05.02.10

So we left the house 30 minutes ago and we’re sitting at the train station after we watched our train leave us…why does that sound familiar? Oh yes, because it’s happened before. We sort of left on time though, but a bunch of little things happened this morning that slowed us down, like Carly accidentally unzipping Grace’s bottom zipper on her backpack making everything fall out onto the sidewalk. We practically touched the doors when the train rolled out-the woman sitting inside just shook her head at us. Thanks for your help.
On the positive side, it’s that that cold out and our train is at 10:30, and we only validated one ticket. Alora…we’re catching a train to Civitanova and then waiting there for another hour. It’s funny how I don’t care.

Last night I back-packed through Macerata to Grace’s house on University night-when all the students are out. I got some funny looks. This pack might weigh more than I do…it’s giving my leg cramps.

The train rushes past the Adriatic coast, water as grey as the sky above it, its depth only given away by the subtlest movement, rolling, breathing like a wild beast. Frothy waves crash against rocks and caress the damp sand. Again and again.

Every place we see is different. Coastal apartments springing up in pastel colors, palm trees, rolling green hills in the mountains shadows, covered in snow. I can’t wait to see southern Italy.

We just passed through Padua. It’s dark and rainy now and probably cold out. Whenever we pass another train it sounds like a rock hit the window and we all jump. The train speeds by an inch away from us.

Well, where do I begin? I didn’t quite know what to expect, blindly following Grace on her crazy couch surfing adventure. We’re staying with a 40 year old bachelor, Luca, in almost the heart of Venice with 7 other girls. Luca’s an architect and restored his flat in Venice, which originally belonged to his grandparents. I think he said he usually rents out his flat to tourists and lives with his family in Verona. Anyway, the place was beautiful and clean. He was so meticulous, I felt like a slob. He made us pasta and risotto while we were there. There were three girls from Turkey, 2 Russians, a girl from Israel and a girl from California. On the day Grace and I left, two more girls came from Australia. His house was like a small melting pot. The Turkish girls made us Turkish coffee and brought Turkish delights. That Friday night Grace and I ran around the streets taking pictures. It was pouring and cold, but so beautiful.

Mi piaccono i vini rossi.
Nutella è una droga.