Bopping the Boot with Boots to Boot

It has been an age and a half since I last posted, I know. I’m going to blame it on the fact that I have learned a little bit about traveling, and thus have had no more harrowing stories to share. I keep my important wallet items in a travel thingy in my boot so unless the little gypsy children tackle me and take off my shoes, I’m set.

Furthermore, the weather has been SPECTACULAR. And by that I mean it only snowed a little bit for the weeks following Rome, and then it turned off the gloom and turned on that blue Tuscan sky and hot Italian sun. No more weather-based travel issues for me this semester. Knock on wood.

Two weeks later, we traveled again.

Last weekend, Sarah, Eric and I diddied and bopped to Genoa. On the train, as I was walking back to the compartment where Sarah and Eric were sitting a few minutes before our stop, I recognized a girl sitting facing me. She looked up, saw me, and we both remained still, speechless, entirely astonished, for a solid two minutes.

“Katie?!”

“Erin?!”

“What on earth!”

“This is not real life.”

“I don’t even understand. Where are you headed!?”

etc.

Katie, a friend of mine from UVa who is studying in Lyon, France this semester just so happened to be on that half of that compartment of that train at that time. She was headed to Milan before going back to Lyon. I like to think the Universe was smiling down on us, encouraged by the clear sky and the crystalline ocean to allow us such a pleasant coincidence.

Sarah, Eric and I got off the train in Genoa, bought ourselves a map of the city, and quickly realized that we had gotten off one stop too late, so that we were on the opposite end of the city from our hotel, rather than the two or three blocks, as we had expected. But no matter. We were fresh as the sea air, and a half an hour stroll through a new city sounded enjoyable enough.

I immediately felt more out of place than I had felt since I first stepped off the bus in Siena with my huge blue suitcase to roll down the cobblestone to my apartment. The population of Genoa was unlike the other

Italian cities we had been to. It wasn’t the homogenous, dark hair, dark eye, light skinned crowd we had grown accustomed to. There were people of all colors, but we, with the tell-tale indicators of our tourist-dom stuck out uncomfortably.

“Hey! Hey you! Short hair! Ragazza!” one guy shouted at me as he walked past.

Not terribly original by way of cat-calling, but nor did this make me feel welcome or safe. I was glad Eric was there with Sarah and I this time.

We headed to the waterfront so we could see the view and find our way more easily. I won’t pretend like the city isn’t a little dirty, the streets narrow, and the general atmosphere less than perfe

ctly welcoming, but it is spectacular to look at. The colors of the buildings, the water, and the green of the mountain upon which the city is situated were overwhelming after the constant orange-brown of Tuscan brick.

We walked to find our hotel, and when we thought we were close, we paused to take out our map. We determined that we had walked a little too far, so we turn around and literally one door away we ran into it.

“Hey Erin, is that our hotel?”

“Hey Sarah, is that the Pantheon?”

We spent the rest of the afternoon trying to look at the first few spots on the walking tour suggested by a brochure we picked up in our hotel. The streets are dark and grimy and a little confusing. But it was still really neat to walk through and find the crowded shopping areas, look at the antique stores and the random cactus stands.

Saturday morning we woke up to a stunning clear sky, a fresh breeze, and we headed back to the water to check out the famous Aquarium. It only took us an hour to figure out how to buy a ticket and go inside, but we got some good pictures on the pier in the meantime.

After the aquarium, we took an open-air bus

tour of the city, where although we didn’t see a whole lot more of the city than we had seen before, we learned a little history behind the buildings and frescoes.

From the tour, we decided to head up and inland to walk around the castles nestled on the mountain ridge. We took a cable car up, and walked along the road. It was perfect to just walk through the trees, enjoy the fresh air, and get a little exercise, even if the fortresses were closed due to their age and dangerous crumbliness. On our way, we stopped by this incredible cathedral.

Apparently they had run out of scenes to paint.

The view from the top was incredible. It was a strange sensation to look at this city I had been researching online, looking at through maps and GoogleEarth, planning our routes to and from the train stations, to historical sites and restaurants, this city that I had looked up while sitting in my room at UVa thinking to myself, “What if I could go here? What if? What if I could just casually spend a weekend in Genoa?” and now to see it, exactly as I had seen it in maps, from a birds-eye view, this ancient port city spread out

before me, backlit by a yellow sunset.

Sunday morning we checked out of our hotel, got breakfast, and went to the Van Gogh and Gauguin exhibit at a nearby museum. The Gauguin painting being featured had last been out of the Boston Modern Art Museum forty years ago. And now we were seeing it in Genova? And furthermore, the Van Gogh pieces I had learned about in elementary school or for Odyssey of the Mind, or during ENGL 3830 (you know what I’m talking about, fellow UVa English majors) were right in front of me.

There were also pieces by Church, Rothko, Wyeth, Diebenkorn, Turner, and others.

I only wish I knew more about art history.

This weekend, ten of us from the program headed to Bologna for Friday night and Saturday. We headed to Florence first, some of us for a field trip, and others of us just because. Eric and I explored the city a little bit, he dragged me away from the river where I was enjoying my nostalgic longing for rowing as I watched a double dock and head out onto the water, we looked through the Uffizi and saw Botticelli’s Venus

up close and personally, then headed to the market.

I bought a bag! Woo!

When we got to Bologna, lacking a map of any kind or any useful knowledge of the city, asked around until we made it to our hotel. It took five friendly locals and about twenty minutes too long, but we did it. After our long day of walking with our heavy backpacks, plopping down onto our beds felt more than nice.

Dinner with the group was at an Osteria half a block down the street, and the food was delicious. So was falling asleep nice and early, despite missing out on the university nightlife of the city.

Saturday found us walking around the city, looking at more old things, including an archeological museum, an art museum, and many old buildings. It was during the archeological exhibit featuring pots on pots on pots that I realized the unfortunate side effect of seeing too many of a cool thing: you grow numb to the history behind it, and all you can think is, “Okay, great. Another old pot with some stuff painted on it. Anyone want to get a gelato?”

Okay, it didn’t get quite that boring. But I do think I would have gotten more out of it if I knew more about ancient Etruscan history, or perhaps what the archeologists thought the pots told us about the society in which they were used, or even the method used to paint the pots. Maybe pots back in the day were their form of facebook, and they’d paint their own faces on them, their own families and the events in their lives, their likes and interests, their relationship status, or if they had an eligible daughter to marry off or something, then sold them to get their message out. Instead of posting a new photo album or blog post, they’d whip out a new pot.

Anyways. We headed to a public park and got lunch, then lounged on the grass, kicked off our shoes, and passed a soccer ball around for an hour or so before heading back to Siena. The weather was just balmy. Not to be confused with steamy.

Erin Friedlander, Student Correspondent Spring 2012