Florence 2 - where lessons were learned, tears were shed, and Natalie ruined more of her clothes.
Natalie and I made a gut call to return to Florence so that I would have the opportunity to see Bob again, the special friend whom I'd met last year in Vegas who had taken a little piece of my heart with him when he left and happened to be vacationing in Florence for 2 weeks starting on the 3rd.
It wasn't the most opportune timing (as in not opportune at all since we were already in Germany by this point), but we decided together to make it happen so all my fantasies and dreams could come true.
The train ride to Florence from Munich thanks to some translation issues and wrong ticket reservations, took roughly 10 hours. On our final train switch, exhausted and haggard, we begged an Italian man to let us use his phone to call our hotel and let them know we'd be arriving after they closed. (We both were having flash images to sleeping on street corners in Florence and rats eating us)
Luckily our attempt was successful (thanks Hotel Sole) Through our hysteria, we also made the acquaintance of a very nice young southern med student traveling to Italy for a month as part of school. He had also had some troubles in his travels, train/flight delays etc. and felt our pain. As this was now our second time in Florence (thus obviously making us experts) we told him about bus tickets, our favorite pizza place, and the Gelateria Vivaldi (the Prince's dad's shop). The southern charmer then asked if we'd yet to go on a night train to which we replied no.
"Awww I love the night trains", he slurred in his educated southern drawl, "it's like the train is rocking you to sleep. Best sleep I ever had"
Having not had the best sleep this trip and with images of infants sleeping soundly in bouncing carriages, Natalie and I suddenly couldn't wait for the opportunity to try this magical night train.
(I can assure you, having now taken the night train- this was a mean lie. Shame on you - young southern charmer- shame on you)
Around 10pm and one unnecessary 3-minute taxi ride later, we made it to our hotel which was located inside a murky ominous semi-outdoor stairwell on the 8th floor (yay)
After checking in at our "lavish" $80/night budget hotel digs we received a giant set of janitorial keys attached a large metal object ( it reminded me of the spatula-key they give you at public restrooms so you don't lose it) As Natalie has the larger of our purses, she was appointed holder of the 5 pound hotel key, a decision I would later regret when I was stuck in the ominous hallway with no way to get in.
We then inspected the beds for bed bugs (something we'd started to have issues with during our first stay in Florence), happily washed our train filth off of ourselves, and threw on some clean clothes which didn't resemble homeless aerobic outfits.
We got in touch with my special friend and after having kept in touch for a year, we were finally to meet up that night at midnight (on the 4th of July) at the Duomo - I couldn't imagine things lining up for a more romantical reunion.
Natalie took me out for a quick gin martini to soothe my nerves.
Of course, I should've known things would somehow go wrong considering that though I've always wanted my life to be like a Keira Knightly film (Mr. Darcy where are you?), it always manages to be more of a Cameron Diaz film where everything always goes wrong but with a funny and lighthearted twist, so people don't get bummed out.
Anyways, my special friend and Felix (the German Cat Man from the first Florence post) met us in darling matching shirts and their tight little euro pants on the steps of the Duomo at midnight as planned. Then we headed to a swanky bar to meet their other friends who were also visiting the prince.
We sat down and proceeded to meet the international crew which included several Italians, my Dutch love, The Italian prince, the German, the Italian Prince's beautiful sister, a posh Black Dutch guy who looked like an intellectual version of Lenny Kravitz, his lovely girlfriend Annebelle, and, of course, there was us - the two token American ladies.
After a few drinks and fond glances, my Dutch love whom I've been pining for over the past year, decided this was the appropriate time to inform me that he had a gf and "things were not about to get romantical up in here" (that may not have been quite the direct quote)
From there things only proceeded to get weirder (and sadder) especially because I decided to take his abrupt dating announcement only as a minor speed bump in our route to international matrimony, rather than a direct stop sign. I clearly assumed that as the night progressed, he would realize our destiny, dump the current gf, and the most unrealistic happily ever after would ensure.
As the liquor continued to flow and we headed to Flo', the Lenny Kravitz looking Dutch guy (whose name I had since discovered by this point but have consciously chosen to withhold in this post due to his following actions which, were his name disclosed, would probably land him on www.idiotscoundrels.com) decided to break up with his lovely long-term girlfriend at the nightclub. For those of you geographically challenged folk who aren't sure which country "Dutch" belongs to, it's the Netherlands, it is not in Italy, and it is very far. I'd also like to point out that by this point it was roughly 1am.
I should also point out that by this point in the night Natalie had the smarts to go home. So, if you're wondering where she is in all this, it's sleeping. (Damn her good sense)
Needless to say, there were tears from the sweet Dutch girl. It was also right around this point that my two gins too many mind finally made sense of what "not getting romantical up in here" actually meant and that things would not be escalation from our PG canoodling, puppy eyes, and hand holding.
And then, like two strangers who bond over sharing a tampon in a ladies' restroom, so bonded the Dutch girl and I in over our drunken devastation.
I can only imagine how obnoxious the entire situation had to have been for the poor Prince's beautiful and totally normal older sister who had organized the nights events and now had to deal with a bunch of idiot hooligans and their confused crying women. To her credit, she handled the situation far better than I ever could have mustered and even somehow managed to finagle all of us into her car to safety where I was able to compose myself momentarily.
Once back at the Villa, amongst the perfect backdrop of some young drunk Italians skinny dipping, my Dutch love proceeded to have the saddest heart to heart with me ever and then had the German take me back to the hotel.
Not to be a total downer in this blog and I know this will be hard for most to understand, but I can honestly say this was the first time in my life that I've ever truly felt like my heart was broken.
Shit only proceeded to get more pathetic after I gave back the German his tear-soaked scooter helmet and realized that Natalie had the 5-pound key, it was 6am, and I was a hysterical mess stranded in a dirty concrete stairwell. And then... I heard the rats.
I'd like to formally apologize for the Facebook message that I sent poor Momma Himm at this moment. As you can imagine, it's every mothers dream to wake up to see this in their inbox...
"Mommy- it went badly. I can't stop crying. There are rats everywhere"
Finally, around 7:30am, a couple walked out of the hotel and I, much to their horror, scrambled in. I imagine by this point, I must've looked like the dirty sad little street urchin girl in Les Misérables after she sings, "On my own".
After some cuddling from Natalie and a long conversation with Momma Himm informing her of the events, my safety, and assuring her that I'd only heard the rats not had to actually encounter them personally - it was decided that we would leave Florence immediately (and my immediately I meant as soon as we could get the next train which would be at 10pm).
At 10pm, Natalie and I boarded our first sleeper train. We had been in Florence for approximately 24 hours and would now be taking a 20-hour train ride to Berlin.
The sleeper train was not what we imagined. Our first-class ticket status meant nothing as we were hoarded into a tiny 8' x 6' x 8' space that was legitimately smaller than my storage unit and meant to be shared between 6 people. I was instantly grateful to the rotund Romanian woman who took on a motherly role to the rest of us in the sleeper. Not only did she handle the storage of all of our luggage (happily taking the suitcases from my sad weary arms and tossing them up top), but she practically even tucked us in.
At one point, when Natalie was in the way, she physically picked her up and placed her elsewhere like a little doll while proclaiming "I am strong! 90 kilos!" (Whatever the hell that means)
With the exception of the adopted Romanian mother that I never wanted, but my sad puffy-faced self desperately needed, the train ride was... Well, it was hell. Thank you, Romanian lady, you may have been missing half your teeth and probably have scared me were we to meet in other circumstances, but I love you.
I don't know what that southern kid was talking about, but I say avoid these night trains at all possible. It was cramped, stifling hot, it smelled - it was everything a mixed dorm hostel is but worse because you're sleeping on top of each other and you're on a moving train, so there's no escape.
At 7:30 am, dazed and confused, we landed in Munich to catch our connecting train to Berlin. Both our faces were broken out in giant feisty zits, we hadn't really eaten or slept in 2 days, I looked homeless, and a German lady leaned to Natalie in the tarmac and this embarrassing conversation ensued...
"Spreken ze deutsche?", says the lady
"No. English", replied Nat.
"Ok well", says the lady, "Your pants are ripped...on your butt...on the seam."
Our dignity gone, we hopped on the train and said goodbye forever to the lands and people behind us.
I took a chance, put my heart out, and hoped for the best. Sometimes things work out, sometimes you end up locked out of your hotel, surrounded by rodents, and using your arm as a Kleenex. I guess that's just the way the cookie crumbles.
Around 4pm, we finally made it to Berlin.
Looking forward to new adventures ahead (and maybe some new pants for Natalie) :)
Though Florence could only be described as 24 hours of complete and total emotional wreckage, both Nat and I would like to give a shout out and warm thank you to the prince and the German for their warm welcome and friendship. Flo' on - we love you.
Natalie and I made a gut call to return to Florence so that I would have the opportunity to see Bob again, the special friend whom I'd met last year in Vegas who had taken a little piece of my heart with him when he left and happened to be vacationing in Florence for 2 weeks starting on the 3rd.
It wasn't the most opportune timing (as in not opportune at all since we were already in Germany by this point), but we decided together to make it happen so all my fantasies and dreams could come true.
The train ride to Florence from Munich thanks to some translation issues and wrong ticket reservations, took roughly 10 hours. On our final train switch, exhausted and haggard, we begged an Italian man to let us use his phone to call our hotel and let them know we'd be arriving after they closed. (We both were having flash images to sleeping on street corners in Florence and rats eating us)
Luckily our attempt was successful (thanks Hotel Sole) Through our hysteria, we also made the acquaintance of a very nice young southern med student traveling to Italy for a month as part of school. He had also had some troubles in his travels, train/flight delays etc. and felt our pain. As this was now our second time in Florence (thus obviously making us experts) we told him about bus tickets, our favorite pizza place, and the Gelateria Vivaldi (the Prince's dad's shop). The southern charmer then asked if we'd yet to go on a night train to which we replied no.
"Awww I love the night trains", he slurred in his educated southern drawl, "it's like the train is rocking you to sleep. Best sleep I ever had"
Having not had the best sleep this trip and with images of infants sleeping soundly in bouncing carriages, Natalie and I suddenly couldn't wait for the opportunity to try this magical night train.
(I can assure you, having now taken the night train- this was a mean lie. Shame on you - young southern charmer- shame on you)
Around 10pm and one unnecessary 3-minute taxi ride later, we made it to our hotel which was located inside a murky ominous semi-outdoor stairwell on the 8th floor (yay)
After checking in at our "lavish" $80/night budget hotel digs we received a giant set of janitorial keys attached a large metal object ( it reminded me of the spatula-key they give you at public restrooms so you don't lose it) As Natalie has the larger of our purses, she was appointed holder of the 5 pound hotel key, a decision I would later regret when I was stuck in the ominous hallway with no way to get in.
We then inspected the beds for bed bugs (something we'd started to have issues with during our first stay in Florence), happily washed our train filth off of ourselves, and threw on some clean clothes which didn't resemble homeless aerobic outfits.
We got in touch with my special friend and after having kept in touch for a year, we were finally to meet up that night at midnight (on the 4th of July) at the Duomo - I couldn't imagine things lining up for a more romantical reunion.
Natalie took me out for a quick gin martini to soothe my nerves.
(Me and my Martini....ready for rendezvous time)
Of course, I should've known things would somehow go wrong considering that though I've always wanted my life to be like a Keira Knightly film (Mr. Darcy where are you?), it always manages to be more of a Cameron Diaz film where everything always goes wrong but with a funny and lighthearted twist, so people don't get bummed out.
Anyways, my special friend and Felix (the German Cat Man from the first Florence post) met us in darling matching shirts and their tight little euro pants on the steps of the Duomo at midnight as planned. Then we headed to a swanky bar to meet their other friends who were also visiting the prince.
We sat down and proceeded to meet the international crew which included several Italians, my Dutch love, The Italian prince, the German, the Italian Prince's beautiful sister, a posh Black Dutch guy who looked like an intellectual version of Lenny Kravitz, his lovely girlfriend Annebelle, and, of course, there was us - the two token American ladies.
After a few drinks and fond glances, my Dutch love whom I've been pining for over the past year, decided this was the appropriate time to inform me that he had a gf and "things were not about to get romantical up in here" (that may not have been quite the direct quote)
From there things only proceeded to get weirder (and sadder) especially because I decided to take his abrupt dating announcement only as a minor speed bump in our route to international matrimony, rather than a direct stop sign. I clearly assumed that as the night progressed, he would realize our destiny, dump the current gf, and the most unrealistic happily ever after would ensure.
As the liquor continued to flow and we headed to Flo', the Lenny Kravitz looking Dutch guy (whose name I had since discovered by this point but have consciously chosen to withhold in this post due to his following actions which, were his name disclosed, would probably land him on www.idiotscoundrels.com) decided to break up with his lovely long-term girlfriend at the nightclub. For those of you geographically challenged folk who aren't sure which country "Dutch" belongs to, it's the Netherlands, it is not in Italy, and it is very far. I'd also like to point out that by this point it was roughly 1am.
I should also point out that by this point in the night Natalie had the smarts to go home. So, if you're wondering where she is in all this, it's sleeping. (Damn her good sense)
Needless to say, there were tears from the sweet Dutch girl. It was also right around this point that my two gins too many mind finally made sense of what "not getting romantical up in here" actually meant and that things would not be escalation from our PG canoodling, puppy eyes, and hand holding.
And then, like two strangers who bond over sharing a tampon in a ladies' restroom, so bonded the Dutch girl and I in over our drunken devastation.
I can only imagine how obnoxious the entire situation had to have been for the poor Prince's beautiful and totally normal older sister who had organized the nights events and now had to deal with a bunch of idiot hooligans and their confused crying women. To her credit, she handled the situation far better than I ever could have mustered and even somehow managed to finagle all of us into her car to safety where I was able to compose myself momentarily.
Once back at the Villa, amongst the perfect backdrop of some young drunk Italians skinny dipping, my Dutch love proceeded to have the saddest heart to heart with me ever and then had the German take me back to the hotel.
Not to be a total downer in this blog and I know this will be hard for most to understand, but I can honestly say this was the first time in my life that I've ever truly felt like my heart was broken.
Shit only proceeded to get more pathetic after I gave back the German his tear-soaked scooter helmet and realized that Natalie had the 5-pound key, it was 6am, and I was a hysterical mess stranded in a dirty concrete stairwell. And then... I heard the rats.
I'd like to formally apologize for the Facebook message that I sent poor Momma Himm at this moment. As you can imagine, it's every mothers dream to wake up to see this in their inbox...
"Mommy- it went badly. I can't stop crying. There are rats everywhere"
Finally, around 7:30am, a couple walked out of the hotel and I, much to their horror, scrambled in. I imagine by this point, I must've looked like the dirty sad little street urchin girl in Les Misérables after she sings, "On my own".
After some cuddling from Natalie and a long conversation with Momma Himm informing her of the events, my safety, and assuring her that I'd only heard the rats not had to actually encounter them personally - it was decided that we would leave Florence immediately (and my immediately I meant as soon as we could get the next train which would be at 10pm).
At 10pm, Natalie and I boarded our first sleeper train. We had been in Florence for approximately 24 hours and would now be taking a 20-hour train ride to Berlin.
The sleeper train was not what we imagined. Our first-class ticket status meant nothing as we were hoarded into a tiny 8' x 6' x 8' space that was legitimately smaller than my storage unit and meant to be shared between 6 people. I was instantly grateful to the rotund Romanian woman who took on a motherly role to the rest of us in the sleeper. Not only did she handle the storage of all of our luggage (happily taking the suitcases from my sad weary arms and tossing them up top), but she practically even tucked us in.
At one point, when Natalie was in the way, she physically picked her up and placed her elsewhere like a little doll while proclaiming "I am strong! 90 kilos!" (Whatever the hell that means)
With the exception of the adopted Romanian mother that I never wanted, but my sad puffy-faced self desperately needed, the train ride was... Well, it was hell. Thank you, Romanian lady, you may have been missing half your teeth and probably have scared me were we to meet in other circumstances, but I love you.
I don't know what that southern kid was talking about, but I say avoid these night trains at all possible. It was cramped, stifling hot, it smelled - it was everything a mixed dorm hostel is but worse because you're sleeping on top of each other and you're on a moving train, so there's no escape.
At 7:30 am, dazed and confused, we landed in Munich to catch our connecting train to Berlin. Both our faces were broken out in giant feisty zits, we hadn't really eaten or slept in 2 days, I looked homeless, and a German lady leaned to Natalie in the tarmac and this embarrassing conversation ensued...
"Spreken ze deutsche?", says the lady
"No. English", replied Nat.
"Ok well", says the lady, "Your pants are ripped...on your butt...on the seam."
Our dignity gone, we hopped on the train and said goodbye forever to the lands and people behind us.
I took a chance, put my heart out, and hoped for the best. Sometimes things work out, sometimes you end up locked out of your hotel, surrounded by rodents, and using your arm as a Kleenex. I guess that's just the way the cookie crumbles.
Around 4pm, we finally made it to Berlin.
(Me, 14 hours into our 20-hour train trip from Florence to Berlin)
Looking forward to new adventures ahead (and maybe some new pants for Natalie) :)
Though Florence could only be described as 24 hours of complete and total emotional wreckage, both Nat and I would like to give a shout out and warm thank you to the prince and the German for their warm welcome and friendship. Flo' on - we love you.
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