Stepping out of the train station, I entered a land of fairytales. Unfortunately, somebody had cast a spell of rain over the land (but I'll grumble about that later). After Rome, Perugia, Ancona, and all the other places I visited in Italy, I thought I had seen enough of the country. How wrong I was. Unlike Rome, which is a cosmopolitan hodgepodge of human history, Firenze, or Florence, is a like a time capsule of the Renaissance. Simply walk down a narrow cobblestone street away from the cars, tourists, and souvenir stands and it's not hard to imagine what the city like 500 years ago. Unfortunately, I don't have any of my own photos from my first days in Firenze. Like the photos from my last days in Greece, they were tragically lost. But let me recap what happened during that time. As the ship from Patras was entering Ancona port, ominous clouds loomed overhead. Heavy rains quenched the parched land. I quickly made my way from the port to the train station and boarded a train headed west toward Firenze. The train was packed with raucous university students as it passed through Bologna, a major university city. I arrived in Firenze without a plan or a hostel reservation. It wasn't high season anymore, so I didn't think it would be a problem; It was. Florence was packed with visitors. How did I know? The guidebooks and cumbersome maps in their hands gave them away. I had a guidebook in my hand too, looking for hostels. I walked and walked, checking place after place, but there were no vacancies anywhere. As evening approached and my rain soaked shorts clung tight to my legs, desperation set in. There was one last resort, a campground located on hill overlooking Firenze mentioned in my guidebook. I didn't have a choice at this point, so I began the 45 minute trek toward the campsite. I followed the map through the city, across a river, up winding roads and staircases, and with a little help from a girl at a hamburger stand, I found the campsite. "Where's your camping pass?", the man at the gate asked me. Shit, did I need a camping pass? I told him I was checking in, and he let me enter. Luckily, the facility provided tents with beds for those who didn't bring their own. Since I was checking in alone, the lady said that I might have to share my tent with another guest. I didn't mind, mission accomplished, no sleeping on the streets for me tonight. I pulled the squishy shoes off my feet and wrung out about cup of water. The tent was fine, it was clean and a welcome refuge from the rain. The only mess was the mud I dragged in. I plopped myself down on the bed. It was softer than expected with plenty of warm sheets. I was afraid I'd pass out right there, but then my stomach reminded me I was hungry. There was a little market on the campgrounds where I bought some mortadella, gouda cheese, and rolls to make myself a sandwich. Satisfied, and slightly rejuvenated, I returned to the city. It was only 7PM and too early to call it a night. What was I thinking. The rain was still coming down. I was looking for a bar or club to return to later in the evening. But the types of people I saw walking the streets were coming out of fancy hotels all dressed up in Armani suits, Prada shoes, and Gucci handbags. This was no place for a scrubby backpacker like me, so I returned back to the camp. When I got back to the tent, the flap was slightly open. There must be another guest inside. I entered the dimly lit tent and met my roommate Eduardo. He's a Brazilian who'd been working in Barcelona for half a year and was taking a short holiday in Italy. He too was traveling alone, so we shared some Italy adventures together for the next few days.

 

 

 

 

"SALVAGED MEMORIES"

 

That's Eduardo, he sort of reminds me of Colin Farrell. As I said earlier, I don't
have pictures from my first two days in the city. Luckily for me, Eduardo also
took some pictures, so I was able to pilfer them from him. He didn't take many
pictures, because there wasn't much space on his memory card. The irony is
that I told him not to worry, because I could e-mail him my pictures later.

 

 

This is Ponte Vecchio, or Old Bridge. It's lined with jewelry and souvenir
shops. When you cross over it, you can't even tell it's a bridge. Wicked awesome.

 

 

The Ufizzi is one of the major art museums in Europe, but there was a
three hour queue to get in. We chose to go to the Galleria dell'Accademia
instead, because there was a shorter wait to get in. Besides, The David
is there. THE David.

 

 

I remember learning about these doors in art history.
Ghiberti spent 27 years working on the bronze relief
sculptures ushering in the Renaissance.

 

 

The dreary streets of Florence under the veil of cloudy
skies and occasional sprinkles.

 

 

While standing in line at the Accademia, I noticed
something strange about the windows overhead.

 

 

NO PHOTO! Oh boy, here we go again... Metal Gear stealth
mode. It was a bit tougher here because there was not a large
crowd to hide behind. What really pisses me off about losing
my photos is that I worked so hard to get my shots of the David,
and they were such great shots. Maybe it's divine retribution.

 

 

Thank you Michelangelo.

 

 

 

 

That's the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore, better known
as the Duomo. There are other Duomos around, but this
is THE Duomo. The dome designed by Brunelleschi was
the largest in the world at the time, and is still the largest
masonry (bricks and mortar) dome today.

 

 

That afternoon, we went to a mass at the Duomo. This
is the magnificent painting inside the cupola. I know,
he shouldn't have been taking pictures during mass.
Actually, I was worse. I was taking video of the service.
Hey, mass being delivered in Italian is interesting to me.

 

 

Haha. Eduardo must've taken this picture after I already exited.
He's just as bad as me.

 

 

As evening approached, the sprinkles turned into a
steady downpour.

 

 

This tower had special meaning to me. When I reached it,
I knew there was only a 15 minute uphill climb to get to
the campsite. Hey, that's me on the bottom taking a picture.

 

 

Firenze at night.

 

 

Rainy days are exhausting. It wasn't even 10PM yet and we already
returned to camp. I vividly recall Eduardo taking this picture. I took
same shot, then we both looked at the pictures and video clips I had
on my camera. But...

 

 

...A Horror Story... The next morning, the rain continued steadily pounding on the tent's fabric. What a drag, but I was optimistic that it would clear up. I got out of bed to take a quick shower, trying not to slip on the mud along the way like I did the night before. When I got back, I did my usual camera status check (checking to see how much battery and memory I had left). Yikes... memory card almost full. Time to upload it onto the hard drive. This was a common procedure for me by now; I'd done it at least a dozen times without a major problem. Take the card out of the camera, push it into the hard drive slot, watch the little status bar move across the screen. But the little bar stopped and an error sign I hadn't scene before flashed on the screen. My heart skip a beat. What was at stake here? The 2GB memory card was just about full. I hadn't unloaded it for 4 days. Over 400 photos and video clips of Greek sunshine and Florentine rain. 400 memories. I took the card out of the hard-drive, and this is where I made a regretful decision. I erased the the few dozen files that had already been transferred. I had hit a few transfer snags before, and I figured this was more of the same; the problem would just correct itself. I pushed the memory card back in, and the same cryptic coded error message flashed on the screen again. Anxiety began to sweep over me. Alright, I'll put the card back into the camera to see if it works. It WAS working just the night before. "This card is unusable", a message appeared on the screen. Fuck you camera! So here I was frantically switching the memory card between the camera and the hard-drive hoping for a miracle. It was no use, the memory card was dead. Eduardo came in and I broke the news to him. He couldn't believe it. The most annoying thing about the ordeal was having to switch to my backup 1GB card. I take a lot of pictures (I think you've noticed), and having to upload them so frequently was a major pain in the ass. I hung onto 2GB card hoping that when I got home, I might be able to recover the files. That hope remained alive for the rest of the trip, but sometimes, hope is just that. Hope. Backpacker Rule #16: Don't buy cheap memory cards from newegg.com... especially when reviewers reported occasional product failures. A bargain is good, but sometimes it comes with a price.

 

 

Dejected, I knew I had to make things right. How? By getting back on
task and taking pictures again!

 

 

The bar at the campsite. Breakfast time.

 

 

Chocolate filled croissant. Delicious.

 

 

Eduardo was shopping for a Firenze sweatshirt every time he walked
by a souvenir stand the day before. "Just buy one already!", I told him.

 

 

The magnificent Duomo overpowers the skyline. Unfortunately, ugly scaffolding ruins it.

 

 

A view of Ponte Vecchio.

 

 

There a copy of the David atop the Piazzale Michelangelo.
This is my weak substitute for the picture of me with the
real one.

 

 

Did I break my own rule and buy a souvenir? Golly, I think I did.

 

 

These signs scared me when I first saw them. I thought
I needed some camping membership to get inside.

 

 

Woohoo! Sunshine!

 

 

 

 

Bathroom facilities. Not bad.

 

 

This was hilarious. Eduardo and I took the bus to the train station, but
we were cheap about paying the €2 fare. Somehow we rationalized that
if we bought one ticket for both of us, it wouldn't be as bad as boarding
the bus without paying. The driver wasn't really paying attention to who
was buying and validating tickets. Also, during all my travels, not one
person had checked for tickets, so we weren't all too concerned. The bus
was heading toward the train station when it made a routine stop. I noticed
half the passengers quickly exiting out the back. In a moment, I realized
what was happening, an officer boarded the bus to check tickets. Think
fast Charles! The man was in the front making his way back. I was standing
in the middle of the bus and Eduardo was behind me. I rushed up to show
the officer my ticket. The plan was that after I showed him the ticket, I would
sneak it to Eduardo so he could use it. I quickly backed up and held the
ticket behind my back, thinking Eduardo would take it out of my hand. He
didn't take it. I turned around. Eduardo had made a run for it! He was
already off the bus! OK, change of plans. I hopped off the bus and we
laughed so hard... such a bad idea!

 

 

Train station in Firenze. By some strange coincidence, we had both
planned on going to Venice on the same day. Perfect, I get to keep
my travel buddy.

 

 

Lunch on the train.

 

 

A short 3 hour train ride later, we were ready for our next adventure.

 

 

 

 

 

"WATER WORLD"

 

Holy... freakin'... Venice. I couldn't believe I was there. And it wasn't
hot and stinky like everyone had warned me.

 

 

Eduardo and I bought a 24 hour Vaporetto pass for a wallet emptying €12.
Since individual fares are €5, it seemed like the best option. The Vaporetto
is the "bus" in Venice. It's actually a boat. Everything here is a boat. There
really are NO cars in the city. I knew that, but I couldn't really believe it until
I saw it.... or... didn't see it.

 

 

Magical.

 

 

That's the Rialto Bridge, the most famous bridge on the Grand Canal.

 

 

We couldn't have timed our Vaporetto ride any better. As we cruised
down the Grand Canal, the sun slowly dipped below the horizon and
lit the city ablaze in an incredible golden light. A man was feverishly
taking pictures exalting, "Five Day! I've been waiting five days for
these colors. Ohhh... look at the blues, and the orange. Finally!".
I guess it had been raining here as it had been in Firenze.

 

 

Instant postcard.

 

 

Best seats in the house. We were heading toward Piazza San Marco, or
Saint Mark's Square. That's the center of the city, and the hotel Eduardo
booked was nearby. I hadn't booked accomodations thus far because I was
trying to get in contact with Silvia who I met in Dublin. I couldn't get a
hold of her though, so I was counting on there was space at the hotel.

 

 

I guess the Vaporetto ticket is worth it. It's like a scenic boat tour every time I went
on that thing.

 

 

 

 

Back on solid ground... sort of.

 

 

 

 

After checking into the hotel (there was a vacancy after all), we walked toward
Piazza San Marco to see what it was all about.

 

 

Murano, an island in the nearby Venice is famous for its hand-blown
glass. I wish I stopped by to see a glass-making demonstration.

 

 

I'm allergic to crustaceans and overpriced tourist menus,
so I stayed away from that.

 

 

Marzipan never looks this fancy at home.

 

 

A dead pigeon.

 

 

Woohoo! Piazza San Marco!

 

 

There were about half a dozen different groups of musicians entertaining
small crowds in different areas of the square. All I really wanted to do
was sit down, but the seats were only for restaurant guests.

 

 

Scary Pinocchio dolls.

 

 

Eduardo's last name is Giglio, so he was excited to
see so many signs with his name on it. I'll wait for
France for that.

 

 

With cans of beer in hand, Eduardo and I walked aimlessly around
Venice during the night. It's not that we meant to wander, our intention
was to walk toward the train station. It's just that whenever we thought
we were going in the right direction, we'd meet a dead end. Water.
The city is like a labyrinth. I was told that even people who live here
get lost. Lots of the time, we could see where we wanted to go, but it
was like a puzzle figuring out how to get there.

 

 

Totally out of place.

 

 

The Grand Canal sparkling at night.

 

 

Finally, the station. I needed to look at the schedule to see what cities the night
trains were departing for the next day. My options were limited to Nice, Bucharest,
or Vienna. I was saving France for later. Romania was too far away and the Eurail
is not valid there... so that left me with Austria.

 

 

This sculpture was displayed in front of the station.
It was nice seeing my flag.

 

 

AGHHH!

 

 

Hmm... why are there four beds in a hotel room? The room we got
was more like a dorm, though it wasn't priced like one. Don't stay
too long in Venice, you'll be bankrupt.

 

 

Casa Linger was the hotel we stayed at, but our room
is where I shot this picture from. The reception and
the real hotel rooms were across the street.

 

 

Venice waking up.

 

I bought a big bag of cookies for cheap while in
Firenze... what a great investment. I ate them for
a snack, dinner, and breakfast!

 

 

Street performers are an odd bunch. Some of them work
hard for their money, but others just stand there doing nothing.
Then when you take a picture of them, they get mad at you for
not giving them money.

 

 

A thirsty pigeon.

 

 

I even had enough cookies left over to share with the pigeons.

 

 

Piazza San Marco flooded by the overnight rain. Much of Venice is actually below
sea level, and many areas are flooded most days of the year, requiring complex
pumping systems to keep the land dry. I guess if the global warming predictions
are true, visit Venice now while there's still a Venice to visit.

 

 

I know... it's disgusting. What's more disgusting was having to walk through puddles
contaminated with pigeon dropping and dead birds. But it's Venice, do I care? No.

 

 

Not the romantic gondolier you had in mind eh?

 

 

 

 

Looks like a slow day. They weren't getting any business from me, that's for sure.
An average Gondola ride costs over €70!

 

 

Gelato! I mean, gelato.

 

 

Is this really necessary? You'd figure anyone speaking any of these
four language would know "yes" and "no" for the other ones, or at
least be able to figure them out.

 

 

Think you've paid expensive cab fares before? Taking a taxi in Venice costs at least €80.

 

 

Made you look.

 

 

Sorry, we had to do it. I wasn't going to pay twenty dollars for a
plate of spaghetti. Soon after, I said goodbye to Eduardo who was
taking a train to Milano in the afternoon.

 

 

 

 

Expensive jewelry shops line the Rialto Bridge much like Ponte Vecchio

 

 

Somebody help the man! He's in the wrong century!

 

 

Kids being released from their elementary school. I don't
know why it was such a surprise to see this; Venice is
touristy, but people DO live here. Sometimes I forget that.

 

 

Rush hour traffic in Venice.

 

 

 

 

Illy is major coffee brand in Italy. I didn't stick around long enough
see that the cocktail competition was all about.

 

 

Busy pigeons.

 

 

Awww.

 

 

Not as magnificent a sunset as the night before, but it seems like anywhere you aim the
camera in Venice, it's postcard worthy.

 

 

Sometime during the morning, I lost my "bus" ticket. That sucked.
Without it, I had to walk through the crazy Venice maze to get back
to the train station. There were "alla ferrovia" signs pointing the way,
but believe me... even with the signs, you can still lose your way.

 

My first overnight train in Europe... oh... my... God...

 

 

A Night's Tale That evening, I boarded a train that would take me from Venice to Vienna overnight. I was so excited. This was the type of backpacking experience I have dreamt about. The train was similar to the one I took from Milano to Roma earlier, with the compartments and reclining seats. With the eurail pass, I could've reserved a couchette, which is like a bunk-bed on a train, but it costs an additional €30. I figured that if I could tolerate the the reclining seats this time, I could save money during the rest of my trip by never splurging on couchettes. The compartment was empty when I arrived. Great! I'll get it all to myself. So I made myself comfortable and prepared myself a tuna sandwich. I pulled out my eurail pass to record the travel day. Then you travel overnight, you don't write down the date of the night you leave but the date of the morning you arrive at the destination. I knew that, but somehow in my haste, I marked the current day. The moment my hands wrote in those numbers, I noticed the mistake. Damn! There was nothing I could do though. If I tried to correct it, the ticket would become invalid, so I wrote in the proper date. Bummer... a lost travel day. That will be one less city I get to visit. In a few minutes, the door slid open and in walked three girls. They were from Sweden and they were backpacking Europe together as well. One would think we'd have a lot to talk about, but they were busy talking in their funny language and eating cans of chickpeas. No matter, they weren't attractive or interesting anyway (there goes my impression of Swedish girls). So there I was, sitting by the window while the girl claimed the rest of the compartment, when the door slid open again. In walks an older woman. She checks the seat number on the ticket and makes her way to the window seat across from me. Just great... no more leg room. Wow, this is gonna suck, I thought. The train started to roll out of the station, and I put on my i-pod headphones. About ten minutes into the ride, the train came to a stop. Please tell me passengers are getting off... please, please, plea... the door slid open again. Treading in was grumpy looking middle-aged man. He gestured at me to get out of my seat. It was really his seat, so I shifted back over to the middle. Well, this was uncomfortable, a packed compartment. As the train continued on its way... rat-a-tat... rat-a-tat, the woman broke the awkward silence by offering us some crackers. I took a few, of course. Shortly after, she and the man started a conversation. Overhearing them, I learned she was a Czech returning to Salzburg from a vacation in Italy, and he was an Italian going to Croatia for business in the fashion industry. She knowledge of Italian was limited to a few basic phrases, so she tried using English to communicate, but he spoke very little English. It was comical listening to them struggle. For a while, they were trying to talk about the cities she visited, but there was a lot of misunderstanding and confusion. I reached overhead, and pulled out my eurail map to help them out. Ohhh... Genova! In a short while, I joined in on lively the conversation... about the beautiful beaches of Croatia, her home city of Prague, the rain that washed out my last few days, the impact of China on the global textile market. I never imagined myself ever having to be a translator, but suddenly, I was thrust into that situation. Every time there was a word they didn't understand, they turned to me (literally). I don't know a lot of Italian, but it was enough to fill in blanks. A while later, the train made another stop. The Italian man was switching trains here, so he bid us an arrivederci. Nice, I had elbow room once again, but I still couldn't stretch out, because the woman was sitting across from me. It was approaching midnight now, and we all realized this was no situation to get any sleep. The Czech woman left us to find space in another compartment, so we bid her a goodbye. The Swedish girls and I grinned and gave each other mental high fives... I made myself comfortable by the window and the girls stretched out in the remaining four seats. We turned off the lights, pulled the curtains closed, and went to sleep. Not even ten minutes later, the train came to another stop. Please no one enter... please, please, plea... *click* *screech*... the door slid open again. Silhouetted against the lit hallway was a thin balding man in his early thirties. "Hallo, excuse me, I zink zat iz my seat". The girls and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. I begrudgingly shifted back to my middle seat. As the man walked over us, the stench of mold and body odor filled the cabin. He plopped down on the seat I was enjoying a moment ago, kicked off his shoes, and comfortably stretched his out feet on the empty seat across from him. He tried to make small talk, but 1AM in the morning was no time for that. Besides, I resented him for intruding on the little space I had. After a while, he shut up and went to sleep. The Swedish girls and I were comfortable with each other by now, so we put up our feet on each other's seats. My best description for what the five of us sleeping in one compartment is this... imagine the game Tetris... the girls and I were contorted and packed in together like the "L" and "zigzag" shapes, while the Austrian guy was the long piece coming down the side. Believe me, I was NOT happy being a zigzag. What was even worse for me, if I turned my head one way, a girl's foot was in my face, the other way, the wretched odor of a man who smelled like he hadn't showered in days. ...and THAT was my first experience on a night train. Do you think I chose a reclining seat instead of a couchette for an overnight trip ever again? Of course! Each and every single time. To hell with comfort... Save it for the weak! (and those who could afford it) Backpacker Rule #17: Think, think really hard before you mark the date on a eurail pass. Backpacker Rule #18: Reclining seats on overnight trains are for masochists.

 

 

Ughhh... I had to get out to take a breath.

 

 

 

 

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