Broam K's Italian Saga: Day II

Barf.

I woke up drooling like an asshole.

Fortunately nobody saw me.

I had slept through breakfast, as my gigantor Finnish neighbor, Sven, hadn't deemed it necessary to wake me up.  When the stewardess (yes, I still call them that) came back by, I was able to snag a few black coffees (sugar and creamer are for cowards) and a couple of orange juices.  My gut was still pissed at me for the airplane chicken hours earlier, and by no means was I about to subject it to the 'eggs.'

Upon landing in Frankfurt, Germany, our group made its way to Customs, where we all got bitchin' Germany stamps for our passports.  I was still weirded out by the fact that the first plane I saw as we taxied into the tarmac featured an enormous, blue Star of David across its tail.

Seriously.

I guess they're cool now, and that whole Holocaust thing is just 'water under the bridge.'

Who knows.

Upon entering the Frankfurt airport, I came to the conclusion that Germany is far above the blondes-per-capita limit most of the world adheres to.  Everyone was fair-complected, well dressed,  and - by the sound of it - majorly pissed off when they spoke with one another.

. . . so basically I fit right in.

Bizarro, German Urinals.

Upon clearing customs and finding the terminal for the next leg of our trip, I tried Skyping with Kris and the girls.  Unlike in the Orlando International Airport, however, ze Germans were not about to grant me the courtesy of Wi-Fi.  With communications home nixed, I decided to freshen up in the restroom (I felt like a hobo after quasi-sleeping on the plane for nine hours), and after reapplying deodorant and brushing my teeth, I was able to regain some small degree of my humanity.

Booya!

I wanted to pick up a souvenir from our hour-and-a-half layover in Germany, and picked up a beer stein-ish looking shot glass (for our burgeoning Hough Family collection), as well as - get this - a Simpsons comic book printed in German.  I was pretty stoked about this.

Alas, no one else in our group share my enthusiasm.

I wanted to buy a German newspaper as well, but after exploring our terminal for awhile I was able to find a newspaper stand where they were offering - for FREE - the exact same newspapers they were selling in the airport stores (for three euros apiece.)

In your face, Germany!

On top of that, along with the free newspapers (of which I grabbed two, 'cause hell. . . they were printed in German), they had a FREE coffee bar. . . so I drank about 40 oz of espresso, cappuccino, machiatto, and lattes while we waited to board our next plane.

Perhaps not the smartest thing one can do for one's bowels before boarding an airplane, but I fancy myself something of a bargain drinker.

We ended up taking a shuttle bus upon scanning our plane tickets at the gate - it was weird 'cause instead of walking directly onto the plane they ended up shuttling us around the tarmac - in and out of taxiing planes' ways - for about  ten minutes.  For a moment there I was starting to thing they were going to drive us all the way to Venice, but it was a cool experience nonetheless.

When we finally boarded our plane, it was freezing outside.  Germany's cold in March, don't listen to anyone who tells you otherwise.  They're liars.  This time around our plane was much smaller (obviously) - the flight was only an hour and twenty minutes long, so no TV screens in the seats this time around.  No meals, either (not that I was missing them), but they did give us German chocolate bars (which I'm holding on to for Kris or the girls).  They even gave me a full beer in a bottle - a Warsteiner - a service you don't get often back in the states.

So, as we flew over the Alps on our way to Venice, with the bright sun reflecting off the snow, I was able to kick back and have a beer.


Much better than flying with Sven.

Shortly after crossing the Alps (easier for me than Hannibal), we found ourselves once more on the ground. . . this time navigating our way through an Italian airport.  We picked up our check luggage with no issues whatsoever (thank God), and proceeded out to meet with our EF tour director, Rebecca. . .

Why the hell don't we have these in the States?!

. . . who had no idea we were all coming in on the same flight (the original plan had three of us flying into Milan).

Once that whole ordeal was straightened out (and the EF representative sent to Milan to intercept non-existant travelers was called back), we boarded our tour bus and met up with the other 37 people we'd be touring with throughout Italy.

They were all from St. Louis, and from some fancy charter high school.  29 high schoolers, and all but two of them girls that all dressed the same.

This is going to be a weird, weird trip.

The bus ride from Venice to our hotel in the old town of San Barto-lomeo took about an hour.  It's a quiet, little town nestled away among crumbling buildings, winding dirt roads, and sprawling vineyards.  I could've kicked my own ass for not having my SLR out and at the ready, but we're headed back that same way tomorrow, so may I can try to capture some of it then.

Our hotel was called the Hotel Colombo, and was clean and tidy. . . though the rooms (and beds) were much smaller than our American rooms, and nowhere near as nice.  Still, I'd take it over the ones I stayed in while in Africa. . .

Scenic view from my hotel room (why wouldn't there be a boat in the back alley of a land-locked hotel?)

(Check out the HD 13" TV our room's pimped out with!)

The bathrooms were clean, but had a bunch of features that you don't see in American ones. . . such as heated towel racks, which I took full advantage of.

The bidet, not so much.  Can't say I had the guts to try that one out.

We were supposed to have free Wi-Fi in the Colombo - hell, it was advertised on the hotel's website - but it ended up not being free and it wasn't even working for those people in our group who ended up purchasing (ten euros for 2 days worth of dial-up speed Wi-Fi = rip off).  I wasn't too happy about this because - as my luck is complete shit today - my eKit travel phone that I bought for this adventure isn't working properly either.  That meant that I couldn't email or call home to Kris and the girls.

Ultimately, Rebecca allowed me to use her phone to call home to Kris to let her know I wasn't dead, but I didn't get the chance to say 'hi' to Alayna and Abby.

Definitely a shitty way to start the trip.

Dinner wasn't until 7pm, so I decided to kill two hours by strolling around San Bartolomeo, armed only with my SLR and a phone that didn't work.

In Italy, you have to drive 30 kph whenever you see kids kicking around a head.

Saw a lot of houses and buildings that had this general shape to them.  Multi-family houses are big over here. . .

Some of the locals didn't seem too happy to have a weird guy moseying down their streets, taking pictures.  One old lady I'm pretty sure hissed at me before ducking inside her home with a chicken underneath her arm.

In the end, none of this bothered me in the slightest; after all, these guys once sided with Hitler, right?  Plus, I got some awesome pictures out of the whole deal, which is more important than offending some cranky, old chicken-lady anyway, right?

Of course it is.

Anyway, dinner ended up being a major disappoint.  Totally sucked.  Ribbon pasta with oil and herbs.  Then, some diced chicken in what I can only assume was cream of mushroom soup.  Finally, a too-sweet pastry smothered in powdered sugar.  I'm no food snob or anything, but when dining out I expect to eat better than the normal crap I eat inside of my own house, and, despite the fact I'm not big on Italian food, one expects to eat exceptionally well in ITALY.


Whatever.  Fortunately there was a well-priced wine bar adjoining the Hotel Colombo, so after dinner I went over there with a few others and tossed back a few two-euro Chardonnays.

I felt better after that.

- Brian

This is one of the creepiest things I've ever seen.