Bologna

Bologna is an hour away from Firenze on the fast train. My guide book really didn't say anything about it, but it's in another province, a less much less touristy one, so I thought it might be cheaper, that the sales might be going on there, and it might be nice.

Was I right. Bologna is a really nice city. Not terribly crowded, totally walkable, and hardly any tourists. Imagine an Italian city with actual Italians! Go figure!

The sales were in full force, although I was uninspired by what there was. I basically spent hours strolling the beautiful city, where almost every sidewalk is arcaded. The buildings are old, a bit dirty, but a lovely shade of reddish-terracotta. It's a big university town, so there's a lot of cheap food and cool bars. I plopped myself down at some cafe that looked onto one of the cute streets lines with mopeds for a while. and I had the BEST gelato I've had here, and a place called gelateriagianni. Today's flavors: Fig and Pistacchio. The pistacchio was this unsettling shade of khaki, so I knew it had to be good. And damned if I was right. Holy gelati.



Of course, all this gelato left no room for what might be best idea in theory and worst idea in practice:
That's right. Nutelleria. This is not a joke. Bologna is the home of Nutella. And just look at all your nasty nutella-rrific options.

Anyway, it started to POUR. I had an umbrella, but my feet were killing me. I had already purchased a ticket home, so I go to the station, and decide to change the reservation which can easily be done with a machine. The less you have to talk to an Italian official, the better, boy. So I change my ticket, and I realize that the time was still an hour away... there was a train departing in 10 minutes. So I wait on line to talk to the customer service representative (a misnomer) and he yelled at me, in Italian (there is nothing worse than getting yelled at in Italian) that the ticket I had WAS for the next train.

I of course, am completely confused. So I wander around for a while, and asked a different customer service rep for help, and he said I had to go back to the 1st guy. Bah. Well, anyway, I soon realize that I had been looking at the ARRIVAL time as opposed to the DEPARTURE time. And I had just mised my train.

So I go back to the nasty Italian, wait in line for another 10 minutes (waiting in line is like their national hobby) and the guy yells at me that train already left and I have to stand in ANOTHER line to get it fixed.

Well THAT line had about 30 people on it, and there was only one available teller.

So I decide to just buy a whole new ticket.

Stupid American Tax paid : 13€.

And well worth it.

My Italian is coming along nicely... I just really hate the people in my class. With the exception of this Isreali girl named Smedalr (sp?) who is my age and immediately picked me out as such.

So, today is Saturday, and I am pooped. I had plans to travel again, but I think I am just going to spend the day looking for bootleg soccer jerseys for Rik and for the big game tomorrow. And I have to make sure to get to the market today, as everything is closed on Sunday here.