Your train is 1 hour and 15 minutes late. And that's just what they say--you know it will be another 30 minutes past that for the train to actually leave. Dinner of champions: snacks out of the vending machine (gummy worms and mentos candies). Oh, and if I forgot to mention--it's an overnight train, and you have a ton of classes in the morning that you really can't miss. Well, as it would happen, you arrive in Florence, take the next available train to Castiglion Fiorentino, and promptly arrive at 12:00 noon. That's three hours later than you were supposed to be back, at the latest. Well, c'est la vie. At least, that's the attitudes your professors have. One of them is from Florence, and says that it is not uncommon for the trains to be at least three hours late. So, not a big deal; just get the notes from someone in class. Cool. I mean, really. It's good to have understanding professors, and I kind of feel like that's the attitude of the whole Italian culture. You're responsible for the things you can control (like waking up on time and such), but it's understandable if public transportation, weather, or other such things prevent you from accomplishing your task. That, and the Italian trains are notorious for being late. You live and you learn.P.S.-I LOVE overnight trains. minus the fact that they are really late (we arrived later in Paris as well; they seem to lose time along the journey).
Paris was a unique experience and definitely had that inexplicable charm. It was awesome to be in a country whose language I've studied for so long. I could actually understand a lot more than I do in Italy, so that was a good feeling. But, as my status on facebook says, I fell in love with art on this trip. I'm so serious, too. I've been able to appreciate certain forms, but I fell in love with specific artists and art forms. Never knew I would like Impressionist paintings, but apparently I do. In my opinion, the so-called "famous" portraits they always use as examples of impressionist art are not the best ones. Monet, Renoir, Degas--my favorites, by far. Though they don't quite hold a torch to Rodin, whom I literally feel like I know though I don't know anything about him. They have an entire museum dedicated to him (Musee Rodin), and it was really a passing thought that we decided to stop in (the weather was so bad, and we figured we could go see the Thinking Man, his most famous artwork). It's so funny when things like that happen--just by coincidence, you stumble upon something that changes you. How wonderful life is! And, yes, I am aware if you google his name, some raunchy pieces of artwork come up. I was a little taken aback when we first started in the museum. Honestly, it did look like some guy carved a bunch of sex scenes and called it "art". But this is one of those instances when, if you judge a book by its cover, you miss so much more! I started to read the labels of the titles he gave the pieces. And all of a sudden, they made sense. But not only made sense, spoke to me. Made me stand there and ponder this sculpture. I now understand all those artsy people who can just stare at a piece of art for so long, as if they are reading something in it or are listening to it or something crazy like that. I don't claim to be a connoisseur, but I am intrigued and I want to know more. Makes me fall in love with life. Makes me glad to be here, to be alive, healthy, and well. And wonder what else this world as to offer me. I am intrigued. I want to know more.
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