Careful, Those Venetians Aren't Blind

Ahhhh, Venice....a colorful maze of carefully constructed canals, narrow streets, and more bridgework than a Florida Bingo parlor. Loaded with tourists - despite the very real possibility that it might sink - Venice was nevertheless a worthwhile stop. Though from the train you might as well be cruising the Robert Moses causeway of Long Island, Venice quickly becomes unique in almost every way. Consider this: the "bus" system is an armada of roving boats; St. Mark's square might be the only place on earth you could lay on your back, swing your arms and legs, and artfully create a pigeon angel; and if your taxi springs a leak you may drown. How cool is that??? Truth be told there wasn't really much to "see" in Venice. It was enjoyable to just wander around, taking in the people, the buildings, the canals, and the architecture. And no, I didn't ride on a Gondola. In addition to the unreasonable cost, to be frank, it's kind of pathetic to take a romantic Gondola ride by yourself. The oarsman were cute but not THAT cute. Still, I enjoyed the breeze in my face while riding the public transport, the smell of the sea air, and the taste of my final Italian gelato (sniff!) and I chugged away from Italy to my next desination: Vienna.

It Wasn't Built In a Day

Rome may not have been built in a day but you can sure see it in one. The grandeur of Rome spread out before me like a virulent flu. It was hot and muggy, wet and ruddy, and you just sort of wanted to be done with it already. I know, I know, many of you are probably thinking but I love Rome. Well, some people love rectal thermometers too but that doesn't mean we all do. I started in Vatican City and was lucky enough to catch a Wednesday mass in the square of St. Paul's Cathedral. I saw the Pope, waved in earnest, but not even a nod in return. What an asshole. Whoa, just kidding!!! I didn't wave. Actually it was really cool being there with the square full of people; a pulsing mass of cheering, praying humanity. Next, the Vatican Musuem, home of the Sistine Chapel. Definitely smells like church, lots of paintings on the ceiling. From there I headed over to the Colosseum, which was my favorite part of the day. Standing outside the arena I tried to imagine what the place looked like when it was first completed, but it was tough ignoring the modern-day "gladiators" in their cheesy costumes hustling pictures for money and the guy peddling the "Glad He Ate Her" porno films on the sidewalk. Once inside, the scene changed. Big as a football stadium, its impressive to think that all of this was built before unions and teamsters. I spent quite a bit of time there before moving on. I walked through the Roman Forum (full of ancient ruins), up to Capitol Hill (home to modern political ruination), over to the Pantheon (an old dome with a big hole in the ceiling), across to the Trevia Fountain (predicatably full of water), and finally collapsed on the Spanish Steps (nary a Spaniard to be found) ready for death. Before leaving the following day for Venice I went and checked out the Bourghese Museum, home to a fantastical series of sculptures. Unfortunately I didn't have a reservation (required) and they wouldn't let me in, which I suppose was kizmit considering my earlier promise to never lay eyes on another sculpture that didn't have a giant penis. Not to be deterred, I explored the surrounding gardens and the lovely park before bording a train for my next destination. Venice.

Duomo Erigato, Mr. Gelato

From Cinque Terra, it was off to Fierenze. Florence is a bit like a girl I used to date; classicly beautiful, well-built, but absolutely fucking filthy. Not the type of city you would want to take home to Mom. Dominated by a massive duomo in the center of town, Florence houses an impressive array of museums, sculptures, and cathedrals, most of which I skipped in lieu of the multitude of gelaterias which line every street corner. I'm not exactly sure how many gelatos a day it takes to kill a man but I think I might find out, as my blood is slowly being replaced by a thick, creamy, delicious, pistacio cream. I managed to take in a few sights between cups and cones. Florence is the home of Michelangelo's David, which was definitely worth the price of admission. At 17 feet tall, with a giant stone penis, David makes even the most well-endowed of men feel woefully inadequate. The skill of the carving is evident even to a layman such as myself. A plaque at the base, which I will paraphrase, reads: "once you have seen the statue of David, the absolute mastery involved in its creation, all other sculpture immediately become irrelevant". I have decided to take this literally, henceforth I will ignore all sculptures which cross my path. This shouldn't be much of a problem since the vast majority of sculptures tend to be helplessly immobile stone. I made Florence my home base for a few days while I explored the surround regions of Tuscany and Umbria. I visited the small hill towns of Cortona, Orvieto, Bagnoregio, and Civita. This was the real Italy; lonely cobblestone streets, amazing views of the countryside, blissful silence save the wind in the trees, and, without fail, gelato.

Civita was the highlight. Perched alone on a small spire of rock, much of the village has fallen into the deep canyon which completely surrounds it. Apparently the village architect and the village idiot were one and the same. Essentially an island in the sky, Civita is literally tethered to the mainland by a long, steep bridge. This umbilical cord sustains the dying town with a steady (but small) diet of tourists. Though the town can be thoroughly explored in about an hour, its Etruscan structures are mostly intact. A true gem of a city. Cortona was also a highlight. I had lunch with this real cool cat that I met there. I mean that literally, I had lunch with a cat. Alone, eating at a small outdoor restuarant that overlooked the town square, this stray comes ambling out of an alleyway. He spends most of my meal tempting fate by putting his paws up on the tablecloth looking for a bite to eat. I swat him away time and again but he remains at my side. Other patrons start to notice, some take pictures and laugh. My meal is finished and the table is cleared. I'm writing in my journal when he finally gains the tabletop. To the victor goes the spoils, so I gently pet him as he settles in. We sat there for another two hours or so, me writing in my journal, the cat possibly dreaming about candied mice or world domination. Maybe he just needed some company. Maybe I needed some too. Two lost souls were we.

I'm An American!

Cinque Terra, roughly translated, must mean the Five Terrors. Despite having an incredibly good time it seemed that I was dodging death at every corner. Cliff diving, sunburn, dehydration, Italian men, and finally......sea kayaking. The morning after I was the "cock in the poultry", two of the ladies (the Aussie Nicole and Coloradan Jesse) decided to do join me for some sea kayaking. We paddled along the shore away from the towns. Filthy with the detritus of countless motor boats the water cleared as we got farther from the port. Though I had heard there were beaches in the direction we were heading none were to be seen. The shore was a jumble of sharp, jutting rock and towering stone walls that rose straight up from the sea. It was quite beautiful. About twenty minutes out Nicole spotted what appeared to be a large cave, so we both paddled over for a closer look. Jesse kept her distance. It wasn't a cave at all, but merely a concave recession in the rock that had fallen into shadow, a small grotto. I paddled closer still. That was when I noticed a cut in the rock, a narrow passageway that at first looked like a dead-end. As I angled closer I caught a glimmer of light on the far side and got excited. I had spied a tunnel, approximately forty feet long and ten feet wide, that slowly narrowed to about three feet across before expanding back out to its full width and the sea beyond. Exuberant about my discovery I encouraged Nicole to follow me through. I paddled in as the rock walls narrowed around me. When I got to the choke point I could no longer use my paddle, needing to turn it parallel to the boat so I could squeeze through. The boat barely fit, so I was using my hands to work myself through the tightest spot, careful not to cut myself on the sharp rocks or barnacles. Dead-center of the choke, I paused, a big smile on my face, to turn back and see how Nicole was doing. She was close behind me... That was when the wave came rolling in. A large boat must have passed by outside, its wake pulsing silently across the surface towards us. Water, when forced through a narrow gap, generates a large amount of force. I braced myself against the wall, trying to keep my balance as the churning water rose furiously around us. Nicole, unable to hold on, dumped out of her boat into the swirling sea. I immediately realized the danger we were in. Though I can't remember my exact words, things being as they were, a chivalric grace apparently took hold, and, in my "strong U.S. accent" proclaimed: "Are you okay?!? Don't worry, I'm an AMERICAN, I'll get you out of here!!!!" God apparently appreciates poetic justice, for that was when the second wave hit. Much bigger than the first, the wall of water rushed into the passageway, a bubbling cauldron of froth and foam. My fear rose in tandem with the water level. I thought for certain I would either be dashed against the rocks or drowned as the water reached towards the ceiling. Losing my balance, I too fell from my boat. I could feel the raw power around me as I was bent to the water's will. As the wave receded I knew we needed to get out as quick as we could. I instructed Nicole to head out the way we came in and I continued through the passageway to the far side so we wouldn't get tangled up. Both the boats were swamped and dragging them was like trying to pull an elephant through a tar pit. Shaken, but not stirred, we both escaped rather unharmed. After an extremely tiring paddle to a pile of large rocks near the shore we slowly dumped the water out of the boats and managed to get back in. In adventure was over.

Four Guys, Five Towns

The five towns of the Cinque Terra sit in the northwest corner of Italy just along the coast. The colorful fishing villages built into the cliffs seem to tumble down the mountainside right to the water's edge, a procession of dominoes waiting to fall. The sea is a stunning, clear, aquamarine and you can clearly see schools of fish swim by from high above. I convinced a cadre of guys from Switzerland to join me in this endeavor and boy was it a blast. Sorry to disappoint you again Mom, but I can now definitively say that if all of my friends jumped off of a cliff I would to; from about forty feet up to be precise. The jump was in plain view of the train station and the first of us to go (Brooks) got a hearty round of applause from the curious onlookers. Me? I assumed the Jesus-on-the-cross-manuever as I fatefully plummeted to a hearty jellyfish sting. The four of us found a great place to stay after some Australian girls directed us to the apartment of an entertaining older gent named Antonio. The guy was a trip. On my last night there it was just me and five girls. When Antonio saw me in the morning he asked me how my night had gone with a sly smile on his face. With a thick Italian accent he laughed and remarked: "YOU were the cock in the poultry!!!" And I'll leave you with that! More Cinque Terra stories to come!


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Travel Tips For Jew - Train Travel
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Use the bathroom early on long-distance trains; at the start of the ride the bathrooms are relatively clean but by the end they look like they have been visited by a procession of terminally ill monkeys with explosive diarrhea. They would need to develop an entirely new language for me to accurately describe it.