invasion of europe

Episode #7

The big day of history

Florence is but a bounce from Pisa and my first views of the Tuscan countryside are stunning. The first thing that strikes me about Italy is that none of the facades of these buildings are painted on. These are the real deal. For all of those murals that I have seen, none of them do Italy the justice it deserves. Glorious. The countryside is enough to make genius flock to a nearby city and reinvent history with their art.

Florence - there are no words to describe this city and the impact that it has on my body. This is the world of Da Vinci and Dante. This is the Medici stronghold and the former home of my ex wife. This place has everything going for it in extremes.

Europe has churches. It has museums. It has castles. It has cobblestone streets. It has gargoyles. Florence has the best of all of that. Every street is a vision. Every building is a work of art. Every piazza is a place you want to live or hang out in for days. Every store sells your clothes.

I could live here.... And smoke all I wanted.

In Florence I am staying at a hostel that is an old nun factory. I love the idea that nuns stayed in these rooms, used these computers and took showers together... And shared soap.

I arrived in Pisa on a sunday. Went to the tower, took photos of the tower, and left quickly to get to Florence. I got to Florence early. I checked in early. I got out early and took in as much as I could. Minus David, Da Vinci and real pizza. Sadly, Monday everything closes down. It's Europe, they do that a lot.

Monday morning and I wake up so early that all the rest of the poor kids in nun habits are still drunk and passed out. I get up, get to the train station and head for Venice. Via Bologna and Verona.

In Bologna.... nada baby. nada. I have seen the buildings, I have seen the churches. It all looks the same.

In Verona... A quick run to Juilet's house, a brief moment with Phillip Marlowe, who came to Verona and wrote Romeo and Juliet before returning to England to have it stolen by that Limey theater fag, Bill.

In Venice... I can not begin to express how amazing this town is. First, it doesn't stink. I was told it did, it doesn't. The water is nasty though. Bright green and nothing floating in it. It's that toxic. Apparently, according to a Gondelier, over twenty five American women fall in each year in a drunken recreation of Madonna's Like a Virgin. These women usually go blind. Or birth children that grow up Republican with a third eye.

There is really only one church to see in Venice. You see it, get attacked by birds and then you have to run away as fast as you can. If the birds don't get you, the fucking mask salesmen will. I am not up to date on my mardi gras masks, but there is a Venitian link and I am freaking out.

The walk through Venice is long, confusing and fun. If you don't have a map, buy a house, you'll be here a while. This town has been used in so many movies I want to go to each sight.

I hope back on a train to Florence and I am told by the train conductor that my ticket isn't special enough to ride, thankfully two of America's finest animal CSI'ers are on board and they help me out. They also give me folgers coffee in the singles pack, I can not tell you enough how I am going to support the animal rights conservation groups from this point on in my life.

Those ladies make the trip back to Florence worth the whole trip.

The next few days I have decided that I need to charge the camera, see David, Da Vinci, eat more gellato and then get my sorry ass to Rome and get it done. Pronto. I am only giving myself two days in Rome to see it and then fly to Paris to finish off the tour with what was left behind. From there its another trip to Germany and then home. In that time I need to hear more of my native tongue from the lips of vulgar Americans. As cultured as Europeans like to think they are, they are not. MOst of them have no idea of their past, their culture or the history and culture that lives among them. Truly, if they couldn't make money off of it, they would have torn it down to make room for another apartment building. It's truly that sad.

The people, for all of my complaining and sniping, are wonderful. Very nice and accomodating. Not the French, they seem to like sucking, which I can appreciate, but everyone else in Europe is lovely.

I realize that these stories pale in comparison to the Japanese stories, but Japan was written with time and comfort. Europe is being written on foreign keypads that are flipped around and they are being written in coffee houses with cameras, people screaming and the strong smell of fanta soda in the air.

Last note of the day. When did Pringles become the official potato chip of Europe? Has no one ever heard of Doritos or Cheetos? And they call themselves cultured.

Another fashion note. Youth is apparently in. Old is out.