Getting There is All the Fun!

Honestly, I didn't think that moving to Florence from Rome would be anything worth noting, especially in regard to making you poor readers subject to it, but as it turns out, I was wrong.  Nothing new there.  Never doubt the significance of any journey, no matter how small.

Let's start with the impressions of what I thought this journey was going to be like.  I was going to leave my lovely little hotel on the second shuttle for a two hour bus ride to Florence.  Once in Florence, my roommates and I, along with maybe another apartment group, were going to be dropped off relatively close to the apartment and guided to the apartment.  Hoh boy!  Was I in for a rude awakening..

The information given to us about the second departure group was not incorrect and we were all loaded onto the bus in a semi-organized fashion with relatively little hassle.  Once on the bus, we were informed that instead of a two hour ride, it would be four hours.  Ok, I can handle that.  I found out later that its two hours by train.  Ah.  It's easy to see where those two get confused.  I was rather anti-social and simply put my earphones in and enjoyed the scenery.

And the scenery is certainly something to be enjoyed!  I learned upon coming here that Tuscany is essentially a county of Italy, not a specific town or place as I had believed.  Florence is nicely settled at the top of the Tuscany region, so we had four hours to take in one of the world's most celebrated countrysides.  Despite what a dry summer the country has experienced, there is no taking away the beauty of this place.  I tried to capture it and the pictures are so dull in comparison.  So dull.  There are mountains, and quarries, and villages perched on top of cliffs, and big wonderful blue skies, and sunflowers, and so much more to take it!  I want to explore it all!  I don't even know the names of these places and I love them.  Maybe I'm just ridiculous.  It's probable.  

But then again, who can resist?  : )  

Finally we arrived to Florence and if you think that traffic in general is scary in Europe, try a bus.  I don't know how this guy did it.  You couldn't help but to be impressed as soon as you got over the fact that you just made a mess in your seat.  Our driver then dropped us off close to the bus station here in the city and if I had had a Florence map with that me at that point, I would have known I was in trouble.  We piled out, eager to be in the city that is going to be our home for the next four months.  The driver was kind enough to get our luggage out for us, creating was small pyramid of suitcases in the middle of the street, adding the additional car dodging to the excitement.  It was chaos and his creative means to remove our stuff hindered some of the progress we hoped to make.  One of my roommates couldn't find one of her suitcases, only to later discover that her last piece of luggage was being used as a ramp to get other suitcases out.  

We then found our designated leader to guide us to our respective apartments, and the impression they gave to us that we were dropped off close to our apartments was dead wrong.  We began our trek through the city on what would later be dubbed as the "luggage walk of shame."  

It's hard to appreciate your first impressions of your new home when you're carrying lugging that weighs close to a hundred pounds, if not over.  I know that my primary suitcase weighed almost 50 lbs. and then there was my duffle, backpack, and purse all crammed to the bursting at the seams.  The Lizzie McGuire Movie does not prepare you for this part of the Italian experience.  It hits you like, well, like 100 lbs of luggage on a warm summer day.  You think the wheels on your suitcase are going to save you, but I bet these wheels never met 500 year old cobblestone.  Nothing saves you on cobblestones.  Because you nothing saves you on cobblestones and you finally tell yourself to put your big girls pants on and realize that this is a terrible way to remember your first moments in an opportunity of a lifetime, you begin to find little jewels to make the moment a little more bearable.  

First, you mentally abuse the girl who lost her luggage during her flight for having nothing to carry.  Then you realize that you should be lucky to have luggage to haul around and that gives you a little extra 'umph' for an additional five steps.  You start laughing at the picture you're painting in the middle of a truly beautiful city- standers-by stopping what they're doing to watch an out-of-shape foreigner hauling an excessive amount of crap, sweat flowing out of every pour, red in face, blatantly panting and being left behind by the walking powerhouse of your oblivious leader.  You can't help, but laugh a little, even in the middle of the ridiculousness.  I'm sure some of the standers-by were.  You start day dreaming about all the ways you're going to treat yourself as soon as this is over- basking in the A.C. you will splurge on (A.C. isn't common here), a nice shower, the largest cup of gelato your hands and wallet can hold.  You also day dream about how lovely the apartment is going to be- realistically though.  You do want to make all this worth it.  All are effective ways to make it a little more bearable.  You also start hating Lizzie McGuire for not adequately preparing you for this (all the knowledge and expectations I gained about Italy before coming here I learned from Lizzie McGuire, so expect to see me as an international superstar soon!).  A scapegoat relieves the temporary stress of the moment.  But then you realize that, unlike Lizzie, you're gaining character from all this (and you thought your parents saying, "It builds character!" all these years would never pay off!).  At least, that's part of what you tell yourself.  You attempt to take in what's around you between gasps for air and realize that there is so much to see and explore!  You just have to get to your destination, throw your bags in, and take your sweet freedom and imagination for a ride.  You tell yourself that you're getting a great work-out right before four months of carb-filled heaven, that this is a story for the grandkids, a bonding moment with your housemates, whatever that will keep your feet moving forward.  Finally, you stop at a door, your door.  Not much, but its yours.  

You proceed to let your roommates go over first to hide that fact that your lungs have forgotten the notion of breathing.  Next comes hauling your luggage up the stairs, which are a piece of work.  Using your backpack and body as a counter-weight system works fairly well pulling your big bags up the stairs. One. By. One.  

And at the top, waits for you something that really was worth it.  Even my day dreaming didn't prepare me for this.  Waiting at the top, at the top of your metaphorical mountain, is home.  

It even has a balcony.  I guess even those troublesome journeys we're forced to take produce fruit.  And I'm pretty sure that my room is even better than Lizzie McGuire's, so ha!  : P

(For the complete set of apartment pictures, feel free to visit my facebook.  They are in the Florence Beginnings album.)