My Room At the Plus Florence Hostel (Sep 2)
Attempted Self-Portrait: Me in the Piazza del Duomo (Sep 3)
Another Self-Portrait: In Front of the Bronze Doors of The Baptistery of San Giovanni, Pza. del Duomo (Sep 3)
My Apartment at Via Giraldi 8: Second Floor (Sep 3)
I arrived at the Amerigo Vespucci Airport (Amerigo gave America its name) around 2:30, after making all of my connections...barely. I waited by baggage claim for a half hour, until all the people from my flight had left and the new arrivals were filtering in. I was surrounded by young kids like myself. Americans. Most of them waited for two or even three bags to pass by. I realized then that what was inside my 30-pound duffel was indeed not too much. Either way, my meager piece of luggage did not make it.
The girl in line in front of me didn't have a forwarding address. Shit. I began to wonder if I knew the address that they gave me in the e-mail. It came into my mind...I had accidentally memorized (after filling out my luggage tags) the address: Via de Melarancio 6-r. The clerk didn't tell me where it was, and I headed towards the exit bummed, tired, and scared. I didn't want to leave just yet. What lay outside the sliding glass doors was too much. I headed to the restroom.
Outside the heat was overwhelming. This is not what I expected. I found the bus stop. Volainbus. I sat down and decided to just sit and wait, rather than check the schedule. If it came--good. If it didn't--plan b. I was sick of itineraries. I tried to take it all in and feel that rush of excitement that the other students at baggage claim seemed to be feeling. But it wasn't happening. To my left, a young couple are passionately smooching. To my right, some Italian dude. Somehow the rush just didn't quite make it to the surface.
I got on the bus, paid, and then sat down up front. We passed through what sort of looked like Firenze, but not quite. I realized that not all of Firenze is preserved like what I had seen in travel guides. We soon entered the historical center and next thing I knew, we were stopped outside of a large building. I knew I wanted to get to Stazione Centrale della Santa Maria Novella, but I had no idea if this was it or not: it was time to whip out the Italian. "Santa Maria Novella?" "Ahh, Si, Santa Maria Novella." "Grazi." Not bad...just not very impressive.
I got off and pulled out my itinerary to get the directions to the hostel. I put on my sunglasses and headed across the busy street. Cars and Vespas whirred by as if Via degli Avelli were a 4-lane highway. The directions began with, "Head across the street towards the McDonald's." I think: Maybe I haven't left America after all.
I stopped in an Internet point. I desperately wanted to get into contact with home again. I wanted to let everyone know that I had actually made it. I had to go into the basement where a creepy guy watching Indian music videos on YouTube scanned my passport and charged me 1 euro for 15 minutes (I later learned what a rip off this was). Good enough for me. A sign on the way down warned me to watch my belongings. This did not help ease my paranoia. There were only a few other people in the basement. One man at the far end of the room, and three boys at the other end who were also watching YouTube. But instead of harmless, silly music videos, they were watching a video of an animal attacking another animal. This also did not help ease my paranoia.
I went back out onto the street and carried on with my journey towards shelter. My bag was feeling heavy, my shoulders and back sore, and my eyelids heavy. I saw a big, boxy black arch with the words "Hostel" up ahead. A sigh of relief. The young man at the counter spoke good English and handed me a room key, a towel, sheets, and a bag of toiletries. Because I had read somewhere that some hostels won't allow you in your room before a certain time (either because they don't want you getting too comfortable or because they want you to go out and experience the environment), I had to ask if there were any rules about when I could be in my room and when I couldn't. This was the biggie: I just wanted to feel comfortable for a bit. "No! No! Whenever you like!" Another sigh of relief.
I walked down a bright pink hallway looking for room 101. The girls' floor. There were strange paintings by the same artist all over the place. Whoever painted them has a fascination with city life and surrealism...obviously not related whatsoever. City life is of course very real. Maybe not for me right at that moment, but for someone somewhere, it is. All of them had a background of some sort of cityscape, and on top of these images the artist had painted swirls, graffiti-like markings, and text in both Italian and English. Very strange. So strange I almost liked them, but there was something about the neon pink walls that made them very, very ugly. This is not what I expected a hostel would look like.
I pushed the door open and said hello to the girl inside. She was sitting on one of the top bunks with her computer in her lap. She swung around, and in an English accent responded, "Hello there!" She was also a relief. Not intimidating in the least, and there was no way she was going to steal my stuff or avoid bathing and cause a stench.
The walls in the room were purple and the shades were magenta. This is definitely not a hostel.
I unpacked my stuff and paced around a bit while the English girl--whose name I cannot remember--and I had conversations about going abroad (which she had done in France once before), Facebook, and not being able to remember people's names. Sorry English girl.
My evening was lovely. I spent a couple hours flipping through my travel guides--now trying to induce the rush--and sewing up a shirt. I then had dinner and took a shower. An Australian girl came back to the room: Hillary--not Sheila. She has been traveling with her friend and they were just in from Venice and off to Croatia soon. I read a bit of an article in Rolling Stone about the Bush Administration, and then dozed off. When I woke up there were two Sheilas...one Hillary and one Lori. I realized then that staying in a hostel was a good idea. The Brit and the Sheilas were good company and kept me from feeling too lonely...or alone...not sure which. Maybe both.
My REI travel clock alarm beeped for the first time since its purchase at 7:30 AM, and I showered again. Freshness and comfort were the goals at that point. I packed up my stuff and went to breakfast downstairs. All you can eat for 3.50 euros. I now know the true value of money and food. Knowing that I am on a budget, all the Pasticcerie and snack shops do not look inviting. I worked all summer to have loads of my money taken away and I am not about to spend 3 euros on a croissant when I can get plenty of calories in the basement of the Plus Florence Hostel.
9 AM. Northern Firenze. I bid the Brit and the Sheilas arrivederci and set off again with my backpack and my nerdy pop-up map of Firenze. Check in was beginning now, but I figured I might as well try to enjoy getting there. Really not knowing where I was going, I accidentally stumbled upon the San Lorenzo Chapels. That was it for me: the rush. It finally came to the surface. I couldn't stop smiling. For someone who has never seen architecture more than two centuries old in real life, has never been to Europe, has never traveled this far alone, and who knows absolutely no one in Firenze, the San Lorenzo Chapels are a hard smack in the face. They tell you to wake up and smell the marble.
I was glowing and I knew it. I might as well have worn a shirt that said "I'm an American student!" on it. I found the student check-in point and waited in line. Two Japanese girls, Narisa and Akiko, struck up a conversation with me. "We are from Japan, we do not speak very good English! Hahahah!" They proceeded to ask me questions and I continued to glow. I was so grateful for these two girls and their warmth, that once again I felt like I had before when Ms. DeSilva and the Singapore Airlines attendants treated me so nicely...I am going to be alright. "You are from California?! Uhhhh...Dis...Disney...land?" I respond, "Oh yeah! My school is right next to it!" Narisa and Akiko loved that. "AHHHHH!!!!"
I get into my apartment--after trekking all the way there with my keys, not being able to open the door, trekking back to the check-in point for help, and trekking back to the apartment and fussing with the key again. Another bright side: even though I had to go back and forth between the check-in point and my apartment, I took several different routes and ended up finding Piazza del Duomo and seeing lots of the city. (See all three photos above)
As I finally hear the lock click and the door swings open, the rush hits me again even harder. I won't lie to you: I jumped up and down and talked to myself: "There's no way this is my apartment."
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