Friday, September 20, 2013

Tuscany: Pisa

Je souviens très peu d’hier soir. I started speaking French, I remember that. And, oh no... did I try speaking with a Scottish accent? The notes in my iPhone are jumbled and the pictures are all sweeping blurs. How did I get home last night? Do I need to apologize to anyone?



The sky outside is a sobering grey and I’m thankful for it. I’ve missed breakfast, so I shower, pack up, and prepare to leave the hostel. Unable to sleep at present, I sit quietly on the bus headed towards Pisa.

As we debark and walk to the Cathedral Square, other students file in at my side and remind me of some details concerning the night before. I’m told that I had a really good evening. For my part, I absolutely hate the idea of losing control of my mind. But, it seems that I’ve made a considerable number of new acquaintances and I’m commended on my French.

Perhaps it’s the looming headache, the threatening storm clouds, or maybe the mob of tourists, but my first likening to Pisa is not favourable. Scratch that – it’s definitely the tourists that aggravate me. As we walk the yard, they stop to take pictures of our guide. Admittedly, he is a sight to behold, clad in a red, shoulder-length wig with flashing penis antennae, lipstick, a contrasting green sweater, and black high heels. Nevertheless, I fail to see why anyone not associated with our group would care to look back on such a picture.

After the short tour, we break off to find food. I’m disappointed to find the rest of the area just as infested with snap-happy tourists. Six of us stop at a Subway for lunch – my first chain restaurant meal in Italy. With the time remaining us, we take the customary leaning tower photos and sit around. As one friend said, “An hour and a half in Pisa is too long.”




Returning to the bus, we were caught in the rain and on cue, umbrella salesmen were ready to meet us. I try to justify their advances as ‘providing a needed service,’ but the impression remains just as despicable as the twenty men who swarmed our bus on arrival trying to sell watches and purses. How they got into the insulting habit of calling men ‘playboys’ and women ‘Lady Gaga’ I’d rather not know.

Our last stop of the trip was to a beach. The wind and rain turned most people off from swimming, so instead, we wandered the strip of high-end stores, gelaterias, and restaurants. I was grumpy as the cold I had been fighting for the last few days finally started to take hold. Before our time was up, I was perfectly content to sit in the bus and fall into a fitful sleep.




P.S. At the time I write this, I am still sicker than I remember ever having been in the last few years. I was hoping to go to Greece this weekend, but the adventure will have to wait. I have left my room only for classes and now that I have run out of cough lozenges, it seems to me imprudent that I should appear in public. Also because of this, I probably won’t have much to write about until I recover. Thanks for your patience! 

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