Barcelona Ball

In Barcelona my friends and I decided that we really wanted to go to an FC Barcelona football match, and it was perfect luck that there was one that very night.

Camp Nou in Barcelona

We asked a Spanish-but-mostly-Catalan-speaking man in a restaurant how we could get tickets.  He took us to a machine that looks like an ATM but apparently releases tickets to events when you paid with a credit card.  We could not figure out how to select the tickets so we decided to buy them at the stadium.

We got to the stadium later that night and looked for pre-game street ticket sellers (commonly referred to as scalpers).  I paid 30 euros for my ticket and into the stadium I went!

The gate through which I was to enter was in the 90s, of course separated from the others in my party.  I did not mind this in the least because it meant I would be free to immerse myself in the living culture of Barcelona fanhood.  I was presently in the 'teen gates, so I had some walking to do, aaaaall the way around the stadium.  I got to my gate at last and give my ticket (made of glossy, flimsy paper you'd find on a magazine page rather than the almost-cardboard-like consistency I had expected) to the ticket taker.  I was inside of Camp Nou, FC Barcelona's house!  It was exciting to me as an American because FC Barcelona, I am told, is one of the elite franchises in the world, and I was a foreign guest!

I thought my seat was great.  I was in the fifth row of the upper deck, up and to the right of one of the goals.  There was a group of Americans to my left, who looked American.  I was surprised to see so many of us.

The fans in the crowd were not as raucous as I had been led to believe.  I could see no shirtless, screaming fanatics making a scene with their passion for the game.  I saw no brawls throughout the entire duration of the game.  Maybe it's the English football fanatics I was thinking of.  The fans in Camp Nou were nevertheless an excitable bunch, wild and crazy at the first sign of an impending Barca goal.  It was a great environment to be in because everybody, even small children, were into the game and ready to celebrate.

The game went Barcelona's way, 4-2 against RCD Mallorca.  Lionel Messi, one of the best players in the world, scored on a penalty kick in the goal closest to me amidst chants of "MEEEES-SI! MEEEES-SI!"  I felt honored to be in his presence.  I was cultured!

Confetti rained from the top of the open roof when the game was over, and the happy fans and I reveled in the splendor.  I had found a European football team!

Prague's Clock Keeps on Tickin'

Prague's Astronomical Clock is a medieval marvel that you may miss on an adventure through Europe, but definitely should see.  It covers the base of a several-storey-high clocktower in the center of Old Town Prague.

It was built in 1410 and was unlike anything the world had ever seen.  It was so amazingly impressive at the time that Prague’s ruling class found Mikulas of Kadan, the clock’s creator, and poked his eyes out so that he could never make another.  They wanted to make sure that Prague was the undisputed clock champion of the world.  My tour guide said there is a legend that Mikulas, now blind and vengeful, decided to cast a spell so that the clock would stop forever.  The clock has indeed stopped a handful of times in its history, but has been subsequently repaired.

The clock has wonderful features for all to enjoy.

At the top of the clock is an animatronic golden rooster that crows on the hour (though my tour guide said the rooster's crow is not what you'd hear in a rural barnyard - it's more of a pathetic, sputtering wheeze).  Simultaneous with the crowing is the emergence of miniature Apostles who show you the wonderful things they are holding.  They move their arms up-and-down and side-to-side joyfully, though very slowly, as they were built nearly 600 years ago.

In the center of the clock is an elaborate, ominous clock that tells the position of the sun and moon, flanked by figurines representing the vices and fears of the medieval period.  These unnerving things are (in order, from left to right):

Vanity (Represented by a man admiring himself in a mirror;  vanity is bad because it makes a person selfish)

A Jew (Who was feared because he was believed to be corrupt and greedy)

Death (In the form of a skeleton.  Nobody wants to die)

A Turk (Who would kidnap you and take you away to his mysterious foreign land)

Further down still is a circular calendar with small paintings representing all twelve months, between four sculptures of a golden sword-and-shield-wielding angel and three prophets.

This clock is the centerpiece of my favorite European city to date.

What Is This Crazy Place?!

I have noticed several differences between Oregon [where I live] and Paderno Del Grappa, Italy in the northeastern Veneto region [where I study]:

There is much more walking to be done in Italy than in Oregon because there are not so many cars. 

Walking is by no means evil because it is a form of exercise; it is good for you.  I have remarked at least once that "Italians are skinny because they walk everywhere and they smoke!" (They also don't eat as much or as often as we do - good for them!)  In a tiny town like Paderno you don't need a car anyway because walking across town takes under five minutes.   Most of the automobiles you see are ambulances, buses or police cars.  Lots of people have cars, but in a very small town like Paderno there are no traffic jams.  Portland is all about traffic jams.  Paderno's speed limit is much more generous than Portland's, and drivers are not afraid to drive very close behind the car in front of them.  I have not seen any fender benders so I suppose it works just fine.

The cafeteria food that we eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner is 'high-end' cafeteria food, similar to that of an American school. 

It is very nice to have meals prepared for you, but cafeteria food is universal in quality.  Most of us say the food is bland and boring and that they prefer eating at the pizzeria in town, but it is enjoyable because of the variety.  We have spaghetti, penne, gnocchi (a potato-noodle combo) and ravioli with or without meat sauce.  Parmesan (which I love) is provided.  There are fruit and rolls and pudding and yogurt that keep meals interesting.  We eat our meals in a ballroom style room with paintings of Venetian boats on the walls and tubular chandeliers on the ceiling.  It's very classy.

There is an obvious difference between Italian sports and American sports

We like football, they like soccer (soccer and other sports are a common interest).  To watch American sports you have to stay up until 7 PM (1 PM Eastern Standard Time in the U.S.), 10 PM (4 PM EST), 11:30 PM (5:30 PM EST) or 2 AM (8 PM EST) depending on what time an event starts in the U.S.  Last night we watched Iowa come back and beat Indiana, Kansas fall to Texas Tech, and Oregon dismantle USC.  The USC-Oregon game started at 1 AM, and those who are devoted stayed up to watch the entire thing.  I went to bed at 6 AM this morning (and got up at noon for lunch) because after the Oregon game was over we watched the Yankees beat the Phillies in Game 3 of the World Series.  What a night.

I have not seen a huge group of Italians in Paderno crowded around a TV for a soccer match, but I have seen it in Cinque Terre.  I believe you don't see huge groups of people watching soccer because a) there are not so many people in Paderno and b) there are not so many venues in which to crowd around a TV, save the sports bar (but I have not seen this happen yet).

Italian food in general is much more culture-specific, made with many more rules for preparation

It would seem to me that Italian food, as it has had centuries to develop, is a fine art that must be given special attention in order to be made.  American food is made quickly (I'm not talking about fast food) without so much demand for perfection.  Many cultural food styles are borrowed from other countries.  There are very fancy American restaurants but I suppose Italy has history on its side in comparison.

American fast food caters to the host country's preferences, so you will see hamburgers styled to what Italians like.

Young Italian people can compliment each other in ways different than in the U.S.

Young men in Italy often call each other 'bello' (handsome) in everyday conversation.  In Italy this is a custom.  It is perhaps similar to an American saying "Hey, handsome!" to one of his friends.  A man regularly calling another man handsome in America is permissible if a) the two men are related romantically or b) there is a joking nature to the gesture.  In the U.S. Option A is nothing to think twice about given romantic intent, but B, even humorously, will attract a few strange stares and a degree of uncomfortability if it happens too frequently.

There is also the custom of girls holding hands as they walk down the street.  The same rules apply in America as the previous case: it's considered a sign of romantic interest.  American girls hug when they are happy, but the hug ends after a brief moment.  Anything beyond a few seconds is considered romantic.

An Italian kiss on each cheek upon greeting is a sign of respect in Italy and the U.S., but permission must be granted for an American to let it fly.  Americans are territorial and you must be given clearance to make contact.  High-fives and fist bumps are the American standard of physical greeting because there is minimal contact, and they are fun!

Italian business hours are very strange to an American

Italy, like Spain and other Latin countries, enjoys a siesta (the word varies from country to country), a mid-day break of about three and a half hours in which every shop and restaurant will shut down.  This is the most frustrating cultural difference for Americans.  The local tabacchis (general stores, as I call them) in town close from about noon to about 3:30 PM.  These times can be exact or subjective because the owner decides when to come back.  My American peers in Paderno are not big fans of this because between noon and 4 o'clock is the most productive time of the day.  It is the opposite of what we want.  The office on campus does the same thing to try to be fashionably Italian, but it is most often annoying (not to say that I hate the office) because we have to wait a very long time to get mail or drop off forms or get laundry tokens or do other such important things.

Paderno and its tiny (yet very classy) neighbor towns up and down the street are geographically like Eastern Oregon

The land in these towns is flat and dry with huge mountains (The Dolomiti, at the foot of the Italian Alps) in the direct background.  There are piny trees and lizards that climb stone walls and trees.  Just like in Eastern Oregon the mosquitos are out in force.  This is in no way comparable to Paulina Lake in La Pine, Oregon, where the mosquitos hear you coming and won't give up until they've had their fill.  At Paulina Lake you can see swarms of mosquitos from one-hundred yards away.

It has been a constant 60 degrees Fahrenheit every day since we've been here, and it's very cold at night.  It has rained only five or six times since I have been here, and when it rains it literally pours.  Early in September it rained very hard for two or three days.  Most people complained, but not the Oregon people: we love the rain!  I have an umbrella but it shall remain unused (until further notice).  Where I come from rain is only water, and we have sweatshirts to stay warm.  There is a saying in Oregon: umbrellas are for Californians!

You will not find screens on Italian doors and windows.  Rather, there are wooden shutters

Wooden shutters are very stylish but do no service to keeping bugs out.  I have seen stinkbugs, giant grasshoppers, bees, mosquitos and ladybugs (as of a very recent infestation).  All of these invaders are insanely attracted to flourescent lighting in my stone-and-wood room.  Mosquitos are worst offenders.  It is never cold for long enough, so they never die!  The way to get rid of insect invaders is to ignore them and let them die, or swat them.  Bugs will cling to walls, waiting for the light and forgoing food until you get rid of them.

Conveniences that Americans are used to are not so readily available

- Ketchup
- Ranch dressing
- Couches and comfortable chairs [I miss laying around and watching TV / playing video games / watching movies!]
- Popcorn
- Driving a car

ETC.

Being in Italy is like staying in someone's house for three months.  That might be the most obvious statement ever, but that's exactly how it is.  You can't truly make yourself at home because things are done differently than how you would like them to be done.  The best thing to do is smile and say thank you

Language

I was not afraid of the language barrier until I tried to have an actual conversation with someone who speaks no English.  It's not so easy when you have to think of words for yourself

Staycationing is Fun!

A staycation is a brilliant modern travel plan in which you stay where you live (or, we'll say, within two hours away), but act as if you are new in town.

Reasons to Go on a Staycation:

- No expensive train / plane tickets
- No exhaustive packing / keeping track of luggage
- Travel time is not compressed [it takes no time at all to return because you're still where you were before!]
- No major time agreements have to be made [you don't have to worry about if other people will want to spend time on what you want to do]
- You do not encounter tourist-trap prices or 'scams'

Going on a staycation is an inexpensive way to live it up where you live.  You can drop all of your priorities and enjoy yourself for as long as you have in which to do so.  You could even stay in bed and watch TV all weekend, if that's what you like to do.  It's the best and easiest way in which to do nothing in the truest sense of the phrase.

My travels thus far have been to far-off places (Florence, Cinque Terre, Munich, Prague and Vienna).  Each of these places have required spendy transportation and paying attention to details in order to make it back to school on time.  There are rules for such vacations that you must remember and maintain.

Not so with a staycation.

This weekend I am going on my own staycation.  Some friends and I are going to explore the towns around Paderno Del Grappa because up to now I have been 'too busy,' disinterested, or (some other lame excuse).  I have a four-day weekend at my disposal, so now there are no excuses; it's time to rock and roll.

This weekend there are no time constraints and no headaches except for what to do next.  I have been to Asolo and Crespano, but only briefly because I had pressing matters that confined my time and attention.  I could not fully appreciate the towns because I was in a rush.  This weekend I could return to both, and I could even explore entirely new towns like Bassano and Vicenza.  I want to make a return trip to Venice (a less-than-one-hour straight-shot once you get to the train station in nearby Bassano), but we'll see if that happens.

It is exciting to have the freedom to make choices from minute to minute and fly by the seat of your pants.  There's no time like the present to think of things you might or might not do.

Dachau

The day before we went to Oktoberfest [Saturday] we decided that since we were in Munich we would take a tour of Dachau, the original concentration camp.  I was intrigued that we could see it up close and personal, but I was also wary of what part of history it represents.

Dachau was the camp around which all others were modeled.  Commanders put in charge of running such camps were trained there.  Dachau was the place that people feared worldwide.

We entered through the front gate of the compound, black with a cross-bar design.  On the gate door is spelled out ARBEIT MACHT FREI ('Work Makes You Free')  This is notable because it is the biggest lie ever told.  Those words are there because the Nazis wanted to make Dachau seem clean and efficient, an institution in which enemies of the state were reformed and improved through hard labor and discipline (we know that this was a fabrication as well: it was a place of starvation, cruelty and an asylum in which one was worked to death).

The open pen of the main camp was very scary because I knew that millions of people had been hanged, gassed and tortured without mercy within its walls.

The buildings are a solemn, pale, white, as if they are haunted by reminiscences of the atrocities that they witnessed.

I did not want to speak inside of Dachau because speaking is not appropriate, and there is nothing to say.  It is the last place in the world for merriment; rather, it is a memorial of the horrific tragedies the world will never forget.

We watched a black-and-white film about what went on at Dachau.  The film was from the '60s and narrated the story of what Dachau was and how it functioned.  It was supposed to be informational, to spread awareness of what life was like for a prisoner inside of its walls for those who were uninformed.  There was graphic footage of the dead and dying, and you really get a sense that you're sitting in the place that was once the most vile institution ever concieved.

The German nation is eager to let the world see the memorials of what happened, as a statement that they are in no way denying that it happened or that it was a dark period in the history of humanity.  They want to stress that the Nazi Era is not representative of the rest of German history, and that those who subscribed to such evils are not the same as the rest of the German people.  Dachau survivors are invited to come back to honor the dead and find closure, but why in the world would you ever go back to the place where you were starved, worked, beaten and considered less than a rodent for (most often) years at a time?  There are memorial statues all over and the camp, which has been re-established as a museum to honor those who were victims.

After the main building which had maps and displays of the Third Reich's expansion and the different tortures that were carried out, we walked past the plots where the barracks used to be.  The barracks were the shacks in which prisoners were jammed shoulder-to-shoulder into bunks with no ventilation and no personal space except for one's weary, unhappy thoughts (why should you be given anything when you are sent there to die?)  At the end of the barrack rows are enormous Christian and Jewish monuments, a tower that bears the cross and a shrine with the Star of David.

Down this stretch there are trees which are old and thin and add to the depressing atmosphere of this house of horrors.

From there we saw the crematorium, the long building in which prisoners were forced into taking Zyclon-B showers and suffocated to death with poison gas.  The Nazis used Zyclon-B, a rat poison, per Joseph Goebbels' propaganda that equated Jews to rats and other pests:

‘It is true that the Jew is a human being, but so is a flea a living being - one that is none too pleasant . . . our duty towards both ourselves and our conscience is to render it harmless.  It is the same with the Jews.'

This very subject is difficult to write about.

 We walked through the building and passed through the actual gas chambers and I have never been so creeped out in all of my life.  I was standing in a room in which countless people had been showered with acid and gassed before their bodies were put into ovens and cremated.  When the camp was functional the room was fitted with fake shower heads to lure the prisoners into a false sense of security.  The prisoners were made to disrobe so that their prison clothes could be washed and used for the next wave of prisoners brought to the camp by train.  The shower heads have long since been removed, but the grates on the floor and the ceiling remain.  The next room had the large brick ovens in which bodies were burned to ash.  It was strange to actually see a former concentration camp.  One can FEEL the death in the silence around the compound.  Though it was intriguing to take a tour of the site, don't feel right calling it interesting because it is a memorial to the evil that once plagued the earth and killed so many.  It deserves absolutely no positive review.

Throughout the tour and to my ultimate dismay these two women were posing and smiling for pictures in front of the huge map of all the hundreds of concentration camps there ever were in the Nazi Empire.  I could only watch in disbelief as they did because I had assumed that no one would make light of it.  My friend and I wanted to say something, but we did not because we were too bewildered.  Dachau is NOT Disneyland (in fact it's the exact opposite) and you DON'T trivialize a holocaust museum.

Five Cities by the Sea

My latest adventure found me in Cinque Terre, Italy, five magnificent towns carved out of earth and sea.  Cinque Terre means Five Lands, and it lives up to its name.  Each town is remarkable in its own regard.  Each one is different from the rest, and all five come together to create a magnificent oceanside tapestry.  Every city begins at the bottom of a hill on a beautiful, sunny beach and climbs uphill, where you will find corner stores with fresh fruit, trattorias, bars and high-rise hotels.

Since 1998 the Italian Ministry for the Environment has been taking action to preserve this spectacle that is Cinque Terre.  Italy has created the Parco Nazionale delle Cinque Terre to preserve the cities, the coast and their wildlife from pollution and other forms of destruction.

The small towns, Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola and Riomaggiore, are connected by a hiking trail that anyone can handle.  You do not need to be in shape to complete this venture (Look at ME!  I did just fine)  It's a great walk and you will meet all sorts of people along the way (we ran into a group of American girls studying in Rome).

There is a 5-Euro entry fee to walk among the towns, but don't fret: IT'S ABSOLUTELY WORTH IT.  

The crown jewel of this hike is what I call the Tunnel of Love, a tunnel carved out of rock that resembles a medieval cliffside fortification.  On the walls of this tunnel is a stunning display of graffiti murals of every shape and color.  This is not your typical graffiti; these masterpieces reflect the wonders of nature and the human imagination.  People have added to the amazing collection over time, adding to the splendor of the rocky visage.  At the end of the tunnel is a plaque paying tribute to The Beatles that reads:

 And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.

  
My buddy Charlie and I spent lots of time in there, marveling at the varieties of art and inspiration.  I took pictures of every one of the tunnel's wonders because it is something that I never want to forget.

Florence

Last weekend some friends and I were in Florence, a major town in the west of Italy and north of Rome, enjoying our first weekend of freedom, away from tedious seminars and dizzying programs.

We arrived on Friday night and found our hostel with the help of a friendly stranger, who happened to be from Houston, Texas, like one of us in the crew.  Most of us were tired, so a few of us went out while those who were tired went to bed.

Saturday was our day of adventure.  Our first sight to see was the Duomo, the cathedral of Santa Maria Del Fiore.  Inside the colossal church are very high ceilings, curved upwards in the classic medieval style. Stained glass window portraits, brilliant tapestry-paintings and shrines of honorable religious figures dressed the wall, signifying the majesty of centuries past.  Straight ahead from the entrance was an enormous section devoted to Mass and other processions.  Rows of wooden pews faced an altar curve up front with stained glass windows and an altar upon which they shine their divine light.  The section is roped off to preserve its regal glow, but tourists are free to admire two 'trees' of candles for worship and inspiration.  A gift shop is located downstairs, in an old cellar used for storage for relics.

Adventurous persons looking for a bird's-eye view of Florence can climb to the to the top of the Duomo.
 There are three levels of circular walkways that look down upon the Mass areas.  The first is halfway up to the spectacular Heaven and Hell painting adorning the top of the inside of the Duomo.  The second level circles at the base of the painting.  Of the five of us who went up into the dome (Rob, Ryan, Donna, Jeremy and me), Donna and I decided not to pursue the third and final outside level because we are not fans of being up at such great heights.  I was happy to have seen the  inside of the dome, so I had no objections to getting down to the bottom as soon as possible.  Donna was even more excited to get back to level ground than I was.  Rob said that we had made a good choice in not going to the third level because the walkway is on the outside of the dome.  It's very narrow and the protective gate would only come up to my waist had I gone.  I was not unhappy that I had decided against it.

After that we crossed Ponte Vecchio, Florence's famous bridge, on which were several merchants, some with carts and some without, trying to sell their posters or knick-knacks or t-shirts or postcards.  The bridge and the rest of the city are jam-packed with people, and very busy.  Every now and then a car would come through, and those who were selling on the street would have to retreat closer to the sidewalk so that their merchandise would not get smashed.

We went to see the Boboli Gardens, a terraced hill graced with limestone fountains, statues of Neptune and other magnificent, muscular gods and beautiful goddesses.  To be in the garden brings a feeling of mysticism, as if you are among the gods in their immortal realm.  There is a cave on the property in which statues are covered in the stalagmites that cascade from the ceiling, reminiscent of the cursed sailors of Davy Jones's ship in Pirates of the Carribean.  It is very difficult to tell whether the statues are carved from the rock, or if the rock has covered the statues as it formed over time.  It is a wonderful thing to consider and to behold.

We came back to the hostel that night, some of us willing to go out, while some of us were beat and wanted to go to sleep.  It turns out that two young men from Wales (23 and 24, I believe they were) had moved into our communal room of eight.  Their names were Andy and Andy, but Andy B is the one I spoke to more, so I'll refer to him as such to make the distinction.  They were very personable, and said they'd been traveling around Italy for the past few days, though I don't remember exactly where.  They asked Rob and I (because we were the only two in the room at the time) if we knew where Wales was.  We both did because I am a huge fan of history and geography Rob is a huge fan of soccer.

"Most people think it's part of England," Andy B. said.

The Andys were curious to know what stereotypes Rob and I knew of British people (because it's always fun to hear what other people think of your people), so we came up with a list of those we had heard over time:

1. Bad teeth
2. Tea and crumpets

Our list was weak.  Andy B. said he enjoyed tea and a scone from time to time, but that Tea Time as we perceive it in the United States is very old-school British, very traditional, and not so commonly occurring anymore.  I later asked Andy B. about how often one in the U.K. hears "'Allo, guvnah!" or "Bob's Your Uncle," and he said that you could still hear "'Allo, guvnah" in more cockney areas, but not so much of the general population.  "Bob's Your Uncle" (as in "We'll go out on the town, have some lunch, catch a movie, and Bob's your uncle!"; it's a phrase used after a plan is proposed to state that everything will work out) is apparently more common.  I did not ask about Bangers and Mash or Toad in the Hole.  I'll just have to look those ones up.

Conversely, Andy B. said that people from the United States are much more personable than our reputation would predict.  Rob and I said that most people are friendly, but that it's the extremes that one should look out for (but that's the case with most groups of people).

We decided to go down to the hostel bar in the basement, a glorious cross between a pool hall and a dance club.  In one corner was a bar one would expect to see in a Bacardi commercial, with a lit backdrop accentuating the bottles of booze and liquor that stood upon it and a trendy waiter shining glasses.  On the wall were painted silohuettes of dancing people, each with their clothes in the theme of a national flag .  On the ceiling was a disco ball that sprayed circles of a light that alternated colors across the room, moving to the music, a mix of the Black Eyed Peas, Michael Jackson, M.I.A. and the Happy Days theme song, among others.  There was nobody dancing, and I don't blame them.

When a Michael Jackson song came on I asked how people in the U.K. feel about Michael Jackson.  The sentiment is the same there as it is in the U.S.:

There are lots of people who say 'I grew up with his music,' but there's others who say 'He's a nutter, so F him!'

Our conversation moved on to an inquiry of Rob and I's taste in music.  I told him that I am into 70s and 80s rock and hair metal.  Rob showed Andy his own collection.

We talked about the rules of Cricket (of which I still don't have the foggiest), how cool it is that the Union Jack has five flags built into it, the British movie presence in America, how the U.S. was NOT to be considered the same as Canada, how nobody cares about Finland, and how Italian and British girls are beautiful. 

Throughout all of our cultural conversations I heard "Ace" and "Wicked," used to say that something is awesome.  I heard the bathroom called a "lou," which I love, but I'm not sure if I know how to spell it..

Also, a "cue" is a (waiting) line and a  "Chippy" is a place at which one eats fish and chips.  I LOVE CULTURE!

In the morning we went to see the statue of David at L'Accademia and met the Andys there.  The statue is WAY bigger than I thought it would be (if the statue is life-size, he must have been nine feet tall!)  No photography is allowed in the museum because I assume the flash could ruin the adjacent original paintings of holy people doing holy things, but luckily everyone knows what the statue of David looks like.  The gift shop had heaps of David memorabilia for those who wanted to take a David home.

After marveling at the rest of the statues in the museum (of men, women, and children and/or angels [the children and the angels looked very similar]) we wandered the streets some more before saying goodbye to Andy B.  It was not to be a permanent goodbye because he gave me his e-mail so he could read my blogs.  The internet is terrific!

The beautiful blue skies turned to gloomy gray the very minute we left Florence, as if the city was sad that the weekend was over and the weather was staying sunny for us until we left.

A weekend in Florence was a great idea and a fantastic ways to shake the boredom of going to school in a small town.