Trains, trains and more trains... when 15 people board a water bus each carrying two large backpacks, back off. A woman in head to toe fur and trilby hat threw her arms up in exasperation as if I kidnapped her first born (who would be my mother's age...) and yelled at me for not taking Luigi off... I explained that he was too heavy and gets separation anxiety- she scolded me and stomped to the back. I have a new found sympathy for idiots hefting baggage equal to their body weight... Off to Ravenna we venture, through the flattest land in all of Italy. We change trains in Ferarra and while Mother Jesse was organizing and shooing everyone else off the train, she left her jacket. With her wallet and camera. Of ALL the people to be irresponsible, our built in GPS navigator forgets her damn jacket. A very helpful woman at the ticket counter called the conductor and he agreed to put it on the next train back from Bologna. And since I've been elected vice-president (behind "The Harv"), I volunteered to stay behind and keep her company in the God-for-saken town. I entrusted Roo with Taylor (which I think he harshly regrets), grabbed Luigi and Trixy (my red bag-o-tricks, finally decided on a name) and we huffed it into !FERARRA! Isn't the guy that bought Suri Cruise's bronzed baby poop from there? We had an hour to kill before her jacket came back, and another 3 hours before a train to Ravenna left... after 20 minutes of walking, we started to lose feeling in our shoulders and wondered how we weren't indenting the pavement with every step. We set up camp at Cafe Diemme CAPITOL and tested "Alfie" and "Chong's" Italian-to-English culinary vocabulary... which entertained us for a good 20 before ordering salads and a plate-o-pig. Jesse ran back while I sampled 8 varieties of ham and enjoyed a very fresh salad- yellow peppers, artichokes, tomatoes, fennel, carrots, olives and tuna. Since Lizzy and Mr. Dawsy went with Roo, I contemplated the differences between French and Italian baked goods(if this is your first time reading my blog, you'll need a refresher on the cast and crew of "Team Blond Voyage")...
SO FAR, there have been no bakeries but a lot of sweet shops with hard, shortbread/biscotti style cookies, dunkers, dippers and "turtleheads"... It sounds like a sample platter at TGI Fridays (barf). I call them turtleheads because they are basically a flour derivative shell stuffed with anything you can imagine: chocolate, creme, gelato, marinara, ham, nuts, shellfish... Holy Canolli! When I walked by French Pastry Shops, I felt like Michael Jackson walking by a daycare... you just can't resist (I'm aware of my inappropriateness). Seriously, who can pass up a white truffle hazelnut macaroon from Pierre Hermes in Paris??? No one can. I promise. But in Italy, the only time I have to cover my eyes and plug my nose is passing by gelato shops. ALL of the bread is bleached white, and even though I AM white bread, I hate white bread.
She reported back with no sign of activity, except for a hair salon she contemplated getting a new coufe in... I told her not to move, asked if she knew her own name, where we were and if she could see how many fingers I was holding up... I then slapped some sense into her and we headed back to the station. Until we found a RADICALLY FABULOUS vintage shop. (I knew staying behind in Ferarra would be worth it... I mean, what else would I write about today?)
"The train stunk like Chihuahua puke and the seats were made for 5 year old asses. The hotel is mediocre at best and I have to share a bed with another human being. Boo. And I ate some more food..."
Exactly... so we played dress up with Dior and Valentino for the better part of an hour, and because the shop opened yesterday, the owner's buddy brought a celebratory bottle of wine HE MADE and included us in the "Cin cin." It took all the muscles I have left in my body to not purchase a mustard yellow, cropped leather, bat-wing biker jacket that screamed "WHIT!!!" I would have won best in show at 80's prom, no questions asked. Damn you practicality- you win. You always do... I walked with a cheap-as-Indian-curry Armani vest instead. This rendezvous coerced us to miss our train, so we decided to take the NEXT train leaving in 45 minutes. Plenty of time to grab some snacks at a grocery... until we found huge steel barrels full of "pour your own wine"... my boss probably won't re-hire me this summer (bartender) based solely on the quality of koolaid I've been consuming- frankly it's embarrassing... BUT 2 liters for 2 euros?! SOLD. A Mausoleum caught our eye on our never ending trek to the station and of course we had to check it out... a giant statue of a naked man pouring babies out of pots onto cliffs welcomed the public... IT WAS A FAMILY CENTER! And there were heroine syringes in the playground... LOVELY. We missed our NEXT train due to complicated contemplation of abortion innuendo via the Rock of Gibraltar...
We finally arrived in Ravenna, eagerly greeted by a few groupies ready to show us where the hotel REALLY was, contrary to our directions. Apparently "The Harv" was minutes away from calling in a search party (really? I think he just wanted to go to dinner...) and once everyone changed out of their worried pants, we dropped into a place around the corner for some veggie risotto and Adriatic Blue Fish a.k.a. Anchovies a.k.a. mud on a stick. I received approximately 40 fish divided onto 2 skewers dipped and fried (I think). Definitely worked off the calories trying to debone each one, which lacked any rewarding flavor or substance. After a team Lemoncello and a slammed middle finger in a broken chair, I left tired and aggravated. But never go to bed mad... in Italy!
Happy Single's Awareness Day! errr Valentine's Day! Peace and Love, peace and love!
Mosaics and more manana... ciao!
Cin cin to an awesome day in Ferrara!
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