Wayward Traveller

Before I visited Madrid, if you asked me what my favorite cities were I would have quickly said Sydney, then I would add a haphazard list of cities that I had recently visited and enjoyed. I guess I want to give every city a chance and appreciate a city that someone else has fallen in love with and see what they saw. But that’s not really realistic is it?

Visiting Madrid made me realize one thing. Sydney is still my favorite city in the world, the city that I’m longing for another chance in. But there was this inkling all the while that I could see myself settling in Madrid for an undefined time period as well. Yes, Madrid had joined Sydney in it’s honorary ranks in my list of top cities. Don’t ask me to explain how three days in this city could make me believe that it should be added to my list, but there it is, and I guess that says something about it.

It all started when we arrived and were so warmly greeted by our Argentinean hostel host. He was so excited that we were there and greeted us and directed us in his best mix of Spanish, Italian and English. He even came knocking on our door to inform us that the organized drinking games were starting if we were interested in joining. That’s caring about the well-being of your guests.

The next day we elected to take the three-hour FREE walking-tour of Madrid. We had taken a similar tour in Amsterdam and been both entertained and respectfully educated about the culture and history of the big city. In these three hours, we were graced with the presence of the ever-excited, happy and theatrical Catiya. She started the tour off on the right foot as we stepped into Sol Square she stated her personal disclaimer that she was an unofficial tour guide, therefore offering her unofficial opinion. She began talking about all the world’s major cities and major city monuments, focusing on the Eiffel Tour and it’s significance in the Paris skyline. She then revealed that Madrid had it’s very own Eiffel Tower right in Sol Square! She did a little dance and pointed us to the disappointingly  puny bear and Modroño tree statue. She then described it’s significance to the city of Madrid and added her little punch line about the natural fermentation of the berries on a Modroño tree, therefore meaning Madrid’s little bear mascot was just another lush. This explains all the drunken bear souvenirs  you can find throughout the city.

The whole tour kept up this way as our group of twenty-something backpackers became enthralled with the history we didn’t even realize we were learning. She pointed out interested facts and historical signs, such as this artistic interpretation of Arnold Schwarzenegger reincarnated as a bull. Describing that in the early times when citizens didn’t know how to read they instead used pictures to interpret street signs and shops, many of which are still on display today.

She also did a great deal of explaining development of the city of Madrid and the racial and religious turmoil that it ensued as is transitioned from the Moors to Catholic and, like much of Europe at its time, eventually fell under Habsburg rule.

I’ll leave the rest of the tour and history a secret so that you can discover that all on your own and in your own way but I’ll officially give this as my glowing recommendation to try out these Free Walking Tours, I mean they are FREE, why not?

After the tour was over I just wanted to walk back through the streets and admire this mix of architecture that is Madrid.

Florence is a beautiful city and it’s full of beautiful and fascinating architecture, all kept carefully renovated true to it’s original facade. I can appreciate this but I have to say there is something about a city that can so seamlessly mix history with the modern world, as Madrid has.

We wandered along Gran Via and marveled at the, well marvelous, array of shops and the astonishing sizes of each one. I reveled in the abundance of Starbucks available, and give me a break on this one, Italians don’t believe in Starbucks or anything resembling it. I love Italian coffee but I long for two things, a coffee culture that involves more than taking shots of espresso bar-side and iced coffee… mmmm. Plus, inside Starbucks in the warmth of the artsy atmosphere I was able to take this shot of my obscure artist surrounded in his arty element.

Three days could never warrant Madrid all the credit I am sure I would give it, therefore, I must go back and see it all over again. I’ll add that to my growing list.

Lesson #5: They Were the Creators of the World

I just spent the last eighteen days traveling with Italians, ten days with three Italians and the following eight with my usual Italian accessory. Of course I have learned much more about the world in these last eighteen days then I have in my entire life. Of course…

Upon arrival in Alicante, all was well, but when we moved on to Mallorca, things started to take a bit of a turn. I should have known what was coming really. See, Lorenzo and I wanted to plan a trip to celebrate that all-too-amazing Italian tradition known as ferie or in English ‘you worked hard all year so get out of here and take a vacation, if you don’t, good luck cause everything in this city is closed’. That’s a rough translation.

Anyway, so his best friend wanted to plan something together with us and his girlfriend and we agreed. He was very insistent on seeing Mallorca, but since I had never heard of it I was leaning more toward something I wanted to see, like Portugal. Beautiful photos persuaded me and we booked our round-about trip to Mallorca. Later when Lorenzo and I talked about it, he told me that Palma is one of the famous Italian vacation spots, along with Mykonos, Ibiza, Pag and Amsterdam. We arrived to find the only nightclub in Palma, Tito’s, lit and thriving full of happy Italians singing “Tu Vuo Fa l’Americano” which is also the only song I think I heard in the last eighteen days. We sat at a streetside bar to enjoy the giant glasses of Sangria and were greeted in Italian. This confused me, I thought we were in Spain.

This began transforming even more as we browsed the museums of Madrid. I really apologize for my lack of culture here, but I don’t know a lot about art history. Excuse me but I didn’t grow up in the city known for having started the Renaissance. We were walking, much too slowly, through the Reina Sofia, and as I started blankly from sculpture to painting Lorenzo started with his commentary of who was who and why they were famous. He would often stop, inquiring if I knew this already, when I answered no he shockingly continued. After two and a half floors we made our way out and sat outside to wait for our friends. He went into a huge lecture about how he studied all the art in school and how could I not even know what Picasso’s Guernica was. Sorry, we really didn’t study that at my high school.

That night we were more or less pestered for some “real food” aka the Italian restaurant across from our hostel. We said no, of course. The day Lorenzo’s friends returned to Italy they made a point to let him know they had eaten at Pomodoro Rosso and how amazing it was. It must be a god-forsaken crime in Italy to go so long without Italian food, I really don’t know how they survived.

The famous "Italian" Clerigos Tower

We walked by a number of Italian restaurants throughout our trip, passing them all up of course, they were full of devoted Italians. We ate at a couple of Indian places in Portugal and Spain and there were no Indians in them. Italians must be the only people to travel to foreign lands and swarm to restaurants specializing in their home cuisine. This was all nicely rounded out with a conversation, which I won’t detail, about where is the best place in the world to be nourished back to health and taken care of. You can guess where that place apparently is.

On the last leg of our journey, there was the ultimate statement. At this point it was just me and Lorenzo, we were traipsing through Porto on a rather gloomy day. We passed the famous Clerigos Tower and I proudly stated my knowledge that the architect was Italian. Lorenzo’s response?

“Of course he was. Didn’t you know Italians created the world?”

“I thought that was God.”

“No, it was Guido, it has all just been a big misunderstanding.”

That’s about all I have to say about that.

It’s true, I’m finally back from my trip and gracing the travel blog world with my presence again! I wanted to start my travel posts with something fun so that you can enjoy my trip as much as I did. Here they are, the top five injuries I acquired on my trip through Spain and Portugal!

Anyone who has known me for more than five minutes can very well vouch for my clumsiness. It’s not just the typical trip over the wayward cobblestone, that’s just part of my everyday existence (thanks Europe). I mean I make some full-on foolish, clumsy mistakes. Being away for eighteen days was a guarantee that there were going to be some good stories, so I saved them all for you guys! Here goes!

1. Broken-ish Nose:

The second night in Alicante, and the second night of the entire trip, I suffered the most devastating and influential of all my travel injuries.

The effects of a little too much alcohol and two very badly timed head movements landed Lorenzo’s forehead directly on the bridge of my nose. The cracking sound was just for dramatic effect seemingly since no blood came pouring out. Looking back now, maybe it was the alcohol talking, but I figured it couldn’t be broken and all was well.

The next morning I woke up with a headache that was inching it’s way down my face, which I accredited to the copious amounts of Sangria, wine and beer consumed the previous night and popped some Advil before the flight to Mallorca.

I started noticing that my whole face was really throbbing, I was forced to nap for my first two hours in the city of Palma and if a hand, head, elbow or beer bottle came within 5 inches of my nose, a little yelp escaped. I decided that it would get better then next day but couldn’t keep my fingers off of it, certain it was caving in.

The second day in Mallorca, we spent the day at the beach and by the end of it (blame the sun if you want to) the headache was back with a vengeance. Driving through the suburb Magaluf, a well-known British holiday spot, we were not too hard-pressed to find an English doctor. We stepped right in and the receptionist immediately said that my nose look sore and like it could be offset at the bridge, but we would have to pay 75 Euro for the doctor’s professional opinion. We paid the fee and you know what the doctor did? Asked Lorenzo if my nose looked crooked to him!!! Ok, I know he’s Italian and all but he’s not Mr. Medschool, and she was the doctor! Anyway, in the end she prescribed me some anti-inflammatory, gave me an ice pack and made a total of three calls to other doctors for advice. We decided that it wasn’t bad enough to fork out the 3,000 odd pounds (oh hi no insurance plan…) that an X-ray would cost and we high-tailed it. The anti-inflammatory helped and the alcohol didn’t affect it at all, which was my major concern. I’m still convinced it’s caving in.

2. Allergic Reactions:

On our last day in Madrid, we ventured on over to the Prado in hopes of catching up on some art history. Only to find that it was not free entrance until after 5pm, by which time we would be on our merry way to Portugal. Instead we took advantage of the lush grass hills that surround the museum. We don’t see much dog poop-free grass in Italy.

After some lazing and chatting I began feeling itchy. Remembering I had a slight grass allergy I decided it was probably best to shield myself or move on. Well, I didn’t decide fast enough as my legs quickly spread full of itchy hives.

This all subsided after an hour or so off the grass but it haunted me the rest of the trip as at random time hives and itches red patches appeared on my skin for no apparent reason. Of course because I know how unlucky I can be, I worried that for some reason this would all flare up into a full on allergic reaction, which I’ve never had. Not cool.

3. Stubbed, Split and Bloody Toe:

When finally we were blessed as the first sights of the beautiful beaches of Lagos we were ecstatic. It was better than we could have imagined! We found the perfect spot on one of the beautiful beaches and settled in. Immediately we wanted to take a dip to cool off and be a part of the crystal clear waters of the Algarve.

Don’t get me wrong, the beaches of Lagos are really beautiful and the crystal blue water can be even more appreciated from an aerial view where you can actually see the swimmers under the water (don’t get any ideas there huh?). The thing is, the shorelines are covered in rocks, and I don’t mean those little pebbles that scatter the Italian beaches. No these are big nasty, spiky, barnacle-covered rocks.

I tried to daintily make my way through the waters into the clearing for a much anticipated swim. Well, again, if you know me you are now laughing your ass off since ‘daintily’ is not even fathomed as a world to describe a single action I am involved in. Needless to say I slipped, stumbled, tripped and stubbed my toe. In two places. Is that even possible? Anyway, I had to hike my bloody mess up to the beach and watch as it became caked with sand and eventually stopped bleeding. No harm done really, until my next misadventure…

4. Indescribable Injury #4:

This may be the best travel story, no best story period, I have yet. We signed up for an early morning surf lesson on the West Coast of the Algarve but had to meet up at the local surf shop around the corner from our hostel. Anyone who has been to Lagos knows that if you don’t go out at night, you don’t belong in Lagos; that said we were in desperate need of a coffee and croissant. The corner bakery is no Starbucks so the flimsy, lidless plastic cups they gave us weren’t meant to withstand much. Shockingly the upcoming event wasn’t the cups fault.

We arrived at the surf shop to be greeted by two of our fellow surf newbies. Greetings mumbled, Lorenzo and I made our way off the front deck of the shop to enjoy our breakfast on the curb. Let me rephrase that; Lorenzo made his way off the deck to enjoy his breakfast on the curb. Don’t you worry, wet marble stairs are no small feat for arguably the clumsiest girl alive. Right. I took one step onto the freshly washed steps of the surf shops and my reliable little Haviana slipped right to the other side and with it took my injured little toe straight into the wall. Now, the re-splitting of my prior toe-wound is not even the climax of this story. I did what any clear-minded, off-balance person would do. I took the arm holding my lidless latte and threw it forcefully at my face. The result was something similar to the feeling you get when you are unexpectedly pushed underwater, but hot and with a burnt smell. Nowhere in the depths of my brain can I understand how that was a plausible reaction to losing my footing. I stood for a good five minutes with a (new) coffee-soaked t-shirt, hair stuck to my head and tears running down my face. These were not tears of embarrassment or even pain but rather caffeine-infused coffee tears, as the liquid made it’s way to a more stable place.

I really can’t top it, I can’t even explain it and when I finally composed myself and turned around our Aussie surf mates had moseyed on inside to avoid to awkward laughter that was sure to ensue. Lorenzo couldn’t even help me he was so devastated at my thought-processes. He did give me his coffee though, still a good boyfriend.

5. Bruised Hand:

I almost made it through Lisbon and Porto with little more than a few well-caught slips on the cobblestone (seriously, who paves streets like that!?). But of course that would just be silly. As we hastily made our way through the streets of Lisbon to the Metro station I slipped gracefully through the metal posts that I assume are meant to keep cars off the sidewalk. There’s that word again. Gracefully? Not so much. I managed to catch my hand between the metal pole and my tote bag which was tightly locked into the buckles of my nifty new backpack. This resulted in some sort of skin on metal ’sliding’ of my hand and a lot of pain. Again, this is not such a significant injury, the thing is that it’s just one of many and besides that big round bruise on my hand is haunting me everyday while I type away. Like right now, there it is.

Trust me these are not the only injuries I acquired on this trip and they won’t be the last, I hope some of the most drastic has been taken care of though. Travel safe everyone and keep hard objects away from your nose!

I am always reading posts on the loneliness that travelers face and the sacrifices we must make as we hit the road. I think about this all the time as I am at a crucial stage in my life when the road has forked.

Some of my awesome Aussie mates karaoke-ing

For the last year travel has been the ultimate goal, the one thing that I am truly passionate about. I want to see the whole world and it baffles me the number of amazing people that are out there for me to meet. But I remember that I have to come to grips with the hard times too. When our group started breaking up in Australia, people began moving on, it was really scary. I wanted to shut off and go into hiding until they had left. I didn’t want to face the thought that I might not see them for more than another year. I have been lucky with this group, as we have all kept in touch really well and most of us have seen each other at least one other time since we left Oz.

Now, I’m starting to struggle with something else. Leaving home. I never had a problem leaving home, being away from my family or friends or starting a completely different life. Maybe what I hadn’t realized was that, even though I would’ve given an arm and a leg to stay in Australia at the time, I always knew in the back of my mind that I would go back home. I would return to my friends, my family, my sorority and the comforts of Seattle. Well, I was unpleasantly surprised to get home and find that everything had changed.

I wasn’t living in the sorority anymore but about twenty minutes outside of town, which meant I didn’t get included in almost all of the plans because I wasn’t easily accessible. I was working over forty hours a week and taking classes with none of my friends. I was essentially alone, and sad to say, for a long time my friends let me be. A couple of friends in particular who I considered some of the best completely turned the tables. They had promised to keep me company and make my transition easy and not only did they eventually disappear but when I needed their support the most they took the opposite side. I suddenly wasn’t allowed to talk about wanting to travel, about my Italian boyfriend and about not wanting to get a job in Seattle. Often times when I brought up my thoughts on the issues, everyone around would just stare before returning to conversation between them. It was the worst feeling of isolation.

Then, I came to Italy. Everyone was so excited for me and so happy that Lorenzo and I had worked things out. Then I was here and they went on with their lives. There was some initial interest in what I was doing and it ended there. I went back to Seattle after three months to get my visa and I had an amazing time, I saw my friends at a stage in their lives that I had already passed. They were about to graduate, they were dealing with getting jobs and picking roommates and the ever daunting task of, after four years, weeding out your true friends from your sorority sisters. I was relieved to see the changes taking place as suddenly they seemed to realize I too was an integral part of their lives.

Sorority Pose at it's best

Then I left again. I have kept in touch with a lot of people from home and I also understand the busy stages of life everyone is in but it’s hurtful at times. I see the pictures from graduations and parties and traditions that I was a part of only last year, and I comment to no avail. I ask for updates and send my own only to find no responses.

I try my best to keep contact with old friends on facebook or through emails or even my blog and I find that they don’t seem to care. It’s a stupid thing, but I know I’m not alone when I say this, but when I write someone a message on facebook and don’t receive a response it can be disheartening. But when I see that person has a ton of other activity and has seemingly passed me by in the midst, it hurts. Sometimes, I wonder if people think that I am a lost cause. I took off while they stayed in their everyday life, so it’s too much of a risk to try to keep the contact. Maybe they weigh the options and think that I’ll never come back.

A lot of people’s advice is to cut your losses, realize who are true friends and who are not. It’s hard to give up on people that I have shared four (or more) amazing years with. It seems like I’m stuck in the middle of this constant tug-of-war between my dreams and my meaningful relationships. I’m lucky to have Lorenzo with me, he is my best friend, and I have met some amazing friends here in Florence too but it’s scary to think that if for some reason everything falls apart, what if I don’t have anywhere to run to?

I know there are plenty of other travelers and blogger out there who can relate to I can definitely use some words of encouragement here!

This past weekend I got a secret peek inside the lives of Italian university students, know what I found? They are just like the American ones.

Maybe for the first time since I have been here (read: first time in the last 7 months!!), for one entire night I felt included in a celebration, in the conversation, in the party. It was an amazing feeling.

This guy was Jersey Shore defined.

All these months I have known that a lot of my isolation comes from my own stubborn will not learning Italian more quickly. Then a couple of weekends ago as I spent a day with Lorenzo and two of his band-mates I came to the realization that more than anything else, I just don’t think I have a lot in common with his friends. I found myself actually semi-understanding the conversation which revolved solely around music and the future of the band. Don’t get me wrong, I care about the band and their well-being, I care about music and I like learning but not every minute of everyday. His non-band friends tend to just talk in circles about nothing and tend to talk about girls, which really bothers me (hey, we all have to admit our insecurities at one time or another). I don’t like to think that they could be trying to sneak in conversation about other girls right in front of me just because they think I can’t understand. FYI mates, I get the idea, so stop.

First, I’ll enlighten you a bit. Laurea is the Italian word for degree, like the one you get for graduating university. Congrats to Michele huh? So, Michele (bless him) decides to throw this giant party at his fathers Bagno in Grossetto on the coast. Basically we had a sweet pool, private beach, catered apertivo and all the alcohol we wanted; all trusted to a bunch of party-thristy crazy twenty-somethings. Sounds familiar. It felt like home.

The entire night I was excitedly greeted by Lorenzo’s friends, I was complimented and conversed with in both Italian and English. What a concept that is. I felt so included and didn’t have a dull moment.

The view from the Bagno-clearly a good night.

As for the party, what celebratory fools those Italians are. There was booze flowing straight from the bottles, dancing on the bar and every person at the party made an unexpected journey into the pool, clothes and all. It was much more appealing than the previous birthday celebrations that involved crowded clubs with 25 Euro entry fees, Italian girls with their noses stuck in the air, and Italian boys in skinny jeans dancing on tables. Unfortunately, not my thing. I’m glad I found my niche.

I’m curious what brought on the difference for me. I wonder if the university grads are more confident in their English skills (have studied longer?) If they are more open-minded (for one reason or another) or if it just happened to be that group of people. Either way, it was refreshing because I was biting my tongue not to say anything to Lorenzo about my uneasiness of attending yet another party. Pleasantly surprised.

Lesson #4: Be Prepared to Wear the Pants

Growing up in the “American Dream” I always thought that men were the ones who were in charge of the relationship. It was Dad that made the decisions, that drove the car, that asked for help (ha right). Then I grew up. I started to see that maybe in some kind of sneaky way it was the women that ran the show. The power seemed to waiver though, it depended on the stage of the relationship, the couple and each situation.

Contemplating where he wants to go next? Don't think so.

Not my luck here ladies. I am a pretty indecisive person, usually just because I don’t care that much; sometimes because I don’t want to step on toes, but usually because it doesn’t matter to me. That was a luxury.

It became blatantly obvious to me in the last couple of weeks that I no longer had this option. If I didn’t make the decision, well there was no decision made.

It started when we were at the beach with two of Lorenzo’s friends. They had never been to Vada and didn’t know the way around, I had been there a few times and had an idea, Lorenzo had lived there for about six years; clearly he knew. Being that I am still not on general communication terms with Lorenzo’s friends I let him lead the way. Then I started noticing that he was letting them lead the way, funny since they didn’t know the way. I let it go as we came to a dead end and Lorenzo righted them, I figured he just got distracted. Then it happened again. And again. What the hell.

Then we got to the beach and I noticed them looking around longingly as they continued walking, and walking and walking. They were mumbling vaguely identifiable phrases to each other about where to sit. I found an open spot and sat down. I was baffled.

All the sudden this was all too familiar.

“No, you plan what we are going to do tonight”, “Yea I’m excited to go to Portugal, have you planned anything?”, etc.

I understand that men are a little less interested in the planning and research side of things, they like to just go and see. That’s ok. Then we move onto more serious things. Like what the hell we are going to do in November when my visa expires. We have talked a lot about going to the U.S. so that Lorenzo can go to Music School. Guess what? He hasn’t looked at schools, or admission dates, or visa requirements.

Guess this decision is mine! Now, what do I want, that’s the question…

There is a little seaside town on the Etruscan Coast that few people know about, that is even to say, few Italians know about. It’s called Vada.

I have to say how lucky I truly am to have the experience I have in Italy. If I were simply a backpacker, I never would have heard about Vada, probably never would have been to the Italiawave Festival and would have passed through Florence in a week or so without a sideways glance.

It’s probably most enjoyed for it’s close vicinity to the Spiagge Bianche (white beaches), a beautiful spread of white sand and blue-green water. There are also a number of other great beaches just a short drive away, and Vada has it’s own beautiful beaches walking distance from the center.

It is a popular Italian tradition to spend the summer camping at the seaside. I got the pleasure of seeing this first hand on Sunday night when we went for a coffee at Lorenzo’s grandparent’s campsite. I was amazed. The campsites consist of a medium-sized trailer, an added on “room” (living room/bedroom), an outside area with tent and picnic table, an additional tent with shower, and washing machine! It was quite literally, home away from home. I can see the appeal, and the kids get to meet up with their friends from the past summers and spend their nights riding bikes around the campsite and going around the few tiny bars. It reminded me of my few camping experiences growing up. If you happen to know an Italian family, I would suggest getting in on their camping plans!

A typical day in Vada is cozy, lazy. It consists of getting groceries at the small Conad supermarket (there is also a larger Coop towards the train station) for lunch on the beach and then heading to any of the nearby beaches for the day to relax and people watch. Coming home, dinner is easy to make outside on the BBQ, a much welcomed home comfort! After dinner we head to one of the gelaterias, mostly we enjoy A Tutto Yogurt, the yogurteria that serves rich frozen yogurt with a variety of toppings to choose from!

Yogurteria--YUM!

The sea air is fresh and we usually spend our nights at the one and only friendly pub in town, Eksoticus, the bartender’s have started to recognize us and give us a smile when we come in. They can always be found sitting outside enjoying drinks and summer air with their friends between customers.

In the center of the town there is a park, which acts as the main square. It’s beautiful and just like other great squares in Italy, is headed by an immense church. Often on summer nights, an evening market can be found here running until nearly midnight. There is also a play area and many benches to just sit and enjoy the summer air.

Surrounding the square and following the walking path to the beach you can find a number of quality seafood restaurants and pizzerias, you can’t go wrong in Vada; tourist traps don’t exist!

There are plenty of tourists there, in fact, yesterday we had to look two towels beyond us to even hear anyone speaking in Italian. We are often surrounded by the German and Dutch that come to Italy to escape their freezing cold, or lack of, seaside. Therefore

Main Square Vada

you find that often the staff around the town speaks English, so don’t let language barrier defer you from this tiny town!

If you want to visit a town that is more traditionally local than touristy, that has a multitude of FREE beaches (an apparent luxury in Italy) and a cozy, surf-town feel then Vada is your next stop! Be sure to check the tourist office for activities too–we enjoyed kitesurfing, but there are plenty of other options available!

Often times I tell people about my “broken Italian”, and I don’t mean the language. Lorenzo never seems to know when there are festivals going on in Florence or around. I always have to turn to my friend Georgette to know the traditions and the new festivals available. Maybe I’m not giving him enough credit. It seems that he does know a lot, it just focuses around music. I like music, and I like learning about new bands since I can’t seem to get away from the “bandwagon”, no matter how long you like a band for, if they ever get popular, you aren’t allowed to be both respected and still like them.

This weekend was the ItaliaWave Love Festival in Livorno, on the Tuscan Coast. I had seen the signs around the city but only recognized one band (OK Go). I thought it might be a fun venture anyway, since I love outdoor concerts and I love the seaside. I mentioned this to Lorenzo and he looked into it. Much to his excitement he found that his newly discovered favorite band My Awesome Mixtape was playing there on Saturday. Our plans were set.

Photo from My Awesome Mixtape Facebook Page

I had heard only a few songs and snippets from My Awesome Mixtape, but I’m always up for new bands. I really just like the atmosphere. Plus, they sing all in English so I was guaranteed to at least UNDERSTAND the words.

The band put on a great show. They played most of their songs, they loved the crowd and they love the stage. Before they even started playing they invited forced the crowd to come closer. Then they got right into it, no need for encouragement. They jumped around the stage, clapped and chanted with the crowd and showed the passion for their music.

I have to appreciate these bands, they really love what they are doing and although it looked like their heads might explode at any minute from all the yelling and crazy movements, they weren’t faking.

Getting the Italiawave crowd excited

Another thing I have noticed as I have watched more and more bands perform in Italy is their use of non-traditional instruments. I have been both excited and intrigued to see saxophones, cow bells, violins, old school basses (I thought it was a cello until Lorenzo informed me otherwise), and trumpets! It really makes for an exciting performance. It’s nice to see people break out of the mold when it comes to music and not be afraid to showcase their differences.

The show lasted about an hour and afterward the band came down to assist the sales girl in getting merchandise to fans. Again much to the pleasure of Lorenzo and his two friends/bandmates, as they were able to get an autographed CD and a quick chat with the band. The only thing I harassed Lorenzo for is not mentioning his own band, but he said the guy who has just been speaking to the singer gave him a CD so he didn’t want to come across like he was only in it for the promotion. I understand that. My Awesome Mixtape even writes back to Lorenzo on FB, that is really special to me. It is very important in any business to keep a connection with your fans and supporters.

A good band off to a good start! They have my support!

If you read Italian, check their Facebook page, otherwise here is the first video I ever saw from Balcony TV. You have to skip about one minute in to get past her German introduction but you can get a good idea of their music (this is a calmer song) but I like the trumpet and how into it they get even for an acoustic version.

As for Livorno, the coastline drive alone has my vote for a city worth seeing! I have to get back there (should be easy enough for me) and I would recommend it for a seaside visit if you happen to be on the Tuscan Coast.

Lesson #3: They ARE Romantic!!

Ok, I know this section is supposed to be for proving those hilarious Italian stereotypes right and revealing new ones but I can’t really pass this up.

Yesterday evening, I returned home from a much needed Monday at the beach; a day full of talking about relationships and the “little things”. Little surprises you know, like maybe flowers, never happen to me. My friend Georgette was talking about the importance of surprises to show you care in a relationship. This isn’t really a new subject in my relationship, I’m always thinking how it would be nice to get a little something now and then. At the same time, I appreciate just his words and how much he is there for me, no matter what. It’s the battle between material and emotional. In reality, they are both nice and I can’t talk because I haven’t done my nice share of thoughtful surprises either.

Anyway, I push open the fifty-pound door, which feels fifty-pounds heavier after an hour standing on a stinky train. Sunglasses still on, I walked into a seemingly pitch-black room. Then, I pulled up the shades. I have to say I was a little in shock at first. I mumbled a few confused phrases. Here’s what I saw.

The most beautiful flowers, bug spray, refills for the mosquito-murdering wallplug, and a CD. Along with a sweet little note. The bug spray and mosquito armor might seem a little strange to many but it’s really the way to my heart. I suppose he realized that when for the third week in a row this morning I woke up with an evil glare in my eyes as I scratched the new mystery wrist I had grown over night. There is something about these Italian mosquitos, but just like the men they love that American blood (hahaha, just kidding!!).

Anyway, I promise next week to get back to my usual posts and expose the true Italian-style, but really aren’t they stereotypically romantic too? Just can’t get away from those Italian Stallions.

This past week I was lucky enough to have a chance to spend a day in Venice, a city that I have been wanting to see but never really wanted to commit my hard-earned travel dollars to. Lucky for me, Lorenzo’s dad had a little bit of work to do in Venice so he offered to take me and Lorenzo along for a day trip.

I have heard that Venice is the kind of city that you don’t need more than a day or two to explore but it’s also a must-see. I went to Venice with no expectations and no plans. At first, this scared me, but then as I walked the streets I saw exactly what I came for.

I went to Venice mostly to see what all the hype was about. There had to be a reason this city was so famous, a reason that it was a major destination on the ‘tour of Italy’ so many travelers take.

First of all, it was freaking HOT! It’s the middle of summer in Italy and right around that time that North Africa gives us the gift of their ’summer breezes’ (read: the hottest, most humidly still days you can imagine). I looked around at all the sweaty tourists and felt sorry for them. Hasn’t anyone ever told them not to plan their Italy trips in the middle of the summer? Clearly not because I hear they come back every year, like clockwork.

Anyway, once we moved through the sticky crowd we made our first stop at Piazza San Marco. I looked at the beautiful architecture and admired the tourist taking photos with pigeons on their heads; then I looked around one more time and signaled our exit to Lorenzo. No offense Italy but your are full of churches, what else can you give me?

Anyone who knows me well knows that I love the water. My whole persona changes when I see those blue waves or hear that trickling as a stream passes through. Therefore, it was pretty darn cool to see a city where the citizens step out their front doors and into their boats. Where people get their boating license before they get their driver’s license. Venice holds true with it’s old tattered buildings and it’s ancient Italian looks, but the canals are the real feature that make this city timeless.

I have heard (mostly from Italians) that Venice is no longer thriving as a city, it is simply a tourist attraction. It’s kind of a sad story really, as I watch the same old Italian ladies walking home from the grocery store carefully weaving in and out of the group of tourists wielding sun-brellas and cameras. Who are we to come in and overrun their city for our photo albums pleasure? I love the idea of the old-style gondolas and getting the romantic experience of gliding through the city, but does anyone stop to think about if that’s really how it was done?

I enjoyed what Venice had to offer, I could spend another day there but in the end I came away with some really nice pictures (if I may say so myself) and another city checked off the list. Usually, this isn’t how I would choose to travel; don’t get me wrong I enjoy checking cities off but I don’t go to them just for that satisfaction. Venice however, beautiful canals and all will be remembered by me for the photos and always for the tourist culture.

I would be interested to hear what others have thought of Venice, or if you haven’t been there, what are your perceptions?