This just in...
Pieces of a memory of one of those weekends:
Verona train station, hallway to be precise. Leaning against baggage...
thinking about all the baggage I'm carrying around.
Flora. Soggy-ish bread. Red Apples that get caught in my teeth.
Being offered hashish but the guy who later shows us card tricks and plays a hand of 3-way speed.
15 Euro taxi ride instead of 50.
Freezing cold - cold on the inside...until warm needles of a shower stabbing life back into our flesh.
Rain on the tarmac. And a plane that flies, but I can't imagine why I trust my life to it.
Speaking bits of a lanugage, mostly just flailing hands around and muttering something sort of like "Grassy" in a horrible accent that tells the entire universe that we're from America.
Huddling together waiting for a taxi, even thought it'd of been quicker just to walk.
Fuzzy unicorn purse the size of a credit-card named Roni - just because it's cute... ... ...and fuzzy.
Shiny bread package at 7:20 in the morning after waking up late. Cheese and a citrus flavored croissant too.
Caffe Latte in a seedy side-shop cafe that beats all other coffee down with a rusty stick.
City streets before dawn and after dusk - each just as beautiful.
Walking from nowhere to anywhere.
Hunting down mango gelato - finding papaya instead...and beind satisfied.
Caffe Expresso in a cup not as big as my palm - with latte and a sugar.
Five to seven am hell wandering around with too many bags and not enough jackets.
Busses that only leave at 8 pm on a saturday.
Mini colloseum, Juliette's balcony, and tons of raw sleepless nerves.
Realising why they call them pigeon holes.
Quatro Formaggi, potato dumplings, tomotoes and cheese, ravioli, and springy pasta with artichoke amazingly spent over hours of endless good times... ...while everyone else tried to convince themselves they liked wine.
How I laugh at them.
Groggy, only half remembering what day it is or how we got where we were. Living zombies perusing streets that take one's breath away.
Little side-street cafes with tables out front. Open air markets surrounded by ristorantis and Pizzerias.
Wachting the city wake up and fall to asleep - all in one 8 hour day, with sleeping stuck somewhere in the middle of the day.
Humming in the dark, strolling on my own and watching the wall of the old city.
Exploring the 28 Euro a night hotel and finding room 356 with it's key still in the door and weirdo murmuring noises.
Freaking out and telling freaky stories to get even more scared.
Realizing we're safe as long as we're up against the wall...even if the door is locked and the man with the knife doesn't care if I'm carrying an ice bucket from the bar.
Laughing, joking, and deep talking until 2 or 3 in the morning - even with the hour difference.
Bus rides in the dark and in the morning light.
Flying with brand new pilots that tilt the plane to their music and bounce at least once on landings - but all the while, telling yourself, "Ahh. She'll hold. We'll be fine."
No. There is nothing like a weekend spent in Italy.
Really. Nothing.
-RK
Verona train station, hallway to be precise. Leaning against baggage...
thinking about all the baggage I'm carrying around.
Flora. Soggy-ish bread. Red Apples that get caught in my teeth.
Being offered hashish but the guy who later shows us card tricks and plays a hand of 3-way speed.
15 Euro taxi ride instead of 50.
Freezing cold - cold on the inside...until warm needles of a shower stabbing life back into our flesh.
Rain on the tarmac. And a plane that flies, but I can't imagine why I trust my life to it.
Speaking bits of a lanugage, mostly just flailing hands around and muttering something sort of like "Grassy" in a horrible accent that tells the entire universe that we're from America.
Huddling together waiting for a taxi, even thought it'd of been quicker just to walk.
Fuzzy unicorn purse the size of a credit-card named Roni - just because it's cute... ... ...and fuzzy.
Shiny bread package at 7:20 in the morning after waking up late. Cheese and a citrus flavored croissant too.
Caffe Latte in a seedy side-shop cafe that beats all other coffee down with a rusty stick.
City streets before dawn and after dusk - each just as beautiful.
Walking from nowhere to anywhere.
Hunting down mango gelato - finding papaya instead...and beind satisfied.
Caffe Expresso in a cup not as big as my palm - with latte and a sugar.
Five to seven am hell wandering around with too many bags and not enough jackets.
Busses that only leave at 8 pm on a saturday.
Mini colloseum, Juliette's balcony, and tons of raw sleepless nerves.
Realising why they call them pigeon holes.
Quatro Formaggi, potato dumplings, tomotoes and cheese, ravioli, and springy pasta with artichoke amazingly spent over hours of endless good times... ...while everyone else tried to convince themselves they liked wine.
How I laugh at them.
Groggy, only half remembering what day it is or how we got where we were. Living zombies perusing streets that take one's breath away.
Little side-street cafes with tables out front. Open air markets surrounded by ristorantis and Pizzerias.
Wachting the city wake up and fall to asleep - all in one 8 hour day, with sleeping stuck somewhere in the middle of the day.
Humming in the dark, strolling on my own and watching the wall of the old city.
Exploring the 28 Euro a night hotel and finding room 356 with it's key still in the door and weirdo murmuring noises.
Freaking out and telling freaky stories to get even more scared.
Realizing we're safe as long as we're up against the wall...even if the door is locked and the man with the knife doesn't care if I'm carrying an ice bucket from the bar.
Laughing, joking, and deep talking until 2 or 3 in the morning - even with the hour difference.
Bus rides in the dark and in the morning light.
Flying with brand new pilots that tilt the plane to their music and bounce at least once on landings - but all the while, telling yourself, "Ahh. She'll hold. We'll be fine."
No. There is nothing like a weekend spent in Italy.
Really. Nothing.
-RK
8 Thought(s):
*I* wasn't trying to like it, I just wanted to see if it was any good. And the verdict is?
Nope, it's shit.
oo Also, how does a stick become rusty?
how does coffee become that amazingly delicious?!
LOL, *tears* How I desperately miss Europe and all of it's grandeur... and well, the filth is charming as well because it's foreign filth! :P
Yes, I would imagine wine to be quite awful, but of course you dear one, didn't go near it! I remember your disdain for the smell of alcohol quite well... LOL
Ah, how we miss you here! *tears*
*more tears* And how I'm sure we ALL wish we were THERE! I hope you're enjoying yourself! :)
yep, definitely wishing I was THERE.
oh well, in good time, in good time
Well I was trying to like it. And the weird thing is I will probably try to drink it again because I'm perverse like that. Even though it really did taste yucky.
Aww Frankie and Sparkala have graced me with their beautiful presence! I LOVE YOU GUYS!!!! *many bear hugs*
And Avi...that's just sick. HEHEHE! Oh yeah, and *wchpsh* Egpytian Slap! =0D
I think it's funny that we have since tried wine again and enjoyed it.
What I find even funnier is that you're reading this now...
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