The Saga of the Matzah

So, now in possession of matzah, I made a resolution: every picture containing me for the rest of my stay in Italy would include a fragment of matzot as well. I am proud to say I held true to my word. Never mind that Passover ended at sundown on Tuesday the 26nd, I believe.

Repping Quidditch alongside Perseus.

What I didn't mention about Venice: I stepped in dog poop, with my left foot. If you've been following along with this blog (or French culture) closely enough, you'll know that that's not a good thing, whereas a right foot sopped in merde is a sure sign that Lady Luck loves you.

And so my good fortune from Cagliari turned. In Venice, on Good Friday (night), we apparently missed a riparian procession.

Florence's River, the Arne, on the other hand, had nothing but beautiful reflections on it.

Il Duomo - Where are the fireworks?

But that was just from lack of information. We knew that on Easter Sunday, there were going to be fireworks outside the magnificent Il Duomo in Firenze, and we had no intentions to miss them. So when we arrived in town at four in the afternoon, we headed straight to our hostel, and I made sure to inquire as to the exact time of Scoppio Del Carro (Explosion of the Cart). It was that morning. Who'd have guessed that fireworks were in the morning? Jarring, and all the more disappointing to have missed such a novel experience.

I blame the poop.

Well, we still had to make the best of being in this horrible land called Italy, so we dragged ourselves from awful majestic site to terrible wonderful vista. We climbed laboriously to the dazzling Piazza Michaelangelo, where from an agonizing perch we had an excruciating view of Florence, back-dropped with the painfully pulchritudinous Tuscan countryside and mountains. O, woe is me!

The beauty burns.

We stumbled through the daze of ennui from building to building, and, after ages, arrived at Il Duomo. We suffered to be thunderstruck by its extravagance and ornature. We barely tolerated that every museum became free Tuesday evening, as it was the last Tuesday of the month (April 26). Thus we were obligated to see all the sites without spending a centime, from the Medici Cappela to the Medici family's luxurious former residences to Michaelangelo's titanic, awe-inspiring, unique, elegant David (sorry, no pictures allowed).

Massive interior of Il Duomo

But obviously, even if our Tuesday night could have been conceived as wonderful, marvelous, superb, incredible, or any other superlative adjective, it only served to illuminate the inadequacy of our Monday night. For that evening, we merely listened to opera professionals perform the highlights of famous Italian operas. The lady wasn't fat enough, so I couldn't tell when the performance was over. How inconsiderate.

Kim, backed by Ponte Vecchio, the only to survive WWII, at night

We also endured delicious Italian food: cinghiale, or wild boar, comes to mind, although I also managed to find Florentine tripe and - trippe - and ribolitta, a traditional (and delectable, I mean detestable) heavy Florentine soup that dates back to the Middle Ages. It was a welcome change from the tasty pesca - sea food - and fragolino - strawberry wine - of Venezia.

Cinghiale, in stone form, eating matzah

On the other hand, to my unrefined tongue, Chianti tastes incredibly similar to cough syrup.

I got there just in time.

Pisa

So obviously, we were fed up with Florence by Wednesday, and without delay boarded a train to Pisa.
Pisa was no more than excuse to stretch our legs. We disembarked from the train, walked to see the tower, saw the tower, walked around the tower, and having fulfilled our touristy obligations, walked back to the train station and reembarked.



And I suppose it didn't really matter what train we took, since all roads lead to our next destination.

Where the Streets Have No Name

Well, they didn't. Venice is a difficult city to navigate. The main roads are the canals, and I think they all have names, but not all those side streets with houses on them do. The Venetians don't, however, seem too concerned.

The Grand Canal, complete with vaporetto

Before I continue, let me specify that Venice is incredible. It is truly one-of-a-kind. I know of nowhere else in the world where the entire public transport system operates by boat (vaporetto). I can name nowhere else where a taxi in the water is both usual and useful. I doubt anywhere else has as many street-level entrances, at water-level. And hey, I kinda like rivers a lot. Highlight of my stay in Europe, assuredly. Right?

Gondolier, complete with Gondola

Wrong. Venice is overrated. Yeah, it's unique. But there really isn't much to do there. It was a really expensive place to have nothing to do. Sure, I could wander through the pedestrian-suffocated streets, ignoring the monotony of street vendors. Sure, I could marvel at the gelato stores that greeted us every five or so shops. Sure I could shower gondola drivers with money. Sure I could visit the sights, none of which measured up to the existence of the city itself. But, I'm obliged to admit that after the novelty wears off, Venice is not the top of the world.




On the other hand, each gelato tasted as wonderful as the last (the gelato store frequency is constant throughout tourist Italy).

Water-level door, complete with dock

Backtracking, we arrived in Venice on the morning of Friday, 20 April. Our bus from the airport pulled into a plaza in the northwest corner of the island, and from there we followed the directions, that I, in my infinite foresight, had brought with us, to our hostel. After checking in, we followed our receptionist's instructions to the Jewish quarter of town (at my behest). And we left without buying even a scrap of matzah, even though it was passover. I didn't want to carry a box around all day with me. During our as yet brief walk, we realized that Venice did not have a single car on its streets. Cars, trucks, motorcycles were all useless, all traffic was waterborne. At some point, we began wandering aimlessly through the (land) streets of the city, hoping to get lost.

Synagogue Door, complete with Hebrew

Mission accomplished. We continued our walk from canal to canal, and eventually we tumbled out onto a major pedestrian route, whereupon I recovered our bearings. At this point, we returned, albeit circuitously, to our hostel to complete check in and get our room. The only other thing we did after that was wander a bit more and eat dinner, before collapsing in sleep.

Saint Mark's Square, complete with slanted horizon

Day 2, we woke up bright (not dark this time) and early and took the vaporetto down to St. Mark's square in the Southeastern corner of Venice, where we got our sightseeing fix, seeing all the major tourist attractions (the square, the ducal palace, the church (Italian basilicas are a bit large)). Sometime after our surreal bus ride down the river (most expensive public transport ever, at 7.50 € a pop). But for a tourist boat

ride, it was well worth it.

View from Vaporetto, complete with stranger's head

Day 3, Sunday. Easter. Easter Sunday. In Italy. My visit was planned so as to be in Venice at this point, and not Rome. I can only imagine what throngs flooded the streets there. Before leaving for Florence, we headed back over to the Jewish Quarter to buy matzah. And everything was closed.
"It's a Sunday," explained Kim.
"That's a Christian thing."
"It's Easter Sunday."
"I don't care, I should be able to buy my matzah!"
Turned out they just didn't open until later in the day (ah, those relaxed Italian schedules). When I returned, I availed myself of some fine unleavened bread, the boarded our train to Firenze.

But one day, I would like to see Venice again.

Nighttime, complete with Venice

Street salesman rant: I've let this go unsaid far too long. Why do annoying vendors in Europe think they can sell things? I'm not talking about purses or sunglasses. I'm talking about the "whistlers" of Barcelona, who think the ability to sound like a demented dying dog merits marketing. I'm talking about the "splatters" of Italy, who think that a stress ball, thrown upon the ground, that recovers its original form is the pinnacle of human enterprise. I'm talking about those everywhere, (Barcelona, Bordeaux, Venice, Florence) who shoot little glowing helicopters into the sky throughout the night, ruining the ambiance of area, polluting the world with their mere presence. I have four choice words for them: The world hates you.

PS. On the note of matzah, I actually did obtain a piece in Aix, and have updated the blog "Aixample" to reflect this.

The Blog Mill

Cagliari. (pronounced Caliaree). I brought only a backpack of stuff to last me a week, and no pre-shave since it wouldn't make it through airport security. I did bring my razor, but opted not to use it. I just scruffed it out.

My stay in Cagliari went perfectly. An omen of good fortune for my final major trip (Italy) within a trip (Europe/Aix).

As you may recall, I departed Aix fleeing from my allergies.
As you may or may not know, I sleep through plane rides of less than 2 hours.
As I awoke, I discovered that my allergies were hardly bothering me.
Victory 1, Total Euros Saved: 0 €

My traveling companion, Kim, and I quickly happened upon the bus going to town from the airport. It appeared to be full, and our fears were confirmed when the bus driver waved us off. But then he pointed to the back of the bus, where we clambered aboard without paying (we had planned to pay at the front).
Victory 2, Total Euros Saved: 4 €

I thought I had sufficiently prepared for the trip, but as we were riding the bus into town, I realized that I didn't know where in town our hostel was. While chewing this over and scouring my reservation for directions, a fellow french youth, William (no really, not Guillaume) began talking to me (he in English, me in French). He was also going to our hostel, but he had even less info on where it was than I. But he had an iphone with wifi access. This technological coup and a friendly Italian cab driver who spoke neither English nor French joined forces to point us on our way, and we quickly found our way to our hostel without a hitch.
Victory 3, Total Euros Saved: 4 €

There was an unfortunately long and slow-moving line to check into our hostel. Finally, however, the second receptionist behind the desk decided to check people (us) in, and it quickly became apparent why he had only been helping earlier. In struggling to find our reservation, he never asked us for International Hosteling Cards, which we didn't have. I did not realize at the time, but this hacked three euros each off our travel expenses.
Victory 4, Total Euros Saved: 7 €

When I went in to my room, I discovered that I had been upgraded from the 6-person suite I had reserved to a two-story, 4-person suite (which is normally private). Moreover, only one other bed was taken (by a polite, unintrusive Italian), and the other two that I didn't take remained empty throughout the night (Yes, Kim slept in a different room, because at the time of reservation, Hostelworld claimed that there was only non all-female space open).
Victory 5, Total Euros Saved: 7 €, plus room upgrade

We got up dark and early in the morning (before 5 am) to catch our flight to our next stop. This entailed taking the first bus back to the airport. We arrived at the bus station about 10 minutes early, during which I only fretted mildly. Although, as far as we could tell, none of the buses were marked to go to the airport, there were other people waiting with baggage as well, so we weren't too concerned. However, when we tried to get on the bus, the bus driver asked us for our tickets (in Italian). Neither of us knew Italian, but we got the point. I hesitated for a moment before asking "Dove?" (where?), silently thanking all my high school friends who found it undyingly witty to ask this stupid question in any context.

The bus driver told me to go into that building over there, turn to the left, and ask under the window. I did so, and quickly returned with the needed tickets and boarded the bus.

I turned to Kim.
"Did he say that in English?"
"Say what?"
"Where to go to get the tickets?" I specified.
"No."
"You're kidding me..."

I understood what he said to a point that I didn't know what language he was speaking.
Super Victory 6, Total Euros Saved: 7 €, plus room upgrade

Aixample

About time I added another Aix pun.

After Carcassonne, I led my Mom back to my home away from home, Aix-en-Provence. A home. In France. I have to remind myself constantly that I'm still here. I almost take it for granted. That I live in France. That the signs are in French. That the streets don't all have cars, nor even logical sense. That they twist and turn.

My Mom was not familiar with Aix though. She got to thoroughly enjoy its marvels, its numerous fountains, its open air markets, its macaroons. And me, I always enjoy them, though the vicarious addition of her enjoyment didn't hurt.

On Tuesday (now April 19) we ate dinner at my homestay. IT WAS BIZARRE. My Mom doesn't speak French, pas du tout. So the entire conversation was in English. I talked to my host Mom in English for the first time. Charles, my host brother, was unusually silent. The same host brother who talks a mile a minute. The same host brother who parades around proclaiming "I am Charles" in his 12-year-old garçon français accent. And my host family didn't understand the term "on vacation" even though that translates directly ("en vacances" in French). I had to translate to British English for my Mom; everyone was "on holiday" obviously. Such a surreal supper.

Dam near Saint Victoire

On Wednesday, we hiked part of Mount Saint Victoire. It's changed since my last visit. A little greener, and bees (who happily mind their own business) everywhere. More flowers. More sun. More heat. More sweat. We returned to Aix and sat down at a café, treating ourselves to Kirs (white wine with berry-flavored - typically cassis - liquor). As the sun set, we headed to a French restaurant for delicious dinner.

Thursday, my Mom's last full day in France. I showed her the open air markets, and introduced her to the colorful Macaroons, which she loved (both the markets and the candy). This also turned out to be the day of Aix's allergy attack, as apparently I am allergic to the plane trees (think sycamores) that line the streets here, and they picked Thursday to shower me with pollen.

While wandering the Aix markets, my pointed out a guy munching on matzah. I had earlier searched Aix high and low for matzah, but failed to find any. Feeling guilty about the resulting complete lack of attention paid to Passover, I plucked up my courage and asked him where he had purchased his. After struggling briefly with his pronunciation of the word "far away", we entered into a brief conversation, during which he gave my Mom and I a large piece of matzah, and talked about his relative living in Manhattan, and, in the end, offered to give us a heaping boxful if I couldn't find any in the local walmart-reminiscent store, Monoprix. Well, neither my Mom nor I actually wanted the responsibility of lugging this around, so I graciously thanked him, and pretended to walk towards Monoprix. Then I slipped behind another market stall and snuck back past him.

So yes, I had a wonderful time with my Mom in France. There were but a few showers in the hours prior to her arrival, and predominantly sunny skies after. Not a drop of moisture from the heavens, as if France itself was welcoming my Mom. But we had to part ways, she for her hotel by the airport (and her 6 something o'clock flight), and me for my flight...to Italy. Italie. Italia.

Carcassonne

No, this is not computer-generated. There really is a place that looks like this. And it's called Carcassonne.

The name has a history: apparently the lady Carcas ordered the bells of the city be rung when Charlemagne (I was wondering if I would mention him during my semester here) lay siege to the city. The tolling disheartened his army, and the fortress was christened Carcassonne (Carcas sonne, or Carcas sounds).

My mother and I voyaged there (I can hardly say "went"; that word is not nearly majestic enough) two weeks ago on a Sunday evening in late April (the 17th, to be exact), and lingered (I cannot say "stayed" either) until the Tuesday morning.

We awoke Monday morning to discover a cat-infested castle (CAT-sle. Or, in French, CHAT-eaux. Take your pick, select that which pleases you). Cats everywhere. Restless cats prowling the streets. Slothful cats vegetating in flower pots. Dextrous cats scaling walls.

Then the sun illuminated the world, people emerged from their dank sleeping quarters, and the cats disappeared. Oh, but the keep! Although the tower tops were put in place for tourism, the base itself is the real deal, fortress of defense dating to Roman times.

Roman-built spire

People were not the only visitors in Carcassonne that Monday. Cers, the chill West wind, blowing from Montagne Noir or "Black Mountain" (this is all real) greeted us in force that day. On other days, one might meet Antlantus, the warm, damp wind of the Mediterranean to the Southeast. (oh, this place was absolute ecstasy for my inner geek me).


I couldn't sit still. I walked the city streets. I stalked the ramparts. I circled the city, again and again. Night fell, and I continued. Allergies took a back seat. The wind's icy breath invigorated me. Even chains couldn't contain me; they caught my legs, scraped my shins, but around I walked.

Yes, this city was thoroughly worth forgetting my headphones on the train for.

Scattered thoughts, both about Carcassonne and about France in general:

Who let the rodents out??

I saw a couple walking their two ferrets (or perhaps they were weasels?). Or so I thought. Because when my mom and I turned our head, a third rodent appeared! But that wasn't the end of it. Somehow, the couple produced a fourth ferret/weasel. All on leashes. Bizarre.

No headphones is a bit of a pain. Surprisingly less for traveling than for walking the kilometer-and-a-half back from school. Of course, I don't think I'm going to buy a new pair before going home, so that means no Ipod on the overseas flight...so we'll see.

Goose

An oversight in my brief Bordeaux post: my Mom and I also walked around a park (it didn't bother my allergies, so it was fun). We saw lots of marine fowl, but even with my Mom there (see Strasbourg), we were unable to identify many birds. But I like water birds I guess.

More Bordeaux: The city is called "La Port de la Lune", or the harbor of the moon. And yes, the river was gorgeous at night.

Okay, so in beginning to prepare for my return home (15 days...), I realize that reverse culture shock exists. For example, the mannequins in French stores are naked half the time. That never happens in the United States, but I don't even notice anymore. I wonder how much more has escaped my attention...

La Port de la Lune

Well, there's the doors to building here as well. Some times they open by pushing. I have a dread premonition that I'm going to make a fool of myself in the USA pushing futilely on a door I should be pulling.

Morsels

Bordeaux, so long ago.
What can I still know?

It was over two weeks ago that I sojourned there, and since I have been to Carcassonne, back to Aix, and then through Italy. But more on that in the coming days.

!My Mom, came to France, after the rain, took a train.

5 hours aboard and one more.

Classical Architecture. Red Wine.

Took a tour, what a bore.
Tour guide spoke French, and English with a heavy French accent. I could understand the French better, but it was exhausting to be listening for the wrong language whenever he switched tongues.
There were no oral cues.

But we saw the city.



Another tour, this one of fine wine.
Lady here spoke French and English too, but with much greater difference in accent. It was still too much for me, and I passed out on the bus. I was awake to stroll around the vineyards.

Wandered the city with my Mom. Realized how little gastronomic French I understand, cause of great friction. Reflecting, I understand Italian menus almost as well. (Lasagna, Ravioli, Panini, Pizza, Spaghetti, what on Earth are they talking about?)

Beautiful city, no rain.

Foresight

Hmmm. I don't know that two blog posts in such close proximity is permissible. I mean, a few hours later...

But, I don't foresee having much time for blogging in the upcoming two weeks (two weeks of Easter Break), so here goes.

My mom will be arriving in France Thursday!

Anyway, briefly, we will be traveling to Bordeaux and Carcassonne before returning to Aix for a few days.

Then next Thursday I leave for Italy, where I will be making my rounds through Venice, Florence; Pisa for an hour or two, and Rome.

I'm hoping my allergies aren't too bad any of these places. I've moved up to full dosage just in case.

Passover starts Monday night, as I will be in Carcassonne then. Probably going to be one of my less observed Passovers...

I hardly use my phone here in France. So little, that the amount it costs to keep it up and running may cover me sending some texts to the USA at the end. Or possibly just saving it and hoping it still works if I come back to France.

No pictures of the future yet. Though if you search Carcassonne or any of the Italian cities, you'll assuredly find something.