Italian Adventures

(I'm so sorry I've gotten so bad about this)

FRIDAY

My last day in Bologna, I decided to finally go see the University Museums. My friend Sarah, who’d been to Bologna before, promised me gore and that intriguing mixture of horrifying and fascinating. And she did not disappoint!

I’ve kept out the worst of the images, but I’ll be describing  them later – also there is still some pretty creepy stuff here. If you have issues around seeing what lies beneath our skin, I’d give this post a pass.

oh god I am so sorry I'm such a shit at keeping this up.

SUNDAY

This was the day I went to Empoli and met Anna and her amazing family! And I’m not just saying that because she’s going to read this.

I am heading to Bologna,which is FAMOUS for it's cheese filled pasta

I AM GOING TO CRY

WEEPING AND WAILING AND GNASHING OF TEETH

WHY GOD

WHHHYYYYYY

SATURDAY 

Well, after yesterday’s slap incident, I ran back to my hostel and spilled my guts to the first person I saw. Which happened to be a guy from South Korea named Swung Chul Baek (who will now be referred to as Baek, because that is a long ass name), who listened with increasingly wide eyes.

He turned out to be a really nice guy (genuinely nice, not a ‘Nice Guy’ like Italian-Perv) so I asked him if he wanted to go see the David together. I have to be honest; I mostly wanted to have someone around in case any guys got any ideas again. We also made a plan to eat a bistecca alla fiorentina together, since that’s the defining dish of Florence apparently and at 1 kilogram a serving neither of us would be able to eat it alone.

As it turned out, he wasn’t able to get into the Accademia since the line was so long. With my Museum Pass I was able to skip it, so I went in and he went to go walk around and see some piazzas.

Okay, gotta get this outta the way.

THE DAVID IS FRIGGIN HUGE. 

Like, I think I come up to its knee. I know I’m short but I’m not that short. It was also very striking how soft he looked, even though he was made of marble. His face was remarkably emotional, and he even had carved pupils, which seems to have been extremely unusual. You could see him gazing outward as if trying to see what would come next, how the world would be changed now that he had felled Goliath. He looks concerned, almost nervous. He looks really, remarkably human.

Although he apparently had badly cased sausage for a penis. Seriously it looked like he should have maybe gone to see a doctor, although Michelangelo drew every pubic curl in loving detail.

I also saw how many people blatantly ignored all the signs and guards to whip out their phones/cameras for pictures, and learned how ENRAGED that makes me. It’s just so disrespectful. Buy the goddamn picture or just download it from the Internet, taking photos – especially FLASH like most of these people were doing – is BAD FOR THE ART. STOP.

Ahem.

That museum is actually quite small – I saw everything in about an hour. So although David is of course a must see, I have to say that if you don’t have a pass and you have limited time I would weigh the cost-benefit to waiting in line for ages to see it. I did see some other pieces I liked though; my favorite was Monument to Sofia Zamoyska by Lorenzo Bartolini. It was her lying in bed, and the pillow looked so soft I wanted to sink into it. The cloth had a design on it that rippled perfectly with the haphazard folds and looked so real and silky that I couldn’t believe it was stone. There was such delicacy there, it was incredibly.

  Afterward I met up with Baek again, and we went to a trattoria his Italian friend had recommended for bistecca. There was a 20-minute wait so I dragged him over to look at the Mercato Centrale, which was located right across the street (so you knew the food was super fresh). And oh god I nearly started salivating right there. Baek asked me a bunch of questions once it became clear that, when it came to food anyway, I knew my shit.

  My favorite part was when we passed by a fishmonger who was making halibut into fillets for a customer. He literally just laid it down, stared at it for a few seconds, and then just ripped the skin and spine off. In one move. Like peeling off a sticker. I couldn’t even take a picture it was over so fast. I DID NOT KNOW THAT WAS EVEN POSSIBLE.

Learn something new everyday I suppose.

We got back to the trattoria right as they were calling our name, and sat down at this tiny little table right in the back with two other people. A bistecca alla fiorentina, for those of you not in the know, basically just means T-bone steak.

BUT ONE THAT’S AS BIG AS YOUR WHOLE HEAD.

It’s very simply cooked, especially when you request it bloody as I did. One thing I did notice about it though was that it was salted more heavily towards the bone. That meant that even when you were reaching the end (the part near the bone) and your taste buds were EXHAUSTED from eating your way through a whole kilo of meat they still got a lovely tingle from that extra punch of salt. It was really brilliant actually.

And oh god.

That steak.

  It would have been worth the journey to Italy alone. I’m salivating just thinking of it. It was so incredibly flavorful, so meltingly soft and yet toothsome. Words cannot do it justice, but I will say that I was completely silent for the entire hour it took to eat that sucker. And it was one of the best hours of my life.

  And we ate it all.

Food coma set in very shortly after, and after seeing Baek off to the train station (after trading stories about weird idioms, and finding out he loves Supernatural!) I didn’t emerge from my hostel till that afternoon.

At which point I went to the Uffizi. For the second time. I just really like it okay? To be honest I went back because I realized I’d somehow completely missed the Birth of Venus, which is supposed to be the major draw. It was quite lovely, although in a room filled with gorgeous art it wasn’t as awe-inspiring as its reputation implies. I did love how the trees were lined in gold, as is reflecting the light from a rising sun, or the radiance of Venus’ golden hair. It was a nice little detail.

  My favorite part of the day though, as much as the bistecca was a meaty revelation, was the night. I was a little nervous about going back to the Piazza de Signoria, since that was where the Italian Asshole found me. But, because I am a stubborn bitch, I decided to go back anyway. I love that square, I refused to let one jerk ruin it for me.

I picked up a cheap, but delicious!, panino on the way – goat cheese and salami. It was a special kind of Italian salami made with fennel, which was a much more prevalent taste than I was expecting. Not in a bad way, it was delicious, but it was strange when my first bite tasted mostly of fennel when I expected meat to be the dominant flavor there.

I just sat there, my ass slowly going numb against the cold stone of the steps. Statues loomed over me, and people walked throughout the square talking loudly enough to remind me of home. A brass band started up, to celebrate the patron saint of Florence. I didn’t know that at the time though, that night all I knew was that suddenly there was music all around me.

And then suddenly runners. Yeah, officials managed to set up a barricade in about 5 minutes, and then suddenly a wave of people came sprinting through the square.

Apparently it’s an annual tradition, but again, at the time I didn’t know that. There was just music and people waving and runners pushing themselves so hard I could almost feel the ache in their muscles with them. It was incredibly joyful, in a serene way that I can’t quite describe.

It was windy, so I was tucked up next to a pillar as I read about Hercule Poirot saving the day.

The brass band played under the shadow of a replica of David.

Hundreds of people wandered around me.

I literally started laughing out of joy, with tears in my eyes that I still can’t really explain. I was just so blissfully, uncomplicatedly happy. I felt surrounded by love – everyone in that square was in love in some way, whether it was with the art, or the city, or just that cutie next to them.

It was one of the best nights of my life, for no other reason than I was alive and happy. 

These are so out of order, I'M SORRY

FRIDAY

I'm backtracking here, so do try to forgive me. I'm also starting to put things under a cut because I realized the other day how LONG these get and I don't want to eat anyone's dash

THURSDAY

that sounds SO AWESOME! I am so glad you helped her - it can be really hard to reach out for help in situations like that, especially when it seems like no one around you gives a shit.

And that's another reason this makes me so happy, because as soon as people understood what was going on they immediately rallied to her side and kicked him out. Although it also frightens me that they didn't realize before. But focusing on positives here.

(WARNING FOR DISCUSSION OF RAPE CULTURE, IF THAT TRIGGERS ANYONE)

Okay, so because I posted that snippet about the Italian perv I feel like I should skip to the evening. I’ll post about my afternoon in a bit. Man, this blog is swiftly becoming super out of order. I was out at night, because I love Italy the best after 7 – when it’s still bright out but it’s beginning to cool down and you can walk for ever in the ongoing twilight.

So I got a gelato (for the savvy among you, it was the second of the day. Raspberry and peach, with darling little flecks of both fruit) and wandered. Because I’m a creature of habit, even after less than a day, I ended up at the Piazza de Signoria, where I’d spent the afternoon. And oh my god you guys

THEY WERE HAVING A CONCERT 

It was amazing. I don't really have any pictures because it turns my camera is TERRIBLE with nighttime shots. But trust me when I say it was awe-inspiring.

They were in the Loggia dei Lanzi, which is a little upraised area held up by gorgeous pillars and filled with ancient statues. It’s a mini-museum, complete with a faux-David. And they were playing music in there. It was obviously a professional orchestra, and I even recognized the music to a few hymns. The sky was dark and starless, but there were children playing with light up tops that danced into the air before falling back down. They looked like the stars themselves were coming down to listen closer.

Music twining in and out of the gently lit statues, stars falling from the sky, a whole square full of people all there for the joy of it. It was magical.

And so of course I got a guy trying to pick me up. Is there nothing sacred? Although actually, many of the statues were depicting the rape of the Sabine women so perhaps it was appropriate. Anyhow, he started talking to me. I, very very cautiously, gave him a few monosyllabic answers.

I feel like I should mention I hadn’t eaten dinner yet, and my stomach made that very clear. He offered to show me a pizza place. After debating a little with myself, I decided to accept. I made sure we stayed on well-lit, crowded streets. I kept myself more than an arm’s reach away at all times. I was nervous, and skittish, but I was hungry dammit and we were surrounded by people. And we got our pizza, and it was… alright. The crust was good, but it fell apart a bit. It was too thin, and the cheese ended up being too heavy and falling right off a few times.

He wanted to eat in secluded areas, but I insisted we go right back to the Piazza and listen to the music. And of course, once we finished eating he tried to put the moves on me. He kissed me, and bit my lip while somehow managing to slobber over my chin like a dog.

I see the reports of suave Italian men may have been exaggerated somewhat.

So I shoved him away, and told him exactly how bad he was. Then I walked away, into a crowd. He followed me. I started talking to an Australian couple, who I told that the guy was bothering me. They left, and the guy kept following me.

I pushed him away, I told him to stop, I said NO very loudly and in obvious hearing of several people. He’d back off for a minute, and then come back telling me what a good guy he was while trying to grab at my arms and breasts. No one said anything.

Rape culture. It’s a world wide event.

Finally I said, “I am going to slap you if you don’t let go of me.”

And then he asked me if I was good with my mouth, and said he wanted to take it out.

And that, my friends, is the story of how I slapped my first Italian perv!

I ran all the way back to my hostel, and I felt incredibly exhilarated. Because I’d slapped someone, which I gotta be honest I’d kind of always wanted to do, and besides, I proved to myself that I was capable of taking on any assholes that Italy threw at me.

But as I sat down, the exhileration began to fade and I began to feel a little sick. I should keep this to myself, I thought. My parents will worry, I thought, and they did. What was I expecting, letting him buy me that pizza, I thought, and that was when I decided to post about it.

Because it doesn’t matter what the guy does or says. If you say no then that’s it. End of story.

It’s not your fault.

These feelings of guilt are something that victims of harassment and assault have to deal with all the time. Rape victims report that one of the first questions, every time, is what were you wearing and why didn’t you run? As if it were their fault. As if it were my fault that the guy wouldn’t listen when I said no. 

But you know what? It wasn’t my fault. He could have bought me a goddamn lobster, but that doesn’t entitle him to my body. And I protected myself, and I am totally fine right now but it still fills with me rage that he felt like he was entitled to me.

The fact that it’s a struggle for me to say the words it wasn’t my fault speaks to how deeply rooted rape culture is our collective psyche. And so I decided to write this post, and fully admit to everything that happened even though I initially wanted to clean it up so it ‘didn’t seem like I was leading him on’(a literal thought that crossed my mind). I wanted to make myself look more clearly like a victim. But I was a victim, regardless of what I did before hand. And that is important for people to realize. It may seem obvious, but… I’m here to tell it’s not. And when bad things happen, there is a part of society that’s whispering in your ear that it’s your fault. 

And it’s not. Remember that.

And before either of my parents freak out, I am still fine. I am still super excited to be in Italy, I still love Florence, I still count today as an amazing day. I know I can handle whatever comes my way, although it’s really important to remember that I shouldn’t have to. Maybe that’s naïve thinking, but I just want to reiterate how important it is for everyone to remember that you should protect yourself but that it’s not your fault if someone else tries to hurt you.

But if they do? Kick their fucking asses.

today is ALSO the day that I slapped someone for the first time!

hey Bella!!! Oh man, how are you?

hahaha, I am always glad to cause you pan m'dear <3

OH MY GOD, ROME IN SUMMER HEAT IS SO BAD

SO

BAD

ALKDFJALJAL

This is two parts, because I did a LOT in the afternoon so I think I'm gonna make it it's own post. And alksjflajs HI GUYS THANK YOU FOR FOLLOWING ME. I LOVE YOU.

That day I woke up early (I blame jet lag) and decided to wander around the neighborhood. The best part of having plenty of time to travel is that I don’t have to run from attraction to attraction, but can just take the time to explore and get to know the area. My hostel is equidistant from the Ancient City, of Colosseum fame, and Termini, which is the Italian Grand Central Station, so I had the vague idea that if I walked far enough I would probably hit one of those. I packed my Let’s Go Italy guidebook as my one concession to tourism, and hit the streets.

(And yes Mom, I put on sunscreen. I practically bathed in it in fact, reapplying halfway through the day, and THANK GOD because after just one day walking around in Rome my skin was about two shades darker. Soon I'll be able to blend into the woodwork) 

Eventually I did end up at Termini, but not before walking into a couple random churches. The nice thing about wandering around in a city like Rome is that if you just keep going long enough you’re going to end up stumbling upon a monument to orient yourself. The Basilicia of Santa Maria Maggiore was that for me, with a gorgeous fountain that I practically threw myself into after an hour of walking.

It was beautiful inside, and, most importantly to me, it was dark and cool. I’m sure they thought I was very religious, I knelt at the alter for so long. Don’t tell the Santa Maria but cold marble is fabulous for overheated legs. If I could I would have shown my devotion by sprawling across the cool stone and never getting up again.

from across the street. I forgot to take pictures inside, because my brain was basically just going SWEET DARKNESS

Eventually though, I managed to talk myself into going out again. Might I mention that by this point it was noon and the hottest part of the day? And instead of finding a café and hiding out I decided to keep walking? Yeah, I don’t know what was wrong with me either.

The only that saved me that day were the free water fountains that dot the country, with a continuous flow of icy water that I gulped so often I swear I became 80% water instead of the usual 70%. 

The birds had the right idea

The same water feeds the many fountains around the city, so technically you could drink from this

can't tell if that dude's pointing at you going LOOK HERE AT THE FRESH WATER I GRANT YOU IN MY GODLY MERCY or HEY YOU, YEAH YOU I SEE YOU LOOKING AT MY BEAUTIFUL LION BABIES. KEEP WALKING BUDDY

Eventually I practically tripped over Termini station. It may seem stupid, but seeing that familiar site was amazing. Somehow I had managed to find a place that I knew, and the city suddenly didn’t seem so huge and terrifying anymore. I was almost giggling as I ran the last block to its huge concrete walls. I didn’t stay however, because I may not know enough to come in from the midday sun but I know enough to know that Rome’s version of Grand Central was going to be tourist central. And therefore hawker central. Indeed, I had to shake off a couple of people who were determined to sell me… something. I used all of my New Yorker charm to completely and utterly ignore them, and they all finally broke away to look for easier prey.

Finally my stomach decided to hold a major coupe to let my legs know that under no circumstances was I allowed to keep on walking without some food first.

So I settled down to my first slice of real Roman Pizza.

OM NOM NOM

And damn it was good.

It was mushroom and sausage, and the flavor was pretty good – delicate, except for the huge, meaty sausage bits that were more pink than brown and worried me a bit  - but that crust. It was so crisp and perfect, crunching like a cracker when I bit into it, that even after I was full I couldn’t stop eating.

Of course that also may have been due to the fact that my feet were staging yet another coupe, and I couldn’t quite bear to leave my lovely air-conditioned pizzeria. But regardless, it was delicious.

It was just a simple piece of pizza, but after that long

long

My first day, I did nothing more than arrive. However that in itself was an adventure and a half; and like all true good stories it was pretty hellish during but worth it in the end. Mostly because I realized that come hell or high water I will prevail.

By which I mean, a lot of shit went wrong. But I was okay! And realizing that was pretty great actually. It gave me some confidence.  

The plane ride was lovely actually, I was sitting in the window seat but gave it up so these friends could sit together and ended up in the aisle next to this really nice guy from Madrid named Javier. He worked for the U.N. and we talked for hours about politics, about New York, about our hopes and dreams for the future, and so on. And before either of my parents have a heart attack, let me just mention that he was very very gay. 

There was a stopover in Madrid, during which I did nothing – except get so enthralled by the EURO COINS when I used a vending machine that I walked away without my drink – and then I arrived in Rome!

Where I got totally lost trying to get a SIM card for my phone, and then found out that the airport had lost my luggage. 

What a great introduction to Italy! 

For those who will be visiting Rome, please be VERY aware that they only keep the luggage on the rack for about 10 minutes. Which is very efficient and totally fine if you’re going straight there, as most people would be, but if you’re doing something first – such as getting a SIM card – then you’re going to be bang out of luck. At that point your bags could be several different places, none of which mine were. 

I talked to several different people, yelled at a couple more, and after filing the required paperwork decided to take matters into my own hands. I all but got down on my hands and knees, and I searched every single goddamn terminal until I found my bag abandoned in a corner, half-hidden by a pillar. My only guess is that someone had pulled it off thinking it was theirs, and then just left it when they realized it wasn’t. By this point I’d been in Italy for 2 hours, and I already wanted to go home.

Instead I bought a bus ticket and made my way into the heart of the city to find my hostel.

Where again, I got totally lost. You might be able to sense a theme here.