We booked tickets to Italy months ago, fascinated by the thought of being in Rome on Easter, and equally - if not more - interested because of the ticket price. My friends and I spotted the deal on Skyscanner, and a few phone calls later, we were on our way to Florence and Rome. After a few months in Ireland, Italy provided a necessary cultural escape.
Three days before we left, we realized all reputable hostels in Rome were booked. One proposed solution was "couch surfing," but the thought of sleeping in a stranger's residence in a foreign country did not exactly factor into my "Ideal Trip to Italy." We searched online until we found a hostel 40 minutes outside Rome's center. Our travel arrangements were complete - or so we thought.
I spent the majority of the plane ride to Europe dreaming about food, especially because we had to forgo dinner to secure seats together on the plane. I was certain that in Italy, I would be able to get a delicious pizza in the airport. Ripe tomatoes! Mozzarella cheese! Maybe even basil?
We "missed" the last bus to Florence's city center, but I still argue that it never came. We sat in the car park for about an hour, waiting for the bus. After an hour of "Guess which country this city is in," entertainment provided to us via guidebook - handy in the most surprising of circumstances - we resolved to wait until the 6 a.m. train and retreated to the airport.
It turns out that airports are not open whenever you want them to be. Pisa closes "upon the arrival of the last flight" and reopens at 4:30 a.m. With the help of a few other unlucky travelers, however, several bangs on automatic doors and an inkling of fear that we would get stuck in the vestibule between, we were back inside. While my friends slept, I set out on a futile search for that pizza of my dreams. We were forced to settle for chocolate and chips from the vending machine - quite the introduction to the excellent Italian culinary tradition.
That was the last sub-par food experience of our trip; the rest of our meals were full of tomatoes, bread, pasta and gelato. Between feasts, we became skilled navigators of the streets of Florence and train stations of Rome. In Florence, we stood in awe of the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore, of richly colored paintings and of Michelangelo's David. We climbed through flowers and vines, braving the intermittent showers, for a breathtaking view of the city and the surrounding hills.
We encountered an equally gorgeous view of Rome atop Palatine Hill, and explored the Colosseum and Forum. We went to the Vatican, but continued the trend of miscalculated planning and were there just as the museums closed to prepare for mass. There were rows of white plastic chairs and thousands of floral arrangements - a sight in itself made all the more impressive by the snaking line of travel weary, semi-sweaty churchgoers, who had started lining up hours ago. We learned about gladiators and found a grove of orange-like fruits. Would it be embarrassing to say that was my culinary highlight?
Monday morning, we found ourselves back in a familiar location: a small airport. By then, we had learned our lesson; we were only two hours early and packed tomato and mozzarella ciabatta sandwiches. There was no way our last meal in Italy was going to be from a vending machine.
Allie's column runs biweekly Tuesdays. She can be reached at a.palmer@cavalierdaily.com.
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