Halloween isn't a thing in Europe. Well, it is, and it isn't. Halloween has only been around in Luxembourg for five years or so. My host Mom told me that American companies tried to get it started and it really didn't catch on. This made me laugh so hard. I was just imagining those stupid Spirit Halloween stores trying to sell their stuff in Luxembourg to no avail, having only the emo kids buy their gear to wear to class on a regular old day and then get in trouble because THERE ARE NO MASKS ALLOWED IN SCHOOL! What do you think this is, the circus? Kids these days. Anyway, Halloween didn't make it, but the day after Halloween is All Saint's Day, and that's a big deal. This exists in America, too, but doesn't really get much attention because of Halloween. American All-Saint's celebration is half-price candy at CVS.
In honor of All-Saint's Day, we students got a ten-day break from school. Naturally, my friends and I decided to go to Italy because a) it's warm there and cold here b) you can hit up a lot more stuff in ten days than two and c) it's Italy. Since we're all poor at this point in the semester (me especially), we decided to take advantage of our expiring Eurail passes and embark on a southbound night train. For unimportant reasons, I booked a different train than my six pals, and had to journey alone. If you haven't gathered this yet from my previous posts, I rather enjoy traveling alone.
Naturally, my Friday night train connection in Koblenz hit a snare. I had only taken one train thus far (out of my anticipated five trains), and was astounded that my trip had been foiled so quickly. However, I am used to this sort of nonsense. It wouldn't have bothered me much, but the train that I was supposed to take was a 12:40 am train...and it was delayed for an hour, minimum. This is rough times when you are a weary American female on a dark, windy platform. All I wanted was my sleeper car submarine bed, but that wasn't happening. Since I wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, I did what I always do and made a friend.
This weekend's victim went by the name of Rolfie. At least, I am pretty sure it was Rolfie. I asked him to repeat it and when I didn't get it the second time, I waved the white flag of defeat and pretended like I had understood completely. Now, you may be asking yourself, "Natalie, how is it that you meet all these people at train stations? I never meet anyone at the train station", and to that I say, you just aren't trying hard enough, pal. All I ever do is ask someone if they speak English, they say yes, and we take it from there. People love Americans. I can attest to this.
Over the course of our hour and a half delay, Rolfie and I became the best of friends. He is also a university student, studying music to make movie scores. He told me about his job delivering packages at some lake I've never heard of and revealed his love for angsty German rap music. I know it was angsty because he let me listen to some and translated the words while I had one headphone in. This seems to be a reoccurring thing; me and the headphones of German boys. I don't really know what to say about it.
When it came out that I study writing in school, he asked me if I had a blog. I was like, "yeah DUH I have a blog" and he was like "sweet can I read it what is the url" and I was like "yo here it is, sorry if there are any really long english words in there" and he was like "it's okay I mostly like the pictures anyway". So if you're reading this, Rolfie, hey. Thanks for letting me wear your poncho.
The train finally showed up around 1:56 am. Ha ha! Needless to say I found my train car and passed out until we reached Munich. Of course, there were morning issues since my train had been so late. I got to fill out my first CFL-issued complaint form, which was thrilling, and waited around in Starbucks for an hour while eating my granola/peanut butter/banana combo (out of the peanut butter jar lid, like a dang hobo) and taking Halloween-themed snaps for the chat with the Munich geotags. All of my train delay sadness was washed away when they played Mr. Brightside over the speaker system.
I got on my train to Bologna with stomach full of low-quality coffee and a mind full of optimism. I was ready to take Italy by storm! After a nap. The best T-shirt that I saw while on the train was worn by a little Italian boy and seemed Abercrombie-ish. I noticed the shirt because he was wearing a sweatshirt that read "Chicago" over it, and I was contemplating crying about it but resisted. His T-shirt read, "Road Trip 1952 Cross Country". How fitting, little boy. Well, kinda. I would hardly consider the train to be a road trip, and it was definitely not 1952. We were, however, traveling cross country. I wish "one out of three ain't bad" was a saying. Ugh. I guess it really was more of a miss than a hit.
I rode the train all day. Fun! This is the reality of Euro travel, people. Don't let social media fool you! We spend a lot of time on public transport! I arrived in Florence around 6 pm or something and met up with my pals. We ventured out to find some pizza and pizza we did find. Although it was Halloween, there weren't many festivities happening (due to the phenomenon I discussed earlier) but we did see a group of six children come into the restaurant and ask for candy. That was enough for me. Happy halloween, kiddos. Happy halloween.
We saw a lot of stuff in Florence. That's what you do in Italy, isn't it? See stuff? Anyway, I already wrote way too much on this blog post. Here's some pics.
In honor of All-Saint's Day, we students got a ten-day break from school. Naturally, my friends and I decided to go to Italy because a) it's warm there and cold here b) you can hit up a lot more stuff in ten days than two and c) it's Italy. Since we're all poor at this point in the semester (me especially), we decided to take advantage of our expiring Eurail passes and embark on a southbound night train. For unimportant reasons, I booked a different train than my six pals, and had to journey alone. If you haven't gathered this yet from my previous posts, I rather enjoy traveling alone.
Naturally, my Friday night train connection in Koblenz hit a snare. I had only taken one train thus far (out of my anticipated five trains), and was astounded that my trip had been foiled so quickly. However, I am used to this sort of nonsense. It wouldn't have bothered me much, but the train that I was supposed to take was a 12:40 am train...and it was delayed for an hour, minimum. This is rough times when you are a weary American female on a dark, windy platform. All I wanted was my sleeper car submarine bed, but that wasn't happening. Since I wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, I did what I always do and made a friend.
This weekend's victim went by the name of Rolfie. At least, I am pretty sure it was Rolfie. I asked him to repeat it and when I didn't get it the second time, I waved the white flag of defeat and pretended like I had understood completely. Now, you may be asking yourself, "Natalie, how is it that you meet all these people at train stations? I never meet anyone at the train station", and to that I say, you just aren't trying hard enough, pal. All I ever do is ask someone if they speak English, they say yes, and we take it from there. People love Americans. I can attest to this.
Over the course of our hour and a half delay, Rolfie and I became the best of friends. He is also a university student, studying music to make movie scores. He told me about his job delivering packages at some lake I've never heard of and revealed his love for angsty German rap music. I know it was angsty because he let me listen to some and translated the words while I had one headphone in. This seems to be a reoccurring thing; me and the headphones of German boys. I don't really know what to say about it.
When it came out that I study writing in school, he asked me if I had a blog. I was like, "yeah DUH I have a blog" and he was like "sweet can I read it what is the url" and I was like "yo here it is, sorry if there are any really long english words in there" and he was like "it's okay I mostly like the pictures anyway". So if you're reading this, Rolfie, hey. Thanks for letting me wear your poncho.
The train finally showed up around 1:56 am. Ha ha! Needless to say I found my train car and passed out until we reached Munich. Of course, there were morning issues since my train had been so late. I got to fill out my first CFL-issued complaint form, which was thrilling, and waited around in Starbucks for an hour while eating my granola/peanut butter/banana combo (out of the peanut butter jar lid, like a dang hobo) and taking Halloween-themed snaps for the chat with the Munich geotags. All of my train delay sadness was washed away when they played Mr. Brightside over the speaker system.
I got on my train to Bologna with stomach full of low-quality coffee and a mind full of optimism. I was ready to take Italy by storm! After a nap. The best T-shirt that I saw while on the train was worn by a little Italian boy and seemed Abercrombie-ish. I noticed the shirt because he was wearing a sweatshirt that read "Chicago" over it, and I was contemplating crying about it but resisted. His T-shirt read, "Road Trip 1952 Cross Country". How fitting, little boy. Well, kinda. I would hardly consider the train to be a road trip, and it was definitely not 1952. We were, however, traveling cross country. I wish "one out of three ain't bad" was a saying. Ugh. I guess it really was more of a miss than a hit.
I rode the train all day. Fun! This is the reality of Euro travel, people. Don't let social media fool you! We spend a lot of time on public transport! I arrived in Florence around 6 pm or something and met up with my pals. We ventured out to find some pizza and pizza we did find. Although it was Halloween, there weren't many festivities happening (due to the phenomenon I discussed earlier) but we did see a group of six children come into the restaurant and ask for candy. That was enough for me. Happy halloween, kiddos. Happy halloween.
We saw a lot of stuff in Florence. That's what you do in Italy, isn't it? See stuff? Anyway, I already wrote way too much on this blog post. Here's some pics.
Please note that the inclusion of the pizza photo in this series of fine art photos was absolutely intentional and appropriate.
Florence was great. I felt very cultured. Although my friends abandoned me in my Uffizi Gallery excursion, I only had two or three awkward instances with selfies and had an otherwise enjoyable experience looking at art. At the end of the day, we hiked to the top of the city to watch the sunset because sunsets are top priority no matter where you are in the world.
Florence was great. I felt very cultured. Although my friends abandoned me in my Uffizi Gallery excursion, I only had two or three awkward instances with selfies and had an otherwise enjoyable experience looking at art. At the end of the day, we hiked to the top of the city to watch the sunset because sunsets are top priority no matter where you are in the world.
Post-sunset, there was food consumed and football watched. Don't even ask me about football. It is never my decision.
The next morning, we checked out of our air bnb and began the trek to Cinque Terre. Although Florence had been grand, we were ready for some quality time with the Mediterranean. There was a slight incident with a gypsy lady on the train, by which I mean she took my wallet out of my purse and I had to chase her down to retrieve it, but other than that we made it to our destination without a problem. I would say #blessed, but honestly I could have gone without the gypsy incident. Anyway.
We stayed in a small town outside of Cinque Terre called Levanto in which we were essentially the only tourists. It was like we were the subjects in a movie. You know the kind I'm talking about; group of cute American girls arrives in small Italian town and shakes up the neighborhood, drinking all the wine and eating all the fish and flirting with all the boys and all the adults in town are whispering about them and glaring at them in cafes but they're all sort of in rapture and then a scandal happens (someone falls in love, a little girl's life is saved, there's a fishing accident with a stolen boat) and then the town accepts the American girls as their own and everyone feels warm and fuzzy.
I realize that was a bit much. None of those things happened, we kinda just hung out for two days.
The next morning, we checked out of our air bnb and began the trek to Cinque Terre. Although Florence had been grand, we were ready for some quality time with the Mediterranean. There was a slight incident with a gypsy lady on the train, by which I mean she took my wallet out of my purse and I had to chase her down to retrieve it, but other than that we made it to our destination without a problem. I would say #blessed, but honestly I could have gone without the gypsy incident. Anyway.
We stayed in a small town outside of Cinque Terre called Levanto in which we were essentially the only tourists. It was like we were the subjects in a movie. You know the kind I'm talking about; group of cute American girls arrives in small Italian town and shakes up the neighborhood, drinking all the wine and eating all the fish and flirting with all the boys and all the adults in town are whispering about them and glaring at them in cafes but they're all sort of in rapture and then a scandal happens (someone falls in love, a little girl's life is saved, there's a fishing accident with a stolen boat) and then the town accepts the American girls as their own and everyone feels warm and fuzzy.
I realize that was a bit much. None of those things happened, we kinda just hung out for two days.
After Levanto charmed our hearts, none of us were too keen on leaving for Rome, which is funny because HELLO WE WERE LEAVING TO GO TO ROME. I know what you're thinking; stupid spoiled punk American girls studying abroad. I'll allow you to think that. I think that of myself as well, most days.
As can be expected, all of our dread for Rome disappeared as soon as we arrived. Actually, false. We had to ride a very crowded bus which smelled of urine and feces and then get lost for a hot second before the dread melted, but it melted nonetheless. We stayed in an old soap factory that had since been converted into a rental property, which was essentially my favorite part about our trip. However, in order to seem sane, I am going to pretend that my favorite part was the Pantheon.
When we visited the Vatican (crowded, terrible, nightmare. I do not recommend), we were permitted to enter St. Peter's Basilica. I cannot convey how awesome that space is. I realize that we overuse the word "awesome", so if you are not familiar with the actual definition, I invite you to take a second, look it up, understand its roots and its intended use, and then re-read my sentence. That is how it is in there. Massive, grand, awe-inspiring, kinda scary, in a sublime way. We were able to attend mass beneath Bernini's Chair of St. Peter. This slayed me. Literally slain. No, not literally, what's wrong with you? (Name that movie).
As can be expected, all of our dread for Rome disappeared as soon as we arrived. Actually, false. We had to ride a very crowded bus which smelled of urine and feces and then get lost for a hot second before the dread melted, but it melted nonetheless. We stayed in an old soap factory that had since been converted into a rental property, which was essentially my favorite part about our trip. However, in order to seem sane, I am going to pretend that my favorite part was the Pantheon.
When we visited the Vatican (crowded, terrible, nightmare. I do not recommend), we were permitted to enter St. Peter's Basilica. I cannot convey how awesome that space is. I realize that we overuse the word "awesome", so if you are not familiar with the actual definition, I invite you to take a second, look it up, understand its roots and its intended use, and then re-read my sentence. That is how it is in there. Massive, grand, awe-inspiring, kinda scary, in a sublime way. We were able to attend mass beneath Bernini's Chair of St. Peter. This slayed me. Literally slain. No, not literally, what's wrong with you? (Name that movie).
The last stop on our grand tour of Italy was Venice. It was in Rome that our group of seven split up, with four traveling to Dublin and three traveling to Venice, and it was also the beginning of our demise. I'm mostly kidding.
Due to my own terrible decision making, I found out that the place that I had intended on spending the night at was, in fact, a hotel room for two. I was the third traveller. This tidbit was not revealed to me until we were dangerously close to exiting the sketchy train station on the outskirts of the city. At that point, it was the dead of night, we were in a less-than-comforting area, and I was longing for someone to speak English to me in a cafe, or at least French. We decided that the best plan of action was for me to try to sneak into the hotel. In other words, we had no good plan of action.
Obviously we got caught, and the hotel manager said that I could not stay there. Rather than argue with him, I begged him to find me a room either in the hotel or nearby because, let's be honest sir, this neighborhood is not the nicest. I think he understood, because he let me book a room in the hotel across the street. However, this hotel was even sketchier than the site of my attempted break-in, and my evening was plagued with smoke-scented bedding, expensive water in glass bottles, and a screaming, door-slamming, hallway scampering Asian family around the hour of 5 am. I think it was my comeuppance for trying to swindle the other hotel out of a guest. You win this time, Venice.
Due to my own terrible decision making, I found out that the place that I had intended on spending the night at was, in fact, a hotel room for two. I was the third traveller. This tidbit was not revealed to me until we were dangerously close to exiting the sketchy train station on the outskirts of the city. At that point, it was the dead of night, we were in a less-than-comforting area, and I was longing for someone to speak English to me in a cafe, or at least French. We decided that the best plan of action was for me to try to sneak into the hotel. In other words, we had no good plan of action.
Obviously we got caught, and the hotel manager said that I could not stay there. Rather than argue with him, I begged him to find me a room either in the hotel or nearby because, let's be honest sir, this neighborhood is not the nicest. I think he understood, because he let me book a room in the hotel across the street. However, this hotel was even sketchier than the site of my attempted break-in, and my evening was plagued with smoke-scented bedding, expensive water in glass bottles, and a screaming, door-slamming, hallway scampering Asian family around the hour of 5 am. I think it was my comeuppance for trying to swindle the other hotel out of a guest. You win this time, Venice.
After my hotel disaster, I made the executive decision to sacrifice my last day in Venice and reserve a train ticket home for Friday night instead of Saturday night. When I went to buy a new ticket, I was told by the kind train man that the tickets we had booked for our return on the night train to Munich did not actually exist and it was necessary for us to find alternative transport home. Classic train times. We sat with our kind train man for an hour and a half but emerged victorious, ready to head home that night at nine pm.
After our stressful train search, we were ready to enjoy Venice by night. It was only under this blanket of relief that I was able to truly enjoy all that Venice had to offer; and we discovered many hidden gems, including a coffee shop that roasts its beans in-house. Upon inquiry, I found that they are the only shop in Venice that does this. They laughed at my dropped jaw but quickly befriended me when I told them about my American barista endeavors.
After our stressful train search, we were ready to enjoy Venice by night. It was only under this blanket of relief that I was able to truly enjoy all that Venice had to offer; and we discovered many hidden gems, including a coffee shop that roasts its beans in-house. Upon inquiry, I found that they are the only shop in Venice that does this. They laughed at my dropped jaw but quickly befriended me when I told them about my American barista endeavors.
After our final Venetian adventure, we kissed Italy goodbye and boarded our Austria-bound train. But before the credits could roll, we were joined in our train car by a man that we thought was a lone rolling-stone hobo type (we later found that his family was in another car on the train) and two rowdy nineteen-year-old Italian boys. What could have been a night of sleep ended up being a night of train nonsense, but you know what they say...nobody looks back on their lives and remembers the nights that they got a lot of sleep. Although I usually like to argue that statement (I have many quality nights of sleep that I often remember fondly), in this case it definitely applied. For all of you that have never ridden a night train, I would highly recommend it. Ridiculous times.
If you made it this far, congrats!!! This was probably the most ridiculously long blog post I have ever written, but I tried to balance out all my words with visual aids. Let me know if it worked! I realize that this post contradicts everything I have ever learned about rhetorical velocity and readability but hey, I'm just a kid. Life is a nightmare. Lol, jk, life's a dream. Until next time, playas. Or rather, ciao, bella.
If you made it this far, congrats!!! This was probably the most ridiculously long blog post I have ever written, but I tried to balance out all my words with visual aids. Let me know if it worked! I realize that this post contradicts everything I have ever learned about rhetorical velocity and readability but hey, I'm just a kid. Life is a nightmare. Lol, jk, life's a dream. Until next time, playas. Or rather, ciao, bella.