Cinqueterre and fifty other flighty things

Another two weeks has passed, unbelievably.

To recount a few of the many adventures....and by that I mean the Big Bertha of my blog posts. My bad for waiting so long...

We spent a colorful day wandering through Cinqueterre. Around 30 of us from my program went through a youth tour group two Sundays ago. They bussed us up at the ungodly hour of seven thirty in the morning.

Cinqueterre is the series of five tiny towns along the coast, each filled with houses of Mediterranean blues and corals and little boats and beaches that are colorful enough to be confused with candy stores. There is a train line that runs through all five, or you can hike. The path from the first to second was cake, more of a stroll with the mommies and their baby strollers. The second to third trail is closed so we hopped the train. Then hoofed it from the third to fourth. Seeing as I hate walking behind slow bums I outpaced the other 80 people with our troupe, and then three others and I hoofed it from the fourth to fifth, which they told us would take a grand total of four and a half hours. We beasted through it in two and a half.

The views on the trail were unbelievable, winding through the terraced hills and up and down the cliffs, and through peoples back laundry lines the closer we got to the towns. The beach was "sandy," so claimed the Italians. Translation: the stones weren't bigger than fist sized. My friend Hilary had a rather unfortunate run in with a sea urchin, but made up for it by shacking up at the fresh pina colada stand. 

See below for the little bite of heaven....

My lovely friend Joanna, preparing for a scorching hike

So I have a contender for my favorite place in Florence. On the bridge after the Ponte Vecchio the pillars are shaped like triangles and stick out about four feet under the ledge of the bridge. The first time I saw someone hop down I nearly passed out of a heart attack, thinking they had done themselves in in the rather shallow, murky green waters of the Arno. Not so. From there no one can see you, and you feel basically alone. Minus all the people walking along the riverbank. So you can't exactly bounce about in the nude, but still... It is quiet and you can watch the sunset. Or in my case, bring hoards of picnic food and do yoga while watching the sky get progressively pinker. 

We did this after a day of wandering all over the other side of the river, where it's quieter and choc full of back galleries, decrepit vespas, and free bassoon concerts, which we clearly attended. 

View from said bridge

Ponte Vecchio on the other side

Picnic crew on the pointy triangle 

The strange phenomenon of "planking" in awkward places.

Jo. Pesto makes you buff.

In honor of the lovely Elise.
The people on my left got a nice view.

Another part of the day involved the outside of the Boboli gardens. I have yet to make it inside. But outside there happens to be potentially one of my favorite sculptures of all time. Its enormous.

Me sitting in its lap.



Also on the other side of the Arno is the Piazza Michelangelo. There sits one of two fake Davids. And a rather stunning view of the city. Especially at sunset. Even more especially when you have 39 pounds worth of pesto, pecorino, roasted red peppers and schacciata on the steps with you.

Oh yes, and we went to Harry Potter. A good 24 hours before all y'all stateside. They were actually playing the whole series in the days leading up. So Chelsea and I went to Part I of the last book, which played right before. It was in the Odeon Theater in Piazza Strozzi, all plush golden opera seats and fancy curtains.


A couple more random tidbits from the streets...

Cat bags, the classiest of totes

Surprised chicken pitchers

Leave it to the Italians to deface their signs to please the Pope

This was the outside of the building...

Race car bed,

A bit about my daily life in the city....

I wake up early, and pop out to the San Ambrogio Market. My life revolves around food. It is a bit of a cooking bonanza. Approximately a 7 minute walk from my front door is said mercato. It is indoor - outdoor and filled to the brim with chain-smoking Italian fruit vendors and butchers and weird tins of salted fish and all other manner of things. The cheese men and I have struck up quite a friendship. I usually walk away with a multitude of free samples and lots of winking. Case in point: today the loot included red onions, fresh sour cream and some kind of roast beast a gratis. Lovely. 

Our apartment  also smells like white peaches due to the bucketful I lugged back this a.m.

Class this session is rather up to my discretion. Seeing as I am the only person in the high level language. I have a book to read and paper to write, and then I come in for an hour of tutoring at some point in the day whenever is best for me. And by tutoring I mean gossiping. The quintessential Italian past time. Sometimes it involves the "Jersey Shore," whose heinous, pouffed, orange cast just left Florence a month ago, to the delight of every man, woman and child. Apparently there is in fact a vocabulary word for "one who is obsessed with the gym" and "one who fake tans far too often and closely resembles an oompa loompa."

After basking in the domestic side of the Florentine lifestyle for the first three weeks, I am now on the museum rampage. I am going for one a day. I started out big with the Uffizi. To avoid the lines I got there at 6.55 in the morning. It doesn't open until 8.15. Not another soul turned up till 7.30. At least I was first... I have made it to the Galleria (where an old man and I made lewd comments about David's bum), the Bargello medieval palace, Dante's House, the Picasso, Dali, and Miro exhibit, the Palatine Appartment Museum and Modern Art Gallery and Palazzo Vecchio. 

6.55 am. Notice it is barely light out...

 Alright, enough for now. Tomorrow I head for Verona and Lake Garda. I'm on the prowl for a Romeo. Maybe his long lost great great great grandson is haunting his old stomping ground. Fingers crossed...