Also, I am sorry for all the words in the beginning and lack of pictures. I am sure the next few days will not be lacking in picture stories. SO.
I made it. After "sleeping" in the airport, I realized how much I do not want to fly anymore. First, I had to stand in a line for a stamp saying I had a passport, essentially. Then I had to go stand in a much, much longer line to show the person 2 desks over the same boarding pass and passport. I was trying to follow the rules, and had decided to check my backpack, as it didn't fit in the little "if it fits in here" thing, and simply take on my purse. I was informed that this would cost me 40 euros. This was actually more than I paid for my ticket. I was only trying to avoid the 40 euro fine they charge you if you get to the gate and your bag is too big or too heavy. Now seeing that their threat held no weight, I took my bag up to the gate.
To ensure that my bag could at least be squeezed into the checky thing, I decided to put on most of the large items of clothing on. There I was, in my broken sandals, long pants, 2 tank tops, my dress, hoodie, and scarf. I was like an anime super hero.
(I am not posting a picture of this. I'm sure that what you have pictured in your head is quite accurate. Especially if I am battling large veiny creatures.)
They didn't even look at my bag. Although, I was quite glad to be wearing all the layers, as the plane was FREEZING. I dozed off a couple times, and woke up shivering. This plane ride felt longer than my flight from LA to Dusseldorf. We finally arrived and shuttled to the airport.
I had completely forgotten that I was flying into Ciampino and not Fiumicino. This may mean nothing to you, so let me explain. Fiumicino is the airport with the train station. This was not the one I was at. So I waited for the bus to the Ciampino station. Mistake. After waiting in my super hero gear in the blazing sun for about half an hour, I decided to just take the bus to the farther station, at the other airport.
Insert 25 minutes of running around in a blind, near-hysterics panic. I had found a ticket machine and bought my ticket. It had no platform number, nor what main city the train was headed towards. I ran back and forth trying to find a ticket counter. Finally, I did, and the man in the window just yelled "change at ticket office!" at me until I had yelled enough times I did not want to change my ticket about 4 times, and then he looked at it, and said it was too early to see the platform, and to go to the ticket office. I asked where, in Italian, mind you, and he just said, "at the ticket office".
I ran to the other end of the building, opposite of where the signs had said "ticketing", and found the main station area. I followed signs marked "information" in a circle about 6 times, until I went a different direction and found a random kiosk marked "information". I waited in line, and asked where to go for my trip, and he told me....
"information at the ticket office".
WHY, praytell, do you have an information booth, that has no information? I believe it is a cruel joke that Rome likes to play with everyone. I hate Rome. Ok I don't hate Rome. I was still finally in Italy, so I at least had a joyous undertone. So I found the main ticket office, with a ridiculous line. I was pretty sure I would be heading towards Florence, which was supposed to leave in 10 minutes, and the line looked like it would take at least 40. I made the quick decision to go through the steps of buying another ticket, and possibly even pay for another, if it meant I could catch my train, and maybe even know where it was.
SUCCESS! I had been correct in my guess of which train it was. Too bad this train was now cancelled. I found a man to ask which train I could catch next, only to have him snatched away literally 3 times by stupid Americans yelling in English and being stupid.
I got a magnum bar and sat down on the ground to await my next train. I felt mildly better.
I found my train. I boarded my train. My train ran through the beautiful Italian countryside towards beautiful Arezzo. I fell asleep several times, listened to music, and anxiously watched the city signs go by.
And then I was there. Here. Just like I remember it, Arezzo in all it's sweet homey glory.
Due to the rain issues, my friend Dory was not there. I walked around just to make sure, then tried the payphone. It hated my money, so I went to go use the ones across the street. On my way, an old man began talking to me. He asked me where my friend lived, and I said I didn't know. While I tried the other payphones to no avail, he creepily hovered outside of the booth. I tried to ignore him, but it quickly became a game of me pretending I didn't see him, and him following me around. To be fair, he ended up lending me his little payphone card thing to call Dory, and finally left. Then, Dory, for the third time today, made her way to the station to save me. We had an epic moment of running across the parking lot, arms flailing. Needless to say, I was very happy to see her.
Yee!
On the first weekend of every month, Arezzo has their Antiques Festival. The main streets and plazas are filled with vendors with soo many awesome things. Practically every table is stocked with completely different wares.
I buyed me something. It is this.
Shiny.
After wandering thoroughly through the streets, we made it back to Dory and Jesse's beautiful apartment, where they have been very gracious to let my filthy hobo self stay.
Dory's friend came over bearing food-gifts, and we all cooked dinner. By "we all cooked dinner", I of course I mean, "they all cooked dinner while I sat in the corner like a camera-happy hobo lump."
Life just doesn't get any better than this.
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