Go Go Go Duomo

Most people spend their first weekend abroad getting used to their city, touring around and locating key points of interest (the nearest hospital, supermarket, or nail place...). But some crazy souls, myself included, jump at their first chance at traveling. So off I went to Florence, a long lost suburb of Long Island and home to way too many American university students.

I should have known that with a group of 10 girls, I would be spending a lot of time at the leather market.  In true Italian fashion, the men working the booths both heckled us and told us how amazing we looked in their jackets. One took a particular liking to me and my leather boots, stroking them and telling me I looked like Jessica Alba. I'm not going to lie, I didn't hate that comparison. The compliment died quickly when he grabbed me, told me that he loved me, and started making out with my cheek.

From there we continued our shopping expenditures in Ponte Vecchio, an area overlooking the river and a prime hookup spot for PDA-prone Italians. After window shopping for engagement rings and realizing that we don't even have boyfriends, the obvious next move was to stuff our face with pesto ravioli (consumed too fast to take a picture).

The next day, exhausted by looking at the same leather coat for 4 hours, I insisted we see the sights. That idea bit me in the ass (literally) when we climbed to the top of Duomo, a cathedral in the middle of Florence. After hundreds if not thousands of stairs, we finally made it to the top. Even though I couldn't feel my legs, the view was definitely worth the climb.

The best part of Florence was Space, a club where we managed to get VIP bracelets both nights (take that Alternate Recreation). Nothing beats popping bottles that you didn't pay for and looking down at the unfortunate ones below, from a glass cube no less.

After running from the train to the Leaning Tower of Pisa and back again, we suffered a long 4-hour indirect train back to Rome. By the end of the ride, I had memorized every tweet tweeted all weekend and most were just plain stupid. Why do people think that others care about a. their love lives (written in a cryptic, bitter message) b. their exact location, down to the street intersection or c. their dumb inside jokes? Just wondering.

The weekend ended with a valuable lesson: don't ride in cabs alone, especially when they charge fixed rates. Apparently there is a gang of cab drivers who charges girls fixed rates, drives them to the middle of nowhere, rapes them, and leaves them. Thankfully I have long legs and can jump out of cabs while they're still moving. I think pepper spray would be a wise investment for the next few months.

Ciao Bella!

Sammy Soks