Firenze

After nearly a week of traveling, I’d never thought the words, “I’m stoked to be back in the Geneve” would ever come out of my mouth, but much to my chagrin, they did.  As a broad overview before I give you an in-depth explanation of everything that I managed to survive through, I believe that I successfully conquered Italy. My travels were full of big churches, priceless pieces of art, hoboes selling hats, night trains, getting photographically assaulted, party lines in the blue grotto, and Memento.

While my initial travel plans intended to take me northward towards Austria, the allure of the beaches of Capri following Florence and Venice proved too much for my commitment to my previous plans.  As a result, I spent about a week traveling about Italy, and I could not be happier with my decision to deviate from the plan and do something else.

The train ride was enjoyable.  I discovered spades and all its glory.  Debbie and Rhonda accepted food from strange Italian folks, who looked like they felt sorry for them.  Frankly, I felt sorry for them too.  Who eats a half eaten ice cream bar from some strange Italian man on a train in Europe?  Who does that?  Debbie does, that’s who. 

Florence was and still is my favorite city in Italy.  No picture of the Duomo can do it justice.  I got to see my favorite piece of art of all-time (Ghiberti’s Gates of Paradise) and I got to go to my gelato place.  Maybe at one point in time, you can have your own gelato place as well.  It’s a pretty special connection. 

   

                                             

The nightlife in Florence was pretty wild.  Most of the time I was too lost and confused to know where exactly we were. Night one and two was a club with ‘cheap drinks’ by European standards, and it included a guest performance by pseudo-Dave Matthews, which actually wasn’t too bad.  Next up was karaoke, which I may or may not have done.  At that point in the night I’m pretty sure I was just yelling to hear some Wagon Wheel.  Unfortunately, no Wagon Wheel.  But by screaming Wagon Wheel at the top of my lungs, I managed to meet some folks that went to Baylor.  It might have been the happiest moment of the trip, until it was quickly replaced when I saw a souped out Dodge Ram posted up on the streets of Geneve.   

Of course every city has its pitfalls.  These pitfalls included the large amounts of animosity that the owner of the hostel had for us (I pray that none of you have to hear an angry Italian woman yell at you at 7 am).  Also, the endless number of street vendors that attempted to sell us pure crap.  No guy, I don't want to buy that silly hat with fake gemstones or the ridiculous necklaces that I remember making in kindergarten art class.  

I have plenty of time to ramble in the next few posts so I’ll let the pictures do most of the talking for me, partially because I’m exhausted and too busy jamming out to Bryan Adams.