Touchdown in PISA

Palm trees are always a nice touch

Arriving in Pisa (via a three-hour flight from Stockholm) felt like stepping into a giant amusement park. After such a long buildup (a year of preparation and study, not to mention a looooong journey there, literally) actually being in Italy didn't seem real! Only a few hours after landing, my arms were covered in red blotches, thanks to Pisa’s thirsty and plenteous mosquitoes (the onomatopoeic zanzare]...but they could just as easily have been pinch marks.

After months of seeking out any Italian speaker I could find with whom to practice, in Pisa I felt obliged to all those nice people speaking the language for my benefit! I wanted to stop and listen to every conversation, or follow behind the strolling ones like a puppy, eavesdropping shamelessly.

Of course my first stop was the gelato shop (next door to the hostel, which was not accidental. Location, location, location)! How much gelato is too much? Really, it’s a rhetorical question.

As usual I met a cast of characters at the hostel. Two nervous American sisters (16 and 21) and I joined Filippo, a real, live Italian man (a friend of the owner) for an impromptu night tour of Pisa. The girls kept trying not to giggle at his “Italianness" (dark curly hair, gold jewelry, a strong accent). They returned to the hostel early but the idea of sleeping on the first night in Italy -- how ridiculous!

Filippo and I carried on with the tour and he tried to begin carrying on with me at a small bar on the Arno. He wouldn’t have had much success anyway, but he really sunk his chances when he mocked me for ordering a pop -- “a drink for children”, he sneered. Grazie mille ma arrivederci!

* * *

The next morning I made the requisite trip to La Torre Pendente and watched tourists take photos of themselves either leaning against the tower or pushing it over. (Thus proving that creativity rarely exists within large groups.)

After that I wanted to go inside the Duomo (the large cathedral)

 

but the admission fee was pretty steep. Remembering my friend Pam’s question regarding free entry to churches for those who wish to pray (“Do they have sincerity wands like at airports?”) and not seeing any, I slipped to the side door and tried my best Italian: “Vorrei preghiere, per favore” (“I’d like to pray, please”). And: the guard nodded! He stepped aside! And he opened the door! My secret pass-phrase was like a religious Open Sesame! (But really, was he going to say no?)

Once inside I tried to look as pious as possible...but the guards were too bored and the tourists too gawky to notice.

If you couldn’t tell, I wasn’t much inspired by Pisa. I left it quite happily after half a day!

look carefully: which of these is straight?