forza forza

Today on the farm, I finished burning the olive branches fairly early in the day. I was surprised because I didn't think I was good at lighting fires. I had to convince my last "family" that it was a good thing that it took me forty five minutes, two newspapers, a wheelbarrow and a half of tinder and twenty three years of stubbornness to get the stove going. Nobody wants to marry a pyromaniac.

In the lazy hot afternoon I was getting twitchy. For some reason, all the stores in the little nearby town close on Wednesdays, so I couldn't even go get ingredients to bake anything. Finally, I decided to go to Pisa.

I washed my face, grabbed my camera and some euro and marched proudly down to the bus stop only to discover that also the outgoing buses were closed on Wednesdays. Having gone so far already (personal hygiene FOR NOTHING?) I decided that I would take the advice given to me that Europe was very accepting towards hitchikers and tried to autostop.
It took me a good hour to even get up the courage to stick out my thumb but the first time I spotted the first sexually-non-threatening driver and held out my hand - on my way to Pisa.

Upon arrival I managed to make some friends while having an aperitivo. They were genuine Italians and I convinced them they wanted to see the tower. The streets of Pisa are reminiscent of any large, touristy city, like Paris or New York, maybe even Montreal, on smaller scale of course, but the same overpriced convenience stores, stands on the streets selling 10 euro Chanel belts, people holding maps and being in the way. I managed to blend in, I think, thanks to my guides, Antonio and Guido (I'm not even kidding).

We find the tower and I ask them for the history lesson. "It's old."
"How old?"
"Older than that building next to it."


We peruse the pushy vendors and they buy me a bracelet. As I put it on I realize it's nearly time for the last bus back to Fauglia. I have to dash through the frustratingly narrow streets, nearly knocking over a family of three on their bike. I literally run out of my shoes and frantically grab them in my hand and continue barefoot. I'm sure some part of this day must be illegal and I keep trying to remember the useful phrases from my guidebook. "Posso avere un avvocato che parli inglese?" "Questo medicinale e per uso personale."

I run literally straight onto the bus and make it back in time to yell at the sheep until they go back in their stall. The peacock is on the roof ; I give up.