I am now in Florence, Italy. The height of the Italian Renaissance.
I left Barcelona, where I had run completely out of money. Up until that point, when I had no money, I was having the greatest time. Barcelona is perhaps the most exciting European city that I have seen so far. It was full of restaurants, museums, cafes, bars, clubs, petty criminals, street performers, avant garde architecture, sun, and mattress equipped homeless. It would be hard to describe Barcelona in terms of American cities, because it would be like trying to compare New York to someplace else. New York is New York. Barcelona is Barcelona. It is as simple and as complex as that.
The people in Barcelona are very laid back, and sometimes to the detriment of the attentive service that I was so accustomed to at home. This seems a small price to pay to live in a city that still seems so alive. While in Barcelona, I was staying in the dodgiest square in the whole city. Place Reial. Sketchy people in Spain are a world apart (both figuratively and literally) from their Stateside brethren. It is important to point out that I was never in mortal danger, and those armed with a brisk walk, a stern voice, and discreet money belt have nothing to fear. They usually try to engage those coming home late from a night on the town, in various games. One of my favorites is perhaps the "Do you know Karate" game. The idea of this ploy is to get their victim to respond with moves well studied from several viewings of the Karate Kid. At this point, the victims hands will be out of their pockets, where there is then room for the thieves to place their hands. This is how wallets are lost on Place Reial.
In Barcelona, I was staying in the always colorful, often loud Kabul Hostel. I met some of the friendliest people there, and some of the greatest people that I have met elsewhere. The Kabul seemed like a giant magnet for travellers tired of bundling up before leaving the house. Some of those people are either here in Florence or on their way. The idea is, that we, the Thanksgiving crew of Barcelona will attempt to create a facsimile of an American Thanksgiving while here in Florence. With any luck, it will be as near perfection as any group of near strangers can achieve, having all come from vastly different backgrounds.
Now, about Florence.
Two days, while waiting for Western Union on the main shopping street in Florence, I ran into a chaperone who was accompanying my friend and teacher Ms. Boothby on their trip to Italy. She told me where they were to meet later, and that I was invited to dinner because their guide had come down with food poisoning. I was overjoyed, because not only was I going to have money for the first time in three days (Thanks Dad and Western Union), but I was going to eat food prepared by someone other than me. This was also advantageous, because, I was under the impression that this group was arriving in Florence on the following day.
I was also excited to see this group, because they came bearing gifts (thoughtfully assembled by my little sister), including shampoo, magazines, 10 pounds of Resses candy, and batteries. These may sound like mundane things to give as gifts, but to a backpacker, they have greater value than gold bars, which of course weigh to much to carry around.
That night, I stayed at Pablo's House. It was called Pablo's house, because Pablo lived there, and rented out rooms to young, respectful looking backpackers. I was not the only person staying in Pablo's house, there was also 2 girls from Colorado, and three wealthy Mexican students. Pablo was nice enough, but I am afraid that he was a bit off of his rocker. We would be (the Mexican students and I) watching television, and Pablo would be fussing about in the kitchen. Any time we said anything of significance, Pablo would emerge from the kitchen and speak to us in a mix of broken Spanish and English. I am happy to report that I was able to understand the old man's attempts at the Spanish language, because they were analogous to my own.
The following day, I toured around with the school group from South River High School, and saw all of the A-list sites in Florence. Thanks Ms. B. I then walked about with Ms. B, and accompanied her while she did some shopping. That night we had dinner, and said our goodbyes.
I am now staying in the hostel Archi Rossi, and having a decent time there. The weather in Florence is beautiful, so I plan on going outside and putting some more hurt on those much cherished American Music Magazines.
I left Barcelona, where I had run completely out of money. Up until that point, when I had no money, I was having the greatest time. Barcelona is perhaps the most exciting European city that I have seen so far. It was full of restaurants, museums, cafes, bars, clubs, petty criminals, street performers, avant garde architecture, sun, and mattress equipped homeless. It would be hard to describe Barcelona in terms of American cities, because it would be like trying to compare New York to someplace else. New York is New York. Barcelona is Barcelona. It is as simple and as complex as that.
The people in Barcelona are very laid back, and sometimes to the detriment of the attentive service that I was so accustomed to at home. This seems a small price to pay to live in a city that still seems so alive. While in Barcelona, I was staying in the dodgiest square in the whole city. Place Reial. Sketchy people in Spain are a world apart (both figuratively and literally) from their Stateside brethren. It is important to point out that I was never in mortal danger, and those armed with a brisk walk, a stern voice, and discreet money belt have nothing to fear. They usually try to engage those coming home late from a night on the town, in various games. One of my favorites is perhaps the "Do you know Karate" game. The idea of this ploy is to get their victim to respond with moves well studied from several viewings of the Karate Kid. At this point, the victims hands will be out of their pockets, where there is then room for the thieves to place their hands. This is how wallets are lost on Place Reial.
In Barcelona, I was staying in the always colorful, often loud Kabul Hostel. I met some of the friendliest people there, and some of the greatest people that I have met elsewhere. The Kabul seemed like a giant magnet for travellers tired of bundling up before leaving the house. Some of those people are either here in Florence or on their way. The idea is, that we, the Thanksgiving crew of Barcelona will attempt to create a facsimile of an American Thanksgiving while here in Florence. With any luck, it will be as near perfection as any group of near strangers can achieve, having all come from vastly different backgrounds.
Now, about Florence.
Two days, while waiting for Western Union on the main shopping street in Florence, I ran into a chaperone who was accompanying my friend and teacher Ms. Boothby on their trip to Italy. She told me where they were to meet later, and that I was invited to dinner because their guide had come down with food poisoning. I was overjoyed, because not only was I going to have money for the first time in three days (Thanks Dad and Western Union), but I was going to eat food prepared by someone other than me. This was also advantageous, because, I was under the impression that this group was arriving in Florence on the following day.
I was also excited to see this group, because they came bearing gifts (thoughtfully assembled by my little sister), including shampoo, magazines, 10 pounds of Resses candy, and batteries. These may sound like mundane things to give as gifts, but to a backpacker, they have greater value than gold bars, which of course weigh to much to carry around.
That night, I stayed at Pablo's House. It was called Pablo's house, because Pablo lived there, and rented out rooms to young, respectful looking backpackers. I was not the only person staying in Pablo's house, there was also 2 girls from Colorado, and three wealthy Mexican students. Pablo was nice enough, but I am afraid that he was a bit off of his rocker. We would be (the Mexican students and I) watching television, and Pablo would be fussing about in the kitchen. Any time we said anything of significance, Pablo would emerge from the kitchen and speak to us in a mix of broken Spanish and English. I am happy to report that I was able to understand the old man's attempts at the Spanish language, because they were analogous to my own.
The following day, I toured around with the school group from South River High School, and saw all of the A-list sites in Florence. Thanks Ms. B. I then walked about with Ms. B, and accompanied her while she did some shopping. That night we had dinner, and said our goodbyes.
I am now staying in the hostel Archi Rossi, and having a decent time there. The weather in Florence is beautiful, so I plan on going outside and putting some more hurt on those much cherished American Music Magazines.
