Once we got to Milan, we found our hostel--we had to take the metro, which was very similar to London's only not as convenient, since there weren't as many stations. We got off at the Gambara stop, and then had some trouble finding the right street, but it didn't take terribly long.
Our hostel was called Hostel Emmy. We climbed up what seemed like a million steps that had one of those old-fashioned elevators in the middle, the kind you can see inside. Eventually we made it to a door with a sign saying "Hostel Emmy." It was locked, so we buzzed the buzzer. An old man answered the door. He didn't speak a whole lot of English, so it took us all a while to realize that Jason and I hadn't even booked the hostel for that night! Our initial plan had been to stay at Cooper's that night, but somewhere along the line we'd just forgotten about that. However, once we realized why we were all so confused, we laughed about it and the man just moved us up a night.
I loved that hostel. It was so real and full of personality. It wasn't a commercialized chain, like Jaeger's. Cooper, Jason and I had a room to ourselves. It felt like we were staying in a flat, not a hostel. The bathroom had blue walls, a dripping sink, and flowered bath mats. In the morning, the old man's wife brought breakfast to our room: chocolate-filled pastries, peach juice, coffee.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Our trip ran into some bumps yesterday, starting with the discovery of no seats left on the night train we'd been planning on taking to Paris tonight. Then when we found the location of our hostel in Rome, no one answered the buzzer. A man who'd been watching us trying to get in came up and told us that the hostel was no longer there! Needless to say, this was stressful news. We couldn't get the man to explain, because he didn't speak English--or maybe I should say: we don't speak Italian. Luckily, the hostel had left a phone number next to the buzzer, so we found a payphone. The woman who answered gave us directions to another hostel about a 15-minute walk away. This hostel was called Ivanhoe. It was colorful and loud--you walk into one long room with several rooms and two bathrooms right off of it and computers along one wall. We dropped our stuff off and went out to look around the city.
First we went back to the station to see what could be done about getting to Paris: since we'd bought non-refundable tickets to get from Paris back to London, we needed to get to France somehow. Luckily, there were seats left for the night of the third. This means 2 less days in Paris for us, but at least we can still get there using our Eurorail passes--we thought we might have to buy plane tickets for a while there. Live and learn: now we know better than to assume we can simply rerserve seats on the spur of the moment.
That's the thing about traveling, though. You'd think planning ahead would be key, but then you get thrown curveballs like disappearing hostels.
Anyway, after we got our tickets figured out, we walked around Rome--saw the Colusseum. I wasn't aware it's surrounded by a bunch of other random ruins, but there's several of them all around. We weren't able to inside, since it closes at 3:30, so we'll probably try again tomorrow.
The hostel had a New Year's Eve deal of a spaghetti dinner with drinks all for 10 euro. We reserved spots for the three of us and were back for the dinner by 9:00. The two hostel front desk guys are quite the characters. One is older, and was really hyper. He claimed not to speak English and would go off in Italian at me and laugh! The younger one has a crazy unidentifiable accent that Jason thinks is fake, and is from North London.
The room was full and it was a fun atmosphere. We met people from the Netherlands, France, Japan, etc, plus other Americans. Eventually everyone found themselves on the street leading up to the Colusseum. The streets were packed with people. Everyone was drinking and shouting and hugging and kissing and taking pictures and being carried along by the crowd.
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This morning was horrible. Aside from being hungover, my hair was matted with champagne--and the worst thing was that I had no idea where anything was. I mean, I looked over and my bag was lying gaping wide open on the floor, I couldn't recall what I'd done with my coat when I came in last night, and I was sure our passports and train passes had been in my bag! This hostel had zero security--no locks on the doors, and the padlock they gave us to use for one of the lockers was too thick to even fit, so none of our stuff was locked up. I searched my bag multiple times, then decided to give up and take a shower. Turns out we'd put everything in Jason's bag and I'd just forgotten. Oops..but big relief.
Anyway, once everyone had dragged themselves out of bed and popped a couple aspirin, we made our way to the Pantheon, then to the Vatican. Honestly, even though we saw all those masterpieces, the highlights of my day were:
1. The dried kiwi and apricots we bought from a vendor.
2. Watching the fake designer purse sellers scurry back and forth along the street behind the vendor tents to avoid the police.
3. The little girl with THE FUNNIEST fixed (and I mean fixed) expression on her face, looking at Cooper from over her dad's shoulder.
Cooper booked the hotel across the street from the hostel (incidentally, the hotel is called Hotel Ivanhoe) since it's cheaper to split a hotel room between the three of us.
So we're all smooshed into this teeny room right now after getting delicious Chinese food for dinner (a welcome break from Italian). I am writing, Jason is showering, and Cooper is snoring.
Now that I've sort of caught up to the present moment, I need to backtrack to Milan.
Wednesday morning we sought out da Vinci's The Last Supper. I was surprised it's not kept in a museum, but is actually in a church called la Basilica di Santa Maria, located in a very upscale Milanese neighborhood. I love how these Italian neighborhoods are full of little courtyards, and each one is like a little secret glimpse into lives behind the walls. Looking into each one as you walk past, you might see a yellow vespa, an oddly-gnarled tree, a pot of pink flowers. Glimpse, glimpse, glimpse.
Anyway, we got to the church and found that the only way to see the painting is to make a phone reservation. The girl explaining this to us was condescending and rude, actually. I mean, I know we should have looked this up and I know she must have to deal with the same scenario a billion times a day, but c'mon lady, you are a representative of a painting of Jesus, and what would he do?
I was disappointed: I'd been so stoked to see this masterpiece...it was at the top of my list for Milan. We hung around for a while and milled around in the gift shop, surrounded by copies of painting on postcards, coffee mugs, mousepads. They all seemed to be mocking me: "you're so close to the original, and the best you can do is look at the made-in-China, keychain version??"
Eventually we found ourselves standing in front of a large copy of the Last Supper with audioguides pressed to our ears. Every once in a while, groups of people would come through automatic sliding doors from an adjoining room. When the doors opened, Coper went through the crowd and peeked in. He motioned us over: it's in here! I hurried over, stuck my head in the room, and saw it. It was HUGE! I am so happy I laid eyes on it, even for just a couple seconds...
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