Another day, another week away! It’s been three weeks since we left home, and we’ve settled into our new routines (or lack of routine!) and are loving life over in the Northern Hemisphere. Whilst our family back home are freezing to death in the Aotearoa winter (sorry, mum!!), we’re soaking up the heat and slowly making our way from Rome to Northern Italy.
This week we continued playing tourist in The Eternal City, saw our fair share of ancient Roman architecture, celebrated our anniversary, caught up with family back home, perfected our budget-travel picnic, drank cocktails, ate our body weight in Italian gelato and fell in love with Florence. Blimey that feels like a lot to pack into seven days.
- Wednesday 31st May
- Thursday 1st June
- Friday 2nd June
- Saturday 3rd June
- Sunday 4th June
- Monday 5th June
- Tuesday 6th June
- See you next week!
Wednesday 31st May
We’ve been breaking our days into early mornings, afternoon naps and semi-early nights in Italy. And whilst my need for two coffees a day, or Mathews’s bleary face at 6am, doesn’t look like a great vote of confidence for our routine, it seems to be working.
The beauty of this is that we also get to miss most of the mid-day heat. New Zealand in summer is hot, but Italy in spring is something else. The combination of scorching hot cobblestones and blistering sun is enough to force any fully grown adult into a full-blown “terrible-twos” style meltdown.
This morning we took full advantage of our prime, central city accommodation and had a “tourist in Romes” lazy lay-in. Alarm blaring at 6:30am, we got dressed and beelined our way to the Colosseum. Boy, when I tell you it was worth it, I’m not lying.
There’s a little neighbourhood called Monti that is between where we’re staying in San Lorenzo and the Colosseum. I had heard that there was a nice park to walk through on the way to the Colosseum, but I genuinely thought that it would just be another beautiful green space. Lo and behold, the path running straight through the park has the MOST picture-perfect view of the Colosseum, framed by trees, flowers and jasmine plants. I needed to pinch myself to make sure I was seeing it clearly!
Because it was early in the morning, there were maybe 15 or 20 other people out sightseeing with us. I was like a stuck record, muttering “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god” for the best part of half an hour whilst we wandered around the Colosseum, and I tried to wrap my head around the fact that we *almost* had the whole place to ourselves.
With our brains well and truly imploded, we walked from the Colosseum to Trajan Forum. Most people visit the Roman Forum in Rome (obviously), but the 250m line at 8:30am gave us other ideas. Instead, we walked further up the street to marvel at Trajan’s Column.
Fun fact: my classics teacher in Year 12 was (one of) the best teachers I’ve ever had. She inspired me to go to university and study teaching so that I, too, could be a high-school Classics teacher. Although my path has detoured and taken a bit of a different trajectory, and I write for a living, I still think that one day I’ll have my own class of 16-year-olds and inspire them to travel to Rome. And Miss Foster was right – seeing ancient Rome in real life IS better than watching The 300 on a Wednesday afternoon (by only just).
The beauty of having no real agenda whilst travelling means we just aimlessly wander around until we see something that looks cool. And that’s exactly what we did when we came to Altare della Patria.
I hadn’t done much (if any) research on Altare della Patria before coming to Rome and had no idea what to expect, but the views are nothing short of insane. Opening up onto Piazza Venezia, you get views of the streets below and the Pantheon on one side and then on the other, you’ve got this ridiculous 180-degree panorama of Trajan’s Column, Trajan Forum and down to the Colosseum. Remember when I said I was gobsmacked earlier? That had nothing on this.
By 11am, it was time for an early lunch (or brunch – all this walking is making me ravenous!), and cheese sandwiches were on the menu on our way to Trastevere. I didn’t get here on my last trip to Rome, but I heard it’s amazing. Whilst the cobblestoned streets are beautiful and there are SO many gorg places to sit and bask in the sun, I wish we had come here in the evening. I’ve heard that’s when the neighbourhood really comes to life! Nevertheless, Mathew loved it and said that it was what he imagined Italy looked like, and that’s a big win in my books.
Instead of cooling off with an Aperol Spritz in the sun we hiked up to Janiculum Hill. Although we wouldn’t have had Aperol because (warning: controversial opinion incoming) Aperol Spritz is the most god-awful drink I have ever tasted. I have absolutely no idea why everyone and their mother is obsessed with it. Maybe my pallet needs refining.
The streets in Europe seem to be mostly flat (although I might take that comment back once we arrive in Lisbon), but this was so not the case for Janiculum Hill. I don’t know what part of ‘hill’ didn’t give it away. Twenty minutes into our walk up yet another hill in 28-degree heat and Mathew was ready to risk it all and begin questioning our entire relationship. Who can blame him?
Once you’re at the top of Janiculum Hill, there’s a viewpoint which gives you some of the best views of Rome and also a lot of shade to cool off in! It was beautiful and would be a great place to have your lunch or go with a bottle of wine and some friends for sunset (Josh, if you’re reading this, pack your bags and get your butt over here).
At 2pm, the daily Italian thunderstorm clouds started moving in, so we packed up to walk home. On our way back to the apartment, we tripped and fell into an ice cream shop for our first taste of Italian gelato. The theme of today is obviously a day of mind-blowing moments because this ice cream knocked my socks off! Hazelnut, cafe and stracciatella. Move over chimney cakes; a new favourite sweet treat is in town!
Thursday 1st June
It’s cliche, yes, but the fact that we are already halfway through the year is blowing my MIND. When you’re younger, your parents always tell you that time goes so quickly for them; the days are long but the years are short.
And that’s so difficult to get your little seven-year-old mind wrapped around because it feels like four years pass between 1pm and 3pm on a Tuesday afternoon at school. But I have to say that on this occasion (and many others, let me tell ya), my parents were right. The older you get, the faster time goes.
So we celebrated the middle of the year with an immature round of “a pinch and a punch for the first day of the month” (Mathew ALWAYS gets me first, but this month I got him – hoorah) and a sleep-in.
After a few days of early mornings, we needed some extra shut-eye. But perhaps we could have chosen our timing better and had our lay-in on another day, not before visiting the Vatican.
If you have been to the Vatican, you’ll know that entry into St Peters’s Basilica is free, and therefore, the lines are ginormous. We arrived just before 10am (amateurs, I know) to queues wrapping around the building. Not all was lost, however, as the sun was out after it was forecast to rain, so I’m taking that as a HUGE win.
Side note: I’ve been wearing TEVA sandals every day on this trip so far and am one sunny day away from having some seriously impressive tan lines on my feet.
After a relaxing 90 minutes in the sun, we were at the front of the queue. I know I just said that entry into St Peters Basilica is free, and it is, but you can also splash the cash and take a trip to the top of the dome for panoramic views of the Vatican. We might not have the budget for more than a cheese sandwich for lunch, but we always have wiggle room for cool experiences like that!!
330 steps later (this is not for the faint-hearted), we reached the inside of St Peters’s Basilica. Before you get to the top, you go through the uppermost point of the dome from the inside. It’s a small path running around the perimeter of the perimeter of the dome, and there are cages up against the railing to (kindly) stop you from plummeting to your death.
If you know me, you know I’m horrifically scared of heights but am trying to do things often to challenge that fear… exposure therapy, if you will.
However, this was too much for my tiny brain to handle, and Mathew had a grand old time videoing back pressed up against the wall, feet and hands sweating as I watched the tiny ant-like people below. I felt like Eminem – I just didn’t have the vomit on my sweater (or my Mums spaghetti). I will say that I tried my best and did get to the edge to look down, but that was more than enough for me; thank you very much. My hands are getting clammy just writing this – phew.
Once you step off that horrific little podium, you ascend up to the top of the dome. There are 251 steps between you and fresh air, and walking to the top is an adventure in itself. Because you’re going up the outside of the dome, you’re walking on an angle, and as Mathew so eloquently said, “this hallway is a bit on the piss” – he’s not wrong. I miss NZ and Kiwi slang.
But the adventure up was 10000000% worth it once we emerged from that tiny little spiral corridor and saw the iconic view of the Vatican below. It’s seriously impressive, and if you’re going to Italy, I’d defo recommend doing it (even if you are on a budget like us 😉 )
We had some time to explore St Peters Basilica after descending the dome, but by this point, I was tired and couldn’t think of anything other than a laydown and another life-changing ice cream. Lucky for me, Mathew and I are pretty much always on the same page when it comes to looking at churches vs eating gelato, so it wasn’t long before we were back in Gelateria Fassi with another of Romes’s best sweet treats.
More pizza and our first Roman carbonara were on the cards for dinner. I’m not usually a pasta queen (although I suspect that is going to change, seeing as it’s the cheapest thing to cook for dinner in Italy), but this carbonara was to die for. A little too salty (cheese, guanciale and salty pasta will do that to ya, though) for my liking, but delish and a must-do in Rome – another thing I’m so pleased we loosened the purse strings for.
I’m writing this from bed live (hi!!), and I’m so tired I could have fallen asleep walking home. So see you tomorrow! We’re off to Florence.
Friday 2nd June
Mathew woke me up this morning singing, “Happy birthday to us”. I suppose it is our birthday, sort of (not really), but I’ll take any excuse to celebrate.
We’ve been friends for much longer than we’ve been dating. I think that’s one of the reasons we’re having so much fun travelling together. I always said that if Mathew didn’t want to travel, that was okay. But I was going to go anyway and would have had a grand old time travelling solo. I’ve travelled solo once before, and both have pros and cons, but seeing the world together is so much more fun than I thought it could be. I’m so dead chuffed I get to spend time with someone who wants to do the same things I do and dive head-first into all of my crazy ideas.
Okay, anniversary-soppiness over, we checked out of our accommodation in Rome and walked to Tiburtina Bus Station. Although our stay in Rome was full of amazing experiences, great food and enough architecture to last a lifetime, I won’t be sad to see it go. It wasn’t my favourite city (controversial, I know, shoot me) and was too fast-paced for the Kiwi kid inside me.
We said goodbye to Rome and boarded our FlixBus (a mode of budget transport around Europe) to Florence. I cannot be clearer when I say, dear god, there were some characters on this trip. You always meet funny people on public transport (and honestly, they probably thought we were funny, too!). But this bus ride took the cake. Also, what is it with the B/O in Europe? Is it a lack of access to showers, a deodorant shortage, a cultural norm or what? I have been hit in the face with more body odour in the last two weeks to last me a lifetime. And if you think you stink when in doubt, please don’t hold onto the bar at the top of the bus and waft your sweaty pits in my face. Thank you kindly.
By some grace of god, the putrid smell of the bus had not made us lose our appetite (go figure) and we had another glorious sandwich for lunch. This time we splashed a couple more euros on a nice bread. Back in New Zealand, I usually just eat the cheapo, pre-sliced supermarket bread. I laugh at my Mum and Dad who buy nice, artisan (ooo fancy) bread from the bakery (or bakery section at the supermarket). We call it Dad Bread (because Dad loves it, duh). I never really got the appeal, but this holiday has made me a changed woman (or maybe it was being around a German for a week?)
3pm rolled around, and we arrived in Florence. Our accommodation is only a 5-minute walk from the station, but that was enough time to make me realise this is the city for me. It’s clean and quiet, the air smells fresh, and the people are nice. I feel like I’ve died and gone to Italian city heaven.
After a quick wash and unpack, we’re racing down the streets to the local Mexican bar for ‘bigger than you head’ frozen daiquiris and mojitos to celebrate surviving three years together. We’re playing a game to see who can make friends first with a Kiwi or Australian, and we think a bar with cheap beer and cocktails might be the way to do it. But alas, we haven’t yet been successful. There’s always tomorrow!
Saturday 3rd June
This morning started as all good slow travel days do, with a trip to the local laundromat. Travelling with hand luggage only is fab because we save $$$ on checked baggage fees, AND we don’t have to lug suitcases around the cobblestone streets. But it also means our access to clean clothes is fairly limited without a twice-a-week trip to the washer and dryer.
Now I’ve got to confess I’ve never stepped foot in a laundromat before, let alone used an industrial-sized washing machine. Take my nativity and factor in that the instructions are all in Italian, and you can imagine what sort of a mare we were having trying to get our clothes clean. It didn’t help that the owner was an angry man barking instructions at me in Italian (presumably saying, “You bloody idiot, how do you not know how to use a washing machine”).
Bless him; I couldn’t understand a word he was saying, and halfway through my fourth attempt telling him that I do not, in fact, speak Italian, I gave up and just laughed. No stress, just vibes. Thankfully, a very nice (and probably quite amused) Italian woman came to our rescue and showed us the ropes.
Post the washing machine gate, we wandered around Florence to check out the iconic Ponte Vecchio bridge (an old and striking bridge over the Arno River which was built in 1345) before ticking off another big-ticket-item on our admin to-do list, grocery shopping.
Bag secured, we head home after another big day to chill before dinner. This time there are no cocktails or restaurants on the menu, just good home cooking in the form of pasta.
1. It would be criminal to come to Italy and not make our own pasta dinners (but close your eyes because they’re certainly not authentic).
2. The budget has taken a bit of a beating in the last few weeks thanks to eating out every day; we are desperately trying to recoup some of our spending (or at least save in some areas so we can splurge in others. I’m looking at you, South Tyrol).
3. If we don’t get a decent number of vegetables (or any substantial nutrients) in us STAT, one of us is going to get sick.
But your best bet is that every day includes a sweet treat, so it was off to Gelateria La Carraia for our daily dose of sugar (this one was evening better than Rome) and to watch the sun setting over the Arno River. Bliss.
Sunday 4th June
If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I am a sucker for a freebie. Whether it’s a sample at a local farmers market, a 10% discount when you shop online, or free admission, if you don’t have to pay for it, sign me up.
Little did I know museums in Florence are free on the first Sunday of the month. Normally tickets are upwards of 20€, so your best bet we took full advantage of that and hit up Palazzo Pitti and Boboli Gardens.
My enthusiasm was at an all-time high (perhaps even more than we woke up for the Trevi Fountain). After learning that they release a capped number of tickets on ‘free admission day’, I trawled through Google to make a game plan. Some nice gal on the internet told me that the queues on the first Sunday of each month are out of the gate, and you need to get there at least 1.5 hours before they open to secure your spot.
Seeing as we’d queued for the Vatican earlier this week with no dramas, I thought, what’s the harm in a little more waiting around? So I hung off her every word and set my alarm for 6:10am to quickly chug down a cup of coffee and speed-walk Mathew across town to stand in the colossal line before the museum opened at 8:15am.
Except the line didn’t exist.
Apparently, trusting the words of a stranger on the internet doesn’t always pan out how you wish (shocker, I didn’t see that one coming), and whilst it was delicious to sit in the morning sun watching Florence wake up, we did not catch a GLIMPSE of another person until 8am. Amateurs.
But our wait was so, so worth it. Once inside Boboli Gardens, I totally understood what the hype was about. After being in cities for the best part of three weeks, it was so nice to be outdoors, soaking up beautiful views and walking around green space. Palazzo Pitti also had some epic Ancient Roman sculptures and paintings depicting stories of the Roman Gods and the Roman Empire. I was in my element. Would I pay 23€ to visit them? Maybe not. But it was damn nice that admission was free.
Staying in the city centre meant that we were back to the house by noon for lunch and another coffee (sorry for making you get up early, Mathew) before settling down to catch up on some writing, chill time and a snooze. Obviously, we’re creatures of habit.
Monday 5th June
Ah, Mondays. I used to hate them, but now they’re just another day of the week. How good is that!!!
I’ve always been really close with my family, and keeping in touch with them is one thing I wanted to prioritise whilst travelling.
So this morning started with a group call, accompanied by some technical difficulties à la Mum, as we wrestled with Zoom. You’d think that 2 years of a global pandemic and 3/5 of the family in university would mean we are adept in video calling tech. But alas, it does not.
Zoom well and truly abandoned, we reconvened on WhatsApp for an hour before I looked at the time and realised we had 25 minutes until our train to Pisa was choo-chooing its way out of the station. Usually, I’m never late, but it’s becoming a bit of a running theme these days.
Bags packed, we fly out of the door and speed walk to the station. Mathew leaves me to buy the tickets whilst he susses out which platform we’re on before returning in a flurry of “the train has already left”. All hope is not lost as the train had not, in fact, left; Mathew was looking at the wrong platform (thanks for the heart attack, love). However, it may as well have already left as we’re 3 minutes from departure and at the wrong end of the train station.
Never fear! Last year, I spent the better part of six months running half marathons. I’m not sure if my now superhuman ability to sprint for the train (I’ve never been a runner) is thanks to my efforts or just adrenaline from not wanting to spend another 17€ on replacement tickets. Either way, it comes in handy, and we arrive at the train just in time to run on and hold the doors.
The ride from Florence to Pisa is beautiful. It’s about an hour and a half on a slow train through the Italian countryside, racing past quintessential Tuscan houses, rolling hills and fields of flowers. We’re sat next to an American couple about the same age as us who are providing a bit of “in-train entertainment”, bickering about who got the time wrong and made them miss their flight from Milan to Munich. It’s nice to know that amongst travellers, none of us know what day of the week it is.
At 11:15am, we arrive in Pisa to a bit of drizzle and make our way to see the iconic tower. To my surprise, there are not many people around, but I suppose that’s the beauty of coming on a Monday when all the locals are at work and most of the tourists have finished their weekend breaks. Pisa is a lot nicer than I remember, too. With brightly coloured houses lining the streets, buskers playing cliche Italian music and picturesque bridges over the Arno.
We see the iconic tower, snap a photo of the two of us in front of it for the old photo album and marvel at everyone doing that iconic post. You know, the one where they hold the tower up, or push it down, or kick it. We decided to forego the cliche today. I made Mathew take a cheesy photo touching the top of Big Ben a few weeks ago; quite frankly, I don’t think his sense of pride (or secondhand embarrassment) would have coped with another cringe-worthy pose.
Lunch is served with the best view in town, followed by a meander around the little streets and the biggest decision of the day – “Do we want to use our ice cream token now or save it for later?” Clearly, we’re big on the “short-term pain, long-term gain” and opt to return to our new favourite Gelateria back in Florence (p.s. it was a good decision).
The heavens begin to open, so we leg it back to the train station. As I said last week, I’ve never been one to give fashion much thought, and this instance was no different. The Europeans are apparently more refined than I and opt to carry umbrellas that match their outfits and make them look like fashionable extras in the “Singing in the Rain” musical. I, however, didn’t get the memo and am racing through Pisa in a super-strength Macpac raincoat that’s one size too large and about reaches my knees. Oh well, at least I’m dry.
Dinner tonight was the same as it has been: veg with a side of pasta and a suspect-looking tomato sauce, accompanied by a heaping of cheese. But don’t feel sorry for us because we ended our night with another trip to our fav ice cream shop and got recognised by one of the workers there. How cool is that?
Slow travel is wonderful because you really get to feel at home in the city you’re in; you make routines and walk the same streets, find a favourite supermarket and get recognised as one of the locals. I much prefer that to tick off my bucket list (even though we’re doing a fair amount of that, too!). It’s so lovely to have the privilege of slow travel and to really soak up each of our destinations.
Tuesday 6th June
We’ve woken up to decidedly abysmal weather. That means that another day of chill, admin and catching up on work is on the cards. What a hard life.
Unfortunately, my feeble attempts at loading our dinners with a years worth of nutrients have not worked. In hindsight, it’s blindingly apparent that you cannot, in fact, survive on a diet of coffee, ham sandwiches and pizza without getting sick. Alas, we have a fallen soldier, and Mathew is in bed with a cold, or maybe it’s the man flu… who knows.
After wasting away our morning on the couch (or in bed), we decide it’s time to venture out and enjoy the sunshine whilst it lasts and head to Florences Tuesday farmers market to see how the locals shop. The produce here is quite frankly insane. And, after seeing watermelons larger than my head for less than 3€, I am convinced that we’re getting fleeced back home in New Zealand when we buy our groceries.
This evening we decided to really push the boat out and share a famous Florentine panino (or panini for us English folk) that’s loaded with cheese, rocket, red peppers and about 300g salami. It’s enough to clog my arteries in the best way possible, and I loved every minute of it.
I had a bit of a funny relationship with food through the years. When I was travelling through Europe the last time, I could never have dreamed about eating a salami sandwich without giving it a second thought which seems so futile in hindsight. It feels funny to put that on paper (or the Word doc on my laptop) because I’ve not often spoken about it (or told anyone for that matter; it’s just one of those things that never come up in conversation, and I’m rather thankful for that). But having food freedom is the best gift I could have EVER given myself. It’s not a revolutionary concept, but I love travelling to amazing places, and instead of having to choose between a tasty little sandwich or an ice cream, I just choose which one I want to have first and move on.
So post-dinner, we decided to exercise our right to tasty little morals and hit up a local food hall. We had a taste of our first piece of Florentine steak (I’m not a big red meat eater, but oh my GOD, it was good), a sample of sheep milk ricotta cannoli (sounds gross, but I felt like Remi in Ratattoui during that scene where he puts strawberries and cheese in his mouth at the same time and fireworks explode) and marvelled at all the delish smells. Italians just know how to cook, okay.
Tummies full and very happy, it was time to pack up and hit the hay for an early night. But not before a lovely long call with my Mum back home (hi Mum!!!) to catch up on everything that’s happened since we last spoke.
Night night.
See you next week!
Over the past two weeks, I’ve had a few people message me and ask how much time goes into writing these little (or rather lengthy) travel recaps.
Whilst I can tell you that it is no short task (and a combination of a running notes app in my phone full of bullet points and a weekday writing session to get all of my thoughts down on paper), I wouldn’t change it for the world.
I don’t have the best memory for A) navigation and finding my way home (Mathew can back me up on this one) or B) recalling huge and exciting moments in life. Each experience makes my brain go into ‘shut down mode’ and forces me to live in the present. This is wonderful, but I often can’t recall the finer details of an event later on down the track.
I got that a lot when I travelled to Europe in 2018. I have photos to show I was there and (of course) a memory of my travels, but I wish I had kept a diary or travel journal so that I could have relived each moment over and over again.
So the short answer is a lot. But I love it. Writing is my passion, and it’s worth it every single time. Plus, it means we get to share our experiences with you, our friends, family and readers, which is just the cherry on top of an already delicious cake!
Notes to Home 