One Gentleman of Verona

So, as I was saying, my sister and I raced to the last train to Verona (we had already missed our earlier one), and made it with about 20 seconds to spare. An hour and a half took us to a quaint northern Italian village, where my sister is staying in a monastery. It's better than it sounds.

The next morning, we decided to go and see the sights, and we managed to take quite a few of them in before I had to rush to the train back to Mestre and up to Treviso again. The Piazza Herbe (by the way, I could be spelling everything entirely incorrectly, but I'm learning French, not Italian - if you see a blatant error, feel free to correct me) is the center of the city, and it gets its name from the herbs that used to be sold there at market. The Pontevecchio (I think) is an old Roman bridge, partially bombed in WWII; the red brick is where it was subsequently rebuilt. In case you were wondering, it is not over the Arno. The ruins of an old Roman theater also reside in Verona, despite the fact that they decided to build a convent on top of them. I saw what remains.

The Arena is perhaps the biggest attraction in Verona. Seating about 30,000 (which is interesting, seeing as Roman Verona never had more than 20,000 inhabitants), it is reminiscent of a downsized Coliseum. That is to say, Rome, and not L.A. Shortly before reaching the Arena, we stopped in on the real family home of the Capulets, of Shakespearean fame, despite the fact that there was, in fact, no Juliet Capulet. Rubbing the breast of the statue of the bard's tragic heroine is said to bring good luck. Either way, it makes for a fun photo op.

The Torre dei Lamberti is a tower built by the Lamberti family, which was very influential in Verona back in the late Renaissance, and the Tower itself is, to borrow a phrase from the planters of old Charleston, bragging in brick. The panoramic pictures that you see here were taken from the top of the Torre, which itself looks quite a bit like the Campanile in Piazza di San Marco in Venice. In keeping with the theme of illicit bell-ringing - see the picture in the last entry - I decided to mess with the bells here too.

The Castelvecchio, which according to Joan, means "old castle" is, well, an old castle. We were running out of time, so we didn't get to stop in for very long, but at least I can say I've seen it. Next door is a victory arch, which, if I remember correctly, was built by the Romans, and partially rebuilt by Mussolini. Underneath is the remains of an actual Roman road, complete with the heavy, flat paving stones and chariot ruts tens of centuries old. Yes, I took a picture of the ground.

Completely by accident, Joan and I also stumbled upone what I suppose passed for a car show in Italy. Being a car snob, seeing all of those little Italian turds, that I likely could have pushed over on their sides with one hand, was nothing short of hilarious. If only I knew what kind of "car" I was laughing at.

The trip back to Mestre, on a Eurostar train, was easily completed, but let it be known that following the advice of both of the train station employees you may encounter in Mestre as to which train will take you to Treviso may not, in fact, get you to Treviso. So it was that I missed my flight back to Paris by 10 minutes. I spent the night in a five star hotel in Mestre for the grand total of 100 Euro; not bad for the accomodations, but there is absolutely nothing to do in Mestre. So much for that day.

However, were it not for the fact that I missed my plane on Sunday night, I would not have sat down next to Molly on the plane Monday night. Molly is a tres mignonne senior at Michigan who happens to be from roughly 20 minutes away from where I was born. Being the gallant lad I am, I helped her with her luggage, which consisted of about 8 suitcases worth of what were apparently paving bricks and/or cinder blocks. I escorted her to her hotel at Gare Saint-Lazare, about 5 blocks from me. It was a productive night, and I plan on seeing her again.

Too bad I missed the midterm on Monday. Priorities, priorities...