Volume 4: Pete in Europe Part 4. A young balding mans journey through 10 countries and back
Day 8 – Nice to Florence
It was sad to have to leave Nice. I fell in love with the beach and the vast quantities of breasts that were positioned on that beach. I promised myself that I would buy a house in Nice after I made my first million. After I made my second million I would then look for a trophy wife from the region who only wanted me for my money.
Today was another long day on the bus, with the day broken up for a stopover in Pisa for around an hour. It was there I got to see the greatest testament to dodgy union construction work on the planet, the leaning tower. The locals went out of their way to distract from the poor construction work of the tower by building the shittiest neighbourhood possible around the tower so that the lean didn’t seem so bad. While I don’t like to swear in the tour diary, it’s probably the most apt adjective to use to describe the town of Pisa.There were street hawkers everywhere and plenty of individuals who made their living from aiding tourists lose weight by making their pocket lighter by removing their wallets. Having tried, and finding out later my novelty photo of me holding the tower up didn’t work out, it was back on the bus and off to Florence. I was happy to hear no one had lost weight while in Pisa.
As part of passing time on the bus our tour manager was running a contest to see if anyone could count the correct number of tunnels we went through from when we crossed into Italy until our first stop. As there appeared to be some paint inside the bus that technically was still drying, I decided to focus on that instead. Besides, fellow tourer Shane was an accountant so I figured his audit of the tunnels would make him hard to beat. Turns out he and his wife Annalisa ended up tying with other couples Todd H and Jennifer S (or as the priest called her at her wedding ‘Heather’), and I think Dave and his wife Kelly. The winners either guessed 157 or 158 tunnels. Turns out there were 157 and a half as one of the tunnels formed the border between France and Italy. My favourite guess was from Todd B whose official entry was something along the lines of ‘Too many’.
As we passed into Italy our tour manager told us the best way to approach Italian life was with the attitude of ‘embrace the chaos’. Modern Italy is still a fairly young country, with the unification of the regions that make up the Italy of today only formed in the latter part of the 19th century. How they got that many Italians to agree on the one thing and not change their mind is something that still confuses most scholars today. Examples of the Italian mindset: Italy was a country that started the war on the Nazis side, only to finish on the ally side at the end. Italy has had around 50 different governments in the last 50 years. Back in the glory days of the Colosseum they used to persecute the Christians, then they changed their mind and decided to persecute anyone who wasn’t a Christian. As you can see, Italy is a lot like a woman, constantly changing its mind often contradicting its original decision. Another great thing about Italy is that the border checkpoint is around 5kms inside the actual border.
Italy, of course, is home to some of the greatest artists of all time. And as it turns out, also the bitchiest artists of all time. The two biggest bitches of all time; Da Vinci and Michangelo. I believe Michangelo was once quoted as saying painting is for children. While Da Vinci shot back with something along the lines of sculptors’ tools would be better put to use by construction workers. The only modern equivalent I can think of for Da Vinci and Michangelo is the Gallagher brothers from the band “Oasis” who are equally at home when it comes to slagging off someone else’s work.
After a long drive we eventually pulled into our hotel. As it turned out, this hotel was also in ‘da hood’. As I had the single room I was blessed with possibly the smallest hotel room in Europe. The ‘bathroom’ (didn’t contain a bath, but was a room where the bath traditionally is located) had the shower positioned over the toilet. Come to think of it, everything except the bed seemed to be positioned underneath the shower. Luckily I didn’t have a cat on me, otherwise its head would have been well bruised if I had have attempted to swing it.
Dinner tonight involved a lot of singing and red wine. The song sung with the most gusto that night was Volare. The lyrics were both butchered and had creative license applied to them, namely from Brad P who insisted on exchanging the “cont” of “contarie” with a colloquialism for female genitals.
After dinner entertainment would take place at Space Electronic Discoteca, which according to the Contiki brochure was ‘The best disco in Florence’. A bold claim, but everyone had a great night so I could say it’s the best discoteca I’ve ever been to in Florence (pretty easy to win a race when you’re the only competitor). I spent much of the night enjoying the local drop, Turborg, and getting better acquainted with my fellow tour party on a podium. I sent my first e-mail home from inside the club, which I’m sure was clear and coherent given the vast quantities of beer I had consumed and the fact the Italian keyboard I was using had its keys in different positions to the ones back home. Given the Italian way of thinking, they probably change the keys around every couple of years. After sending the e-mail I headed for the microphone that was being used by some fellow tour party members for karaoke. It turned out our mike was not working, which was probably a good thing for the rest of the patrons in the club as we were really belting out the songs. It was also at Space Electronic Discoteca that the first official bit of “off shore” action occurred. For those that have never been on a Contiki tour, picking up a member of the opposite sex (or same sex if your that way inclined) on the same bus as you is referred to as “onshore”. Enjoying relations with someone not on the bus is referred to as “offshore”. For those keen history buffs, it was Andy who did our bus proud that night.
Another brilliant thing about the Space Electronic Discoteca were the toilets. Forget the ease that comes with modern bowl design, this club only had squat toilets for people wanting to do number twos; essentially a round hole on the floor with two embedded foot prints on either side to act as a guide and give you sure footing. If you’re drunk and attempt to use a squat toilet you’re more drunk then you think, as only the false confidence that comes with drinking copious amounts of alcohol would be enough to convince you you could actually hit the target and not the legs of your trousers. A person who puts squat toilets in an establishment that sells alcoholic beverages is someone with a sense of humour, and someone who doesn’t have to clean the toilets. You’ve got to wonder why a modern building would put squat toilets in. Its not like the Space Electronic Discoteca was built in the 15th century after some bloke had a vision from god telling him to build a place where people could sing karaoke, drink beer and dance.
To confirm it was a good night, I don’t remember the taxi ride home, but I do remember being told to keep the noise down so as to not wake the locals.
Day 9 – Florence to Rome
We spent the first half of the day exploring the pleasant city of Florence. I didn’t use the elevator in the hotel because I didn’t want to push my luck after surviving not falling into the toilet while having a shower. I found Florence to be very laid back and for one of the rare times so far on the tour I didn’t find myself checking to make sure I still had my wallet on me every 5 minutes.
I spent about an hour enjoying a walking tour so I could better appreciate what I was looking at. The tour started in Piazza della Signoria where there are two statues from former students of one half of the super bitches of art: Michangelo. Most of the great teachers I’ve had in my life found encouragement to be a useful tool, this however, was a tool not put into use by the even bigger tool that was Michangelo. When they had finished their sculptors he essentially told them they had ruined a perfectly good piece of marble. I don’t know the Italian equivalent of the phrase “What a prick!” but I’m sure it was a phrase uttered many times after Michangelo left a room. The night before we had our group photo taken just in front of copper version of Michangelo’s most famous statue, David. It appeared “Dave” had been drinking the local water as his buttocks and back of his legs were largely stained.
Further along the tour we walked to il Duomo. The Duomo is a massive church and is apparently required by local law to be included in every photo of Florence (okay, I made that up, but just try and find a website of Florence which doesn’t include a picture of it). The Duomo was a tremendous feat of engineering that had many architects working on it until its completion. Not because the Italians couldn’t agree on what they wanted to build, but because it took around 150 years to complete construction.
During the walking tour I touched the nose of some statue of a pig that according to legend guarantees you will return to Florence. I made a mental note to sue the local Florence government if I hadn’t returned to Florence by the time I reached my deathbed.
One thing that really stands out currently in Italy is the huge number of “Pace” rainbow coloured flags hanging out on balconies. To an outsider who didn’t know that “Pace” was Italian for “Peace” Italy would have come across as one giant tribute to gay pride. Another thing that stands out in Italy is the huge number of scooters on the roads and crammed next to each other when they are parked. Whenever you come to a zebra crossing in Italy you have to make a leap of faith as a pedestrian. If you don’t make firm eye contact with the car drivers and put your arm up in an equally firm manner than they assume that you are a speed hump. As for the scooter drivers, they treat pedestrians on zebra crossings as a slalom course. Heaven forbid they should have to slow down to below 40kph, or even stop, for a pedestrian.
After a pleasant stroll through Florence it was back on the bus. On the drive the tour manager told the story of St Francis, one of many Europeans down through the years to enjoy a vision from God. St Francis sounded like an interesting fellow, whose hobbies included kissing lepers that weren’t really there and seeing visions of Jesus talking to him whilst on the cross. St Francis decided on a vow of poverty and when he sold his dad’s business to help the poor his old man was exceptionally pissed off. St Francis replied with “My only father is God, everyone else is my brother”. Given that Joan of Arc had had visions from God telling her to go forward into battle, I can only imagine there was some bad acid going around Europe for many a century. Although it’s also rumoured that St Francis concluded his “My only father is God” speech with “Chill out daddy-o and keep passing the pipe around”.
To break up the long bus ride we stopped off at a perfumery. At the factory there was a guy paid to punch soap into ducks with a special machine. You could just imagine this guy at a nightclub trying to pick up: “G’day luv, I’m a duck puncher”. At the conclusion of the tour of the factory the woman giving the tour tried to offload some of the product on us. She made some “joke” about their product making you smell sexy. When no one laughed she was quite cut and I’m sure was quite close to packing up all the product and telling us all to “get stuffed”.
We reached Rome late in the afternoon, freshened up in the hotel, and headed off for a night tour of Rome. The tour kicked off at the Spanish Steps. A lot of us were left thinking, “Is that it? They’re just steps”, but apparently they used to be where the pretty people used to meet waiting for an artist to select them to model for a piece of work. Surprisingly I wasn’t asked to pose for any great masterpieces with no one noticing my deceptively good looks.
From the Spanish steps it was off to see the Pantheon and suck in its 1800 plus years of existence. The Pantheon, a temple to the layman, was originally slapped together by the ancient Romans, namely a bloke named Marcus Agrippa, son-in-law of Emperor Augustus, twenty-seven years before Jesus graced the earth with his presence. It was rebuilt around 120 AD by Emperor Hadrian (you should now be getting a visual of Rocky saying “Adrian! Adrian!”). Turns out Hadrian (Adrian!) was so happy with Agrippa’s work he left his name inscribed over the entrance. Although the temple was originally built before JC, the big man now plays some significance in the interior décor of the modern Pantheon.
After that it was time for dinner. The group I was with were looking to me for some direction on where to eat. I said there was a little place in a side street, just off of the piazza navona we were now standing at, I like to visit whenever I’m in Rome (man I talk a lot of crap). Having studied the Italian language through much of Primary school I for some reason felt confident in my ability to use it, despite the fact the only thing I seemed to remember were some lyrics from a song that went something like “Pappagallo tutti verde”. Which loosely translates into “the parrot is all green”, something that was not likely to appear on tonight’s menu. I had been studying the Italian dictionary I had with me on the bus and confidently strolled up to a restaurant and asked the proprietor “Tavola nove?” (loosely translates into “table for nine?”). My tour buddies were suitably impressed, but that’s where my Italian ended for the evening as the proprietor spoke very good English (well except for me saying “molto bene” whenever anyone asked me if my dinner was any good).
After a pleasant dinner, the whole tour group headed off to Trevi Fountain. It was a nice piece of work with lots of ornaments, or as the highly educated say it was a nice bit of baroque. According to the legend we were told, if you throw one coin into the fountain over your shoulder you’re destined to return to Rome. If you throw a second coin in you will find love in Rome. If you’re really cashed up, you can through a third coin in and guarantee yourself a wedding in Rome. All of the couples on tour told me they were only putting one coin in, but I’m sure a few would have put an extra coin in for insurance, after all your relationship can really be tested by spending twenty-one days on a bus together. Given that I’d walked on the circle out the front of Notre Dame in Paris and touched some pigs nose in Florence, and now thrown a coin in the Trevi Fountain, I decided on my return to Australia I should already book my next trip to Europe with my Travel Agent as I was already guaranteed of returning to three locations.
Back at the hotel I decided to shut down the Party Capital of Europe early that night. My brain was absolutely fried from sensory overload and the alcohol abuse of the last week or so. A great thing I had discovered on Florence TV was late night phone and internet sex sites where the women that appeared on the ad actually stripped down to nothing. I thought that eliminated the need for anyone to pay for their services as we were getting them for free on TV, but who am I to argue with the Italians. I was too busy “embracing the cultural differences”. It turned out Rome TV didn’t have the same programming that night, so it was an early night.
Day 10 – Rome
Today I was awoken, and everyone else in the hotel, at 6am by the sweet sound of Italian construction equipment. When it stopped shortly after I figured someone had yelled “Hey Moron! Its only 6am!”. When it restarted at 6:10am I figured the moron responsible thought the “Hey Moron! Its only 6 am!” comment was someone politely telling him the time. Someone must have reinformed him that because it was only 6:10am then you should in fact wait until a more reasonable time, and that 6:10am is not a reasonable time, before turning on a piece of equipment that was loud enough to wake the dead. In fact, I’m pretty sure it took a call from a local priest, say in Austria, informing that the dead in their cemetery had awoken and were causing trouble in downtown Vienna like so many horror movies had predicted zombies would do.
Most of the tour caught the train into the Colosseum for a short walking tour, while others went straight to the Vatican to catch a glimpse of the man who supposedly is the voice of God on earth, the Pope. I say supposedly because if I was God I would be using someone other than a crippled old Polish guy who has so little strength he struggles to keep his head up when he puts on his big going out hat. Personally, if I was God, I would choose a young chick in hot pants and a t-shirt that was two sizes too small. Sure, you probably would lose focus on what she was saying but Church numbers would be up in the all-important 12-99 age male demographic. What can I say? The lord moves in mysterious ways.
Anyway, it was great to see the Colosseum in person. There is a huge chunk missing off the Colosseum in what would be known in Aussies rules as the “Doug Hawkins wing”. Apparently it fell down during some major earthquake or that side of the Colosseum was built from the same dodgy union workers who put the leaning tower of Pisa up. I had lost focus from what the Italian tour leader was telling us because she kept asking us rhetorical questions. Look lady! If I knew the friggin’ answers to your questions I wouldn’t be on the tour! Just one of the many thoughts that went through my mind. Anyway, it was an impressive bit of architecture that could stand since around 72 AD. There are no seats left in the Colosseum as apparently the Firenze team upset the Roma soccer team 2-1 around 550AD and the Roma fans let their frustrations out by rioting and ripping up all the seats. Okay that didn’t happen, but I had been distracted by what the tour leader was saying by the vast quantities of police sirens we kept hearing. I counted nine in around half an hour. Some tourers said it made them feel more comfortable, as it meant there was a real police presence in Rome. On the other hand, it made me more nervous as it conjured up images of a city full of thieves and murderers. That said, I did find Rome to feel quite safe, it was only on the train that I felt someone might take the liberty of making my pockets lighter.
After the tour, it was off to the Vatican City. Today was a Wednesday, which fortunately for us every Wednesday was Pope day, a chance for JP to come and talk to the fans. Let me just say this, his holiness knows how to work a crowd. I couldn’t understand what he was saying but judging by the cheering it was something along the lines of “Any Catholics in the house? Throw your hands in the air, wave them around like you just don’t care. If you don’t like using contraception make some noise!”. Fellow tourer Caroline (also known as Bear. I can’t remember the reason why she was called that as I was drunk when she told me the story, but it sounded like a cool nick name for a cool chick) had been one of the few who caught the train straight to the Vatican in the morning. She managed to get a picture that was so close to the main man that you could almost see her giving him a high five.
After watching the Pope on the big screen a large group of us decided to go to the Vatican Museum, with the ultimate goal of seeing the Sistine Chapel. When you enter churches in Italy guys are supposed to wear pants, so I now slipped these over my shorts, always a pleasant thing to do when its around 30 degrees centigrade.
We all chipped in about 50 cents to rent a single audio tour guide with headphones and appointed fellow tourer “Super Steve” our tour guide. Steve was known as Super Steve for the duration of the tour because when you asked him how he was doing he said he was super. He turned out to be a super bloke so I was happy to stick with calling him Super Steve. The plan turned out quite well, with Super Steve listening to about 5 minutes of tape before giving us an edited highlights package of what we were looking at. Some way into the Vatican museum my bladder had a vision that told me to go use the toilet. A few others had the same vision and went at the same time. When I got out I was surprised to see all the others gone. Apparently Super Steve had come looking for me but couldn’t find me, so they all left me to fend for myself. After I picked myself off the floor, out of the foetal position and stopped myself from crying “I want my mummy!”, I decided to proceed with my tour. I wasn’t worried as I still had a map of Rome and it would give me a chance to check the place out at my own pace. Well, I would’ve seen the place at my own pace if it weren’t for a bunch of school kids blocking my way and being stopped by their teacher saying “Ssshh!” every five steps as we inched towards the entry to the Sistine chapel. Apparently it is impossible for some people to say “Ssshh!” and walk at the same time. On the upside, it was good to hear that “Ssshh!” was a universal way of telling people to shut up so now I could tell people to shut up in Italian. When I finally reached the Sistine Chapel for some reason I was surprised it was so busy. For some reason I had pictured myself having the place all to myself, with the silence only being broken by me saying “bugger me, this is an impressive bit of work”.
Once I reached the exit I was pleasantly surprised to find fellow tourers Mojo, Bear, Nic, and AJ sending the almost obligated postcard with the Vatican City postage service stamp on it. I say almost obligated because it appeared I was the only who didn’t do it. I hooked up with them and we decided to get something to eat and then walk down to the Colosseum as they hadn’t seen it yet, and I hadn’t seen the inside of it.
On our way to the Colosseum we walked through the Forum, the old commercial, political and religious centre of Ancient Rome. Most of the buildings in there have had there marble stripped and recycled elsewhere so they’re not as grand as they used to be. The ancient tight ass Italians used to essentially build their buildings out of brick and then just stick a two-inch thick slab of marble on each side of the walls to create the illusion of solid marble. As my tour earlier in the day had been through the Forum I pretended to know what I was talking about to the girls who had missed the tour. Essentially the only thing I took in on the tour was that the umbilicus urbis was the place they used to measure all distances from Rome, hence the expression “All roads lead to Rome”, and that there was some section where Casesar’s dead carcass had spent some time. Known to the educated as Tempio di Giulio Cesare. That’s the Temple of Julius Caesar to you and me. As we exited the Forum the girls were happy to get a novelty picture of two guys dressed up as gladiators. It either had something to do with the Colosseum or some gay theme night.
When I paid the 8 euro entry fee for the Colosseum with a 10 euro note you can imagine my surprise when the cashier in front of me told me she had no change and that I should pay the exact amount. My look of utter disbelief and bad mouthing her to my fellow tourers was enough to get her off her fat ass and go ask a fellow cashier for change. You’re a cashier for f#*ks’s sake! The name itself implies you have reserves of cash, a reserve that is made up largely of coins giving that you ask most of the tourists to pay the correct 8 euro amount. I hadn’t been in Europe long but I knew there sure as hell there wasn’t a friggin 8 euro note, which would imply people paid with a combination of a 5 euro note and the remainder made up of 3 euro in coins. Eventually I had my little victory and paid with the 10 euro note and got 2 euro IN COIN back.
Once inside the now seat less venue we took some novelty pictures of a cat sleeping in the old cells and a dog walking around. Somehow the modern beasts just didn’t seem as fierce as the old rip out the guts of a Christian variety. I’m sure we would have seen more of the city if it hadn’t taken us something inside half a day to find the exit to the Colosseum.
Again having that “Rat finding the cheese” pride after finding the exit, we headed for the Capuchine Monks site. The place is a spooky small building which houses the bones of over 4,000 monks, with the bones worked into pretty pictures, shapes, and unique candleholders. There was a sign on the entrance that said “Voluntary Offering”. It turns out the word “voluntary” actually meant “compulsory” (what a surprise) as I could tell the guy at the front door was incredibly unimpressed when I entered without making a “voluntary offering” as he said “Good evening” louder and louder until he got my attention and motioned with his head to a plate full of change in front of him. I figured he wasn’t making a voluntary offering to me, so I threw some loose change on the plate.
We caught up with Todd B (my official tour drinking buddy who I later made my adopted brother after a big night) and Carmen. Todd had a beer on him and I was more than happy to take a swig when he offered. Having acquired Todd and Carmen into our little group, we took the metro back towards our hotel. Once off the train we headed for a supermarket for some supplies. It was there Todd and I thought we’d walked into heaven. There was at least 10 different beers available, all in either 660ml or one litre bottles or cans. I had never seen a one litre can of beer in my life before, and would say the moment I enjoyed when I saw that can would be similar to that experienced by a Catholic when they see a weeping statue of the Madonna. When I suggested to Todd we buy one of each type of beer, his response was if I had discovered a way to split the atom with a chisel; he thought it was brilliant. Todd went and found an empty box and we loaded it with about 10 litres of beer. We then went in search of some suitable glasses as we were sick of drinking our beer out of plastic cups supplied by the hotel. When all we could find were small girlie glasses I made the suggestion that we purchase a couple of jars positioned near the glasses. We took a look at each other and both thought without saying anything “Bloody brilliant”. That night we would be taking the old aussie expression “enjoying a few jars” very literally. When we reached the checkout, the mature aged checkout chick took one look at the box of beer and I believe referred to us as “stupido”. Yes, that means what you think it does, and come to think of it she wasn’t mature aged, she was an old bat (I find an insult adds at least 20 years and 50 pounds to any person making an insulting comment to me). The cost of the beer and jars came to 15.68 euro. I handed her a 50 euro note and for some reason she seemed to be gesturing she wanted exact change. Thankfully, a woman behind us spoke English and said all the checkout chick wanted was one euro. What is it with Italians and change? You look in their tills and they’ve got about 50 of each note and coin, but seem reluctant to reduce that stock to anything under that 50 of each. Every time I paid for something in Italy they wanted correct change or something within 50 cents of it. It’s about the only change Italians aren’t into.
We caught the bus back to the hotel and promptly begun putting beer in as many fridges we could find. It was hard work trying to fit all our beer into the small hotel bar fridges, and at one stage I think we had beer in three different fridges. As this was the first hotel we’d stayed in with fridges, it was great to be drinking cold beer again. While we were talking over a few jars Todd told me he had touched some holy water and written down the first seven numbers that came into his head. Those seven numbers would then be used in lotto as soon as he got home.
Tonight’s entertainment took place in a pub called the “Drunken Ship”. I got speaking to 2 American girls who were studying in Pisa, and while I came across as a witty, exotic foreigner who made them laugh, they soon departed and wished me well for the rest of my tour. After consuming vast quantities of the local beer, and being harassed by some guy trying to sell roses, we all decided we wanted to go to a club. Before heading to the club Brad P managed to talk the guy down from 2 euro per flower to 2.40 euro for the whole bunch. He was pretty happy with that deal and spent the rest of the night approaching strangers with a flower saying “2 euro” in a poor Italian accent.
On our way to our new venue I was almost hit by a bus. The bus driver had decided to pull into the bus stop much like a Formula one car does into a pit stop, and with as much speed, and it wasn’t until the last moment that my drunken brain made the decision that “this bus doesn’t appear to be slowing, I should move”. All the girls gathered around me in stunned shock asking me if I was all right. Naturally, I over played the situation and said I had been so close to death that I saw my entire tour flash before my eyes. We eventually staggered to some place I would say had an “orgy lair” type of feel to it. The only people in there were a couple attempting to have sex on the couch. Brad P suggested everyone drink Bloody Marys, his way. His version of a Bloody Mary involved a tall glass and a fire extinguisher within easy access. I conceded defeat to the Bloody Mary, decided the gods only ever wanted me to drink beer while on tour, and handed my Bloody Mary to Aalok. He promptly skulled it and I found myself with a new found respect for the little American. The place was dead, so we decided to go back to the hotel.
After flipping through around seven channels of late night porn, I glimpsed at my watch and saw that it was 2am. I saw the opportunity to have five hours of sleep greater than that of spending the entire night watching porn so I went to sleep.
Comments