The Godfather didn't prepare me for this!

I like to begin all of my blogs as though we’ve already been engaged in a deep conversation about our days.  So, forgive me if I seem to ramble. 

But anyway, this entry is for my Italian adventure.  We spent a total of 5 days and 4 nights in this wonderful country filled with bread, pasta, wine, and pizza, divided between two ports in Civitavecchia and Naples.  I prepared for this venture with a marathon of the Godfather and a prayer with my rosary. 

Civitavecchia (pronounced CH-VI-TEE-VEC-KEY-AH) is a small seaside town and a 50-minute train ride to Rome.  So, I hopped on a train for 4,50 Euro to Rome and explored the ruins.  Being that I thoroughly enjoyed my stay in Spain (I mean the scenery, the weather, and the people were beautiful) I was a little disappointed in Italy.  Rome was grand but only until we took about a 20-minute walk away for the train station.  Oh and another thing it was hot and humid just like the southern states in America.  Seriously!  We were told that the Mediterranean weather was arid and dry heat, that during the summer months it wasn’t raining season so that we should not expect any showers.  The DEVIL IS LIE, um….  I spent two days and one night in Rome.  And lets say that we endured flash floods and an apocalyptic hailstorm… 

Okay, I’ll rewind and start were I left off.  During our pre-port lecture we were told to be very aware of our belongings, be self contained, blah, blah, blah; because Italians are master pick-pocketers, and that it’s the one’s that you would least expect.  Like an 8-year old gypsy girl, who looks harmless but will steal all your Euros (which 1 Euro is  the equivalent of 1.49 US dollars).  Now I’ll be (excuse my French) DAMNED if an 8-year old gypsy girl steals my money, after I’m still on edge from having lost my camera, so I was talking no prisoners.  But petty crime must be rampant in Italy, because it was even advised on the kiosk in the train station when buying our tickets to be aware of pick pocketing. 

After we arrive in Rome, we went to check into our hostel and drop off our things (it was a little sketchy, but you win some and you lose some with those places, but that’s why we only spent 1 night in Rome, because originally we reserved a bed for two nights, but the people we’re iffy so we rolled out after visiting the Vatican…  I’ll get back to that…)

[side note: I type …(ellipses) after a lot of phrases to leave room for open though]

After we checked in, we went to this pizzeria, because guess what pizza was invented in Italy, and guess what I get a hot dog…  I know forgive me, but I just wasn’t in the mood.  It was good though (don’t judge me!)  After our little food excursion, my roommate and I make our way to the metro station (subway) to go to the Colosseum.  And who strolls up to us as we try to figure out the Latin on the ticket kiosk, in some pink peddle pushers and a white tank top, with pigtails on either side of her head?  Yes, the 8-year old gypsy girl!  Her mother (that heifer) was sitting about 10 feet away from us on the stairs with a new-born in a red stroller waiting on her little demon child to collect.  First, the girl gives us the sinister look and says something in Italian that I couldn’t make out.  So, I’m keeping my distance making sure I don’t turn my back on her, but she kept entering my little personal bubble.  My roommate tried to complete the transaction, and this heifer hits the cancel button.  So, I politely turn around in the direction of her mother, and make a gesture to her that I will black both of her little girls eyes and choke her out in on the cobble stone of the station, since it was a language barrier, I demonstrated by bringing my fist to both of my eyes, then wrapping the palm of my hands around my throat, with my tongue dangling from the left side of my mouth.  I think you got the point and called her off, (but I think you may have put a hex on us with her rosemary plant in her hand)!  I could care less, but like I said before I’ll be damned, cause I fight kids, and trifling mamas. 

[side note: I promise I’m not violent, I just don’t taking kindly to people who steal and kill]

After that ordeal, we get into the train, and it was tight!  I got to know a lot of strangers personally.  I see why they say beware because its easy for someone to slipped their hand into you pocket and you be none the wise, because everybody is intruding in everyone else’s bubble.  I kept my Euros in my bra, I figure I notice a hand slipping near the “girls”.  We finally make it to the Colosseum in one piece and with all of our currency, and it was colossal.  The Roman ruins are surreal.  The copper statues having turned green with age, the scale of the monuments, and the detail of the carvings are magnificent.  It’s amazing to know the time in which these masterpieces were created and understand the ingenuity of it. 

We walked along the streets toward the Pantheon, which was horded by tourist (please note that I am NOT a tourist, but a world traveler).  However, it did not take away from its regal glory and grandeur.  And that’s when the sky opened up and it rained.  So, we ran through the cobble streets to a street side café and ordered a bottle of red wine. 

The rain subsided and we walked to the Trevi fountain.  If you’ve never heard of it google it.  The images don’t do it justice, it is truly something you must take in first hand.  But it was beautiful, the sculpture and detail of the images is magical.  I made a wish on 5 Euro cents and drunk in all of the splendor.  Italy was beginning to gain some points compared to Spain, ancient architecture wise, and definitely food wise. 

Our next stop was the Spanish steps, which are across from the high-end fashion boutiques of, Yves Saint Laurent, Gucci, and Dior (all a bit too expensive for my blood, but to each his own). 

Sweaty and hot from having walked miles around Rome we headed back to the hostel to get showered and dressed for a nights out.  Our first day in Italy, was Canada Day, which is their version of the American Independence Day.  So, in celebration we went to a pub-crawl. 

The next morning, bright and early around 8am (2am est) we went to the Vatican and well I speechless (good thing I’m typing).  I don’t really think that I have the words to describe it, so I’ll just tell you what I saw, with my very own eyes.  Because you go through life hearing about these masterpieces, learning about the technique, and the artist, but now its real.  I witnessed St. Peter’s Basicillica, Michelangelo’s Pieta, and the Sistine Chapel.  Yes, the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel!!! We snuck pictures, because no photos were allowed, but I needed proof.  It was… it was… divine, and glorious.  I purchased postcards at the Vatican souvenir store, but ran into some issue over stamps, so those of you who so politely emailed me your address, I have you’re Italy post cards, they’ll just have Croatian stamps (I know too ghetto)! 

Well the Vatican will have you pooped, so we grabbed a delicious sandwich and headed back to the hostel for a nap before we hopped on a train back to Civitavecchia.  That night me and a couple of friends went out to explore the town.  We ate at this fruit bar where you can order watermelon and pineapples by the slice/half… it was so good, the watermelon was so sweet.  Then we went down to the pebble beach and walked along the pier and just sat for a while and watched the moons reflection off the water.  I know its getting a little poetic but sometimes you just have to watch God and drink it all in.  Speaking of drink, Italy has some great gelato, which is ice cream but its extra creamy and sweet.  Mmmmmm DELISH.  Anyway I can’t read or speak Italian so when ordering I’m just pointing at the different flavors of ice cream, now the ice cream I got this night on the picture had cake and a glass of wine, I don’t know what I was thinking, I was just more focused on the cake cause it looked like tiramisu so I got two scoops, fast forward twenty minutes later I had a little buzz… they spiked my ice cream. 

The next day my roommate and I took a train to Naples, which was the next port of call for the ship.  We decided to leave earlier and meet the ship in Naples the following day and just stay in a hostel, after we climbed Mount Vesuvius, which is an active volcano and wiped out the city of Pompeii a long time ago (google it for more details on the history).  Yeah I climbed this very mountain.  Please note that the city of Naples is referred to as the armpit of Italy.  We heard a many of horror stories about this town people getting mugged, people being made offers that they can’t refuse, and people sleeping with the fishes (yeah I made it plural).  The city is dirty and a bit gritty but charmingly so.  I wouldn’t make it a vacation destination, but it was a good experience. 

When we went to take the bus to the mountain we walked into this “travel agency” and I use that term loosely because I’m certain that that whole gig was a cover up for the mob.  Seriously.  It was like 4 Italian men sitting outside on vespas, two little boys were playing soccer sitting on the bench right out front.  When we walked in, behind the desk was a tall dark haired man with a white collard button up, stone -washed jeans, and gray snake skin boots (I remind you its hot and humid in Italy).  His hair was slicked back and when he talked his head moved from side to side and his chin tilted toward the ceiling.  To the right of him was another short and stocky guy, with a hair chest.  I’m just sitting there like their running numbers and I hope nothing big goes down, because I would hate to be an innocent bystander.  I’m all caught up in my thoughts and the next thing I know, I hear Michael Jackson playing.  The Godfather (the gentleman sitting behind the desk with the greasy hair) had youtubed Michael’s “You are not alone” and was singing along to it.  I watched him in amazement, and by the chorus, we were singing a duet. 

Now everybody knows how I feel about Michael Jackson.  You don’t bad mouth him in my presence, you just appreciate his music, so in hearing about his death (I was in Seville, Spain); my heart broke, and I mourned him by listening to the every Michael Jackson song on my iPod (including the Jackson 5 Christmas album).

Back to the story at hand.  The bus comes and takes us up a thousand meters.  Now the road on the mountain is rocky and narrow and this man was driving like a bat out of hell; wipin’ around corners, honking his horn, and smoking a cigarette while shifting gears.  I thought we were going to fly off the summit.  But we made it to the top, and had a 30-minute hike to the summit.  I’ve never hiked before; I didn’t even bring any running shoes with me.  So, in my Chuck Taylors, I suffered a mild stroke, but I made it to the top, sweaty, dusty, and calve muscles just a burning, but accomplished.

After the hike, we go and find our hostel.  We were afraid that this one would be as sketchy as the other one we stayed at in Rome, but we were pleasantly surprised when we walked in (after we walked up five flights of stairs, after having climbed a mountain, because it was a strange man standing at the door of the elevator and he didn’t look like a bellhop) and it was bright with butterflies on the and sepia pictures of the city.  The host asked us where were we from and we told him America, and he stops and says: “Do you like Obama?”  I smile and shake my head yes, and he broadly grins and proudly exclaims: “I love Obama, I have a t-shirt!”  That’s so special, I think and speaks volumes about our President.  What made the night even better though, was that they cooked us pasta…  FOR FREE, and it was DELISH!!! So with a full belly I sat on the balcony and watched the hustle of the city, read a couple of chapters of Tar Baby for my class and fell asleep. 

Bright and early the next morning we trucked it to the port to get back on the ship and drop our stuff off.  It was about a 25-minute walk, but we kind of got lost so it took us about 35-minutes.  We finally made it; I took a shower and headed to the beach in Sorrento.  My friends and I take the shuttle bus to the front of the port and ask the driver how to get to the train station, he points us in the direction of the bus, so we head to the bus stop and wait.  Now in America and in Spain one can purchase a bus ticket on the bus.  But you CANNOT do this in Naples, Italy.  The bus arrives, we get on, make a long story short, the guy comes to check our tickets, we don’t have one he tries to makes us pay a 37,45 Euro penalty charge for a 1 Euro fair.  We’re like nope its not going down like that, he’s trying to take us for a ride and possibly traffic us because we get off the bus and he follows us too.  Ask us for our passports and I’m like that’s a firm hell no, you’re not selling my passport on the black market.  He pretends to call the police and says that he’ll give us a deal if we cooperate, and I’m like this is a bad scene from the Sopranos and I just start running down the street, the 3 other girls I was with quickly follow and we ditch him.  True story!  Now we’re a little shaken, so we’re hiding behind fountains and buildings while walking down the street, but we finally make it to the train station and finally make it to the beach in Sorrento.

If you have every seen the movie Under the Tuscan Sun, that’s where we were.  It was so beautiful and I ended my trip by swimming in the refreshing waves of the Mediterranean sea.