My Own Divine Comedy

 

Florence is all about its famous Florentine’s, and it just so happens that one of my personal favorite Florentine’s pretty much wrote the story of my trip to Florence: Dante Alighieri and his Divine Comedy.

In the Divine Comedy Dante gets a tour of both heaven and hell, and I am pretty sure I too got a little tour of both of these while in Italy.

 

Me in front of Dante's tomb

 

My lovely tour guide for the heavenly part of my trip was my friend and former Rockhurst housemate Samantha, who is studying in Florence.  She showed me all of the coolest churches and museums in Italy (two of my favorite things) and kept me well fed with the best pizza, gelato, and “Secret Bakery” treats you could imagine.    

Sam and I at the Piazza Michelangelo

 

The heavenly high point was our trip up to San Miniato.  We hiked quite a few steps to get to this beautiful little church, but it was completely worth it.  We had a perfect view of the city, and especially of the famous Duomo.  The view alone would have made the trek worth it, but San Miniato had more to offer. 

 

We went into the church itself, and it was unlike any cathedral I’ve visited so far.  It was very dark—lit only by candlelight—and the place where the altar would normally be was actually divided into an upper and lower level.  The lower level featured an almost cave-like space.  There were vaults and columns and an altar nestled in the back with rows of pews hiding in the forest of columns.  We sat there for a while and felt like early Christians in some sort of secret underground church.  The best part was that on the upper level there was an organ, and for some reason on this random Monday afternoon someone was playing it, so we had some ethereal background music to our underground experience.  We wrapped up this divine visit with a walk through the most beautiful graveyard I have ever seen—filled with beautiful sculptures, flowers, and a sense of peace you could only find on a heavenly mountaintop like that. 

The rest of my time in Florence itself and our day in Venice was equally heavenly—the hell didn’t start until the Rome airport. 

I am now convinced that Dante failed to discover a level of hell—the one where you miss your flight and spend eternity in a Rome airport eating muffins and McDonalds, sleeping on metal chairs, and wondering if you are crazy or if there really aren’t toilet paper dispensers in ANY of the bathroom stalls.  Apparently this level of hell is reserved for those who hogged a bench in front of Michelangelo’s David sculpture for too long.  Thus missing the train they needed. 

 

This picture I snuck could also be what landed me in hell.

 

I wish I could say that I handled this low point of travelling with good humor and grace, but those are pretty much the opposite of how things went down.  My 24 hours began with me sniffling on the phone to my mom (sometimes you just need to hear your mom’s voice in these situations, even if there is absolutely nothing she can do), followed by the purchase of multiple books in a fit of self pity (I actually read all of them), and ending with me descending the escalator to my gate looking like some sort of airport jungle woman with bloodshot eyes, hair sticking up everywhere, and a muffin clutched in my hand.

Clearly delerious enough to document my attempt to sleep on an airport bench.

But like Dante, I have made it through both heaven and hell and am home in Prague, already thinking mostly of my heavenly experience in Florence. 

 

 

 

 

Mental Picture Perfect: Too Little Time in Ireland

I have found one thing to be true in my travels thus far: no city is exactly what you expect it to be.  It is inevitably a great experience in its own way, but when you step off the plane/train/bus, you realize that the city isn’t exactly what you pictured in your head.

 

Ireland—both Dublin and the Irish countryside at my friend’s grandma’s house—broke this truism for me. 

 

I have actually studied a bit of Irish history and literature, so I realized when I got there I actually knew a thing or two about Ireland—at least more so than a lot of the Central European countries I have gotten used to visiting.  My grandpa is also Irish, and very proud of our heritage, so I have heard a bit about the Irish from him growing up.  And of course, being a 22-year-old girl, I enjoyed the movie P.S. I Love You more than I usually like to admit. 

 

All of my high expectations based on these pre-perceptions of Ireland turned about to be true.  My grandpa loves to tell me that the Irish are good storytellers (“that’s why you write blogs…storytelling is in your blood”) and generally friendly people, and it’s true.  We were shocked by how many people were willing to give us directions—without us even asking—because that never happens in Prague.  Czechs are polite, but they are not particularly known for their friendliness.  The man who drove us up to my friend’s grandma’s house—a quintessential friendly Irishman—talked to us the whole half hour drive.  When I heard him say “So there’s this story about a Chinese girl who wanted to learn Gaelic…” I almost started laughing because that’s exactly how my grandpa starts his many, many stories.    

I was also surprised at how much the history of Ireland came alive in Dublin—especially the literary history. I got to see the Book of Kells—the oldest book in the world—and “nerded out” (as my friend Raine called it) over finding the house James Joyce’s “The Dead” was based off of. I have heard that you can never understand Joyce unless you fully understand Ireland and its history, and I can see how it’s true. Although I don’t understand Joyce’s book Dubliners any better after visiting Dublin, I appreciate how difficult it must have been to capture as many details and nuances of the city as he did.

Finally, the Irish countryside was all that P.S. I Love You promised me and every other girl in America it. Think green, lochs, mountains, winding little roads down to a filled with castle ruins and warm, crowded pubs. I got to stay in little house perched up on the hillside with a view of it all. My friend’s grandma cooked us more Irish food than we could ever eat, and we all wish we could have stayed much, much longer.

So as much as I usually love coming home to Prague, this time all I wanted to do was head back to Ireland with its live music in the pubs, beautiful countryside, and friendly people. I have to get back there, and to so many other places in the world. As the Irishman who talked to me the entire plane ride back to Prague told me,“Once you get the wanderlust, there’ll be no working for ya.” If only I could skip the working someday and just travel.

 

Trinity College

 

"Nerding Out"

 

Goooood morning Ireland!