England Revisited

If you refer to Random Fact #4 in my previous London post, I mentioned that streets in (the City of) London were once named after the primary business lining the street. I highly doubt streets in Luton were named this way, but a meander through town did bring up a few how-do- you-pronounce-these: street names such as Thrales (Thra-less? Th-rails?) Close, Havelock (Have-lock? Ha-ve-lock?) Road. Ah! My brain hurts!

No one summed up better than Bill Bryson in Notes from a Small Island*:

“

There are a few streets that sound like medical complaints (Glycena Ave, Shingles Lane, Burnfoot Avenue), a few that sound like names on an anatomical chart (Thyrapia and Pendula Roads), a few that sound vaguely unsavoury (Cold Blow Lane, Droop Street, Gutter Lane, Dicey Avenue), and a few that are pleasingly ridiculous (Coldbath Square, Glimpsing Green, Hamshades Close, Cactus Walk, Nutter Lane, The Butts)...

”

So here I am, back in England, my eight months abroad slowly coming to an end. While I still have a week or so before my long, dreaded flight back to Victoria - and can thus, hop on a bus and visit places like Stonehenge - I am at a point where I am ready to settle down for a little while and get away from this nomadic life.

Anyway, Stonehenge is a little ways away, and if I'm being absolutely cynical, it's only a pile of rocks. OK, maybe not only a pile of rocks. It really was a rather incredible accomplishment. And I quote, once again, from Mr. Bryson's brilliant book:

“

It took 500 men just to pull each sarsen, plus 100 more to dash around positioning the rollers. Just think about it for a minute. Can you imagine trying to talk 600 people into helping you drag a 50 ton stone 18 miles across the countryside, muscle it into an upright position and then saying, 'Right lads! Another twenty like that, plus some lintels & maybe a couple dozen of nice bluestones from Wales and we can party!' Whoever was the person behind Stonehenge was one dickens of a motivator, I'll tell you that.

”

A quick search through on the www, and I almost changed my mind. It does look mighty impressive......until I found out that there's a perimeter rope around the area and access into the stone circle is a whopping £12.00. Plus a return bus ticket of £26.00. Nah uh. World Heritage or not, I cannot justify paying that much. I'll just chill in good ol' Luton, where my aunt has made it her mission to stuff me with lots of home-cooked food before I leave. Yum.

* For those who haven't had the pleasure of reading this book, please do - especially if you've been to England. A word of advice: read it in the privacy of your own home. I've emitted one un-ladylike snort too many while reading it on the bus en route to Cambridge.

Penis Everywhere

The title just about says it all. My 10-day backpacking trip included my glimpsing on not one, not two, but four penises, one of which belonged to a deranged old man clad in spandex. Yep, travelling is never boring.

With only one day to spend in Florence, I aimed for the Galleria dell'Accademia to gape at David in all his naked glory. Scrutinizing the statue from every angle possible, I couldn't help but wonder why David's penis seemed disproportional in size. Regardless, I still think David is one of the most marvelous sculptures I've seen to date. I went on to Piazza della Signoria where is initially stood. A copy of a weather-beaten David stands there now. I then walked up Piazzale Michelangelo to look at the bronze version of David. It was a lot of Davids in one day.

Now I'm sure you are very intrigued with the story of Spandex-Clad Old Man. My experience below answers my ex-roommate's - she'd lived in Nice for two years - question of, "So, did you meet any perverts when you were in Nice?" Yes Silviya, in fact, I did:

I was probably in my fourth hour in Nice. The friend I was staying with had gone to school; the weather was too beautiful to be spent indoors, but too cold to be lying on the beach for a tan. Armed with a book and decked out in sunglasses, I sat on one of the benches lining the promenade, basking in the warmth of the sunlight.Engrossed in book, I looked up a couple of minutes later to see a man, approximately in his late 40's, orbiting around my bench on his bicycle. He then proceeded to park his bike in front of me, and plonked himself beside me, on the other side of bench. He gave off a creepy vibe, but I wrote that off as paranoia on my part.

Apparently not. I sneaked a look in his direction after he emitted a couple of chuckles, only to see that he had pulled his shirt up and his pants down, and was playing with the little boy downstairs. Noticing my sudden stiff posture, he leans over in an attempt to touch my knee. Horrified, I shrieked a string of immoderate language at him before stalking off with as much dignity as I could muster.

So much for Nice being nice. Should've totally whipped out my camera, take a picture and proceed to point and laugh at his puny manhood.

36 hours in Venezia

"You might want to cut out one day for Venice. One HALF day was enough (for me)."

So goes Swan's advice when she found out that I was staying two nights in Venice. I was surprised. Friends who've gone to Italy raved about Venice. But Swan and I have similar tastes and travelling habits. She is the older, wiser sister who knows me well. With some minor tweaking, I was to spend only one night in Venice and leave for Nice the second night.

As I weaved through the throngs of people on my way to the hostel, I felt this teeny twinge of disgruntlement on having listened to Swan. Well, peeved on myself for being so easily swayed by someone else's suggestion, and grumpy that it had to hail and snow when Swan visited Venice four years before, fueling her dislike for the place. Because, 3 minutes after arrival, I deducted that I. Love. Venice.

Gelato was cheaper than Rome or Florence; the place looked serene and exceedingly fetching in the sunshine.

This feeling of affection didn't last long.

I stepped out into pouring rain the second day. Honestly, I have the worst luck with the weather when it comes to travelling. (If you're an avid reader, then recall my misery in Bosnia, Croatia and the Netherlands.)

Rain battered madly and fell to the pavement in an endless clatter. Glumly, I gave up plodding through the driving rain and seeked shelter under an awning crammed full with other gloomy tourists, looking like they had all spontaneously taken a swim in the canals.

Now, this is a sight you don't often see. Not so romantic anymore, eh?

I left Venice, full of woe that the weather Gods just don't seem to like me. It better be sun and sea in Nice!

Oh, Me Sore Muscles!!!

My irritation on potential hikers crowding the pathways at the Cinque Terre hiking trail gave way to peace and content as I breathed in the fresh air and listened to the waves pounding onto shore. I could do this everyday - listen to the waves. Nature's most glorious music. It's times like these when I look at people with their iPod plugged to their ears, and I think, "What a shame."

Having lived in Prague for the past seven months, I think I've gotten just a little bit jaded with fancy European architecture. The coastline, bubbling creeks and wineyards at Cinque Terre was a refreshing change.

Absolutely, breathtakingly stunning. The hike wasn't too bad. More of a walk on a nicely paved pavement...until I hit the Corniglia - Vernazza trail. Skipping and balancing on strategically placed rocks for muddy puddles as big as lakes, jamming my foot into the crumbly earth to keep from executing yet another butt slide, and clambering up steep steps definitely took its toll - the effects of which showed when I resorted to waddling around like a duck the second morning instead of walking like a normal homosapien. Owwwww....but, no time to waste! I'm off to Venice next.

A Gelato a Day...This, is Italy.

The Arch of Titus with the Colosseum in the background

Dad said that the Colosseum is essentially like any other stadium. To me however, there's just something wonderful and fascinating about it. Much like the Eiffel Tower at night, I can look at the Colosseum all day and not be sick of it.

So I did just that. Tired of just wandering around looking at yet another pile of rocks, I plonked myself down on a random piece of marble outside this magnificent ruin, opened up my umbrella (it was spitting rain somewhat), and just stared at this hunk of a very old, rather damaged amphitheatre. I was riveted with wonder and admiration at the thought of people in togas cheering on in vernacular Latin as a gladiator fights off a charging elephant shipped in from Africa in an inconceivably distant past.

While I love Rome for its rich history, the roads (system and drivers) suck. Crossing roads in the city freaked me out. Cars don't stop for pedestrians. You just have to take a deep breath and step onto the busy road, hoping to God you don't get mowed down. (Someone I met in the hostel later told me that it's best I stick to a group of at least three because drivers are indecisive when there's only two of you waiting to cross the road. Even better, find a person pushing a baby stroller. Drivers would never want to hit a baby.)

A dumb habit I'd developed - before I received this very useful tip - was to dash across with my head bowed and eyes downcast. The way I saw it, if I don't see the drivers, they won't see me.

I am an asinine fool.

I am also useless with directions. But we've already established that earlier in the year. My first day, I got lost trying to find the Colosseum. It turned out I'd overshot so far I was out of the map area. It just irks me that most roads in Rome almost always lead to piazzas. From there, I'd have to once again dig out my trusty map to figure out my directions. It's during one of these Yan-stares-at-the-map-totally-befuddled episodes that I got chatted up by an Italian man: [pointing at the Colesseum] "Do you know what that is? Is the Trevi Fountain, no?" being his pick-up line.

"Do you see water spouting from it?" I wanted to retort. But you gotta give him points for originality.

He was your typical smooth talker. I asked him whether it was in his daily routine to wait in front of the metro station and ambush tourists. He said only for the pretty ones. No matter how many times I attempted to excuse myself to leave, he was like a leech you couldn't scrape off.

He also took it upon himself to be my personal tour guide for the next two hours. I definitely got to see a lot more of Rome than I planned. So "Leorendo" (alas, I cannot remember whether it is "Leonardo" or "Lorenzo"), grazie - and my apologies for giving you a false name and a fake number.

Trajan's Column

Overheard while waiting in line, "Wait, whaddaya mean the Pope lives here?!?!?"

The Pantheon