sitting outside in the park having happy hour, which I can do because I am of age in Italy and it’s wonderful. All of us were happy to be outside around trees and plants. Florence is lovely but there is absolutely no greenery and the air is smoggy with exhaust and cigarette fumes. It was nice to visit Verona and get a breath of fresh air, literally and metaphorically.

I’m a little ashamed that it took me a whole entire month of living in Italy before I went to the Uffizi Gallery. I literally live next door to it. I have no excuse. HOWEVER, last night I got in for the low price of €1 instead of the usual €20 because of European Heritage Days! The trade off was that I only had one hour to get through the whole museum. Needless to say my brain was a pile of mush by the end of it.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

I spent easily twenty minutes of my allotted sixty staring at the ceiling in the hallway outside the actual art galleries. The ceiling is covered in beautiful intricate frescos. Each fresco is several feet long and there’s a looooot of ceiling in the Uffizi. I walked at a snail’s pace down the hallway with my neck craned all the way back, trying to deal with the adrenaline that comes with being in a beautiful place on a time crunch while also giving each fresco the attention it deserved.

• 

• 

• 

Somehow I made it through each floor before everyone was booted out of the museum. I accidentally skipped Bernini but not to worry, I’m sure I’ll BerniBE back soon (hahahaha sorry). Here are some of my favorite paintings that I saw, not including The Birth of Venus and that one plate with Medusa’s screaming head on it. I saw both of those things but the crowds in front of them were too thick for me to get a picture.

• 

• 

• 

The last exhibit I saw was “The Colors of Judaism in Italy.” Keep in mind that at this point my brain was mush, I was exhausted and overstimulated, and it was nearly 10pm after a very long day. I was the only person in this exhibit, which is a good thing because I cried. A lot.

• 

• 

This exhibit was the first proof I have seen of Jewish existence in Italy that was not related to the Holocaust. All month I have been inundated with (beautiful) Biblical artwork, (beautiful) architecture in Christian or Catholic churches, (interesting) information about saints, and soul-crushing statistics about the Holocaust. It was nice to see that Jews have done something in Italy other than get mass murdered. It made me feel proud and also profoundly sad to see beautiful tapestries, clothing, and paintings made by the thriving Jewish communities that have always existed and will always exist in Italy and all around the world.

Anyway. After that I drank a big old glass of wine and went to sleep!