I Go To See Enna

If anyone is still with me here, God love ya, because that was some hiatus. In fact, hiatus might not be quite fair. More accurate terms might include, "sabbatical" or "completely stopping." I apologize for not doing a very good job with this blog, but I would like to finish it up, even if it is just for my own benefit. So, onwards...

Although I felt like I only scratched the surface of Rome, I knew I should probably move on. I wanted to go to Tuscany next, because if it's good enough for Diane Lane, damn it, it's good enough for me. I decided on Siena primarily because it was the easiest place in Tuscany to get to. Public transportation dictates the vast majority of my travels.

I had a vision of Italy as this warm oasis to escape to from the tundra of a Pennsylvania winter. As with most of my life, I was terrifically incorrect. As the bus crept its way up to Siena, I was welcomed by a delightful sleet-snow combo. Once again, I had to make a mad dash to my hostel because there was a terrifying note on their website saying they would give my room away if I was not the most prompt person the world has ever seen. Upon arrival, I find that no one is there, and thus, I am forced to stand outside in the storm that has turned into thundersnow. Now, I must say, thundersnow is a super awesome thing, but it's a more exciting thing to witness if you are inside in the cozy house. It becomes even less awesome when it starts to hail. Eventually, my Italian host showed up. Apparently he doesn't throw himself out of the house when he is late.

Just prior to the hail giving me a concussion.

Not even the weirdest pizza box I encountered.

The next day was spent exploring the beauty of Siena. Siena is a wonderful little city with a tangle of twisty streets that make for enjoyable adventuring. The city is perched atop a hill, so while strolling along I would sometimes come to the end of street to find I was overlooking the Tuscan countryside, which is, simply put, a delight. 

Just casually meandering around the city. Then...

-BAM- COUNTRYSIDE

It is infinitely lovely to just wander around, but there are also some definite must-sees here. The Piazza del Campo seems to be the heart of the city. The piazza is a semi-circle that is surrounded mostly by restaurants and cafes, and is bordered on its flat side by the Palazzo Pubblico with its tower, the Torre del Mangia. It's a neat space with a lot of history. Twice a year, in the summer, a horse race takes place there.

Piazzo del Campo

Palazzo Pubblico and Torre del Mangia

Another spectacular building is the Duomo of Siena. Its stripes on the inside and outside really make it pop, and the architecture is wonderful to behold. Both the facade and the interior have fascinating details that make it more like an iSpy book than anything else. Attached to the cathedral is the Piccolomini Library, which houses massive choir books and has beautiful frescoes on the wall. When buying a ticket to see these things, you can also include in your package access to a museum with a tower that overlooks the city. I'm so glad I did it, and I got super lucky with the clouds clearing out when they did. I got wonderful views over Siena and the Tuscan countryside.

Duomo di Siena: This church looks like one of those striped raviolis.

Ravioli church as seen from the cheese's perspective.

Big-ass books.

I should have bought a lottery ticket with this kind of luck.

My only negative experience in Siena, other than getting yelled at in the museum for trying to take a picture (in my defense, there were not signs that clearly stated this!), was my attempted restaurant dinner. The hostel owner recommended a restaurant to me that would give me a discount for staying at the hostel. When I entered the place, one of my fears that I spoke about in my last post came true. The restaurant was about a third full, and manned by a cranky-looking maitre d'. Nervously, I stumbled through, "Uno, per favore," to which he responded in almost perfect English, "We are full." I apologized to him in the way that someone who trips at a museum and accidentally puts their hand through a Van Gogh would, and then left. It was only once I was outside that I realized that the guy had totally judged me and then refused to serve me! And I was the one apologizing to him?!? Didn't he know I regularly order two entrees for one person?!? "But wait, calm down," I thought to myself, "maybe they have reservations booked for later. Let's just go across the street to the falafel shop, eat some delicious falafel, and watch the restaurant to see if my anger is unnecessary." It turns out, my anger was quite necessary, because there were only a few more people that came into the restaurant. But, don't worry, I got my revenge. When I walked by to go back to my hostel, I gave them the finger. Sure, my hands were in my coat pockets, but that's besides the point.

It's never not funny.

Since my final full day in Siena was a Sunday, I didn't do too much since not very many things are open on Sundays here. This was something that took me a while to get used to, and it was also something that caused a good deal of aggravation over my travels. It was a good day for wandering around though, so with a possible mission in the back of my head, I set out. In Siena, if there was a shop or store I wanted to go in, I knew I had to pretty much go in it right away due to the fact that I would probably never find it again. It's a bit Narnia-like but with a confusing city layout instead of being based on the whims of a magical cupboard.

The day before I had come across a bakery that specialized in this type of cookie called ricciarelli. Ricciarelli looks a bit like a crinkle cookie, but it tastes more like an amaretto cookie that is extremely dependent on regular doses of sugar steroids. They are completely bangin'. (Sidenote: One of the best parts about this particular shop was that they already had some of the cookies prepackaged so that I didn't have to figure out how many I wanted. It's always problematic for me to order something by weight over here. "What even is a kilo? It sounds like something hipster parents name their kids. Is ordering a kilo of cookies going to make me look like a fat American? Am I a fat American? How do I say half a kilo in Italian? The American public education system has failed me." This is my exact thought process every time I enter a bakery over here.) I initially bought a box of the chocolate version, because chocolate. That night at the hostel, I completed my Animorphs-like shapeshift into an Oreck vacuum by inhaling the entire box with a single breath. 

It's a miracle that this picture was even taken.

After that, I knew I had to go back for the original cookies to complete the full ricciarelli binge. The problem was, I had no idea how to find this hole-in-the-wall bakery in a city that appears to be arranged by the same people who design Ikea. I felt like Theseus without Ariadne's thread. Obviously, though, my quest was much more dire than Theseus'. I decided to spend my entire Sunday looking for the shop. I set out determined to find those sugary drops from heaven. I kept getting distracted by the loveliness of the day and of the city. I had to keep realigning myself with my goal, because I could feel the hunger gnawing in my stomach. At one point, I came across a stand with the largest and most beautiful strawberries I have ever seen. "No! Don't be a fool! This is the devil's work! Like the snake in Eden all over again! Think of the cookies!" I ran down an alleyway away from those fruity temptresses and then, there is was! I felt as if I could hear the angels singing their Hallelujah from above, but this turned out to just be ringing in my ears due to the weakness from hunger. I purchased my box of ricciarelli, and headed back to the hostel, protecting those cookies like a lioness guards her cubs from the threat of the elderly, mustachioed Italian men out for a Sunday stroll. Thankfully, I got them safely back, and devoured them in a style inspired by the zombies of The Walking Dead. Overall, a good day's work.

So naive. They don't even know what's in store for them.

Tip #7: Never sit on the bus behind a man with excessive dandruff.

The Numbers

Pizza slices eaten: 18

Top bunk placements: 1

Photos taken: 129 out of 377

Time spent resting between each cookie: .06 seconds

Scarier Than An R.L. Stine Book

So, I know what you're thinking, "More Rome?" Yes indeed, more Rome. Now you are probably wondering, "But why, Alicia, considering you are behind on you blog by three months?" To which I respond, logic rules exactly none of my life. So onwards!

In the following days, I did a lot of other sightseeing, like visiting the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, all the stuff that people tell you that you have to do or they won't believe you have been to Rome. Two of the major sites that everyone goes to see when going to Rome are the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill. To concisely summarize them, they have a lot of neat old stuff. This is like the Oscars, gotta make up time somewhere. What I will talk about a little is the Colosseum. This is another one that I probably don't have to explain, but I just wanted to quickly mention it because of a fact I learned from the audioguide. Each time there was an event at the Colosseum, the event had to be more grand than the last one, like the Olympics, even though we all know nothing will ever beat China's opening ceremonies. The coolest one was inspired by a whale carcass that washed ashore nearby. For the event, they engineered a way to have a life-size whale replica rise up from the floor, unhinge its mouth, and from the depths, have 50 live bears pour out into the arena! And to think that people get excited about who is performing at the Super Bowl.

Y'all know this guy.

Picture 50 bears running around here.

I've never been one to prefer spending my free time in cemeteries or fancy wearing exclusively black clothing or enjoy sacrificing animals to appease Satan, because creepy stuff isn't really my bag. I'm much more into warm book nooks and watching videos of otters holding hands, but I decided to push myself and go to the Crypt of the Capuchins. Thanks to this wonderful idea I will now have very specific nightmares for life. I bought my ticket and headed inside. At first, you go through a nice museum that talks about the Capuchin order of monks. Without going too much into their history, which I found quite interesting, you should just know that they were a pretty hardcore group of monks, not like those monks you see nowadays clubbing and whatnot. The second part is what the morbidly-inclined come to see. Essentially, the bones of the Capuchin monks were dug up in order to be arranged in a series of chapels in different patterns and themes. One room might use only bones from legs, so it is conveniently titled the "Crypt of Leg Bones and Thigh Bones." Another uses only pelvises, another only skulls. The whole thing kind of freaked me out before I even went in, so actually going in was disturbing for me. They turned the horror up to an 11 with a small plaque in the first room. As if walking into a room lit by kneecap and jaw-bone chandeliers and depicting the resurrection of Christ with actual human skeletons wasn't terrifying enough, reading "What you are, we once were. What we are, you someday will be" will make you pee your damn pants. How dare they force me to confront my mortality! Needless to say, I was not entirely comfortable there, so I tried to hold my breath and hurry through the various rooms. I cooled off my fear-based sweat with a gelato, the solution to all of life's problems.

This nightmare fuel was brought to you by theculturemap.com. Taking pictures there is not allowed. Probably because they are worried a ghost will appear in one of them.

Watching this video will cleanse your soul.

Let's not end this post on a cruel reminder of death though, and instead let's talk about the food I ate. I decided that after many days of eating nothing but pizza slices, albeit delicious pizza slices, it was about time I go out and get a proper Italian meal. Not wanting to majorly insult anyone, I tried to read up beforehand to figure out if there were any cultural items I should know about for a sit-down restaurant. One of the pieces mentioned that it was impolite not to get multiple dishes. Trying to note this in my Dory-like brain for future use, I picked a restaurant that many reviewers claim had the best spaghetti carbonara in the area. Sign me up! The restaurant was called Osteria der Belli. It basically has belly in the name, how can it not be good? I got there much too early for the dinner crowd (shout out to early bird specials!), so I was the only person in the restaurant. I'm going to tell you about an issue I have developed since arriving in Europe. The heart of the problem occurs when I walk in the door. The person working hears the door open, and spins around eagerly to hopefully address a wealthy Danish couple who is ready to drop some big bucks on multiple bottles of expensive wine. Instead they see me clamber across the threshold, a shabbily-dressed backpacker, and their faces immediately drop. I haven't seen such regular disappointment since watching people realize Sbarro is their only choice at a truck stop. Naturally, they assume I'll get the cheapest pasta on the menu and a glass of tap water. In all honesty, this is exactly what I would do if they didn't look so crestfallen. Instead, a switch goes off in my brain that sends me into The 1% mode. I'm not sure what inspires this exactly, probably a mix of anger over being thought of as cheap, wanting to prove their stereotypes wrong so that other young people will get the benefit of the doubt and good service, and general guilt. All of a sudden I'm ordering a drink, an appetizer, an entree, a dessert, an after-dinner cigar, paying off their mortgage, sending their kid to college, etc. On this night it was a couple glasses of wine and, for some baffling reason that I have not yet figured out, two entrees. WHY?!? Of course, I got the spaghetti carbonara, which was pretty much a religous experience, and then I also got a whole platter of mixed seafood. The seafood was also a religious experience in that I was praying I wouldn't throw everything up. Not because it wasn't all delicious, but because I am a moron. The restaurant was only a couple blocks away from my hostel, but I swear that those few streets were the equivalent of completing an Iron Man. It involved copious amounts of mouth breathing, serious food sweats, and one instance of stopping completely to bend over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath. Sadly, this was not the last time I was in this state due to my perceptions of my waiter's thoughts.


Tip #5: If you want to see the Colosseum, buy your ticket at Palatine Hill or the Roman Forum. These are included in the ticket, but have shorter lines. When you're ready to see the Colosseum, you can bypass the line and leave those people in the dust like a bunch of schmucks.

Tip #6: One entree. Trust me.

The Numbers

Pizza slices eaten: 14

Top bunk placements: 1
Dogs petted: 2
Photos taken: 163 out of 248
Number of times I had the thought "Oh my God, I'm going to ralph": 24

Carry On My Italian Son

I have previously mentioned the terrifically abysmal driving in Naples. To an extent, that chaos has continued into Rome, but certainly not to the degree of Naples. It was actually in Rome that I witnessed my first Italian car accident. Both drivers quickly got out of their cars and lots of yelling, pointing, and hand gestures ensued. I suppose it was something that non-Italians might stereotype Italians to do in this situation, but here it was happening before my eyes.
It was because of this experience that made what happened a few days later all the sweeter. I was on my way somewhere, probably to go look at some ridiculously old thing, just meandering along and enjoying the day. In front of me was a mother holding the hand of her young son, maybe around three or four years old. Suddenly, a car comes around a bend and starts, albeit slowly, to enter the walkway where the mother and son are crossing. It definitely was not a dangerous situation, (not like the one where I accidentally walked out in front of a car near the Circus Maximus. Car driver, wherever you are, you were right! I deserved to be honked at!), but definitely an irritation. Then, instead of the mom going off as you might expect, the little boy starts yelling at the driver of the car. I don't think I have ever wished to know Italian more in my life than at this exact moment. He's hollering at the car and making tiny Italian toddler hand gestures, and then, magnificently, the driver of the car rolls down her window, and starts mock yelling at the little boy! All the while, the mother is smiling delightedly and even encouraging the boy to go on at certain points, as if this is some rite of passage or important skill he has to know to survive in Italy. For about thirty seconds they yelled at each other, the boy earnestly and the driver humorously, and then the mother gently led the boy away, and everyone continued with their day as if this wasn't the most magical damn thing that has ever happened.

Possibly Offensive To Catholics

After a bit of time on the Amalfi Coast, I decided to dive in and go to Rome. I was unsure of what to expect from Rome, since I had heard mixed things, but -spoiler alert- I loved it right away. Rome was also the first place that I went where I felt like I was shaking off my jitters and acquiring some confidence, which was very exciting.

The Pope's Clubhouse.

On my first full day in Rome I decided to go to the Vatican Museums. I assumed that when I got into Vatican City, it would be apparent enough where to go, so when I saw a massive line stretching out in front of the Vatican, I assumed that was it. Usually when I see a line vaguely in the area of where I think I want to be, I hop in it. I'm like a moth to the flame. What can I say? I like being a sheep. Lines are abundant in Rome, and due to the fact that attractions are often close to one another, it is easy to wait an hour and a half in a line to see something that you weren't planning to see. At least this happens to me. The line hadn't started moving yet since it was early and things weren't open, but I was ready to wait. Luckily, I was able to amuse myself during my time by being aggravated at my fellow line-goers. Just as I was about to step into the line that was already halfway around the plaza, a couple quickly butted in front of me because God forbid another single person be in front of them in this thousand person-long line. And the same could be said for me, it's just two people more, what's the big deal? The big, annoying deal is that this couple is apparently of the belief that they has created a spot for their 50-person tour group. Oy vey.

So now I've got 50 more people in front of me in the matter of two seconds. It quickly became apparent I wasn't in for a peaceful wait. During my imprisonment, I learned many things from this group, such as, how many selfies is too many selfies? There is no such thing as too many selfies. Will pigeons run off when you run at them over and over? Shockingly, yes. Where is the physical location of Hell? Apparently, in front of the Vatican.

To just make things the epitome of perfection, I was sandwiched into the line by two parents and their cherubic toddler who decided to take the day off from being angelic. This was surprising to me, especially at the Vatican, because I know how much small children revere Catholicism and long, tedious masses in general. Perhaps the parents brought their daughter for an exorcism because based on the screeches coming out of that little body, I would expect nothing less than one of the higher-ranking demons to be inhabiting her.

Here you can see the unholy line.

To try to remove myself from this experience I tried to focus on other things occurring around me. For instance, the two women slowly cutting their way up the line behind me. I watched them slowly creep up through the ranks, passing families, elderly, and disabled people with no apparent sense of empathy. Eventually, they got to my level, and try as I might to put my juvenile basketball skills to use and box them out, they managed to get by me too. The real kicker, though, was when they were a couple of places behind a nun. As they were making their way forward, I was thinking to myself, there is no way that they are going to pass this nun. We are in Vatican City, for Pete's sake! I figure, if God is watching for screw-ups, it's going to be in Vatican City. There is just no way. Yet they made their way forward, inch by inch. Finally, they were in the spot just behind the nun, and I thought, okay, this is where it ends for them. They paused, as if weighing the pros and cons of eternal damnation, and then, hastily, they hopped ahead. NO WAY! THEY BUTT THE NUN! I haven't been to Sunday School in a while, but I'm pretty sure that's one of the 10 Commandments, "Thou shalt not butt nuns." Even the nun looked shocked. I even thought I saw her glance around for a nearby ruler.

Finally, with only the barest grip on my sanity, I reached the front of the line. After getting through a ridiculous amount of security, I realized, this isn't where I want to be. In an effort to make it look like I knew what I was doing, I randomly hopped in another line. Somehow I found myself paying money to walk up a bunch of stairs, because I sure as heck wasn't going to pay extra for the elevator to goes who knows where. The stairs could lead directly up to heaven for all I knew. It turns out I was going into the Dome of St. Peter's Cathedral, and not, in fact, into the Vatican Museums. Whoops. It ended up being a positive mistake though with great views.

No sign of the Popemobile.

After descending back down, I went into St. Peter's. It was quite amazing. Like an extravagant Catholic church on steroids. Everything in there is gilded and detailed. As I was walking through though I couldn't help thinking about how much everything in there cost. It was an interesting juxtaposition with just being outside and being asked by a bunch of beggars for money on their doorstep.

I'm not suggesting anything, I'm just saying I can imagine this would be worth a pretty penny on the black market...

Once I left St. Peter's I went to actually find the Vatican Museums. This time I was a little more successful. I wandered around for a bit, attempting to be a worldly and cultured museum-goer. I made my way to the Sistine Chapel, which is the major draw of the Vatican Museums. It's a slightly weird experience seeing the Sistine Chapel. It's positively filled with people. There are benches around the outside of the room for people to sit on and absorb in awed silence. Unfortunately, that silence is often broken by an employee screaming at people not to take pictures. I'm sure they don't want people to take pictures because they want to preserve the art, and not because they have multiple souvenir shops directly outside of the chapel hawking pictures of Michelangelo's work. I found it impressive, but I'm not much of an art critic, so I didn't spend an overly long time looking. Also, I found the crush of humanity in the room off-putting. It wasn't until I left and was walking by one of these souvenir shops and happened to glance at their wares that I thought, "Oh my God, I forgot about God." I totally forgot to look at the most iconic part of the Chapel, The Creation of Adam, or as it as more commonly known, your co-worker's mousepad of God reaching out to that naked dude. Major mistake number two of the day. This meant I had to walk around the whole museum once again to go back. Having seen it, I believe I am allowed to say I am no longer an uncultured swine. To reward myself, I treated myself to some yummy gelato. Note: Treating myself to gelato after accomplishing minute feats will be a common theme running throughout my stories.

Not the Sistine Chapel, but it's a fancy ceiling, so basically the same thing.

Tip #4: Know that sometimes mistakes can be happy mistakes. I'm sure many parents can identify...

The Numbers

Pizza slices eaten: 9

Top bunk placements: 1
Dogs petted: 1
Photos taken: 163 out of 248
Religious figures insulted: 1

The Edge of Glory/Worry

After a couple torrentially rainy days in Naples and Pompeii, I was eager to move on to a new place to potentially escape the rain. My next destination was Sorrento, Italy, which is a good point from which to visit the Amalfi Coast. It was as if someone gave me a little bump, though, and I ended up in a hostel one town over in a place called Sant Agnello. At least the hostel said it was in Sant Agnello, but from how long it took me to walk uphill to it, it could have been on the top of Mount Everest. I asked somebody for directions along the way and they literally said to me, "Oh, it's just up the mountain." On the day that I was supposed to check in to the hostel, I was practically sprinting because I was nervous about not being there on time. Some of the hostels put a scary note on their page that says something like, "If you are not on time to check in, we will absolutely, positively, 100% give your room away, leaving you in the crappiest of circumstances because we are in the middle of nowhere." This is verbatim. By the time I got there, and on time I might add, I was soaked from the rain, which had not gone away yet, and from a serious back-sweat situation. The kicker was, the lady wasn't even there! All this jibber-jabber about being on time, and yet here I am, a smelly wreck collapsed on the ground in a pitch-black hallway waiting for my host to turn up. It turns out she is a very sweet lady, so all is forgiven.

In Sorrento, there are orange and lemon trees everywhere. I don't know if they are fair game or not. Either way, they are healthy, so I wouldn't eat them anyway.

Poster in hostel...maybe she isn't such a sweet lady...

The next day, my plans were to go to Amalfi. I quickly learned that getting there is the fun part. You've never lived until you are sure you are going to die careening off a cliff into the sea because your bus driver is happily babbling away on his phone. It's pure exhilaration. Looking out the window is frighteningly awesome, because in looking down, you literally can't see any road because you are so close to the edge. Frankly, I am amazed by the drivers of these buses. The roads are so tight and winding that they must need a tremendous amount of strength in their arms to pull the wheel back and forth for hours of loops of this road. Or in the case of my Chatty Cathy driver, strength in one arm.

Before I realized that I was on a demon bus.

You can kind of see from this picture how close the bus comes to the edge. Fun!

Along the coast road, the bus passes through a couple different towns. Positano is one of the more well-known towns, and although I didn't stop, it looked wonderful and I heard great things about it. In Naples, I had dinner with two Korean guys, one of which could speak English very well, and the other could understand, but didn't speak it. The one thing the entire night that the guy who didn't speak English did communicate to me was "Positano" and the thumbs up sign. So it must be nice there.

"Positano" -Thumbs up sign-

The Amalfi Coast has many qualities that make it an excellent place to visit, but one of the main reasons people go is to see the way these towns are built. They are situated, like the aforementioned roads, so that they are built into the cliffs of the coast. What this means is that there is a great deal of verticality. Hence, -ugh-, hills and stairs. In spite of these things, my two greatest enemies, I had a lovely time in Amalfi. I was definitely blissed out on the fact that the rain had finally and mercifully stopped, but more importantly, on being in this truly beautiful place. Because they are so vertical, when you get at the right angle, you can see a lot of the towns, which makes for captivating views.

Amalfi.

Also Amalfi.

Seeing all these places along the coast, I couldn't help thinking, why would anyone want to put themselves through the trouble of living here? I mean other than the fantastic views, lovely people, abundance of delicious seafood, and general excellent quality of life. But can you imagine having to get a washer delivered?!? In addition to the towns, while driving along, I could often spot lone houses way up on the hill. My first thought is always, "How do you even get up there?" And second, I think about how these people sometimes have to haul supplies up this mountainside, and how I'm usually too lazy to even walk the 20 feet to get the groceries from the car.

Not a great picture, but you can see the ridiculously located houses. How do you get there?!?

The ride back from Amalfi was even better than the way there. It had all the fun and excitement from the first ride, driver on a phone included, but this time also involved a five minute Mexican standoff. Basically, our bus and a van reached a one-lane bridge at the same time, both vehicles continued driving onto the bridge, and then, obviously, both had to stop in the middle. The first minute was tense because there was complete silence, and the drivers weren't even looking at each other, just looking off into the distance, feigning indifference, waiting for the other to move. Minute two switched things up because now the drivers were staring at each other, murmuring things under their breath. The third minute turned things into high gear because now both drivers are yelling at each other. Reaching minute four was when the frenzy began. In addition to the lines of cars honking around us, the native Italians on the bus are standing up and getting involved in yelling at the van driver too. So many rude hand gestures! So many! Meanwhile, I'm sitting gleefully in the back of the bus hoping this moment will never end. Minute five was where the dam broke and the bus driver opened the door, remembering to grab his can of whup ass out of the glove compartment on the way out, and it was at this juncture that the van driver decided it would be in his nose's best interest to back up. Who even needs television?!?

Tip #2: It is imperative that you sit on the right side of the bus.

Tip #3: Always validate your train ticket, because the time you don't will be the time they check.

The Numbers

Pizza slices eaten: 3

Top bunk placements: 1
Photos taken: 61 out of 85

Rude hand gestures witnessed: Approximately 73