Since it's been so hot we decided to take a trip to the beach. We took a bus to a little coastal town about sixty kilometers southeast called Sotto Marina. The beach was like one I'd never seen before. It was quadroned off into zones that had hundreds upon hundreds of beach umbrellas and huts scattered across the length of the coast as far as the eye could see. I'm quite certain that this beach coud hold easily at least a thousand people. For different prices you could rent beach chairs, umbrellas, and/or a hut. Katie and I stuck to the simple beach chairs near the shore.
While soaking up the sun, we couldn't help but observe the other beach-goers to discover what they say about European beaches is true. Speedos are worn in high quantity. Now I'd like to take this moment to share a few words of wisdom from the female perspective. Men, speedos are not, I repeat, not sexy! Once being a lifeguard, I have seen my fair share of men sporting speedos--short men, tall men, skinny men, fat men, bald men, hairy men, fit men, and gangly men and not once did I want to take a second look. You could have the body of a bronzed god and still not be able to pull off a speedo. With that said, men consider yourself informed, and please think twice before you embarass yourself with wearing what can only be described as a banana hamock. There, I've said my share.
We also saw a lot of women on the beach who had no problem sunbathing topless. I told Katie we should embrace the European way and go topless ourselves, but let's be honest, we were far too chicken-shit to actually do it. Not to mention, a sunburn there would be rather painful. Ouch! Instead, I chose to take a swim in the ocean, the Adriatic Sea to be specific. It was rather calm and the water didn't taste nearly as salty as other ocean water I've had the dismay of tasting.
When Katie started to burn and the clouds started rolling in, we decided to take the bus home. By the time we arrived back in Padova it was pouring rain and showed no sign of letting up anytime soon. In just skimpy beach clothes, we still had to bike home so we hopped onto our bikes and kicked off into the sopping rainstorm. Within seconds we were soaked through and shivering while the passing Italians looked on at us from under their umbrellas like we had just escaped the local sane asylum. It didn't help that we were trying to peddle through the thick sheets of rain while hysterically laughing at ourselves. We could have been humiliated, but laughing our asses off was far more fun. The Italians in their dry smart cars certainly had no problems pointing and laughing. In fact, I'm quite certain they went out of their way to splash us with their car tires. Feeling like a kid again, I further embraced the situation and rode through the biggest puddles I could find. I mean why not? You only get so many opportunities to act completely and wholly rediculous. Although I do feel like I get more than the average person. Oh well, must just be good luck. Anyway, when we finally made it home twenty minute later, we were thoroughly and utterly water-logged. I'm pretty sure I was carry ten pounds of water in my beach cover-up alone. We could have given drowned rats a race for their money, but I loved every minute of it. It totally made my day.
After drying out, we got ready to go out with the gym teacher from school. After sharing a round of beer at an Irish pub (Dad, aren't you proud? Beer!), he took us to a popular reggae bar. I know, a reggae bar in Italy, very strange. I was extremely excited to discover they had waup or jungle juice as a certain person from KC likes to call it. Since neither Katie nor the gym teacher had ever had it, I had to buy a round for them. It was no surprised that they loved it. Who doesn't love waup?
Following that, we went to a club called the Fish Market. With a name like that, I had no idea what to expect. When the cab dropped us off at the edge of a small forest where just two conspicuous looking men stood under a fire-lit torch, I became a bit nervous. Had I not heard how popular and common this club was I might have turned the other way. Instead I tread forward feeling like I was entering some underground rave party. I wouldn't have been surprised at that moment if the two men had asked me for the secret password. Luckily, all we needed was ID. After walking down an ominously dark trail, the shadows finally broke into bright lights and loud music. The club consisted of a yard behind a villa with bright, glowing colored yard lights, picnic tables strewn about, a football field, a projector running old Italian carttons, a dancing deck, and finally a bar all laid out under the stars. It was definitely not your typical club.
Soon we met up with some other teachers, and the rum and cokes were going down quite smoothly. If I thought it was difficult to understand the teacher's Scottish and Irish accents before, it was nothing compared to doing so while buzzed with the Black Eyed Peas blaring in the background. It didn't take long before Katie was drunk and making out with the gym teacher. I simply laughed and made sure along with the other teachers to tease her the rest of the night.
I guess it's safe to say there's never a dull moment in Italy. I'm just glad I won't be the one remembered by the other teachers as "that American student teacher that got drunk and dirty on the dance floor with Rob the gym teacher." See mom, you raised me right afterall. As for Amanda, the jury's still out on that one. I mean she did find her husband in Las Vegas of all places. Wink!
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Parents Spill Blood on Sport's Day
I always thought it was safe to say that America is the most overwhelmingly competitive, cut throat country, but after Sport’s Day here I think we might have some worthy competitors in the form of the Italians. All classes were divided into four teams—Dante, Donatello, Giotto, and Gallileo—and competed in about ten activities ranging from sack races, sprint races, relay races to obstacle courses, football shoots, and balancing contests in which parents could come and watch. To say the children were passionate and competitive would be an understatement. After the very first station, I had to comfort a sobbing student who had come in second in the sprint race. That was nothing compared to the parents however. I could barely explain directions at each station over the loud chanting and picture taking. The parents had no qualms darting right in front of me to get a shot of their son or daughter. After all, he or she very well may be the next David Beckham, right? Not only that, but they were also out for blood. I had a parent sulk at me when a student started a race a second before the others, and I did nothing at this clearly unjust usurp of the rules. I wanted to remind him of the fact that these were seven-year-olds and that it wasn’t the World Cup, but I stayed calm and collective like the good little teacher I’m supposed to be. However, it grew harder to hold my tongue as the day continued especially when one of the parents blatantly leaned over my shoulder to double check my math work as I tallied the points. I figured stabbing him with my pen probably wouldn’t have strengthened American foreign relations though. Nonetheless, it was still hard to fight the urge.
At the end of Sport’s Day, there was both a sprint race for the mothers and the fathers. It was hilarious to watch the mothers kick off the diamond studded shoes and amble onto the starting line where they continued to elbow and box each other out for a better starting spot while sporting their Prada and Louie Vaton dresses—the perfect sports attire after all. When the whistle blew, these women ran while savagely pushing and shoving each other as if they were racing toward the very last pair of Jimmy Choos in the entire world I truly wish I had a video camera. When the fathers swaggered onto the track, they actually did some stretching before lining themselves up at the starting line. The race was quickly finished after one father took a hard fall at the finish line and skidded a good four feet on his back across the line to lose the lead and finish second. He scratched up his left elbow pretty bad, but couldn’t be bothered by it as he double checked that he actually didn’t come in first. The other teachers informed me that the parent races are always the most entertaining and that only last year there was a three man collision during the race. On that note, I’d like to personally thank you mom and dad for never embarrassing me in such a way while at school.
At the end of Sport’s Day, there was both a sprint race for the mothers and the fathers. It was hilarious to watch the mothers kick off the diamond studded shoes and amble onto the starting line where they continued to elbow and box each other out for a better starting spot while sporting their Prada and Louie Vaton dresses—the perfect sports attire after all. When the whistle blew, these women ran while savagely pushing and shoving each other as if they were racing toward the very last pair of Jimmy Choos in the entire world I truly wish I had a video camera. When the fathers swaggered onto the track, they actually did some stretching before lining themselves up at the starting line. The race was quickly finished after one father took a hard fall at the finish line and skidded a good four feet on his back across the line to lose the lead and finish second. He scratched up his left elbow pretty bad, but couldn’t be bothered by it as he double checked that he actually didn’t come in first. The other teachers informed me that the parent races are always the most entertaining and that only last year there was a three man collision during the race. On that note, I’d like to personally thank you mom and dad for never embarrassing me in such a way while at school.
Sardines, Shots, and Snogging
Katie and I got the pleasure of going on a field trip with the year five students since they needed extra hands. I should have suspected that it wouldn’t be anything like a normal field trip owing to the fact that nothing seems to be the same here in Italy; yet, the experience still managed to shock me. First of all, it was about a forty-five minute bus trip to the place, and I’m using the term bus very loosely here. You see school buses here are actually gigantic yellow conversion vans with seats that can only be described best as park benches. You pack as many students on as possible even if that means sitting on laps while the bus driver watches this amusing packing of sardines from outside while smoking at least one pack of cigarettes possibly two if he can fit it in. That’s right, apparently only in America are schools drug and tobacco free zones. Anyways, it took only about fifteen hair-pulling minutes to finally puzzle piece us all onto the bus before we managed to hit the road.
While traveling, the students decided to entertain the teachers with a fog-horn level rendition of We Will Rock You and some other beautifully loud Italian football chant songs. If I closed my eyes I could almost make myself believe I was at a sporting event rather than on a school field trip. If that wasn’t enough, I found myself rather nervously watching the bus driver, yes the cigarette fiend I mentioned before. You see the Scottish teacher took the seat next to him and was quickly drawn into an enthusiastic conversation. Not that I don’t condone conversation on a long trip, but the fact that the bus driver’s hands were found more often than not flailing in grand expression rather than on the steering wheel was rather nerve-racking to say the least. At some points he would turn his whole body to the Scottish teacher totally taking both hands and vision off the road. Arriving in one piece was no short of a victory, but exactly where had we arrived?
A farm? A museum? It turns out it was a little bit of both. In the barn was an antique Italian museum while outside there was the strangest combination of animals including rabbits, goats, peacocks, dogs, and a donkey. It turned out to be one of the student’s grandparent’s property which also had a luxurious house, patio/bar, pool, park, and summer house which belonged to said student in the summer. Yep, he has his very own summer house at the age of eleven. I guess I shouldn’t have been all that surprised since another student at the school lives in a castle. These kids have no idea how loaded they are. After we toured the museum and the farm it was time for lunch. While the children ate in the barn, the teachers sat out on a picnic table for lunch where the owners first brought out a bottle of wine, then another, and then, yes, another. I couldn’t believe I was sipping back wine with my students just in view. Apparently, it was pretty normal because the students didn’t bat an eye.
After lunch, the children were let into the park to play football(soccer), and the teachers were left with….yes, more alcohol. This time the owners brought out not just wine, but hard liquor. It was some special hard liquor that the owners had made themselves. Surreal does not even begin to explain the thoughts going through my mind as I sat drinking what I could only call Italian moonshine while on a “school field trip.” When the male teachers soon disappeared to the patio/bar for cigars, my jaw could no longer hold itself up, but that’s not even the real kicker. Our bus driver decided to take a break from his smokes long enough to indulge himself in a shot of moonshine himself. Between my spills of laughter with Katie, I could not help but count the lawsuits that would have followed if this had taken place in America. We were only interrupted by the fact that we were still teachers on duty when a few students reported that some classmates were kissing in the park. The fun and games had to be put on hold while we went on snogging patrol. Clearly, these Italian youngsters have learned from their older counterparts that feelings of affection are perfectly normal to publicly display even at the feeble age of eleven. Excuse me as I puke.
All in all, it was one hell of a field trip which is quite the understatement if you ask me. It’s no surprise that Katie and I quickly volunteered to go on any other field trip they needed extra teachers for. After all, it would be a shame to miss out on another educational field trip experience.
While traveling, the students decided to entertain the teachers with a fog-horn level rendition of We Will Rock You and some other beautifully loud Italian football chant songs. If I closed my eyes I could almost make myself believe I was at a sporting event rather than on a school field trip. If that wasn’t enough, I found myself rather nervously watching the bus driver, yes the cigarette fiend I mentioned before. You see the Scottish teacher took the seat next to him and was quickly drawn into an enthusiastic conversation. Not that I don’t condone conversation on a long trip, but the fact that the bus driver’s hands were found more often than not flailing in grand expression rather than on the steering wheel was rather nerve-racking to say the least. At some points he would turn his whole body to the Scottish teacher totally taking both hands and vision off the road. Arriving in one piece was no short of a victory, but exactly where had we arrived?
A farm? A museum? It turns out it was a little bit of both. In the barn was an antique Italian museum while outside there was the strangest combination of animals including rabbits, goats, peacocks, dogs, and a donkey. It turned out to be one of the student’s grandparent’s property which also had a luxurious house, patio/bar, pool, park, and summer house which belonged to said student in the summer. Yep, he has his very own summer house at the age of eleven. I guess I shouldn’t have been all that surprised since another student at the school lives in a castle. These kids have no idea how loaded they are. After we toured the museum and the farm it was time for lunch. While the children ate in the barn, the teachers sat out on a picnic table for lunch where the owners first brought out a bottle of wine, then another, and then, yes, another. I couldn’t believe I was sipping back wine with my students just in view. Apparently, it was pretty normal because the students didn’t bat an eye.
After lunch, the children were let into the park to play football(soccer), and the teachers were left with….yes, more alcohol. This time the owners brought out not just wine, but hard liquor. It was some special hard liquor that the owners had made themselves. Surreal does not even begin to explain the thoughts going through my mind as I sat drinking what I could only call Italian moonshine while on a “school field trip.” When the male teachers soon disappeared to the patio/bar for cigars, my jaw could no longer hold itself up, but that’s not even the real kicker. Our bus driver decided to take a break from his smokes long enough to indulge himself in a shot of moonshine himself. Between my spills of laughter with Katie, I could not help but count the lawsuits that would have followed if this had taken place in America. We were only interrupted by the fact that we were still teachers on duty when a few students reported that some classmates were kissing in the park. The fun and games had to be put on hold while we went on snogging patrol. Clearly, these Italian youngsters have learned from their older counterparts that feelings of affection are perfectly normal to publicly display even at the feeble age of eleven. Excuse me as I puke.
All in all, it was one hell of a field trip which is quite the understatement if you ask me. It’s no surprise that Katie and I quickly volunteered to go on any other field trip they needed extra teachers for. After all, it would be a shame to miss out on another educational field trip experience.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Spotted: Cupid Fondling a Florence Tourist
Tuscany, take two, proved far more successful. We bought tickets the day beforehand to ensure that they wouldn't be sold out like the weekend before so getting on a train was no problem. I cannot say the same for finding our seats. You see Italy loves to complicate things. Booking one person per seat would be far too easy, why not book three people to one seat? Yep, I arrived at my seat to find a person in my seat. When I pointed it out, I was surprised to find he was from Canada and spoke English. Then the woman across the way said that she was also assigned that seat. The fact that she spoke English and was visiting from Alabama with her husband was even harder to believe. Now I don't want to sound skeptical, but I found it a bit curious that three English speaking people were all assigned the same seat by the Italian train transportation system. It may have passed through my thoughts a time or two that the Northern Italians were totally screwing us over, but who am I to say? I mean these Northern Italians haven't given me any reason not to trust them, right? Their mean glares and snubs have been nothing but endearing. I'll just call it a predestine meeting between native English speakers. Yeah, that sounds a lot less cynical.
When we couldn't find anyone to sort the problem out we decided to sit across the way and hoped no one would come looking for those seats. I was planning on playing dumb if they asked me to move which would be easy to pull off considering I speak no Italian. It actually turned out to be a fun ride chatting with these people. The Canadian boy was my age and traveling with two other friends while the Alabama couple were middle-aged. We shared stories about our visits in Italy and learned that the Canadian and his friends were backpacking throughout Europe. I was kind of jealous. I wish I had time to do that. In fact, I would have liked to join their group. It was refreshing to see a guy that had a waist wider than that of a twelve year old and wasn't wearing purple or some other hideously colored pair of skinny jeans. Oh, did I mention that young guys here wear skinny jeans? Trust me, it's not a pretty sight. I am not even a big fan of skinny jeans on women let alone on men. I hope this isn't a trend that catches on in the States or I might just have to start batting for the other team if you know what I mean. It's truly just that disturbing. Anyway, before I got fashion side-tracked, I was sad to part ways with our short-lived English speaking friends.
Once we got to Florence we immediately started to wonder the streets. It was easy to see that it was a big tourist town from all of the people roaming the small streets. I thought about mooing in honor of Dad due to the herds of people, but quickly realized that that joke would probably be lost on the Italians. Sorry Dad, cattle calling will just have to wait until I join you back at home. After walking about and doing some shopping, we stopped at a small cafe. Katie and I managed to polish off each our own Neopolian pizza and a bottle of wine. I could use the excuse that they don't sell single slices of pizza, but hell, I'm not ashamed. It was damn good pizza, and these toothpick Italian girls can go to hell. Actually some of these Italain girls could do with some curves especially in the behind area. Apparently they've never heard of Sir-Mix-A lot's Baby Got Back that's for damn sure. After eating we managed to make our way to the famous Florence Bridge where we got some beautiful photos.
We also discovered a car rally going on. The annual 1000 Mil Italian Road Rally was running through Florence that day so we got to see a lot of amazing cars. We're talking BMWs, Mazaratis, Porshes, and Ferraris--both new and old. It was quite the site, but maybe not for some of my Italian students. Only just this week while teaching a lesson on proper nouns, I was shocked to find out that one of my student's father owns a Ferrari. Firing back with "Oh yeah, I own a 2001 Ford Escort!" would have been just too pitiful so I slowly closed my mouth and nodded like it was no big deal.
Katie also had her own shock. While walking the streets of Florence, we ran into a few character statues--you know those creepy people that pretend to be statues or other characters kind of like mimes. There was one dressed as DiVinci and another one that was Columbus. Well, one was painted all white like a cupid statue complete with bow and arrow. When Katie went to toss some change in its bucket, it quickly came to life and latched onto her. Katie played along giving it a hug while I snapped a picture, but the situation quickly went from PG to PG13 as Cupid tangled his hands in her hair and planted a kiss on her cheek. If that wasn't enough, Cupid had plans to swiftly make it to first base as he tried forcefully to steal a full on kiss to her lips. At that point, Katie was trying desperately to pull away while laughing her ass off. I managed to snap four shots of the whole sordid ordeal between my own hysterical bouts of laughter, and only then did Katie finally free herself from the promiscuous Cupid. The fact that we were not even sure if it was a man or woman under all the paint made it even funnier--or disturbing depending on how you look at it.
Over all, it's safe to say that our trip to Florence, Tuscany was eventful to say the least. I'm glad we were finally able to make it. The pizza and wine alone was well worth the second try.
When we couldn't find anyone to sort the problem out we decided to sit across the way and hoped no one would come looking for those seats. I was planning on playing dumb if they asked me to move which would be easy to pull off considering I speak no Italian. It actually turned out to be a fun ride chatting with these people. The Canadian boy was my age and traveling with two other friends while the Alabama couple were middle-aged. We shared stories about our visits in Italy and learned that the Canadian and his friends were backpacking throughout Europe. I was kind of jealous. I wish I had time to do that. In fact, I would have liked to join their group. It was refreshing to see a guy that had a waist wider than that of a twelve year old and wasn't wearing purple or some other hideously colored pair of skinny jeans. Oh, did I mention that young guys here wear skinny jeans? Trust me, it's not a pretty sight. I am not even a big fan of skinny jeans on women let alone on men. I hope this isn't a trend that catches on in the States or I might just have to start batting for the other team if you know what I mean. It's truly just that disturbing. Anyway, before I got fashion side-tracked, I was sad to part ways with our short-lived English speaking friends.
Once we got to Florence we immediately started to wonder the streets. It was easy to see that it was a big tourist town from all of the people roaming the small streets. I thought about mooing in honor of Dad due to the herds of people, but quickly realized that that joke would probably be lost on the Italians. Sorry Dad, cattle calling will just have to wait until I join you back at home. After walking about and doing some shopping, we stopped at a small cafe. Katie and I managed to polish off each our own Neopolian pizza and a bottle of wine. I could use the excuse that they don't sell single slices of pizza, but hell, I'm not ashamed. It was damn good pizza, and these toothpick Italian girls can go to hell. Actually some of these Italain girls could do with some curves especially in the behind area. Apparently they've never heard of Sir-Mix-A lot's Baby Got Back that's for damn sure. After eating we managed to make our way to the famous Florence Bridge where we got some beautiful photos.
We also discovered a car rally going on. The annual 1000 Mil Italian Road Rally was running through Florence that day so we got to see a lot of amazing cars. We're talking BMWs, Mazaratis, Porshes, and Ferraris--both new and old. It was quite the site, but maybe not for some of my Italian students. Only just this week while teaching a lesson on proper nouns, I was shocked to find out that one of my student's father owns a Ferrari. Firing back with "Oh yeah, I own a 2001 Ford Escort!" would have been just too pitiful so I slowly closed my mouth and nodded like it was no big deal.
Katie also had her own shock. While walking the streets of Florence, we ran into a few character statues--you know those creepy people that pretend to be statues or other characters kind of like mimes. There was one dressed as DiVinci and another one that was Columbus. Well, one was painted all white like a cupid statue complete with bow and arrow. When Katie went to toss some change in its bucket, it quickly came to life and latched onto her. Katie played along giving it a hug while I snapped a picture, but the situation quickly went from PG to PG13 as Cupid tangled his hands in her hair and planted a kiss on her cheek. If that wasn't enough, Cupid had plans to swiftly make it to first base as he tried forcefully to steal a full on kiss to her lips. At that point, Katie was trying desperately to pull away while laughing her ass off. I managed to snap four shots of the whole sordid ordeal between my own hysterical bouts of laughter, and only then did Katie finally free herself from the promiscuous Cupid. The fact that we were not even sure if it was a man or woman under all the paint made it even funnier--or disturbing depending on how you look at it.
Over all, it's safe to say that our trip to Florence, Tuscany was eventful to say the least. I'm glad we were finally able to make it. The pizza and wine alone was well worth the second try.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Blimey Mate, Don't be a wanker! Read my blog or sod off!
Hey you all! I know it has been awhile, but teaching is becoming more and more busy. I officially took over the whole class today. I don't mind in the least, but I could do without all the paper chasing. My British advisor is being a jerk and asking me to write out excessive lesson plans for each subject lesson followed by lesson reflections for each and then general weekly reflections. No wonder the Puritans abadoned the mother country--they're a bossy bunch of Brits. Too bad I can't tell him to sod off. Haha! Can you tell I've been reading British literature. I've been desperate to find something to read at night, and all there is here unless I wish to learn the Italian language is a shelf of used books in the teachers lounge. Most of them are written by British authors so I've gotten the chance to be educated in the slang of the UK. I've added the following words to my vocabulary: cozzer-cop, wotcha--what's up, blimey mate--seriously, tooled up--carring a weapon, get stuffed--get f*****(I'm sure you can fill in the blanks), fine bird/cow--an attractive woman, throttle--choke the life out of someone, in the frame--suspected of a crime, and wanker--I won't insult your intelligence with a definition for this one. As you might have surmised, it wasn't exactly enlightened reading. I wish I could say I was reading the great manuscripts of DiVinci while here in Italy, but let's be honest, I'm not that ambitious. It was a thriller book about criminals and drug carteling in Europe with just a touch of Romance to really spice things up. Haha, as you can see I'm desperate for a book and will read anything that's written in English. Oh well, at least now I can give a good British lashing with my new street savvy underground UK lingo.
On a different note, we were going to go to Florence in Tuscany this last weekend, but when we went to the train station on Saturday morning the tickets were all sold out. We were really disappointed. Since we didn't want to waste the day, we went to Venice. It kind of blows my mind still that I can just hop to Venice for a day trip. Once again it was absolutely amazing. Seeing a Golden Retriever jump into the Grande Canal to cool off kind of made my day. I miss my pooches back home! Here's a shout out to Lucky and Lucy! I couldn't help thinking how living in Venice would be Lucky's worst nightmare considering she's the only Labrador terrified of the water. Talk about a dog with issues. Of course, knowing our family, she fits in just fine.
On the train ride home, my jaw hit the floor when I looked out the window to see a track of chariot racing. I'm not kidding. Not dogs. Not horses. Not cars. Chariot racing. Katie and I couldn't help choking back laughter no matter what evil glares we got. I knew Italy has an old soul, but I thought they would have progressed a bit more than this. I mean it isn't 400BC anymore. Of course, who am I to judge. In America, we have Nascar racing. I'm not sure that Nascar with it beer-gut, profanity-ridden, tooth-deprived, hillybilly fans really gives chariot racing a run for it's money. I think I'd sooner go to a chariot race than a Nascar race even if I did have to wear a toga to do so. It beats crushing beer cans on my forehead. Okay, I'll stop before I stuff one more stereotype into this paragraph.
Oh, I saw the funniest thing this last Friday night when we were out. There was a group of people out rollarblading at about ten at night. That's not the funny thing, the funny thing is they were trying to rollarblade on the cobblestone streets. The fact that I can barely ride my bike on these cobblestone streets without wearing a sports bra should alert you to the fact that it wasn't smooth sailing for these rollarbladers. Add in the fact that they were wearing vivid, blaze yellow and orange safety patrol vests, were in ther mid-forties, and were donning gold bedazzled, sequence fanny packs made it nearly unbearable. It may have been one of the most amusing sights I've seen in quite awhile. I know it's evil to admit, but with every flail of their arms, I was waiting for one to crash and burn. After how unfriendly these Northern Italians have treated us, you can't really blame me, can you? Besides, a good fall is always laugh-worthy as long as no one gets hurt. It made growing up with my clumsy sister and cousin (yes, I mean you Becca) tolerable. Haha, just kidding. You know I love you guys.
Well, I'm sorry I don't have any grand tales to tell you this time around. You'll just have to entertain yourselves by means of your own. That or cozy up with a British thriller novel. I guarantee it won't disappoint. Wink!
On a different note, we were going to go to Florence in Tuscany this last weekend, but when we went to the train station on Saturday morning the tickets were all sold out. We were really disappointed. Since we didn't want to waste the day, we went to Venice. It kind of blows my mind still that I can just hop to Venice for a day trip. Once again it was absolutely amazing. Seeing a Golden Retriever jump into the Grande Canal to cool off kind of made my day. I miss my pooches back home! Here's a shout out to Lucky and Lucy! I couldn't help thinking how living in Venice would be Lucky's worst nightmare considering she's the only Labrador terrified of the water. Talk about a dog with issues. Of course, knowing our family, she fits in just fine.
On the train ride home, my jaw hit the floor when I looked out the window to see a track of chariot racing. I'm not kidding. Not dogs. Not horses. Not cars. Chariot racing. Katie and I couldn't help choking back laughter no matter what evil glares we got. I knew Italy has an old soul, but I thought they would have progressed a bit more than this. I mean it isn't 400BC anymore. Of course, who am I to judge. In America, we have Nascar racing. I'm not sure that Nascar with it beer-gut, profanity-ridden, tooth-deprived, hillybilly fans really gives chariot racing a run for it's money. I think I'd sooner go to a chariot race than a Nascar race even if I did have to wear a toga to do so. It beats crushing beer cans on my forehead. Okay, I'll stop before I stuff one more stereotype into this paragraph.
Oh, I saw the funniest thing this last Friday night when we were out. There was a group of people out rollarblading at about ten at night. That's not the funny thing, the funny thing is they were trying to rollarblade on the cobblestone streets. The fact that I can barely ride my bike on these cobblestone streets without wearing a sports bra should alert you to the fact that it wasn't smooth sailing for these rollarbladers. Add in the fact that they were wearing vivid, blaze yellow and orange safety patrol vests, were in ther mid-forties, and were donning gold bedazzled, sequence fanny packs made it nearly unbearable. It may have been one of the most amusing sights I've seen in quite awhile. I know it's evil to admit, but with every flail of their arms, I was waiting for one to crash and burn. After how unfriendly these Northern Italians have treated us, you can't really blame me, can you? Besides, a good fall is always laugh-worthy as long as no one gets hurt. It made growing up with my clumsy sister and cousin (yes, I mean you Becca) tolerable. Haha, just kidding. You know I love you guys.
Well, I'm sorry I don't have any grand tales to tell you this time around. You'll just have to entertain yourselves by means of your own. That or cozy up with a British thriller novel. I guarantee it won't disappoint. Wink!
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