How The Other Half Live; Florence in One Day.

In my last blog I talked about my two days in Venice, and I intended to do another blog the next day on my time in Florence, but work got in the way. The joys of retail work during the run up to Christmas. Its a little belated but I suppose better late than never.

Well, we arrived in on the train from Venice at about lunch time, and I have to say we were so impressed with the train systems in Italy. It worked out at about 20 euro for a 2 hour high speed train from Venice to Florence, and they are so comfortable and easy to figure out. Just buy your tickets online before heading on your trip. After the quiet and peace of the cobbled Venetian alleys, the hustle and bustle of the busy Florence city came as a bit of a shock. Writing this, I think I should get the negative aspects of the city over and done with before ending on the positives. We found our hostel easily from the train station, but instantly found Florence to be quiet different to Venice. As well as the noise of constant traffic, we found the people there to just not be very unfriendly compared to the Venetians. For example, standing in line to see the famous 'David' by Michaelangelo (more on that later), we found the sellers of memorabilia to be absolutely horrible. They were particularly racist to the Indian man standing in front of us, and like to harrass and hassle you a lot more than the Venetians, or even the Romans, to buy their products. I found them quite intimidating and they really set a bad feeling for the city as a whole from a tourism perspective. I personally also found the tourist sights and museums to be extremely busy and I felt a little like a member of a herd of cattle jostling around places. I found the people working in the tourist places, such as the cathedrals, churches and museums, to be quite rude and unfriendly. Even the people staying in our hostel room were rude!I slowly began to realise that in this city, money makes the world go round. As a backpacker, that's not the way you work, but more on that later.  To be completely honest, I really didnt like Florence, and wouldn't even think about recommending it or going back again ..... But that's my negative rant over . There are some nice things about Florence! Promise.

We started out our one day in Florence by seeking out the famous 'David' statue, built by Michaelangeo. It is located in a museum, the Galleria de Academia, whose entrance is on a little side street, easily missed if you don't have an eye for street names and a good map. When queueing up, I was standing there thinking 'is this really worth it? Its just a little statue' (tip,  book beforehand. The queue is much smaller). It is not little, at all, and it is really worth it. We got an audioguide (bring a drivers licence as they ask to hold id when taking the audioguide, and giving a passport is not a good idea), and it was well worth it. There is so much to see in the museum besides the statue, and it is really interesting. But the statue is by far the most spectacular thing there. It is HUGE, and has the most amazing detail and is so lifelike. Take time to sit and really look at it, but whatever you do, don't take pictures of it. If you do you will feel the wrath of one of the scariest and loudest museum security guards on the planet, only a little less scary than the ones in the Sistine Chapel.

From there we headed over to the popular shopping area in the old quarter of the city near the Rialto bridge. Here, we found ourselves wandering around, bemused, and ending up sitting at an old cathedral (now an art museum) feeling very, very poor. Everywhere you look there are the most expensive designer brands, from Dior, to Prada, to Gucci. You think of it, its there. To say our backpacker style and love for cheap pizza didn't really suit the atmosphere was an understatement. As my travelling partner pointed out, we were like peasants in a noble's castle. Similarly, when we found the Rialto bridge, we took our pictures and oood and aaaahd at it, and then wandered across it. What I didnt realise was the Rialto bridge is actually a shopping street rather than a bridge, and has only jewellery stores on either side. Very expensive jewellery stores. We moved across the bridge and took a wander through the Piazzas getting a feel for the place, and stopped for a beer or two, and admired all the amazing architecture in the streets.

We also took in the splendour that is the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore, or the Duomo as it is better known. This is a gothic style cathedral, and really is amazingly detailed and awesome in size. Squeezed into a piazza, it is free in (wear appropriate clothing) and has the most amazing 3D like fresco on the roof of the dome, although your neck won't thank you for your interest in it after.

To end the day, we sat on the roof of our hostel and watched the sun set down over the city, which was really beautiful, and we chatted to some nice Malaysian tourists and relived our time in Asia. We then found the nicest food in a restaurant near our hostel named Mamma Napoli, which was located opposite the entrance to the Mercato Centrale Firenze (Florence Central indoor Market). The waiters there were so friendly and the food was incredible and pretty cheap. We finished off with a few beers during a Rome v Florence football match.

I must say, although there are some lovely things to see in Florence such as the Duomo and handsome David, unless you intend on doing some serious shopping, I wouldn't come to Florence. It is characterised by the smell of cigars, expensive coffee, and poodles in knitted jumpers. It should never be on any backpacker's hot list, and you know, once a backpacker, always a backpacker; you just cant shake the innate attraction to cheap, and Florence really doesn't like cheap.

Next blog, Rome (I promise, its a happy ending).

Slán.

A Venetian Venture; Venice in Two Days.

'We'll give it a shot' .....

Not the greatest thing to hear your pilot say as you circle above a large bank of fog in a Ryanair plane doing more shakes than a 19 year old student on the dancefloor of Copperface Jacks. But this was what we faced as we flew into a Venetian airport, anxious for our Italian adventure. Two weeks previously we were sitting in our sitting rooms moaning about our niggling travel bug, and there we were, thinking of pizza and pasta, praying the 'shot' would be accurate. You can assume from my presence from behind the keyboard that it was accurate enough.

Two hours later and a bit of directional help from some friendly locals, we found ourselves booked into our hotel and sitting on a local bus into Venice.

Tip #1 for Venice; Stay on the mainland rather than the island. Much cheaper, it has some lovely places for a coffee and pastry breakfast, and its easy to access the island on local buses (buy your ticket in local newsagents BEFORE getting on the bus. It only costs about €1.20 one way).

Venice was more his city than mine, and I wasn't really bothered seeing it as I had heard some stinky stories in regards to the city, but I was captivated from the moment I stepped over the bridge. Its full of clean, old, leaning architecture towering over little cobbled streets. Everywhere you turn it leads you more into the mazes of hidden piazzas filled with little cafes, gelataries and little churches filled with the most amazing paintings. The quiet is so peaceful as there is no traffic, only quit gondolas accompanied by the odd singer with his love songs. The place is full of Italian character, and wine, lets not forget the wine!

We started off our two days with a gorgeous pizza for €6.50 (average enough price for Italy), followed by an exploratory stroll where we came across the Chiesa di San Rocco, the Basilica di San Marco and numerous antique shops full of old first edition books and maps. Also wherever you turn you find little local shops run by local artists who make the traditional venetian masks worn through the annual 'Carnival of Venice'. Very 'Phantom of the Opera'. Bloody Ryanair hand luggage allowance! I would have brought the lot home!

We moved on to a dinner at a restaurant on the main canal ...

Tip #2; the restaurants on the canal are nice and romantic, but the service doesn't seem to be as good as the other little pizzerias on the side streets. Oh and ...

Tip #3. If you say 'grazie' when you hand over money and you expect change, you wont get it. Saying thank you means 'keep the change'. Nightmare when you hand a 50 for a dinner worth 16 euro. Just say nothing and tip after. Much easier.

The next morning, after a coffee and pastry breakfast for no more than €2 in the local café, we headed back into the city to explore the lesser touristy area of the Jewish ghetto. This area is made most famous, as many nerdy English lovers would know, from Shakespeare's 'The Merchant of Venice'. This area was where the Jewish population were forced to live from the mid 1500's, and its still very community based, with quiet squares which see local jewish men discussing the daily goings on and old women sweeping out their houses and hanging out their clothes. The perfect escape from the bustle of the tourist squares, and great for lovers of photography.

We spent the day strolling around the city, eating and people watching, exploring the various little churches, and we ended up on the opposite side of the city looking out across the sea to the Palazza Ducale. Around here we found lovely artists selling their paintings, and it is the perfect place to find nice little pieces to put on the walls at home when you returned to the bleak. We finished off the trip with a gondola ride (a bit pricey at €80 a gondola, but worth it. Can't go to Venice without a gondola ride) where we had a nice tour through the little canals with a singing gondola man, stripy top, hat and all. We found a nice piazza to have gorgeous pasta in while the sun set (a little place called Taverna Dally. Lovely service and food) and then had some incredibly cheap drinks at our hotel.

Tip #4; stick to the hotel for alcohol. €1.80 for a glass of wine!

And finally,

Tip #5. Promise yourself a trip back to Venice. Magic isn't the word.

Slán.

Exploring Dublin's Fair City

In my previous blog post I talked about how I had hastily made the decision to take off on a trip to Italy to attempt to quench both the monotony of daily life and my ever nagging travel bug. I teamed up with a fellow traveller and together we excitedly planned our week trip of three of Italy's main cities; Venice, Florence and Rome. The next number of blogs (the exact number will be determined by my 'at that very moment' level of nattering) will be relating to the above mentioned trip which I returned from last night and am now fighting severe depression as a result of (lack of Italian pastries and good carbonara will do that to you). They are mainly meant to be tips for travelling in these parts, but may be taken over by my massive love of describing Italian food. Beware, do not read on an empty stomach.

Firstly, before jetting off to explore Venetian canals, my travel buddy arrived from his home in Birmingham to meet me for a few days of exploring Dublin city. When we decided he would come over, I instantly felt the pressure to show him the tourist attractions and defend my home city against those of Europe. I originally thought this was practically impossible, as Dublin, in my local opinion, is as boring as it gets. Turns out, after my Mother raided a tourist leaflet stand, that Dublin has a lot more to offer than I thought.

We began our two day trip with a visit to one of Dublin's newest museums; The Little Museum of Dublin opposite St Stephens Green park. This place is fantastic! It has two main rooms filled with memorabilia of the city from the 1900's onwards, and the guide points out a few interesting ones before letting you off to explore the walls. There is everything here, from old newspaper cuttings from the rising, to James Joyce's death mask, to models of Wanderly Wagon. A perfect starting point to get a feel of the city and its little people throughout time.

From here we went down Grafton Street and headed into Trinity College where we got a tour of the grounds and the history of the college, and then moved on to see the book of Kells in one of the buildings. The book is impressive I have to say, but for myself and my friend, nothing beats the long library upstairs. This arched roof library holds thousands of old books and manuscripts, and smells of time and ink. It's got the serious wow factor and any book lover would find it hard to stop themselves from diving over the cordons to root and touch and marvel.

I then took a stroll down to the main street of the North inner city; O'Connell Street, where the famous 1916 uprising took place against the British forces who controlled Ireland at the time. Now just a normal working post office, the General Post Office building in the centre of the street was practically burned to the ground at Easter 1916, and the bullet holes left from fighting with British forces can still be seen in the outside walls and pillars. There is no tour or proper explanation for what went on, but any Irish person around can tell you the general gist.

For dinner, I took the two of us back up Grafton Street to Captain America's cookhouse and grill which does the most amazing food at student prices. The walls are filled with music memorabilia and the atmosphere is always light and easy. The cocktails there are also great! Always a good thing.  From here, we headed to the famous tourist party area, Temple Bar, where any American in Dublin to learn about his 'great great grandaddy' can find traditional Irish music and dancers. For those who are a bit less optimistic about the existence of leprechauns, I suggest CopperFace Jacks (if you are quite hammered, left some personal dignity at the last bar, and want a serious student club night out), D2 on Harcourt Street for a little more club class, or The Porterhouse bar near Trinity for more types of beer than your head can handle.

Day two involved a trip up town a little to Christ Church Cathedral to see the Dublinia exhibition. This shows the settlements and social life in Ireland from the early Viking and medieval times. It basically involves a lot of life like dummies, which scare the bejaysus out of me, so I spent my time trying to breath while letting him wander and wonder. The things we do the entertain the visitors. Onwards and upwards, we went down the road to the Guinness storehouse, which to me is one of the best attractions of the city. Yes I know, typical Irish person to love the drink, but it shows a lot about the actual work that goes on and the social benefits of the factory in its early days and how they work the business today. You could easily spend two hours exploring the 7 floors, and the view from the sky bar at the top alone is worth the visit.

We left the city early enough to head back to my house to ready ourselves for our ridiculously early flight to Venice the next morning, and enjoyed an evening of home cooked food and a meet the parents show. I felt at the time that it was a good start to the holiday, and the amount of walking was a sign of what was to come over the next week, but nothing could have prepared us for what Italy had in store for us, but that is for tomorrow ....

Slán.

Eat, Pray, Love, and Go

The irony is, I don't like the book 'Eat, Pray, Love'. The movie was a massive success, but as a former English student I have the bad habit of reading a book before watching a movie and then deciding whether I watch the movie based on my opinion of the book. I found 'Eat, Pray, Love' the book to be devoid of any substantial plot, too slow to keep interest, and thought it was more a one woman 'look at meeeee' party. Therefore I avoided the movie like the plague. Until, that is, I recorded it on the sky box, and decided  to give it a chance over a coffee breakfast the other morning. I have watched it three times this week.

You see, there comes a point when you arrive home after travelling that you feel like you are content to sit in your own country for a while and live a normal life and hold down a normal job. Some people become content with doing that and find they do it for the rest of their lives with 2 . 5 kids and a dog named Tom. 2.5 kids and a dog named Tom don't fit well into Ryanair cabin baggage allowance, so travelling becomes a yearly or so trip to a beach with a built in Irish bar. That's fine for the person that wants that, but it dawned on me as I watched Julia eat her spaghetti that I was 22 and didn't have 2 . 5 kids and a dog named Tom, and I wanted to eat spaghetti and see Rome. Suddenly, without much warning, the travelling bug was back full force! I tried to calm it down by saying 'no, you are saving money! You are living a normal life! You are not heading off again! You need to stay where you are!'

I consulted a usually understanding friend; former Thai teacher now KFC chip shaker James, who also expressed the feeling of an ever growing travel bug. Suddenly, it was 1am and we had the prices of flights, accommodation, trains, and could already taste the pizza. As James said at one point, 'Why not?'

So, its done. I am taking my week's holiday from work, and on the 16th of October I am getting a Ryanair flight to Venice (dirt cheap so it was. It was half the price of the return train from Kildare to Killarney. Dangerous prices!). I stay in Venice for two or three nights, then take a train to Florence and stay there for a night, then off to beautiful Roma, where I finally get to stand in front of that Colosseum. After three or four nights of my dream destination, I fly home.

After booking the flights yesterday morning and jumping around my kitchen like a Duracell bunny, much to the dismay of my dog, I realised that when Rome is gone off my bucket list, I have only one dream city left; New York. I thought 'only one dream city left. Aim of the day, find a new dream city!'. 'Cause that's the whole point right? Complete monotonous normality doesn't suit humans. Human life always needs a dream to work towards, no matter what that dream is. Thing is, you have to take the chance of living the dream when it comes around, otherwise, whats the point in dreaming?

To Italy we go!

Slán.

1,2, Cha Cha Hop .... 3,4 Cha Cha Drop

Peer pressure is an awful thing. It happens in numerous situations in adult life. You think it ends in the playground with 'I dare you to kiss Johnny and get cooties', which you go ahead and do and remain scared shitless of the killer cooties for days to come. But it follows you into adult life with more painful consequences. It's the 'another drink?', or 'want to share desert?', or 'ah the plane doesn't go that high, just jump'. I had this high and mighty idea of myself that I had gone beyond all that rubbish. Oh silly silly Amy.

I said in a previous blog, the one before I found myself screaming like a raving lunatic at my broken down car, that I was turning my life around one local activity at a time. So I tottered off to my local GAA hall to partake in a Zumba class. As a kid I filled most of my spare time prancing around dance studios and local halls, and I have done every form of dance I could get into. I was told that Zumba was the perfect way to keep fit and meet new people. Dance and a natter; I figured it sounded pretty perfect. I went in expecting to find it really easy as I am soooo fit with my size 8 jeans, and it would all be nothing more than some sexy shaking of the hips to latin music and a nice little step around. Boy was I wrong!

When I arrived in I was asked to fill out a form and on the form I was asked 'What is your reason for joining Zumba?', I said to meet new friends, and the guy on the desk looked at me up and down, laughed, and said jokingly 'well it isnt to lose weight'. I thought this a little strange, but as I am a pretty small person, I took no notice. I went into the class, and after 5 minutes I understood why he said that. The word 'calm' does not belong here, nor the word 'sexy', or 'step'. The words I would use are 'intense', 'sweaty', 'hot', and 'challenging'. After 5 minutes of dancing I was a puffing, knackered mess. I was slowly coming to learn that size 8 jeams mean nothing, and I was in fact incredibly unfit. In the few seconds of recovery I had between songs, one of the girls stopped beside me, and I looked at her and said 'tough isnt it?'. She said 'ah ye it is I suppose, but it should be easy enough for a skinny thing like you'. 

There is was. The peer pressure you think when you leave school that you leave behind. I looked around and realised that all of these women, most of whom were older than me and, honestly, bigger than me, were running rings around me. I realised that I had to put my all into this if I was going to come out even close to their stamina. Some of these women were on their second hour of Zumba, and I was struggling with the first 15 minutes. These women are fit, much fitter than me, and as small as I am, the only exercise I had been getting for the past three years was the running totter in heels across the road on a Saturday night. Well by God I threw myself around that hall. I whooped whooped with everyone while jumping and spinning and speed cha cha chaing, and I came out looking far from the sexy I was expecting. The next day, as much as I didnt admit it then, I was in massive amounts of pain. I hadn't felt pain like that since I thought I could handle 45 minutes running on a tread mill with a hangover 2 years ago in college (it was my first time inside a gym. Not a good idea)

Yet, despite the initial shock to the system and the pain every time I climbed a flight of stairs for the rest of the week, I went back. I felt amazing after the second week, and even better this week. The girls there are friendly and we all push through together. I am feeling it getting easier every week as my fitness gets better, and I talk to more new people every week. I guess this time around a bit of peer pressure was what I needed to get the heart going. 

Slán.

If It's Too Good To Be True, Then Logically ......

You know the saying 'if it's too good to be true, it usually is'. Why don't we humans take note of such sayings? We would save ourselves a lot of hassle.

I had my beautiful little Micra stolen from me about two months ago. A nightmare. But out of that nightmare came what I thought was a little ray of pretty blue sunshine in the form of a lovely 2003 Fiat Punto for an incredibly good price. It had recently passed its NCT, had tax, and seemed, as I said above, too good to be true for the price. I am a sucker for a bargain, to my own detriment. I had a few problems with the power steering pump a few weeks after buying it, which I had replaced and 'fixed'. Problem solved, right? Wrong!

Last night I donned the loose clothing and headed off excitedly to my first yoga class. It was a little drive away as it is in the town that I work in rather than live in for convenience sake, due to me being there more than I am home. I stopped off at a post office in a little town along the way, and hopped back into the car full of thoughts of the impending action of standing on my head and my attempts at describing that in this blog, when 'too good to be true' decided to hit me really hard. I put the car into reverse, locked hard on the wheel to turn out, and 'PHEW', something in the wheel blew. Suddenly the wheel went so heavy I could hardly move it an inch, the red wheel light on the dash came on, and any chance of me getting out of the spot let alone to yoga class went out the window.

The high capped boy racers in their zooped up bangers next to me must have thought I was insane as they watched me hit the wheel numerous times with quite substantial force while screaming 'FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK' at the top of my lungs. I then turned to them when I noticed them staring at me and shouted 'WHAT???'. They knew to back off. This was a woman highly scorned.

Numerous calls to the mechanic and a neighbour from heaven later I now find myself at home, 6 miles from the nearest shop, with (most disastrously and to the shock of my boss) no way of getting to work until the 'Rents come home from their elongated siesta in the Puerto Rican sunshine on Friday, unless the mechanic can save the day. But not to fear on the company side! I have two dogs, two cats, 8 hens, 6 chicks and a rooster named Roy to chat to (great listeners the lot of them. Terrible advice givers).

For now, I sit, drink coffee, and hope the mechanic won't have to endure the wrath of a woman scorned. At least a lesson was learned; If it's too good to be true, then it isn't true, its a big fat ball of stress disguised as truth .... Duh. Silly Amy.

Slán.

Life Realignment; Digging Yourself Out Of The Rut.

Its easy to get into a rut. One minute you are living your life, thinking that things literally could not get better, and with one fine swoop and a few drastic decisions, you find yourself relating to Meryl Streep. As strange as that sounds, its very true and will be explained. I have been finding it hard to write about my life and its twists and turns these last few weeks as I simply kept saying 'I have nothing interesting to write about'. Truthfully, I had interesting stuff to write about, I just didn't want to write it as it involved facing a few home truths.

When making the decision to attempt the life of an Irish emigrant, you think of things like food, and fitting in abroad, and missing home. Then you find that it all doesn't go exactly to plan and home isn't where the heart is, its where family is, and you suddenly find yourself looking at 'Failte Abhaile'. Coming home to a country is one thing. Coming home to your old life is another. I know I have previously written about getting back to western life after coming home and facing the rat race and cheese sandwiches, and I really did think that would be the hardest part about coming home. I was wrong. I never really talked, or thought, about how you get your actual life back. You know, that one where you went out with your mates every weekend and went for lunch on weekdays and spent days off in the city. You think when you leave that if you ever decide to come back it will all just be there waiting for you. Coming home to Ireland in it's current situation, the truth is very different.

I was watching 'Its Complicated' earlier tonight, having a few glasses of wine and relaxing on the couch, when I came to a shocking realisation. One of her friends, during a dinner scene, told Streep's character 'If you want your situation fixed (of a sexual nature, or more lack thereof) you need to date someone. Anyone'. Now, although slightly different, I realised I had become Meryl Streep. I was, am, in a rut. I came home after 8 months away to find that my sister had her own life in Dublin's fine capital, my parents were working and living their lives which for 8 months had not included me, and of some my friends had either moved on to jobs or further education in Dublin City, while the majority had simply emigrated in my time jaunting around South East Asia. I now live in an extremely rural town where I know nobody after three years in University and one year abroad, and I spend my days working and my nights sitting on my couch.

Depressing right? Yes. Fixable? Yes. I realised, like Meryl Streep in the cheesy rom com, if I wanted my situation to change, I had to change it myself. Nobody is going to arrive on my doorstep from the US or Oz, or come from Dublin and forget their new friends and life up there, and I couldn't ever expect them to. I need to find a new life. That's the realisation when you come home from a long term absence to your old haunt; you can't get your life back, so you have two choices

1. Sit and wallow in a pool of rosé wine and 'The Late Late Show' feeling pathetically sorry for your 22 year old single self like something out of 'Bridget Jones's Diary'.
or
2. You can get up, wear something else other than your pjs on your day off, actually open the make up bag and do something with your 22 year old single sorry self and throw 'Bridget Jones's Diary' out the window (metaphorically of course. Its not really that bad a movie)

So, I have enrolled myself in a few classes. I have done my research and realised that where I am living may have an opportunity or two for life realignment. I have enrolled myself in a Zumba dance class to get the endorphins going with a bit of cha cha cha and jumping up and down like something possessed, and I have found a yoga class near work to wind down in the evenings. I am also signing up for a fun make-up class next week along with possibly a bit of volunteer work in the locality with some teenagers.

It can be easy to get in a rut. A rut is comfortable. A rut doesn't care if you wear make up, or gain 6 pounds in a week, or check your facebook every 3 minutes out of sheer 'dunno what else to do'. But its lonely. There, I said it. That's what I have been avoiding admitting and writing about. Coming home from an exciting Thai life to live with your parents is against your life expectations and its bloody boring. But, like I have always said, this blog is the truth about life. Its admitting the hard bits because to leave them out isn't reality. So I am donning my tough attitude that so many people know me for and saying to myself

'Ye, you have a problem. So what? Get over yourself and fix it. Then, no more problem.'

Hmmmm. Well, we will see how good that attitude works after 20 counts of 'Tree Pose'.

Slán.