Italy.

Florence is like walking through a never-ending alley of restaurants and souvenirs. Sweaty salesman sell leather as thick as their cigarette skin and I make a point to roll my eyes. During the day, the streets flutter with shoulder-to-shoulder Americans all looking for a bowl of pasta, or a proud, bulky statue they know nothing about. Yes, I'm one of those Americans. At night however, the streets clear as if politely accepting my demands, humbly giving me a new perspective. One that I'll dare never let go of.

The city undressed is intoxicating. So calm, I can hear the sound of my own footsteps, fumbling on rocks and pushing up dust. Moonlit dining at every corner as if mocking my empty little pockets. They reel me in regardless, and I hobble away in both guilt and bliss as though I'd just made love to a thief. Wine like a velvety fire, allows no filter between mouth and mind and I smile with purple teeth for no reason at all. I just laugh in a slobbery misfortune and mutter, "Dude, we're in ITALY right now!". Then comes the Mother of all seduction. The devil in high heels. Two (maybe three) scoops of pure gelatinous joy, weighing me even further into the ground. I can refuse an orphaned dollar bill or a kiss from a stranger but never an opportunity for Chocolate Chip Gelato, man. You can forget about it. All these things amount to what should have been the perfect Italian experience, but we both had an itch to see a different side of the city. The road less traveled, if you will.

We met our group at a bridge, slapped on a couple helmets and took off on a picture-perfect bike tour through the Tuscany countryside. On this dirt road adventure we toured a local Winery where we helplessly floated alongside the charm of a beautiful Italian tour guide, ate lunch at a dusty little pasta house, and most importantly, took in the endless sights of vineyard isolation. Pictures below to prove it.
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Fire in Rio Maggiore.
Cinque Terre, Italy.

At first we didn't think much of it. Summer smoke is a familiar smell where we come from. Could have been a beer bottle bonfire or a tank top barbeque for all us red, white and blue's knew. Could have been a faulty firework or a getaway chimney, I don't know. Could have been just about anything pocket-sized until the black poured over our heads like something straight out of Hogwarts. So black that distant patches of sea and sky turned gray. In a half-assed panic, we leaped from rock to rock and up the stairs into the salt water village of Riomaggiore.

Ashes to Ashes, we all stood still and watched the fiery blaze dance wildly atop our little hillside paradise. I can't remember the last time I saw something on fire that wasn't supposed to be. This was not TBS and I was no Pierce Brosnan, and Pete was certainly no Linda Hamilton. This was an honest-to-goodness fire, set free with no conclusion. Bug-eyed and alarmed, we did what every other out-of-towner did. We ran to our rooms to collect our things (more like our lives in a backpack) and gathered in a distance to watch the outcome of this mini-Armageddon.

The fire eventually surrendered, taking a long stretch of vineyards and olive plants with it. It was later determined that this was not the work of natural cause, but that of a devil-headed arsonist. The battle continued into the following day as a variety of Airplanes and Helicopters heroically spit gallons upon gallons of seawater into the face of the slow-roasting remains. On screen, this would have been far from a nail-biter, but man what a fidgety sight to have seen.
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Romeward Bound.
Rome, Italy

Either Rome is exhausting or I'm exhausted. "It's really just a more epic version of Wrigley Field" confessed Pete on the Colosseum. No money left to feed a proper grand tour of the bloodbath amphitheatre, we settle to feed ourselves.

Fanny pack tourists take notes and pictures while Pete and I share a can of Sour Cream 'n Onion Pringles in front of one of Roman History's most impressive architectural displays. We treat the goddamn Colosseum as if it's some sort of convenient mart. I think we're both a little puzzled with Rome. It's got a lot of history, and the city has a right to preserve it, but you'd think after two thousand years they would at least sharpen up the edges. Build a glass wall, or a museum around the ruins, don't just let them sit there as if a bomb went off yesterday.

Again, maybe I'm just tired and uneducated, but I would have rather spent my last day in Europe in a fine print city with a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine. God knows where my two little feet will take me next in life, but I leave this continent with a simple reminder: When in Rome; don't be.