Life can get gloomy if, every now and then, I am not spending sleepless nights at the airport. I bought the ticket back in January. Naively thinking how I would be hiking the majestic Dolomites. Oh well, maybe next time, love. The truth is after my Madeira knee injury, I wasn’t confident enough to spend another lone time hiking through the mountain pass. And let’s be honest; I don’t have the best record of keeping myself safe.
So here I was in Venice—apparently one of the most romantic cities in the world. I was making my way through couples deeply in love or couples of good pretenders. I paid 15 euros for a water bus from Marco Polo Airport to the heart of Venice. Lately, my planning skills have been totally rubbish. I can`t make myself plan in advance or at all. Somehow I just believe I will go with the flow, and then the flow gives me massive anxiety and a stomach problem, or was it the Mexican I decided to eat the night before?
I can see why so many novels have been written about the city. Faded-faced houses, bridges to cross, windows with flower pots, old Italian men whistling on young girls in sundresses and old ladies drinking a glass of Aperol at 10 am. Tiny alleys often smell like a piss to top up the romantic atmosphere. I can see what tons of Americans admire about the city. However, for me, a fast-track city traveller, five hours were just enough to get the jits of the place, soak into the atmosphere and move on to the next place.
I was snoozing on the train from Venice to Florence. The Italian train can be a little bit more on the expensive side of travelling but maaan they are quick and comfy. In two hours, I was walking the streets of Florence. My hostel was located about 40 minutes walk from Santa Maria Novela station. It cost me 50 euros per night (I didn’t find anything cheaper this time). Florence was stunning, some say it is better than Rome. And maybe even though Rome is majestic, I quite agree. I enjoyed getting lost on almost empty streets. I also felt much safer as a solo female traveller the amount of uncomfortable male gaze was significantly less than I encountered in Rome.
I paid 25 euros for an entrance to Uffizi gallery, frankly enough, just because of the view. I am not really big on art and usually get easily bored. Call me ignorant, but mostly, I don’t care about who the author is. But ask me how the sunset was and I will describe every colour, ask me how the boy who asked me for a walk smelled. I will tell you that he smelled like freshly ground coffee and aftershave.
Sunday morning, I woke up before 6 am to give myself enough time to get from my hostel to the train station. How hard could it be? I had already walked this route two days ago, and yet I still got lost. Ninte five minutes later, I was on a train towards Piombino. Piombino has its own charm. Small fading city by the port. I could swear I saw at least ten leaflets supporting the Italian Communist Party. Nevertheless, from there, it is just an hour of seasickness, and you can explore the beauty of Napoleon`s exile island. There are at least four ferries running each hour to Portoferairo. And as soon as I saw its shores, I was instantly regretting that I didn’t plan more time. Elba is still part of Tuscany Provincial, and I can imagine spending my exile there in a heartbeat. There are so many hiking opportunities that my heart aches even now for not doing any. I guess another time, it`s the time finally get into the hills again.
