Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Stracciatella


Center stage on day one
Papa told me: "You'll be a mainstay son
Just put trust in me and what you've done
Moonlighting in Tuscany's sun
Until the day the money calls, then get in touch with your funds."
Sing a d-note to denote
You'll approach a pretty lady when on the vino
Ciao bella, here's a shot, see how we float
Cabernet swimming pools, drown in confidence with each dose
I swim hard through the vin-yard
If my inside was on the out, I would have my skin scarred
Mentally, in a pimp's garb
stay around me, you'll catch contacts like a sim card
North Italy, no olive oil, mix in lard
In fact, the fact THAT fact's the cream of the crop
Makes it ironic that these raps will have me skimmed off the top
Not to detract, once I begin it's a sin if i stop
Until then, I act rude to see statues,then grin at the rocks


Here's the 1st installation of my soundtrack. I wore my headphones nearly the entire trip, so to more fully understand my experience I bring you my "Italian Soundtrack by C.A":http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4kTei0XrCs

Day one and all that. I'm two 5-Hour Energy shots in and I'm still fading in and out of consciousness. Those two sentences took 6 minutes to create. Through the miasmic glaze of jet-lag, a swathe of the Veneto countryside is visible, swirling through my peripheral vision. After a momentary defeat in the battle against slumber, I have awoken to the sight of water. Our Mercedes Benz cargo van is plodding steadily on Ponte della Liberta, the only land bridge connecting the historical center of Venice to the surrounding countryside. A few minutes and a few precarious, evasive maneuvers later and we have arrived in some kind of bus stop. Of course it's raining, so this entry is being scribbled in one of the highly contested spots under an awning. One of these attendants, the woman on the left(for future reference avoid the woman on the left) made her disdain for our group quite visible and I utilized this visage in a practical learning exercise.Lady-on-the-left was producing what we experts in the field like to call: a Class A, Mean-Mug. Upon exclaiming this to myself and my colleagues, the adult faces I flew over the Atlantic with seemed a bit puzzled. So, I took the time to describe the meaning of the vernacular and my general amusement at proclaiming it loudly. Now that I'm writing this part back in the States I can tell you, that Professor Stern used the terminology on multiple occasions. The first few, hilariously inquisitive- "So.....mean-mug?"- the last few, comedically confident- "Chris, that lady was mean-mugging you!!"

   Vaporetto tickets in hand, the journey to our Hotel commenced. The only thing I was aware of was our hotel's proximity to the Rialto bridge. Out of the 409 bridges in Venice, the Rialto bridge is the oldest, the present stone crossing being completed in 1591. Suitcases suck on cobbled streets, just wanted to get that off my chest. A lesser bag would have been reduced to a frayed and splintered heap by the fourth day. After a bit of meandering, we arrived at our hotel ai Bareteri. The one quirk of this place, besides the bidet, was the requirement of inserting the room key into a specific outlet to enable electricity for the room. My American brain struggles with the thought. Shackled by fatigue, the only the thing our group was capable of was staggering to a nearby restaurant for dinner. A local restaurant had been warned of our arrival and prepared a large enough table for the thirteen of us. Already salivating, we ordered our food and gave energetic conversation our best shot. We waited.....and then waited.....and then waited. I could hardly keep my head off the table by the time I received my peche(fish) plate. Lots of onions. 
As we wait....
 We survived the ordeal, our sole motivation the thought of a bed's embrace. I snuggled into my bed approximately three inches from Patrick's and quickly began a vacation to sleepy-time land . Day 1 in the books, eleven to go.










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