Category: Jenna’s Travels

The cool places I’ve ventured to.

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Mosques, Bazaars, and Magic Lamps

Istanbul, Day 2

The second I walk outside, I’m counting my lucky stars that I’m in nice warm Istanbul where a jacket is optional when it’s monsooning in Florence and I was wishing I had my thicker winter coat. However, the sun doesn’t last for long and soon it’s rainy and chilly anyways, but whatevs. We go to breakfast at some kind of little place nearby, where we get a pretty nice mix of stuff as well as the traditional Turkish tea, a happy change in the mornings when I’m used to cappuccinos that fulfill my calorie intake for the day (not that this matters).

We then take the subway- myself, our tour guide, a Catholic fashion student from New York, the Venetian aspiring lawyer, and a quiet Psychology major from Colorado, and we head off to the center of Istanbul, where the mosques, the Grand Bazaar, and other main sights basically are. There, we meet our tour guide for the day, a Turkish girl named Elif who is currently hanging out with her boss, a mom from Colorado who got bored one day, sold all her stuff, moved to Greece, and is now chilling out in Turkey for a while.

Elif first takes us to the Blue Mosque, which is supposed to be open but is closed. She takes us two other times later, where it is also closed. Apparently signs and opening times are of no hindrance, understandable because this is a place of worship firstly, not a tourist picture point.

Blue Mosque

So instead, we go over to Hagia Sophia, which from the outside, isn’t  very much. When Elif tells us it costs 25 Turkish lira to get inside (about 14 dollars), I’m trying to deem how socially inappropriate it would be to tell her that she can find me on the bench outside when she’s done, chillin by the fountain and eating pretzels.

Hagia Sophia

But instead I take out my wallet (okay, fine, dinky change purse thing) and we go inside the kind of dilapidated building. Which is no longer a dilapidated building on the inside. Damn.

Instead, it is a cluster of textures and colors, golds and browns and oranges, all intertwining with one another and becoming such an opulent masterpiece that it’s hard to believe someone made this and didn’t just throw some colors on a canvas and call it a day. We spy the Sultan’s Tower, which is where the Sultan himself worshipped from afar, and then we make a wish on this wheel thingy as we spin our hands in it. I’m not telling you what I wished for, so don’t even ask.

Inside Hagia Sophia

Even though as we’re leaving it’s raining harder and harder, nobody minds, especially when we get our beloved Starbucks (thank the Lord for caffeine) and then finally get inside the Blue Mosque, deemed because of its blue topped towers. Entering the mosque, since I’m wearing leggings, I have to put on this skirt they give me and wrap my head in a scarf as well as put plastic on my shoes. People have been confusing me for a Turk all day, but now I really look legit. Unlike the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque is less touristed out and more a legit place of worship, surrounded by seemingly floating candles and people kneeling on the red carpeted floor.

Blue Mosque

After the mosque and a traditional Turkish lunch of meatballs, which are more like meat sticks really, we go to the Grand Bazaar- probably the most anticipated destination thus far of girls. I was expected an atmosphere similar to Canal Street in New York or the San Lorenzo Market in Florence, lots of stands with hassling men, but instead, the Bazaar looks a lot more like the Ponte Vecchio on steroids with all the jewelry and ceramic elephants and magic lamps under covered streets, making it look more like a cheap mall. Unfortunately, we weren’t the only ones to stampede the Bazaar, and the lack of negotiating and abundance of overpriced junk and confused tourists reflects this.

Grand Bazaar

We also stop by the Topkapi Palace, a pile of different museums that hosts a lot of the sultan’s jewels and other sultany stuff (this isn’t a word but that’s okay). Perhaps the coolest thing we see is the special exhibit of a couple of the stone soldiers found of the Terracotta Army, which I oh-so-subtly took pictures of (and then got yelled at).

Terracotta Army

Plus, we stopped by the Hippodrum, the old square center of Istanbul where there a few relics to remind those who pass by of the breathtaking history of the city, including the Egyptian Obelisk of Theodosius and the Serpent Column, a gift to Turkey that used to be way taller and have three heads on its snakes but now has none…? Whatevs, it’s cool Istanbul.

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The City of Lights

So what is the City of Lights? Why did I name this post that? Honestly, I have no idea. I know Paris is supposed to be the “City of Lights” but after my weekend in Istanbul, I am going to have to politely disagree. Especially considering it rained the entire weekend, trust me when I tell you that city is lit up like a damn Christmas tree.

Day 1 

First of all, when I paid like $125 for my flight to Turkey, a place that doesn’t have a great reputation to begin with, I was kind of expecting a Ryannair-esque flight with Turkish Airlines; you know, the obnoxious 70’s blue upholstery, the fighting for seats, the lack of anything free, and the abundance of stewardesses in hooker outfits. Instead, I got a four-course meal, a row to myself, and some cool Asian music to listen to. Not a bad deal.

Flying into Istanbul reminds you pretty quickly that you’re going somewhere unlike anywhere else you have been lucky enough to visit. As you float over the water, you see the little boats dotting the coast with their lights shining, not too far away from the big opulent mosques and the sparkles that can only exist in the fifth biggest city in the world, which hosts 13 million people.

The Maiden's Tower

Thankfully, since I am directionally challenged, I met another girl on my tour group while getting off the plane who was on her way to the same hostel as me. No really, thank God. A Colombian who was currently studying in Venice, she told me about her ambitions to be a lawyer all while discussing the lack of partying in Venice. Basically, my perfect mix of person.

As soon as the packed shuttle dropped us off in Taksim Square, which isn’t very near the mosques and otherwise attractions and coastline in Istanbul but instead hosts the array of bars and clubs and waffle stands, I became even more thankful I wasn’t alone. Not many of the broken cobble-stoned streets have signs, not many people and speak English, and not many people are girls. Weird. Instead, Taksim Square on a Thursday night bustles with piles of men all clamoring over each other in drunken stupors, whistling and cheering and staring. Besides the men, there are also an odd abundance of cats, who beg just like dogs and crowd the streets just as much. Apparently, as a guide later tells us, the city breeds them for people who can’t afford pets to play with.

We also stop to snag some baklava, a traditional Turkish dessert that is a little croissant-like pastry that is filled with honey or chocolate and lots of other sweet stuff. Who would have thought Turkey would be such a hub for desserts?

This all may sound very un-charming, but actually, it is. It’s a jumble of people in an orderly hustle who are singing and yelling and laughing, their faces lit up by the golden and pink lights in the windows. However, after all day travel, I was still happy to stumble upon our hostel, which was basically someone’s converted house with a couple extra bathrooms thrown in (thankfully).

Chill Out Cengo

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Milano: Just Stay at the Airport

So when my dear friend Alex and I departed Budapest, we landed in Milan so she could catch her flight home out of Milan the next day (sad!) After two flights and an unpleasant layover, we were happy to arrive to our hotel in Milan only to see this…

Yeah. It’s a far cry from the Marriott we enjoyed in Budapest, let me tell you. When we walked into the room, I immediately saw we had one bed to share (yet again…) when I had gotten two. The guy at the front desk told me it wasn’t a big deal and “they’re the same price anyway.” What happened to the customer is always right? Oh yeah there were also pubes- yes PUBES- in the bed and I don’t think the sheets had ever been washed. I slept in my sweatshirt and hoped that at the very least, the lock worked. DON’T STAY AT HOTEL VERONA. JUST DON’T.

But anyway, after I dropped Alex off around 8:00 am, I had like three hours to kill before my own train came and I would be en route to Florence. So why not see Milan for a little?

I was there for, like I said, three hours, and trust me, this is enough time to see all the sights. First, I stopped at their Duomo, which is a pretty nice church to say the least. Not as good as Florence’s Duomo (my own personal opinion) but whatevs. When it was built, it was made for all 40,000 residents of Milan, so needless to say it’s not little.

Then I headed over to the Galleria next door which is basically just a big shopping and people-watching center. Unfortunately for me, since it was 9:00 am, there were no people to watch, just this bull’s balls to step on the floor which is apparently good luck.

I also walked on over to Sforza Castle where the equivalent of the Medici family in Florence lived, gandered through their own little city park and fed some ducks, and strolled Via Dante, a huge pedestrian-only pathway that has some shops. This is literally all there is to see in Milan and everything will cost you an arm and a leg. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

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Honeymooning Across Hungary

Luckily for me, this past week, I had a THIRD person come visit me here in Italy, which is literally a miracle. Unlike my own parents who I begged and pleaded to visit (note: they didn’t) my best friend Alex from home booked her ticket basically as soon as I signed my name on the dotted line in the study abroad office.

Even more luckily, when her mother and aunt found out that we were going to Budapest, Hungary for the weekend, they decided that this was the perfect opportunity for them to go to Hungary, a place being that since they have Hungarian roots, they have always wanted to visit. When we got off our plane and got on the sketchy bus to drive to our hotel, we were delighted to see that instead of staying in a per-us shitty hostel, we were staying at the beautiful Marriott on the Danube River. The day before, Alex and I had shared a twin bed. Here’s just the view from the window.

After passing the eff out and waking up at- god forbid- 8:00 am, Alex and I walked over to the Four Seasons a few blocks away (!) to have a beautiful breakfast with her aunt and her mother. Then, we booked a ticket for the double-decker tour bus and saw some of the city.

On our very rocky bus ride, we saw the House of Terror, which is a museum that explores the Fascist and Communism regimes that dominated Hungary. Fun fact: Later that day, we were in a cab and our cab driver was telling us about when he was a kid in Hungary and communism was in control. His words:

Communism wasn’t even all that bad. Now, everyone works too hard and the banks take all of your money. Everything you see on television about Communism is 50% fabricated. 

Uh, okay. He also mentioned to us that he doesn’t like the Italian women because they all have mustaches. Go figure.

We also stopped at Heroes’ Square, which features the Millennium Memorial. To me, this square is just a bunch of museums and a zoo that cost money so obviously, I did not attend. The memorial itself in the center is dedicated “To the memory of the heroes who gave their lives for the freedom of our people and our national independence.”

If you walk past the square a little bit though, you will see Vajdahunyad Castle, which is a replica of the stereotypical “Transylvanian castle” (the only place I have ever wanted to go in life) and even though it’s really of no historical value I think it’s cool anyway. Plus there’s a nice ice rink.

We also strolled the Christmas markets, which were pretty sweet because Hungary loves Christmas. This is pretty nice for me because over in Italy, the weather still feels like fall and it isn’t really Christmas-ed out, but Hungary is decked out in their hot chocolate and ornaments and fur and… rooster balls? Fried? Well, okay.

The next day, Alex and I went to the Szechenyi Baths, one of the public bathhouses in Budapest. This reminds me a lot of the movie Spirited Away (if you haven’t seen it, don’t worry about it). Supposedly, the hot outdoor baths have mineral water that cures all ailments, but really, it’s a big outdoor pool, people. The strong whirlpool is fun for kids (read: me) and it feels nice to be in a swimsuit outside in 30 degree weather, but really it’s a pool that’s gonna make you out 12 euros. You are also gonna see a lot of dudes in Speedos and a lot of… other things… you didn’t want to see. Old people, they just don’t care.

That day also just happened to be Thanksgiving. Obviously Hungary doesn’t celebrate Turkey Day, but everyone’s got a Thanksgiving menu for the American tourists. I’m sure Alex and her family were sad to be away from home on Thanksgiving, but honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better time. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t driving hours to go from dinner to dinner, house to house, because my parents are divorced and thus I am required to spend the day in my Ford Focus. I wasn’t getting yelled at for not making it to every house on time, nor was I subject to my sister’s idiocy or my father’s screaming. Instead, I ate a nice meal at the Four Seasons with my best friend. We all ate, we talked, and then we went to sleep. I think this is how holidays were meant to be. You’re not supposed to be driven out of your own house because your family can’t pretend to like each other for more than fifteen minutes. I’m gonna start going away more often.

Budapest is a cool place and is worth a look, but not really more than two days. To be fair, I didn’t learn too much historical significance because I was busy hanging out with my best friends and taking really dumb pictures. Whatevs. We all need a break from learning and smelly hostels once in a while.

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Irlandia the Beautiful

Even though it is literally raining half of the days out of the year in Ireland, trust me, it does not bring anyone down. Instead, no matter what the weather, the season, or the occasion, you can find the Irish being their jolly selves… usually jollily getting drunk.

This is only one of many things that we found out about the little island almost immediately after our budget flight landed in Dublin with the sky basically falling down in big pellets of rain. Unlike in Italy, where we are often snubbed and usually pushed and/or lied to, everybody in Ireland just seems pretty psyched to be. As idiot tourists, we were often confused and lost, and at no point did the Irish ever express anything other than politeness and friendliness.

Oh wait, hold on. There was that one time where at the first night out, at The Temple Bar (one of oldest and most famous bars in Dublin) this waiter told me to fuck off after I asked for a glass of water. But see… this is because they would rather you drink the Guinness, since this means that you’re more likely to want to dance and sing to Galway Girl later in the evening, plus they’ve already assumed that you two are best friends.

Being that the Temple Bar is a popular go (especially for tourists) we went there on our first Thursday in Dublin, hoping to escape some crowds. We didn’t. It seems that no matter what time of day (or night) that place is poppin with live music and people jumping and swigging bears and eating ham sandwiches (which is perfectly suited for me). Another great part of this pub atmosphere is that it doesn’t matter if it’s 10:00 am or 10:00 pm. People are still dressed the same, cozy warm in their layers and jackets, and they’re still doing the same things- smiling and drinking beers.

On our first full day in Dublin, we got acquainted with the city, obviously of course with a day of rain. Unlike in Italy where people dress for the tundra in 60 degree weather, during the day some people don’t bother wearing jackets and at night, girls run about in their short skirts and sky high heels, hoping that their straightened hair will escape the rain and that their goosebumps will subside under the warm 45 degree Fahrenheit weather.

Dublin reminds me a lot of Seattle, Washington, with its constant rain and thus sort of drabness, but in a more purposeful way. The gray buildings and forgotten cobblestone streets want to stay that way, and they don’t really care if you think they’re ugly. They actually think it’s kind of funny, which is obvious from the various jokes that embalm this city. For instance, apparently someone thought it would be nice to put up a plaque commemorating the death of a priest. After some searching, the City Council determined that this priest never even existed and it was just a kind of weird joke. The City removed the plaque (which is on River Liffy) but then they figured hey? Why not? and put the plaque back for everyone to have a laugh at.

Another example? Half of Dublin Castle looks pretty, for lack of a better term, castle-y. It’s made of brownish-grayish stone and looks pretty old and like it probably does something important. The other half of the castle looks like a giant pile of rainbow legos. Why did the architect do this? Because he felt like it, that’s why.

We also stopped by Trinity College (the Harvard of Ireland), where, if you pass nearly impossible tests, you can live and eat there for free… but everyone will most likely hate you, as well as the Forty Steps of Ireland, where a scene from PS I Love You was filmed. Plus, we strolled on through the Ha’Penny Bridge, which used to be owned by some guy who made everyone pay half a penny to pass, and St. Stephen’s Green, as well as a couple other sights.

That night, we went on a pub crawl in Dublin, a pretty typical Friday night anywhere, except for once we were going to actual pubs. Sketchy dive bars or places that dads and kids alike hang out, they were actually a pleasant change from nightclubs where creepy dudes try to feel you up when they think you’re not paying attention and you can’t even hear yourself think over the music. Instead, we danced to Irish music at O’Neill’s Pub as locals cheered us on for our poor Irish jigs and shared thick beers on the bars of places that looked like painted over basements, complete with sawdust and 80’s movies playing on the walls.

The next day, we woke up to drive the three hours to the Cliffs of Moher, a sight you have probably seen in quite a few movies, including Leap Year. My roommate and I, Vanessa, climbed the cliffs and breathed in the fresh, crisp air (along with some more rain), gazing over the cliffs and the Atlantic to the various islands that sit in between.

After the Cliffs, we drove another hour to Galway, where instead of driving through highways and street signs we drove through country roads filled with sheep where we had to actually stop and pull over if another car was coming. In Galway, an adorable old man named Liam showed us around the quaint city including how the town itself is built into the original outside walls of the place and the exact spot where Jane Joyce’s lover, Richard, killed himself and continued to haunt her and her new lover’s mind for the rest of his days.

So is Ireland all about getting drunk? No, not really. They love their beer, but probably because it makes them even more able to enjoy their beautiful country, their lively pubs, their springing music, their smiling neighbors.

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Just a Weekend at the Beach…

Early on Saturday (and when I mean early, I don’t mean MY early, i.e. 9:00 am. I mean actually early) at 5:00 am, I unfortunately had to wake up to drag myself to a bus in a place where I had never been before to go to the French Riviera. Somehow, myself, Andrea, and Juliana (my two other roommates) made it to the little square and sat on the bus for about five hours to get to our first stop in Monaco, on the French Riviera.

Personally, I think Monaco is pretty cool (but I am a huge nerd, as you will soon see). Monaco isn’t really a part of France, it’s its own principality, its own state. If I was to be princess or duchess or whatever you want to call it of a place, it would be Monaco. I mean, how many problems can the second-smallest state in the world (only second to Vatican City) have to deal with?

Monaco itself looks like a place out of a storybook, very reminiscent of Cinque Terre on the coast of Italy with its pastel buildings and quaint fountains and views. The second we stepped off the bus, we climbed what felt like a mountain to old city Monaco, where we passed the Cathedral and the Palace of Justice before watching the once-daily changing of the guard right before noon.

After Monaco, we headed right to Nice, where we were staying (thank the Lord). Nice has much more of a big-city feel than Monaco did, with huge towering buildings (still in their pastel colors) and people that actually live there, jogging getting ready for the marathon that day and walking their dogs. Andrea and I missed the tour (what a surprise) so after miraculously finding Juliana and Nicole, who were also lost, we gave ourselves our own little tour and snapped pictures of the buildings that looked like they were probably something important.

As the sun went down, we finally neared the beach, which had a few sets of couples making out on the rocky beach itself as the waves crashed in. It was pretty cool to look out from the coast to see the rest of the French Riviera and Nice, sparkling in all of its rich glory.

That night, we stayed in actual hotel rooms (!) and had a free dinner sponsored by the tour itself, which was hosted by my study abroad school, Lorenzo de’ Medici, and paid for by my University back home. We once again had to get up at an ungodly hour (7:00 am) for some breakfast before getting back on the bus and heading to St. Paul de Vence, a medieval town sitting atop a hill which boasts the best views of the Riviera and the surrounding countryside.

The town itself, which resembles Siena of Italy, remained closed for most of the time we were there because it was a Sunday morning, but it was actually kind of nice to wander the abandoned streets and look out at the land with drifting clouds and fog hanging overhead. Looking out, I wondered who owned the beautiful mansions that dotted the land, what movie stars had the chance to spend however long they felt like here.

Then, we went to Cannes, which honestly sounds a lot better in theory than it is in person. Maybe because it was raining. Maybe because there were no movie stars in sight. Whatevs. Anyway, when we got there, we strolled the streets for a while, glancing at the big-name designers that crowd the road that lines the water, before hopping onto the actually sandy beach and gazing over the water and down the coastline of the rest of the Riviera.

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We Have Come for the Chocolate.

Yet another reason why I believe that Italy was made for me– the Perugia Chocolate Festival is a real, in-the-flesh, once-a-year occurrence.

Ever since I heard about this mystical being, I made it my quest to get there. On my list of “must-see” places that I keep, alongside Transylvania and Oxford University, is the annual Eurochocolate of Perugia, located in Umbria, where this gourmet chocolate is famous. So when the last two weeks in October came around that the Festival fell on and my grandma Sissel and my cousin Kristin happened to be visiting me in Florence, I literally begged them to come (not that it takes much begging to get people to come with you to eat chocolate all day long).

A two-and-a-half hour train ride will get you from Florence in Tuscany to Perugia in Umbria, often with a transfer in Terantola-Cortona (because for some reason, Umbria is lacking in a lot of public transportation). This doesn’t sound like too much. But when you’re hungry for chocolate and you’re sitting on a dirty bus, it kind of is.

When we first got to Perugia, I was feeling a little sorry for my friends who have studied abroad there, because the ground near the train station isn’t very pretty (but then again, when is it near public transportation). However, after taking a bus to Piazza Italia, where the Festival takes place, the views get some better.

Unfortunately, the sites that I read about the Festival didn’t lie when they said it was a bit commercialized. There really aren’t any free samples so it’s not like the free-for-all I was imagining, and it’s more or less just a ton of booths with overpriced goodies lying about. REALLY overpriced. We walked up and down the streets the Festival resides on (doesn’t take more than an hour, really) and then decided what we wanted and went back and got it. One chocolate splurge while you’re in Perugia is worth the seven or eight euros, even though I wouldn’t have minded a Triple Chocolate Meltdown from Applebee’s, either.

However, one thing that is cool about this Festival is that even if you can’t afford to buy it all, you can see all the mouthwatering things they can make with chocolate, all of the huge bars of it swarming with bees, stuffed with hazelnut and coconut in a variety of colors. And there’s also the grandiose displays– the classic Chocolate cars, the giant Lindt dancing bears and the boxes of Baci chocolate that are as big as my house.

Unfortunately, this too sticks out to me as extra touristy– why not give the little family shops a try, a chance to make something really cool for us all to see? This is what Italy is about– kicking the big bullies out and keeping the quaint and quality-ridden shops in. This is why you won’t see too many chain restaurants or other chain companies roaming around Italy. Instead of boo-hooing your way about the cliche tourism that is Eurochocolate, though, eat your chocolate bar, shut up, and then get back on the train.

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Krka National Park

It is our final day in Croatia. We pack up our stuff skip the shitty hostel breakfast of stale coffee and cold bread and get on the bus, where we go to Krka National Park, which is about two hours north of Split so it’s on our way back to Italy anyway.

Krka National Park is actually kind of overwhelming. Our bus teeters on the edge of cliffs overlooking a jungle, in which a small wooden path weaves in and out around the various waterfalls that make the place famous. We stop to look at all of them, taking pictures of the little fish darting around the clear green-blue waters, pieces of the jungle trees blowing back and forth.

The biggest and most famous part of Krka National Park are the big waterfalls that are at the summit of the entire park. They are huge, thundering waterfalls that fall in and out of one another in the freezing water that look like someone strung them together like a piece of blue jewelry. After making sad faces, we strip and slowly walk into the freezing water to take cheesy pictures before attempting to swim towards them, a nearly impossible feat with such roaring water coming towards us.

This is not a vacation. This is not the Bahamas, Bermuda, a cruise to Florida. This is a whole new animal.

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The Renaissance Theory of Love

I have a confession to make. I am in love. He is a big, strong, strapping lad with lean muscles and a twinkle in his eye. He also happens to be around 511 years old.

One of the things in Florence that I have made my way over to see- twice- is my biffle the David, made by Michelangelo around 1501. Back then, Florence had this huge, yet sort of thinnish piece of marble they were trying to get sculpted into something to be a symbol of freedom and strength for Florence. But all the artists said, “That piece of marble? Puh-lease.”

Well not Michelangelo. He said let’s GOLO and he sculpted David, of the story David and Goliath, although according to him, he only set David free from the marble itself. Michelangelo said that he didn’t really sculpt anything. Instead, he said that his job as an artist was to set the image free that wants to be freed. Originally, the statue stood outside the Palazzo Vecchio (which was kind of like the town hall, where the Medici family worked) in Piazza della Signora, but somewhere along the way, someone figured out that keeping a priceless statue outside probably wasn’t the best plan.

So nowadays, David sits in his nude glory inside the Accademia, where you will literally stand in a line for at least two hours unless you make a reservation. But when you finally get inside, if you turn immediately left… there he is. Right there. Boom. Down the hallway of the Michelangelo room, past the Pietas and a few of Michelangelo’s paintings, is my beautiful man.

I seriously love the David. Fiercely independent and self-assured, nobody messes with him, not even a giant. He doesn’t even care that all he has is a slingshot and seems to have left his tight-whities at home. This is totally okay with him. David wasn’t scared at all when he fought Goliath, even though he was a skinny 17-year-old, because he had God on his side. He says, “Do you know who I am? No seriously, do you?”

And it is in this way that David showcases Florence. Florence is the same way– it doesn’t need anyone else, it doesn’t care if you think it’s old or sort of dirty or smells kind of like garbage sometimes. It says, “Umm, I am really ancient and beautiful and you can like me or not, but I am still going to be my awesome self.” And now that is the real spirit of the Renaissance.

 

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The Cheapest Thing I Could Find

So since I have gotten to Italy, everyone has been telling me that I just have to go Lucca, a small city that is only a half an hour from Pisa and thus, pretty close to Florence. Everyone says that it is a classic Italian town that hasn’t been destroyed by tourists yet, and sits on top of a hill, almost like a plateaued town, with a wall built around it that is great for wandering about.

According to Rick, there is a bus to Lucca from the outside wall of Pisa, right behind the Field of Miracles. Actually, it is a miracle that I found this 3.50 euro bus at all, which just happened to be cruising by as we left the Field of Miracles on a Friday afternoon.

Anyway, we got on good ol Vai Bus and took the half an hour journey before arriving in Lucca and then disembarking and beginning to see the city, courtesy of the Rick Steves map. Unfortunately, Rick was a little drunk when he made this map, because all it did was get my boyfriend and I hopelessly lost in a town that is as small as it is precious. This gave us a good chance to spot some of the sights, of course I had no idea what any of them were because I also had no idea where we were.

We miraculously found a station for renting bikes about an hour before it closed, so we happily forked over three euros a person to get on the rickety bikes and cruise along the Ramparts, which is the wall that lines the city, as the sun went down. What a great view of the Tuscan countryside, all from… bike! Hanging out on the Ramparts, surrounded by trees and dogs and grass, made me feel right at home all over again.