My Nightmare

It was 6:30 A.M. the morning after a long night out and I was exhausted but quickly walking to the Santa Maria Novella train station to catch a 7:20 A.M. train into Cinque Terre, our destination for the weekend. We arrive at the train station, look up our train gate, and with a lot of time to kill head to McDonalds.
I am quickly irritated because I was craving a bacon egg and cheese biscuit and they didn’t have it on the menu. So I retreat to the train gate with my Egg Mcmuffin and sit on the bench. I notice the train hasn’t arrived as I eat what I thought was an Egg Mcmuffin but turned out to have some kind of mysterious meat, lettuce, sauce combination—I was hungry enough to gulp it down anyway.
The time for the train departure passes and we realize it is not coming. Fuming, I look at the train departure board to find no more direct trains; we must go to Pisa and wait for 3 hours, then La Spezia, then Cinque Terre. We caught the first train to Pisa an hour and a half later and sat at our second McDonalds at the Pisa train station. Even more exhausted now, I lay down on the table and woke up 3 hours later to my friends saying its time to go. We made it on the train only to sit next to a homeless crazy man singing songs in Italian and thoroughly creeping us out. Finally arriving in La Spezia a few hours later, we took our last train into Cinque Terre, I am parched and wishing I stayed in bed this morning.
That wish was gone when I finally caught the view of this place, and I realized what travelling is all about. I could have easily given up, gone back to Florence and moped. Or I could have planned better, perhaps looking at the train schedule early that morning to ensure there were no changes. I believe that in situations like these you either laugh, or you’ll cry. With laughter and slightly bitter but upbeat sarcasm I got through the day, and as soon as I was surrounded with crystal clear waters and endless mountain tops my bitterness quickly disappeared into serenity.

Dante's Pizzeria Interview

Hani Sawriea is one of the owners of a local restaurant called Dante’s Pizzeria, located just off the Ponte alla Carraia and is one of five restaurants in the Dante’s Pizzeria chain. Hani is was born in Jordan, but grew up in Qwait--where both of his parents are from. Hani is 34 years old and loves Americans and of course, the people who go to his restaurant.

Lorenzo Cosentino is a friend of Hane’s. He is a 21 year old Florentine that works as a barman at Bar il Ristoro, located near the Duomo in Florence, Italy. His father is from Rome, his mother Florence. He never learned English in school, but instead learned the language through English-speaking tourists that dined at Bar il Ristoro while he worked. Lorenzo is a traveller at heart, and is planning a trip around the world with his friends in September 2010--including a trip to the U.S. to Florida, California, and New York. He attended College for a year and decided it was not for him, he would rather work. He enjoys visiting dance clubs like Central Park in Florence and claims to love American girls, but says they have high-pitched voices and speak very fast.

Munich

In Munich, there is a magical place called Eisbach River, a small manmade river that flows through the English Gardens. We stopped there on our bike tour through the city, and immediately I noticed the sheer mass of people, young and old, that flock to this place to spend their weekend. It is a nude area, and looking around I see numerous topless young German women laying out in the sun on blankets and towels and men in tight, nearly-there speedos running freely in the grass playing frisbee or soccer. There are families and groups of friends carelessly chatting and laughing as they play cards, drink wine, or roast marshmallows over a tiny, hand-made fire.

However, I say this place is magical not because of the eye-pleasing sights, nor is it magical merely due to the sounds of locals and brave tourists screaming and laughing as they jump from overhanging trees and ropes into the cold, fast-moving river water, carrying them uncontrollably forward. The floating locals speak unromantic German, but they all smile and laugh as they do. The English-speaking tourists scream and comment on the coldness and quickness of the water, as well as the slimy algae at their feet, and curiously wonder exactly where Eisbach will take them.

No, all these things are exciting and unique, but this is not magic. Magic is the feeling you get from being in Eisbach's presence. As I sit and experience this place, I feel an overwhelming and uncontrollable sense of pure joy wash over me like I am eyebrow deep, drowning in it. I have never in my life experienced the feeling of peace that I felt from every sense I sensed from this place. As I got on my bike to leave, I felt different, like I experienced one of those moments in your life that your eyes are wide open to what life should be, and I vowed to myself I would look for magic like this, wherever I was. This is not a place that should be put in German Tour Books, this is a place that should be kept for the few and lucky visitors who find it, and are inevitably changed by magic.

Venice is a beautiful, unique place filled with small leash-less dogs, overwhelming heat and humidity, fish scented air, historic monuments and beautiful venetian people. The temperature is unbearable, but the locals still wear pants. Everything is expensive but that doesn't stop the venetians from eating multiple course meals and drinking numerous glasses of wine. The venetian language, much like italian, is exotic and beautiful, flowing effortlessly off their tongues.

Canal water and boats are just as plentiful as the carless, tourist filled roads. The canals make the air pungent with the smell of fish and a hint of sewage--but that doesn't stop the overwhelming amount of tourists getting guided tours or wandering with maps at every turn. The venetians disregard the tourists, walking about their business in the narrow streets like the tourists were invisible. The golodiers were the only ones to give us much attention, shouting "gondola gondola" in their beautiful accent, alluring us to fill their wallets as we seek to experience all that Venice has to offer. Unfortunately, in the area of venice we stayed, the stores close very early, and the streets empty quickly, only leaving the young wandering tourists eager to have fun, and the locals watching sports and drinking beer at small bars.

In a conversation between Alessandro and the Hotel Messner receptionist, I watched a very angry venetian shouting at Alessandro, who was attempting to difuse a misunderstanding between a group of students and a water taxi service. Although I did not understand a work that was said, the dialogue was clear from the receptionists angry face and aggressive hand gestures, followed by Alessandro's assertuve but defensive body language. I could hear their tone of voice without understanding a word of Italian. Even in a heated argument, the language is charming and graceful.

If I were to tell a story about my time in Venice, I would tell about the Heineken Jammin' Festival that we went to. The first few lines would probably be...

"I've only been to one concert in my life so when people talked about going to one in Venice I was all for it. We saw a flyer about it hanging on a building in Florence and decided we'd check it out. We didn't even know where it was or what time or anything because we couldn't read Italian, so we tried to research it..."