Cannes and Monaco run the show

We took two day trips from Nice, over the past couple days. And from the title I should hope you would guess that we went to Cannes and Monaco. These places are the places to be in France. Cannes for obvious reasons for me...it's the film festival town. So John and I hung out at the grand auditorium and saw where all the good stuff was going down at the real festival which ended only a week or two ago...argh. Anyways it's only a matter of time before I'm there on official business. This first picture, aside from it being just a stellar picture on its own, is the before picture, and we will take the same pic in the same spot when were there for real.

Next we took on monaco, here's a couple of pics of this, the swankiest of swanky towns I've seen in europe. You pretty much can't walk down the street for more than 30 seconds before running into a ferrari, a bentley, lamborghini...well you get the idea. Cool place. Except for the fact that we ran into another day after tomorrow storm for like half an hour. So that was exciting. This pic over here is our hideout pic. This is pretty much a picture blog for me, but don't worry more rants are on the way.

Nice is Nice...yeah right.

Oh Neil, you bitter bastard.

So two nights ago, we stroll into Nice, in the dark because our train's late due to the fantastic train strike going on with the frenchies right now. So we're looking for our hostel which is of course in a nice and sketchy part of town. We get into the hostel and check in and get shown to our room, and a couple of things just kept running through my mind and wouldn't stop. All I could hear was Ed Norton's voice saying "What a shithole. Ya give the condo life, to go live in a dilapidated house [hostel] in a toxic waste part of town, and you have to come home to this..." And 'this' in this case is a very old man, already asleep in this room that is the size of mine with 4 sets of bunkbeds in it.

Now I didn't put this in my why?! blog but I should've...Why is there always somebody sleeping in our room? It doesn't matter if it's 9 oclock like it was this night, or if it's noon, or 4 in the afternoon, there's always somebody sleeping.

So with someone sleeping in your room, the last place you wanna be is there (Dad I seem to think it's you that particularily likes the word wanna and gonna), we get right the hell outta there. Off to the main strip we go which is......completely under construction. However much construction your picturing in your heads right now, multiply that by a thousand and your still nowhere near it (Trainspotting anyone).

But I have to say, my anger seemed to dissipate a little the next day, when I saw the beach, which was huge and the beach was all rounded rocks which was cool, and weird. All the girls here seem to hate that fact though. They keep asking where the real sand is. And I feel sorry for the girls whose trips are all about the beaches, because there's always something wrong...the beaches aren't sand, it wasn't sunny enough yada yada yada. And yes, I am aware that I just bashed others for complaining so much...And yes I think it's funny too.

You'll also be glad to know that I have come to quite enjoy all the hostel antics over the last little while. No matter how painful they seem at the time, they always make for great stories later...I mean what would I have to rant about if there wasn't construction going on the past three nights at 1am to 4am in the morning...And what kinda stories would I have if I didn't have a roommate like the one who cam in last night: a quebec'er who now lives in belgium who never, ever stops talking, in what I can safely call one of my least favourite accents ever, and that's including the civil squad, the El hachas, the wans, the de barroses, the incomprehensible TAs.

How could I justify being angry all the time, which you all know I love to be if I didn't people in my life like a quebec'er from brussels with and accent that makes me want to...in the words of John Webb "Van Gogh my ears," or in my words "Mr. Blonde myself,"

I feel like scum never having pictures in mine but my camera hates computers and John's is in use right now. Just look at the pics John puts up, I'll try to put up a bunch next time.

Hostels and their Single Serving Friends

I'm lying in the dark, squinting at page 234 of my book. My arm is tingling as it starts to fall asleep. I don't know how long I have been holding up the little flash light, flooding 5 to 6 lines of the page, balancing the open book with my other hand. I stop reading and realize I've scanned over the last 2 sentences without taking any of it in. I'm trying to decide if it's worth making the trip to the washroom again, or to just wait until 4am to climb off the make shift top bunk and stumble through the dark. The light pops on, and I peer over my book, I give a little wave with a smile to the 8th member of the dorm room. There's a ripple of groans and deep breathing from the other half a dozen sleepers. It's too hot to sleep well, and the broken fan just above my head is staring at me, laughing. The light goes back out. "Sorry" doesn't really comfort the rest of the crew, but I still laugh to myself. The book slips out of my hand and hits me in the chin. Both my hands are asleep. It's time to call it quits. I turn into my pillow and listen to number 8 ruffle through his stuff, drop something metal on the lino floor. "Shit", he whispers. This is everynight, in any hostel, with a new team of faceless dorm dwellers to remind me why I'm not fast asleep in an AC hotel; it would just be too boring.


London. Cranley Gardens. Jet-Legged Neil plays the role of Al Pacino in Insomnia and balances exhautian with his new sickness; Rage is knocking on the door.

Amsterdam. Stayokay HI Vondelpark - a hostel lacking in as much personality as it has cold faceless rooms. The Spanish Inquisition wants nothing to do with Neil and I until 3am every night when they wake us up with drunken Spanish giggling and loud blabbering that is only out done by their 4am symphony of snoring. The Stoner Frenchmen arrive with enough time to roll a limited edition series of monstrous joints. They then walk ten feet from the hostel doors and get lost in a cloud of smoke. They sleep for 14 hours. Also See: old Dutch man in wooden shoes yelling at French girls in the Lobby.

Koblenz. The Fortress - a maze of 8 foot thick walls that overlooks the "birth place" of Germany where the Rhine and the Mosel converge. Felix from Düsseldorf is the first person who speaks English since our Stayokay check out. He tells us stories of his exchange to the US, and how he learned English on the fly. He makes us of "F%#k" in a surprisingly efficient manner. We meet him as he devours a bag of MC's finest with a Big Mac in his hand (Felix is a favorite). See Also: The Spanish Cyclist who loves "Eesspagnn" and is riding back to his homeland. See Also: the Old German Man who talks to himself at night and has a fondness for banging his locker door, again, and again. See Also: millions of sugar-filled, hormon-driven, grade school kids on week long field trip.

Mainz. Hotel Moguntia - a sanctuary of privacy a week and a half into 7. Relaxed, calm Neil finds himself with one English channel; he now loves CNN.

Berlin. Jetpak - a converted house that puts TVs and the internet in every corner that doesn't have a couch. The owner Neil says the place is full of Canadians. Neil ignores everything he says and asks "What was your name?". A youth correctional Canuck with an "I'm going to tare your arm off and beat you with it" exterior and turns out to have a heart of gold with tales of the jaded youth who find peace. See Also: the British girl who spends 45 minutes telling scary stories of her misery in Naples (she managed to get 4 different Italians to ask her to "Com to my huse".


I open the door to a dark room. There are beds jammed together and stacked awkwardly in every corner. I check the door. No it's not the storage room, it's us, dorm 14. Of the 8 bunks, one has a breathing lump. There is always someone sleeping. I stumble around the beds and start to unpack my essential with the tip-toe mentality of a thief (I'm stealing lost opportunities). It's been half a day of public toilet stations. 80 cents is too much, I can hold it. I check out the washroom. That's all it is a Wash Room. One shower, with a sink facing it; no sign of a toilet. I leave the room and kick an empty water bottle as I pass the sleeping lump. I'm the one whispering "shit" now. Down the poorly lit hallway is a door that screams washroom. I open up to a wide angle shot of a 15 foot hall with one lonely toilet at the end. I wait for the walls to start bleeding like in the Shining. The toilet is the second worst toilet in the world, modeled after the porcelain prince in Trainspotting. I leave and look for something else. I'm prepared to "hold it" for a long time. I later find a step up from the out-house in the Hills have Eyes. It's the closest thing to a functioning washroom I've seen in days. When I leave I walk passed three other broken down excuses, and wonder why this hostel has invested in so many models of the 18th century commode.


Athens. Students and Travelers Inn - a refuge from the crowded busy streets of Athens with Free internet that people lose arms over and a guided tour for 13 Euro (that's like 3 meals). Vincent and Olivier were excited to meet other Canadians who spoke French. Our English accents mixed with their Quebec jumble made for outrageous conversation. See Also: the Asian couple whose Santorini paradise was flooded by 3 days of rain. See Also: the Drunken Brit who couldn't figure out how to operate the door at 3 in the morning (Neil answered while I dozed on).

Santorini. Stelio's Place - a beach resort claiming to be a hostel, with private rooms and AC that worked too well. Brendon and Kate played Pirate with us. We toured the island with the couple as they told us their top five "American's ask us the greatest questions" and led off with "Is Australia more then 24 hours head of LA?" (the Aussies are Favorites). Stelio himself picked us up from the airport and made Santorini the first place we didn't get lost in as we tried to find our hostel. He dropped us off at the airport for our 7AM flight and drove his little bus like a manic around cliffed-corners and one-laned dirt roads all while he balanced his coffee mug and shifted gears. Real Swell guy. (Stelio is a favorite) Also See: Stelio's whole family making breakfast for us, and managing the hostels reservations.

Rome. Gulliver's House - this haven treated us to breakfast with multiple English news channels every morning, and huge castle style rooms. Joseph spent his days racing around the small hostel asking everyone if they needed anything. Telling them "Cool man, cool man, that's what I'm here for, just ask. Cool Man." Bonavista Paul who after "Canadian", and "Calgary" became a guy who grew up 5 blocks away from us. We compared friends and our 6 degrees of separation turned out to be only 2. Brooke who introduced us to the ins and outs of the hostel as she was part way into a 3 week Italian class. We swapped stories of the crazy Italians in roman streets after every day (Brooke is a Favorite) See Also: Drunken Americans who had endless drinking games and sang like English football fans. See Also: Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn who showed us the ropes in Rome. See Also: guy who met Jim from the Office in "some piazza about 15 minutes from here" who we also randomly ran into in Venice (we may have spent the rest of our time looking for a tall American and randomly yelling "Johnny K" at many "candidates".

Florence. Emeral Fields - a six bed dorm with a spacious washroom and a kitchen. Jen and Kim from Toronto became our 3 and 4 as we roamed Florences streets and explored its museums. They were our 3 and 4 for 2 full days; we were ready to make the cut and play the last 18 as a twosome (Neil and I are just too good a travel team). One can only take "that laugh" for so long. See Also: common room full of shady people who wouldn't laugh at my jokes.

Venice. Residenza Santa Croce - facing the Grande Canal this place forgot it was a hostel and spoiled Neil and I was hotel comfort. The SoCal girls from Orange County had spent 36 hours without a hostel, splitting up the gap with 5am bar hopping. After 6 hours of sleep they got lost in the pubs and parties of Venice and slept again at 8 the next morning. When they finally crashed on the third night at 10, I began to believe they were human. The Colorado girls who had lost themselves in the extreme sports of Interlocken told wild stories of sky diving and canyoning. They also said they don't like to walk around at night in strange cities; it's dangerous. Also See: the Sydney Brit from Liverpool who explains to us how he IDs North American by their fashion. Also See: Brad and Jim from the Mid West who can't wait to find the "Italian Hunnies". Also See: a random from the Rome hostel.

Nice. Hotel Pastoral - This is the hostel you hear about from those stories that start "Things were going fine before we checked in". The Islanders from BC are pic-nic girls who eat all their meals on blankets on the floor of the dorm. They also spend 75% of their conversation explaining to each other the best way to get "Shmamered" off alcohol that you can buy for less then a baguette. Also See: Asian Engineers from the Imperial College in London (which we walked passed not 3 weeks ago). Also See: the Petite Quebec girl whose wild conversation and squeaky French accent make me want to Van Gogh my ears.

The room is staring at me. There's a total of 8 people, coming from 3 different dorms. I've paused for a little extra suspense before I hit them with the punch line. They Laugh, and Laugh. It's been the John show for about 20 minutes. I didn't force this on anyone, but when my one liners started to get all the attention, the team just began to expect more.

Hostels are an experience all to themselves. Whether its a bed that sags to the left and tips you out every night at 3am, or a cool manager that lives to make you their best friend, "this" is what it's all about. Dig the Hostels, love the Hostels. What a Mad journey.

Venice...Neil...Gelato

So, I was asked recently whether or not I'm really as angry as I come off in these blogs. You'll be happy to know that I'm not actually this angry...I'm angrier. I'm just toning it down for all your sakes.

Okedokey, two nights ago we were out in Venice doing the things people do in Venice, such as walking around, getting lost, kicking pidgeons, and enjoying the occasional sewage waft from the canals. We'd just come from dinner where I had a beautiful little meal called the pizza Americana. This was a pizza, with french fries as toppings. It was amazing...I also love how it's called the Americana, when you'd never see such a monstrosity in America. Anyways. Next comes the mandatory gelato desert. (Don't get the idea that were eating a lot by this story either, believe I am always hungry, and my moods are always at the mercy of the food I eat, and of the last time I ate, it's ridiculous). And back when we were in Rome, John made some comment that sounded something like 'next time I get gelato, I'm not skimping out, I'm going all the way, I'm getting a waffle cone packed to the brim'. So that's what we did. We found a gelato place and each got a huge waffle cone pack with four scoops of gelato.

I should preface this by saying that before this point it had been awhile since our last bit of dairy intake, so for lunch we each got two cups of yogurt from the supermarket. Now those of you who know Neil, know that Neil can only handle so much dairy before bad things happen to Neil and his stomach. (It is still Neil writing this, I was just seeing how that whole third person thing would go). But don't worry that's not where this story is going. So John and I both have these enormous gelato cones piled high with enough ice cream to feed an entire school of young children. Anyways, about 1 of the four scoops into my gargantuan cone of gelato, I start to feel like I'm in that episode of Jackass where the brilliant jackassers were trying to see how much milk they could drink in like 10 minutes. But that's also not where this story is going.

So I have this monstrous cone of ice cream, and no more dairy capacity in my stomach. But what I'm I gonna do with it, I'm not just gonna throw it away... f*$# that, I paid 2 and a half euro for that bitch so I'm gonna use it up one way or another. So I'm eating this thing, when the cone cracks and the huge pile of ice cream was inches from falling onto the ground. But I saved it. Then, big John has an idea, apparently a funny one, because it takes him about five minutes to explain it through fits of laughter. It wasn't so much an idea as it was a 'wouldn't it be funny if' type of story. But I decide it'd be a nice acting challenge, so I'd perform the idea and John would film it from a distance.

So I run with my nearly full, busted up gelato cone around the corner, and John starts filming once I'm set up in place. Here's how it goes down, and this is all planned as you can tell. So I start walking in this crowded narrow street with patio restaurants on each side. I'm walking with my gelato, I go to lick it, and to the observer, my cone appears to break, and my mountain of gelato starts falling...I try to catch it...it bounces off both hads and plops down smack in the middle of the street. And in a really loud pissed off voice I yell Ohhhhh man!!!! then I throw the rest of the cone on the ground as hard as I could. Everyone stopped and looked over, a couple guys even said some shit in italian to me, then I stormed off with my head down, and threw my napkin on the ground as hard as I could and wandered down the street. Man it was hilarious, all these elderly people eating there nice dinners in these hoity toity restaurants are suddenly interrupted by a seemingly stupid clumsy North American.

John and I figured everyone around would have a nice funny Venice story to tell everyone because of us...and we'd have it on tape...It was hilarious. Ahhh good times.

The Italian Job via Venice

Venice is Amsterdam meets Florence, with all the fun of the Dutch canals and all the beauty of the narrow italian streets. This combination also happens to create the greatest labrynthe known to man (forget the hedge masterpiece from the Shining, getting lost in Venice is the real Stephen King horror). However with a map, and some built up enthusiasm, Neil and I managed to find San Marco's Square quite easily. This took place after we had found the Residenza Santa Croce hostel quite easily as well. In fact it was these two (small) victories that led us to believe we knew what Venice was all about. I put the map away... it took us less then 15 minutes to hit our first dead end. The truth of the matter is, getting lost in the a-mazing streets of this floating city is alone worth a trip to italy (provided of course that it isn't dark out, and that you are only lost for a couple of minutes, it really doesn't take long for that gentle laugh, the one that screams embarasment with a touch of anxiety, to turn from "hey, look at us, we're lost in Venice, this is funny..." to "holy crap, weren't we just here 10 minutes ago, I swear we've seen that bridge before"). Travel Tip number 36: start your day in Venice with a little hide-and-go-seek game between you and yourself (oddly enough you never win, Venice seems to rig the game in its favor, and mess you right up). Now Neil and I only lost ourselves between the canals within the city a few times. At this point I will reveal a slight character flaw of mine (or an envious aspect of my personality depending on how you look at things): me and gadgets, we're like an old married couple. Like a true engineer, at the point just before panic, I pulled out the old digital compass on my "hey that does everything you could possibly think of" watch and before Neil could point and laugh, we were back on the map, and surrounded by flow of tourists. After getting to know the cozy streets, we took to the canals with a Water Bus day pass. This is Italian public transit with out the rules of the road. These Water Buses are the biggest boats on the Grand Canal, and they know it. They crash in and out of the many stops along the canal, giving tourists a few seconds to climb on and get pushed off before they tare off and try to hunt down the Gondolas and cut off the taxies. At one point, after Neil and I had been thrown all over one of the buses, with quick stops and shot gun starts, and had decided that the Calgary LRT is a luxurious dream ride compared to water bus number one, a short yelp and frantic splashing confirmed the quality (or lack there of) of the driver. A girl half on, but definitely half off, took a plung into the cold green soup as the driver decided to snag a few extra seconds on his mid day route. This was enough to have Neil and I elbowing our way on and off at each dock, and giving a little fairy jump over the opening and closing gap. I loved it. I really dug the whole scene. We spent the whole day hoping these rigs like hobos on rail cars.
Part way through the day we visited Lido island. This resort part of Venice was completely different from the snakes-and-ladders paths of the main island. We wasted no time and were in the warm sea water, soaking up the italian sun, getting lost in part of the trip that had nothing to do with museums or queues or catching connecting trains. It was pure relaxation. Travel Tip number 2: Vacation is the key word, don't forget to keep up with the R&R sessions.

Venice was full of great picture spots. My favorite part of our stay was wandering the streets and seeing all that this desktop wallpaper hevan had to offer. I can't emphasis enough the importance of getting completely turned around and lost in this city. It is also imperative that you visit San Marco's square with Neil Webb; he has a strong dislike for Pigeons (hate isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind), and loves to yell at them and chase them around. This city is also full of great Carnivale Mask shops, and the people who own these shops really love the Mask business. Visit them, let them show you how excited a person can be about Masks.

I miss this city already. I can see why there have been so many James Bond boat chases down these canals. I wanted to orchestrate my own Italian Job, and find the Ocean's 12 crew, but alas we only had 3 days there...

Venice...ah Venice...What are you.

What a strange town, this Venice place. No cars, just boats, and gondolas. I have no idea why they're called gondolas (there the fancy black big canoe looking things manned by some italian with a funny hat, a black and white shirt, and one oar). And these clowns in the referee zebra shirts and the hiked up black pants say 'gondola' in abouuut the most annoying way possible...they don't really pronounce the 'g' and they pretty much sing the rest of the word at every who goes by. But still I really wanted to steal one of these 'ondolas.'

When people talk about riding the busses here...they mean water busses. There public transport system consists of water busses motoring up and down the canals. And the taxis, are also in the rivers, and wow they are some sharp looking boats. They look like limos. So I guess if it was your dream to drive a taxi, I guess Venice would be like the 'the show' or 'the big dance' if you will. But back to the busses, these "busses" had the worst boat drivers ever. Every bus station is like a little dock, and these bus drivers just smash into these docks at good speeds. It's pretty entertaining, providing you have a seat, because the germaphobic touching anything bus surfing would not work here.

So having said that. Of these bad bus drivers, we had a real mensch (wedding crashers anyone, man I haven't seen a movie in a long time, quotes are all I got). This guy was trying to pull of the worst parallel park job in the history of venice. He went back and forth about 8 times running into the dock every time, and then gunning the engines to get us going in the other direction. So after this clown spends 5 minutes tryin to park this boat, after about fifteen seconds of people getting on and off, the guy rips outta the station, with one girl half on and half off. So use your imagination here and think about how this looks. And she barely makes it onto the dock in time....just kidding, she definitely fell into the nasty, nasty green sewage venice water. Come on I wouldn't dissapoint you with a story like that would I.

As bad as I felt for this girl, who had the I'm so embarrassed uncomfortable smile on her, I was laughing my ass off. Oh man, that's kinda mean but it was a laugh I'm telling ya. And all that kept going through my head was Will Tait saying "you must be so embarrassed" in the way that only will can pull off.

I have another real gem of a story I wanna tell about venice but we gotta go catch a train so next time. And of course there's no pictures because the computer I'm on...is older than I am and literally does not have usb ports. Ha! What a place.

Tusseling with Toscana

We left Rome by train and arrived at Firenze SMN just in time to jump on a local track to take us to Pisa and its tower. The norm in Pisa is to get off the train, get on a bus, get to the tower, take The Picture, and move on. Neil and I made things interesting by walking through the town towards the sites. Pisa itself is very nice. The main street is full of little shops and restaurants and even with the over cast and slight drizzle everything was quite picturesque.

There are three interesting facts that Neil and I discovered about the Leaning Tower. First off, as true engineers, we were searching the grounds for the indepth explination of this design disaster. We wanted to know who got fired. Who didn't pay attention in their Soil Mechanics class? Who can we make fun of? Nothing. They had nothing about the actually cause of the tower's ridiculous lean (Which insidently is Ridiculous. You round a corner and see this beautiful piece of architecture peering out from behind the wall of buildings that lines the street and you can't help but laugh and go "Really?"). It felt like maybe they were trying to cover it up, hide the fact that the tower is actually a complete catastrophe by calling it a "marvel" and labeling it a "must see attraction". Turns out, its working. (I love it) This brings me to the next interesting fact. When you arrive in Pisa, and see the tower, and enjoy its ridiculousness, move on to the real fun; watching the Tourists. There seems to be an unspoken rule concerning this location that says "instead of caring what the rest of the world thinks about you, act like a complete fool". Neil and I spent close to an hour wandering the area and the most entertaining part was watching people try to line up their pose. "No left. Too Much! Back, back, Stop! Ah, man you had it. Okay, okay, not bad, now move your left hand down, back, no, no, you have to tilt your wrist out. Oh, geez, you totally had it. Alright, start again with your right had." " FOR HEAVEN SAKES!!! Shut up, why don't you just take the F&£king picture, is it that hard." (I love it) Its also fun to take pictures of the people lining up their shots. The entire area is full of tourists, young and old, trying their best to support the poor, pathetic, sagging tower. This now brings me to my final interesting fact about the Leaning Tower of Pisa (this is Pisa's pride and joy, and therefore they need to make all their money off the silly tourist that want their Leaning Tower of Pisa picture, so everything in Pisa is 4 times the price of everywhere else in the world. So you have the tower, as well as the most expensive post cards known to man). Everyone takes the same picture; I am huge, watch me hold up the tower (I love it). Neil and I didn't think twice about trying to crust the tower, punch it down, push it over and stop it to pieces. At one point a pair of English Gentlemen wandered by and said "Thomas, look, they're doing it wrong, should we tell them". (I love it) Pisa is worth the trip. It's amazing to see that this post card friendly gag actually exists, and it's worth the trip just to see how people act in unusual situations ("reality TV, without the TV").

When it rains in Florence it's comparable to Vancouver. Or Calgary, or basically any other place in the world, because everyone still hides under umbrellas and talks about how bad the rain is to one another. When it hails in Florence it is a completely different story. I think we brought the situation on our selves, when we lathered up with sunscreen. It had been nearing 30 degrees in the hot Tuscan sun, and 10 minutes later it was the end of the world. I had a rain jacket. But that really didn't mean anything when the sheets of water started falling from the heavens. We were finishing up a day of exploring the beautiful city when we made a fatal error NOT to go into the last museum. We were half way back to the hostel when the hail started hurting. At one point the main street where our accomodations lay had turned into a lake with floating cars and abandoned scouters (and things floating by that I care not to mention, the streets in Italy tend to gather Character throughout the day). Getting back to the hostel, in the perfect storm style weather, was the most fun I had had since the go-cart driving of Santorini. I thought it was out of control and I couldn't get enough of it. An hour later it was back up to 30 degrees and the water had dained away; it was back to post-card Florence.


We raced around for two days exploring the many museums of this artistic haven. I could try to discribe the experience of turing the corner in the Accademia and seeing Michelangelo's masterpiece, but at 21 feet, David is something that you have to see with your own eyes. (Oddly enough, the sculpture held a striking resemblence to myself. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but David appears to have been a pretty stand up guy, so...) It's funny to see, both women and men, spend so much time just staring up at David's sculpted buttock. People will just marvel at it. I heard several girls walking by saying "wow, he's a pretty good looking sculpture, that Michelangelo was good".

Tuscany is absolutely gorgeous. It's country side made the trip from Florence to Venice really interesting. It was definitely not the generic trip to Florence that many people experience, but between the fun in Pisa, and the down pour of the century, we really took advantage of the amazing museums, and the beautiful street of the red-roofed city. Tuscany gave us a run for our money, but we're still kicking, and loving Italy.