A Necessary Evil

The entire time in Florence was a necessary evil. Sometimes when you travel, you have to rest even though you want to do and see everything all the time and at once. You feel you are wasting your time if something isn't immediately the most impressive or oldest thing you have ever seen, whether it be a piece of art, building, monument, collage, graffiti, tourist sign, toilette, etc. Once you have been in the catacombs dating back to 100 A.D. 1530 seems like yesterday. But rest is... a necessary evil.

While at the farm we ate the most elaborately wonderful 17 course meals. We also learned a great deal about farm life, Italian history, and culture. Our experiences were now trickling into the cultural nuances of today's society. We were rapidly growing. But in Florence everything came to a seemingly dead halt.

Our hostel was terrible. It can only be compared to a fraternity house of the worst kind. A large assortment of stuck up college students flooded the hallways and squashed anything that even vaguely resembled being in a foreign country. America was plastered to the walls and we were reminded of our roots fairly quickly.

Not only was this not our style, but the hostel was not safe. We trusted all our gear to shoddy lockers, and even though we put everything under lock and key, we still needed some luck. Our hostel mate was robbed the second night we were there, while we were sleeping. The culprit managed to come into our room after we were all asleep, and even though he was not registered with the hostel, he set up in a bed, slept, woke up, robbed our roommate, and then walked out before we got up. He was a big man and slept right above my bunk. I remember being angry at him because our bed was loud and he moved around a lot.

The next morning, we learned another interesting aspect to Florence...everything costs money. It costs money to see a museum. It costs money to go to church. It costs money to go to the park. It costs money to sit down in a restaurant--not for the food, but for the actual seat. It costs money to go to the public bathroom. It costs money to use the free Internet in your hostel. It even costs money to see a single statue; granted that statue is Michelangelo's David.

The pork chop style is to have fun and stay under budget. Maybe going overboard here, but we generally each spend about 25 Euros a day including lodging, food, drink, and activities. Some days we spend a bit more, many days a bit less. But in Florence you have to spend 50 Euros to just about do anything. So being the clumsy budget-minded travelers that we are, we were not impressed by this aspect of Florence.

The Pork Chop Express came face to face with the other side of American tourism in Florence, the Gossip Girls. Littering the streets, these Gossip Girls knew no bounds, had no control over volume or obnoxiousness. If you go to Florence, don't be surprised to hear more American English than any other language.

The Italians of Florence seemed to not want to inform you if you are paying to get into a museum and it is about to close. Or if you are waiting in line for no reason because they will be going on break as soon as you step up to order. And all this is completely arbitrary to time. And this was truly our first trial for the express train. Sick and in the vast melting pot of Gossip Girls and other such tourists, stuck with an unswerving timeless Italian authority demanding retribution in the form of the Euro.

It was hard to not only think of getting to Bologna where we were to stay with a friend or Venice where we were to see Carnival. The idea of just surviving until then crossed our minds several times. This is against the Pork Chop motto. We stick to no plan. We let things be as they are and rock with life. This sometimes requires the occasional slap across the face, but a bruised face saves money on makeup. It took us 3 days to truly get out of the funk.

However, we must note the Florence is very beautiful. The streets are full of life. Where Rome showed inventiveness and the strength of imperial expansion, Florence matched it in art. The Uffizi Gallery was stunning. The hills were scenic and vast. Our turn around happened on day 3 when we decided to head for the hills. We fell upon the most amazing view of the city from the Michelangelo Palazzo, where a replica of David sits. We thought this view was even more breath taking than the view from top the Duomo. This was the first sign of the Pork Chop style's triumphant return, but it didn't really kick in until we wandered a bit more and found a monastery.

As we walked up a series of steps, the monastery or church was just as interesting inside as it was outside. Surrounding the church was an above ground grave yard. Huge and elaborate Mausoleums told stories of devotion to God as the lives of the people buried. Losing track of time, we wondered and wandered through this graveyard.

A voice came on the loud speaker explaining that the church was going to close. We made our way to the exit, but saw some people were still going into the church itself. We decided to follow. What we found inside around dusk was a huge uniquely decorated church hall. The wooden roof was elaborately painted. But this mystical feeling space was not what made our experience so wonderful here.

As we approached the altar, we noticed that there was an above ground sanctuary, and then an underground sanctuary. Monks was walking through the below ground sanctuary. They were preparing for Mass. We had no idea this was going on until we heard them start chanting. The chanting was intimate. The sound carried throughout the church like a distant bell, but each word was clearly understood.

We decided to respectfully make our way down to the sanctuary, where we sat, knelt, and stood, in seemingly random rotation for the remainder of the service. I was captivated by the acoustics of these low vaulted ceilings. Almost the entire service was sung and this type of chanting was new to me. Chanting is not the same as regularly notated music. The pitch, rhythm, and loudness are just represented in approximation or left completely to the discretion of the singer. When many people sing the same line at once, various interpretations are heard overlapping and it gives a swarming effect. A very beautiful sound in an echo-y space. Also to note, the organ was quite unique. The small reed sound was quiet and the music was very energetic, light, and almost whimsical.

Tired as usual, we made our way back to our terrible hostel. It grew late into the night as we dreamed of visions of Bologna and Venice. The trip, while fraught with trials, had been relatively smooth up to this point and it seemed that the Florence danger and attitude was just a minor hiccup. I opened my computer to start this blog. Checking my email, I found all of our plans to stay in Bologna and Venice had fallen through. We had no place to stay the very next day and had to check out the next morning at 10AM. We had learned a lesson, the harsh lesson of attachment.