Yesterday I went to Verona.
The streets of Florence are eerie and mystical at six in the morning. The sky is dark, cloudless, bleak, with no touch of light from an outside world. The only sound is of the broom of the street cleaner two blocks away and the buzzing of the fogged lights drooping off of crumbling buildings. I walked down streets I am familiar with, tracing a path passed comfort zones, but in the morning air- these familiarities took on a new face. The buildings closed, no lights, and flickering sale signs extinguished.
The pace of my footing was rushed, anticipating the departure of my train in an hour. A nervous feeling churned in my stomach as each corner pulled me closer to my first real travel on my own experience (apart from flying across the ocean to get here.) ‘Stage fright’ is what Rachel had called the night previous.
I arrived at the station with thirty minutes to spare. The name of my destination was lost in the scroll of train times. I could not find it and time was drawing near. I finally spotted my train number, the destination unrecognizable. I two stepped to platform six where I found couch six and seat sixty-two. A man stopped his passing through the isle and asked if I was going to Bologna. Fear rushed into my pulse as his question was an obvious tone of you-are-in-the-wrong-spot-you-stupid-American. I answered yes. His response was odd, “Then you are in the right place.” I smiled as fear subsided and he continued down the cabin.
The ride to Bologna was fast. Older women, who snored in their coma like sleep, surrounded me. As I gently asked the one next to me to move so I could get off, her eyes glazed shut did not open and she robotically moved. I slipped off onto the new platform and followed the crowd down the stairs to the main station. There were no signs, no train times on a screen, no maps, nothing. I was sure I had been dropped off in the land of the I’m-to-brilliant-for-signs. A woman in a uniform, associated with mass transit, was walking toward me. I asked her where I could find the train to Verona or something similar to finding my right train. She said in broken English “platform three, ten after eight.” I said thank you, but she insisted on saying is three more times to me. Either she was practicing her English or she thought I was incompetent. I am going to go with the second reason.
The train to Verona was empty, except for my cluster of four seats, naturally. A couple came into the cabin I was seated at right before it started to move. They looked around, noticed the empty chairs, and sat right next to me. I was by the window, my backpack on the seat across from me. To my left was the woman, clearly intelligent, working for a high class business, and overly pregnant. Her, to my guess and great hope, husband sat facing her. They did not say anything to me although they made a great attempt to sit with me. At first I was a little annoyed. The entire cabin, maybe even the entire train, was empty and they felt the need to sit right next to me. The feeling subsided as I started to listen to their flawless, foreign, flirtatious conversation filled the air. They were beautiful. Her hair was dark and curled lightly down her shoulder. Her lips were plumped, lightly glossed with a pink tint. Behind massive eyelashes, dark brown eyes sparkled the reflection of the man. He was well dressed, a suit with sophisticated buttons on the cuff and a black silk tie. Light facial hair created a shadow on his round face. His blue eyes were crystal and would dilate when he laughed and licked his lips shyly in response to her touch on his knee. Secretly I was hoping that when people came into our cabin they would see the couple and then see me and possibly they would connect me with them. That possibly they associated their flawless beauty with me. And maybe, someone of it rubbed off before we exited.
I do not remember exiting the train or walking out of the station, but miraculously I jumped on the right bus heading for the city center. I was smothered with the good smelling curls of the teen girl in front of me the entire journey. As I was spooned with strangers, our hands grasped tightly on the same singular pole in the center of the bus, I swayed unbalanced almost knocking grandpa’s tooth out, who was seated behind me, with my backpack.
I got off and immediately felt a thrill of being lost. I wandered down a street and immediately fell in love with the flowers dangling from the terraces of surrounded apartments. Vines covered the old brick walls of the elderly couples watering their pots. The rest of the day I mindlessly explored.
The Arena was large with a similar build to it as the Coliseum in Rome. Surrounding its walls were groups of Asian tourists in their fold out hats, even though the sun was completely hidden by a grey, overcastted, foggy, (but beautiful) sky. The stones of the old theater were crumbled exposing many layers. I personally like this attribute because I think with each layer comes the story of the people who built it, sat in it, acted on it’s stage, or spilt wine on it’s stone seats.
The streets leading away from the Arena were marble. Warned before by Joanna that they are slick when wet, I cautiously took my first few steps only to discover that they were dry as the desert. One in particular was lined with shops.
I noticed a Sephora, my Aunt Michael and I’s favorite make up store, so I decided to go in. A woman approached me, looked at my blonde hair and large camera hanging from my neon white neck, and immediately asked me in English if she could help me find something. Out of habit, I responded, “No thank you, I am just browsing” with a smile. She took my arm in a we-are-now-best-friends kind of way to the eyebrow section where she took the liberty of explaining to me that there are eyebrow pencils, gels, tools to trim, and even a new wax package that is on sale. I smiled larger than you should when looking at grooming necessities for eyebrows, only trying to conceal my laughter of the language barrier mistake we had just encountered. I thanked her and took a minute to pretend that ‘brows’ing things were what I was interested in. I finished my walking around the countless colors of eyeliner and continued my exploration, chuckling to myself.
The piazzas were much smaller than any one of Florence’s, but they were familiar in the number of carts cluttered with the same cheap products that allure tourists easily. I wish there were more city orientated uniqueness to these carts, because I wanted to find something to bring home to forever remind me of the day I traveled to the home of Romeo and Juliette.
I had a map in my hand, but I did not open it. I casually got lost and in this way when I stumbled upon monuments, I was personally more excited and surprised to see them. For example I was walking down a row of shops when I noticed two guys posing for a picture next to a wall with lots of sharpie graffiti and gum stuck to the bricks. I was extremely interested in what made these guys want to pose with already been chewed gum, so I looked up at the sign clearly marked as the entrance to Juliette’s Balcony. AHHHH. This was the one place I had been looking forward to gaze upon ever since I found out that Verona was a real Italian city (that was in seventh grade.) I practically skipped through the archway, crowded with hearts and messages about who loves who. There was a little open square, bordered with gift shops, apartments, and a museum. Vines lined every wall just like you would imagine it. And then there it was, the balcony. The simple symbol of pure romance. It is there that Juliette waiting for her lover Romeo and they announced their love through monologues comparing the sun and the moon to their new devotion of love. It is places like these that make my little sappy, bleeding heart, to weep wildly with joy. I am in love with love. Simple as that. There is a gate, covered with locks that couples have signed and placed as a token of bonding. I stared and admired as many as I could before I got an idea.
I walked into the gift shop that was filled with his and hers mugs, shirts, and towels. I purchased a lock. It is gold and sparkly. On the front it says “sempre, comunque, dovunque” which means “always, no matter what, everywhere.” I borrowed a black pen and awkwardly wrote two names on the back: Audrey & Gabrielle. I thin proceeded to the gate and I locked it there for everyone to see. For those of you who do not already know, Gabrielle is not only my sister, but also my best friend in the entire world. I already know that her name is more fitting to be on a lock than any guys I will ever come to love. So yes, Gabrielle and I have a lock in the most romantic place in the most romantic city symbol in Italy because it’s simple, no matter where I am, no matter where she is, Gabrielle will always be my everything. Always, no matter what, everywhere.
I conquered the entire city. I saw everything a tourist would see and experienced what someone living there would notice. I crossed every bridge over the river, kicked around the fall leaves decorating the sidewalks, and admired the nostalgia the city is captivated under.
The journey home was fast and thoughtless. A man had held the door for me going into the station thirty minutes prior to my departure. He was a businessman, with a briefcase and nice fitted suit. I found his glasses very stunning as I thanked him. Sure enough, as I got on the train and took my seat, he was the man across from him. We discovered that our current seating arrangement was going to be difficult due to his long legs. He tried hard no to entangle them in mine, so I gently slid them to the right under the empty seat next to me. I watched as his cautiously moved his legs closer and closer to my seat. He was testing his limits before hitting my legs and was extremely please by the idea of extra room. The man was not overly attractive, but good-looking. He was in his late twenties, I am guess, and was well groomed with a slight spiked mohawk in his overly conditioned, obviously soft, hair. I did find him extremely cute the minute he tried to find asleep. This adoration I had for him was not an I-wish-you-would-come-sleep-on-my-shoulder-cute but the kind of cute you feel when you see a kind asleep in an awkward position. This guy had his tie up on his cheek almost like a child would snuggle a blanket. He struggled to where his would put his arm and how to prop his head until he finally gave into laying his head down on the table that separated the rows of seats. He took his glasses off and was sound asleep for thirty minutes. It was adorable. I was reading when I was startled, and he was too, by an incoming phone call on his iPhone. The ringtone was “I’m yours” by Jason Mraz. When he answered it, there was a tie mark across his cheek and his face lit up as the sound of a female voice came out of the speakerphone. It was obvious he was in love with this girl. This made me smile.
Again I do not remember leaving the train or walking out of the station, which kind of worries me, but somehow I got in a cab. When we reached Piazza Santa Croce, the cabdrivers little charge-o-meter said nine euro. I handed him a ten and he gave me back six Euros’ back. I mentioned he made a mistake. He responded with “you got a special discount.. Shhh.. Don’t tell.” He smiled and I thanked him as I exited. The walk home was filled with stagger laughs of happy groups of teenagers.
When I got to the apartment, I was exhausted and starving. I walked in and was greeted by my sweet roommates yelling “welcome back sunshine” and other cheesy phrases we have collected. They also had made me dinner, which was waiting on the table, hot and ready. They are truly thoughtful. It reminded me of when I would go to concerts or something with my friends. My parents would save me dinner and leave the table set in my place.
Verona was beautiful and I had an amazing time. Thank you Father for making the ticket reservations and funding it.
Today, I woke up at 2:00 in the afternoon after going to bed at eleven the night previous. As you can probably guess, I am wide-awake and it is nearing eight. Oh well.
You only live once right?
xoxo
1 comment:
Sounds Amazing! And I love the Romeo Juliet lock thing! :D
Post a Comment