A Sight For Sore Eyes

I left Venice after a few days with a heavy heart and an even heavier stomach. But aside from the good food, spectacular architecture, and winding waterways I had already expected, there wasn't much anchoring me to the city. Sounds crazy, I know, describing this majestic city with a whirlwind of adjectives and then summon the nerve to say it wasn't good enough. But all of these things, the gondolas, the street vendors, the wave after wave of blatant tourists seemed somehow staged. As if there was nothing past the picture on the postcard. I was beginning to question whether or not that Italian magic everyone talks about really existed.

Then I headed South to Florence. There I once again dipped into the couchsurfing bank and spent the next couple of days with an Italian speaking Turkish medical student. While he was away at class, I took to the sights. Well, to be perfectly honest I sprinted from awning to awning avoiding the blistering rays from the 35 degree sun and indulged in one or two cups of flavored gelati. During one of my walk abouts I found myself at the bus station, timetable in hand, and just enough money to get to Siena and back again before night fall. So I boarded the bus and set off for a new city; one that I hoped would deliver me the little slice of Italy I had been dreaming about.

Siena was beautiful, of course. But it was a mind-numbing, what's-next-on-the-agenda kind of beautiful. I wandered through the medieval city but couldn't stop myself from checking my watch, bored. With the heat almost unbearable, I had thrown on a light cotton skirt and a white tank top before I left and could already feel the beads of sweat trickling down the backs of my legs.

I admired the Gothic architecture of Siena's cathedral before finding myself melting in a pool of my own sweat in the Palazzo Pubblico. Cafe patios were buzzing with conversation as the patrons drank their iced cappuccinos and sought refuge under the cool awnings. Still standing in the sweltering heat, I began rocking from side to side. White dots speckled my vision and I became light headed within seconds. But before I had the chance to collapse and make a complete fool of myself in this busy square, a giant gush of wind was summoned from God knows where, snapping me back to the present. I exhaled a sigh of relief before noticing all of the gawking faces that were now directed towards me. Following their horrified glares, I looked down only to notice two pasty white legs, unaccompanied by the previous mentioned cotton skirt. My cheeks flushing red I reefed the skirt down from around my waist where it sat scrunched up after the sudden gush of wind and looked around frantically for an escape route. Tourists who had stopped to watch the spectacle began giggling uncontrollably and their stifled  laughs followed me as I tried to navigate my way through the old city. When I finally reached the bus station, I collapsed on a bench, out of breathe, but relieved none-the-less. When the shock of having flashed the entire population of Siena wore off, I couldn't help but laugh at myself, bare ass and all.

I didn't find the magic of Italy in Tuscany's medieval city. But I think in a way my little fiasco in the square was a reminder that it's out there, somewhere, but it won't be giving itself up without a fight.