I arrived at the train station in Perugia around 11:30 AM Friday, local time. I arrived home, at my mom's house, around 11:30 PM Saturday, local time. My transit time, after converting all the time differences and all, was about 42 hours from Perugia to Edinburg. I slept for about 45 minutes on one of my planes and about an hour on the bus from New York to D.C.
I'm glad to be done traveling, even if I'm not sure how glad I am to be in Edinburg again. Travel is an adventure, but it's also exhausting.
My plane ride from Dublin to New York was nice, though. Although we sat on the plane for an extra hour before we even took off, because they apparently broke part of the luggage compartment while loading our bags... It took them an hour to fix, but I sat beside this really friendly Irish guy named Marc on that flight, and he was very talkative and fun. He was flying to New York to visit his sister, who lives upstate and just had a baby, and he's staying for two weeks. He said he used to visit his sister about twice a year, but it had been longer this time, and he was excited to make it to the States again. I told him a bit about Italy and my travels. Overall, we were on that plane for about eight hours, and even though we didn't talk the entire time, it was nice to be sitting next to him, so I felt less completely alone for the entire trip.
What else is there to write about? Not much. Today, I have to start sorting through pictures. Perhaps I'll upload a batch to Facebook (I almost typed, "book-o'-the-face," in homage to Tyishia--damn, I miss everyone).
Ciao ciao
Oh yeah, I texted Zach last night, "I haaaaaate the US." He responded, "well the hatred will go away, but your desire to go back will never stop!" I thought this was very funny. I don't know if it's encouraging or not.
09 August 2010
Dublin Airport
What would a travel blog be without an actual entry written in transit? Here it is, written on my 11-hour overnight layover in Dublin Airport.
1:50 AM Saturday, 7 August (Dublin time);
2:50 AM Saturday (Italy time);
8:50 PM Friday, 6 August (Eastern time)
Sitting in Dublin Airport in the middle of the night is interesting. It would appear that everyone awaiting a morning connection, like me, found their ways to the only part of the airport that didn't seem deserted: the food court (although everything but McDonald's is closed; I'm running on a mccappuccino and a "chicken legend with spicy salsa"-do we have chicken legends in the states?).
Many are alone; some are in small groups. Many are asleep; a few are reading, writing, or chatting with companions. I'm listening to music, having read a bit of La chimera, which I like very much but have to absorb in small amounts. I'm satisfied with my comprehension, but I read so slowly. But back, for a moment, to the night-owls of Dublin Airport. Most are young adults; families have gone to hostels, I presume, but the young are always game to run off little sleep, or to sleep if possible on a bench of couch, and I like this attitude. Still, there is a curious smattering of older adults. That spirit must live on in some people. I hope I still have it in my 40s, 50s, or 60s.
It being past 2 now, I have something between 6 and 8 hours until boarding. My boarding pass and Travelocity receipt appear to me to differ, but the departures board will clear up any confusion as it slowly, slowly updates in the coming hours (not many changes happen in the middle of the night). And as I'm not overly tired, I think I'll power through and watch the board stagnate for a bit. I need to pass through security and passport control again and to obtain a U.S. customs sheet, whatever that is. But at least I don't have to check in again, as I already have my boarding pass. I like airports. I don't even mind sitting here.
I'm thinking of continuing to blog, but I suppose I lack a topic that would draw even a meager handful of readers. If anyone has ideas or suggestions, I would gladly hear them. I also plan, since my internet access has been shoddy, at best, to continue to post on this blog some of the pictures I've taken that I like most. And if you, reader, are tired of this blog: don't read it, what are you still doing here, anyway?
Ciao, faithful friends and followers!
I wonder how long I'll have the gut reaction to respond to certain things in Italian? I said, "si', si'," earlier in response to a question about my chicken legend...
Post-script (5:00 AM Dublin time)
I figured out my Italian response instinct: it's based on the expectation I've developed that Italian was the guaranteed common language of everyone around me and my tendency to anticipate certain questions and prepare approximateanswers. Sitting with my cup of coffee, just now, I watched a woman walk toward the bar and wondered if she were going to ask if she could sit at the next seat; in my head, I found myself saying, "Si', certo! Prego!" This, despite everyone in Ireland speaking to me in English. I doubt if many in this airport right now even speak Italian.
Oh! But while I'm thinking of it, I spoke with an American family returning from a brief stay in Rome at Fiumicino, and upon hearing that I study Italian, they asked me what "prego" meant! Oh, prego. It means so many things.
1:50 AM Saturday, 7 August (Dublin time);
2:50 AM Saturday (Italy time);
8:50 PM Friday, 6 August (Eastern time)
Sitting in Dublin Airport in the middle of the night is interesting. It would appear that everyone awaiting a morning connection, like me, found their ways to the only part of the airport that didn't seem deserted: the food court (although everything but McDonald's is closed; I'm running on a mccappuccino and a "chicken legend with spicy salsa"-do we have chicken legends in the states?).
Many are alone; some are in small groups. Many are asleep; a few are reading, writing, or chatting with companions. I'm listening to music, having read a bit of La chimera, which I like very much but have to absorb in small amounts. I'm satisfied with my comprehension, but I read so slowly. But back, for a moment, to the night-owls of Dublin Airport. Most are young adults; families have gone to hostels, I presume, but the young are always game to run off little sleep, or to sleep if possible on a bench of couch, and I like this attitude. Still, there is a curious smattering of older adults. That spirit must live on in some people. I hope I still have it in my 40s, 50s, or 60s.
It being past 2 now, I have something between 6 and 8 hours until boarding. My boarding pass and Travelocity receipt appear to me to differ, but the departures board will clear up any confusion as it slowly, slowly updates in the coming hours (not many changes happen in the middle of the night). And as I'm not overly tired, I think I'll power through and watch the board stagnate for a bit. I need to pass through security and passport control again and to obtain a U.S. customs sheet, whatever that is. But at least I don't have to check in again, as I already have my boarding pass. I like airports. I don't even mind sitting here.
I'm thinking of continuing to blog, but I suppose I lack a topic that would draw even a meager handful of readers. If anyone has ideas or suggestions, I would gladly hear them. I also plan, since my internet access has been shoddy, at best, to continue to post on this blog some of the pictures I've taken that I like most. And if you, reader, are tired of this blog: don't read it, what are you still doing here, anyway?
Ciao, faithful friends and followers!
I wonder how long I'll have the gut reaction to respond to certain things in Italian? I said, "si', si'," earlier in response to a question about my chicken legend...
Post-script (5:00 AM Dublin time)
I figured out my Italian response instinct: it's based on the expectation I've developed that Italian was the guaranteed common language of everyone around me and my tendency to anticipate certain questions and prepare approximateanswers. Sitting with my cup of coffee, just now, I watched a woman walk toward the bar and wondered if she were going to ask if she could sit at the next seat; in my head, I found myself saying, "Si', certo! Prego!" This, despite everyone in Ireland speaking to me in English. I doubt if many in this airport right now even speak Italian.
Oh! But while I'm thinking of it, I spoke with an American family returning from a brief stay in Rome at Fiumicino, and upon hearing that I study Italian, they asked me what "prego" meant! Oh, prego. It means so many things.
05 August 2010
non sono pronto
Translation: I am not ready.
What have I been doing since Genova? Well, after a hell of a lot of internal debate, I ultimately decided that I did not want to spend my last days in Italy stressed, changing trains, dragging my luggage onto and off of buses, always in a panic, and I decided I wanted to come back to Perugia.
I've been careful ever since I got here not to waste my time. I know that I'm going home soon, and I've always wanted to feel like I was getting the most out of every minute. But a lot of factors went into my decision to stay in Perugia my last three nights, and it took some advice and reflection to realize why this decision ultimately felt right. First: I am not in Italy to be a tourist. One day, I will tour every place in Italy, preferably with a friend or two, but that day is not today, and I came to Italy on this occasion to live. I have too much stuff to haul around as a tourist, and I don't enjoy the feel. Second: if I came to Italy to live in Italy, just to exist in Italy, I feel like there is much more to take out of getting to know one place better than of getting to know one or two additional places on a superficial, one-day-in-the-city level. And third, since I left Perugia, I realized how much I took it for granted. In my month of living there, I'd never been inside the Duomo, didn't even know it's name (San Lorenzo), and never walked down streets I passed every day.
So I'm back in Perugia. Riccardo, who is a saint, offered me my bedroom (for I think of it as my bedroom, and my house) for as many nights as I wanted, and picked me up at the station, even though I had already found a hostel and the appropriate bus to get there. And so I feel at home.
Yesterday, I walked around Perugia all day, stopping at home to make a simple lunch, went into several churches, and made several revelations. It took a month of living here for me to turn a corner yesterday and realize, "WHAT? This street goes RIGHT THERE?" I am just now realizing how many shortcuts I didn't know about every day I was here. Which is actually really funny.
But I return for a moment to Genova. The morning I left, I managed to get lost on the way to the station. Either the woman at the hostel had no idea what she was talking about, misunderstood me (in English), or I am simply too stupid to get off the bus at the right stop, but I got massively lost. I eventually, dragging my luggage down the freaking mountain that is Genova, asked a woman for help. I must say I'm proud of myself; to all of the people I asked for help that day (at least 4), I spoke only in Italian. So this woman directed me to the general vicinity of the station, saying, "Tranquillo... non è lontana." ("Relax, it's not far.") And I found a street I recognized from the day before, but that street was closed due to construction, and after a massive detour, I made it to the station on time. I had to change trains not once in Pisa, not twice, in Florence, but thrice, in some podunk town the name of which I cannot and do not even want to remember; I managed to find my way around the stations, and have I mentioned, one wheel on my suitcase broke my first day in Genova?
But returning to the present, today is my last full day in Italy. Today, I bought for myself a small Italian coffee-maker (una caffettiera) and a Università per Stranieri di Perugia t-shirt (una maglietta), and I am good to go. I started reading two books on the trains from Genova to Perugia: Vanity Fair, by W.M. Thackeray, and La chimera, by Sebastiano Vassalli. La chimera is molto difficile (very hard), but I'm on chapter 6, around page 60, and I understand a good bit of what's going on, even when pages go by in incomprehensible blurs.
What am I going to miss most about Italy? Well, Perugia for one. I don't know what it is about Perugia that I love so much, but I just do. In a lot of ways, in mood and atmosphere, it reminds me of Richmond, and that could be why I took to it so quickly. I'm also definitely going to miss the 2 Euro coin, which I LOVE. Why don't we have 1 and 2 dollar coins in the United States (at least in wide circulation)? It's more convenient than carrying so much cash, and it fits perfectly into my hand, and I might save just one as a souvenir to myself.
I don't know what else. But I'm not going to miss this internet caffè.
What have I been doing since Genova? Well, after a hell of a lot of internal debate, I ultimately decided that I did not want to spend my last days in Italy stressed, changing trains, dragging my luggage onto and off of buses, always in a panic, and I decided I wanted to come back to Perugia.
I've been careful ever since I got here not to waste my time. I know that I'm going home soon, and I've always wanted to feel like I was getting the most out of every minute. But a lot of factors went into my decision to stay in Perugia my last three nights, and it took some advice and reflection to realize why this decision ultimately felt right. First: I am not in Italy to be a tourist. One day, I will tour every place in Italy, preferably with a friend or two, but that day is not today, and I came to Italy on this occasion to live. I have too much stuff to haul around as a tourist, and I don't enjoy the feel. Second: if I came to Italy to live in Italy, just to exist in Italy, I feel like there is much more to take out of getting to know one place better than of getting to know one or two additional places on a superficial, one-day-in-the-city level. And third, since I left Perugia, I realized how much I took it for granted. In my month of living there, I'd never been inside the Duomo, didn't even know it's name (San Lorenzo), and never walked down streets I passed every day.
So I'm back in Perugia. Riccardo, who is a saint, offered me my bedroom (for I think of it as my bedroom, and my house) for as many nights as I wanted, and picked me up at the station, even though I had already found a hostel and the appropriate bus to get there. And so I feel at home.
Yesterday, I walked around Perugia all day, stopping at home to make a simple lunch, went into several churches, and made several revelations. It took a month of living here for me to turn a corner yesterday and realize, "WHAT? This street goes RIGHT THERE?" I am just now realizing how many shortcuts I didn't know about every day I was here. Which is actually really funny.
But I return for a moment to Genova. The morning I left, I managed to get lost on the way to the station. Either the woman at the hostel had no idea what she was talking about, misunderstood me (in English), or I am simply too stupid to get off the bus at the right stop, but I got massively lost. I eventually, dragging my luggage down the freaking mountain that is Genova, asked a woman for help. I must say I'm proud of myself; to all of the people I asked for help that day (at least 4), I spoke only in Italian. So this woman directed me to the general vicinity of the station, saying, "Tranquillo... non è lontana." ("Relax, it's not far.") And I found a street I recognized from the day before, but that street was closed due to construction, and after a massive detour, I made it to the station on time. I had to change trains not once in Pisa, not twice, in Florence, but thrice, in some podunk town the name of which I cannot and do not even want to remember; I managed to find my way around the stations, and have I mentioned, one wheel on my suitcase broke my first day in Genova?
But returning to the present, today is my last full day in Italy. Today, I bought for myself a small Italian coffee-maker (una caffettiera) and a Università per Stranieri di Perugia t-shirt (una maglietta), and I am good to go. I started reading two books on the trains from Genova to Perugia: Vanity Fair, by W.M. Thackeray, and La chimera, by Sebastiano Vassalli. La chimera is molto difficile (very hard), but I'm on chapter 6, around page 60, and I understand a good bit of what's going on, even when pages go by in incomprehensible blurs.
What am I going to miss most about Italy? Well, Perugia for one. I don't know what it is about Perugia that I love so much, but I just do. In a lot of ways, in mood and atmosphere, it reminds me of Richmond, and that could be why I took to it so quickly. I'm also definitely going to miss the 2 Euro coin, which I LOVE. Why don't we have 1 and 2 dollar coins in the United States (at least in wide circulation)? It's more convenient than carrying so much cash, and it fits perfectly into my hand, and I might save just one as a souvenir to myself.
I don't know what else. But I'm not going to miss this internet caffè.
catching up (2 of 2)
This one written the next day:
Genova (3:40 PM, August 2nd)
A bit more calm today, because today, I don't have to travel!
I left the hostel at 9 this morning, descending this incredible series of staircases called la Salita di Oregina all the way to Stazione Principe, which is less stressful when I know where the hell I am. I took the metro a few stops to see some of the port. After looking at an ugly but somewhat interesting monument called Il Bigo, I turned and dove into the city.
Turns out Genova is not that big. I stopped, all on my own, at San Lorenzo, a very cool Gothic cathedral. I even went inside (after sitting and reading about it in my guide books!). Riccardo would be so proud. Along with San Lorenzo, I loved Piazza de Ferrari, the main piazza of the city. In fact, it might be my favorite piazza that I've seen in Italy.
I took a walk through the Caruggi district, where the streets are so narrow and the buildings so high that a claustrophobe would probably have a panic attack, and then walked down Via Garibaldi, a famous street of old palazzi which are now mostly banks and museums.
Unfortunately, the funicolare up to Righi, a gate along the old city wall, was out of service; instead, I took a bus, and although the panorama at the station wasn't accessible, I found the same view overlooking Genova and the harbor a little ways down the road on the way back to the hostel, where I will regroup and figure out tomorrow's travels.
Genova (3:40 PM, August 2nd)
A bit more calm today, because today, I don't have to travel!
I left the hostel at 9 this morning, descending this incredible series of staircases called la Salita di Oregina all the way to Stazione Principe, which is less stressful when I know where the hell I am. I took the metro a few stops to see some of the port. After looking at an ugly but somewhat interesting monument called Il Bigo, I turned and dove into the city.
Turns out Genova is not that big. I stopped, all on my own, at San Lorenzo, a very cool Gothic cathedral. I even went inside (after sitting and reading about it in my guide books!). Riccardo would be so proud. Along with San Lorenzo, I loved Piazza de Ferrari, the main piazza of the city. In fact, it might be my favorite piazza that I've seen in Italy.
I took a walk through the Caruggi district, where the streets are so narrow and the buildings so high that a claustrophobe would probably have a panic attack, and then walked down Via Garibaldi, a famous street of old palazzi which are now mostly banks and museums.
Unfortunately, the funicolare up to Righi, a gate along the old city wall, was out of service; instead, I took a bus, and although the panorama at the station wasn't accessible, I found the same view overlooking Genova and the harbor a little ways down the road on the way back to the hostel, where I will regroup and figure out tomorrow's travels.
04 August 2010
catching up (1 of 2)
I wrote two entries in a notebook of mine while I lacked computer access: so here's the first.
1) Gli ultimi giorni a Roma (12:10 PM, 1 Agosto)
Yesterday, after everyone else had left, Eddie, Chelsea, and I swam and layed by a pool on the Tiber River. I tanned a little bit, and I must ask, can you imagine lying for hours under a beautiful July sky, looking up at Castel Sant'Angelo, which has for centuries been the private emergency fortress of the Pope? How about swimming lazily across the pool, staring ahead at the dome of the Basilica in Vatican City? All in all, it was a relaxing and somewhat surreal experience.
Eddie left this morning, so Chelsea and I checked out of our room, ate a bit of breakfast, and then walked from the hotel to the train station, Termini. I bought my ticket, said goodbye to Chelsea, my last friend in this country, and boarded my train to Genova. I think I'm even in the right seat.
Just writing this is making me all terrified and emotional. I'm going to read. I should finish "All the King's Men," which I love, before I leave Italy.
The train just started moving.
1) Gli ultimi giorni a Roma (12:10 PM, 1 Agosto)
Yesterday, after everyone else had left, Eddie, Chelsea, and I swam and layed by a pool on the Tiber River. I tanned a little bit, and I must ask, can you imagine lying for hours under a beautiful July sky, looking up at Castel Sant'Angelo, which has for centuries been the private emergency fortress of the Pope? How about swimming lazily across the pool, staring ahead at the dome of the Basilica in Vatican City? All in all, it was a relaxing and somewhat surreal experience.
Eddie left this morning, so Chelsea and I checked out of our room, ate a bit of breakfast, and then walked from the hotel to the train station, Termini. I bought my ticket, said goodbye to Chelsea, my last friend in this country, and boarded my train to Genova. I think I'm even in the right seat.
Just writing this is making me all terrified and emotional. I'm going to read. I should finish "All the King's Men," which I love, before I leave Italy.
The train just started moving.
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