When the Fire Goes Out

Posted on December 4, 2017 by Kari

I’ve been in a funk lately. Perhaps it’s baby blues or the relentlessly gray weather or too many days in a row spent at home in yoga pants doing the same dishes and laundry over and over again. I find myself on my phone…while feeding the baby or with a toddler in my lap watching a show. I get bored so I instinctively start scrolling through feeds and looking through snapshots and sentences of other people’s lives.

Creeper.

I know.

I find myself comparing. I find myself looking at the numbers instead of the hearts. I find myself jealous and discouraged because my focus has landed too many times in a row on all the wrong things.

In Love Lives Here, Maria Goff talks about comparison and “keeping our eyes on our own paper,”

He [Jesus] doesn’t want us to become like each other; He wants us to be like Him. The problem is that we’re letting other people do that talking for Him. We all have something we are good at. Figure out what it is and celebrate it.

God stretches each of our lives before us like a canvas. He hands us the brushes and the paint and asks us to make our lives look like our unique version of His love. Pick your own colors, not someone else’s.

Sometimes social media is a huge encouragement and inspiration and sometimes it eats away at my insecurities until I’m convinced I have almost no value at all compared to other people’s success. We all know the pretty pictures and words we see online are just lines and chapters out of someone else’s book—not the whole story. But when we never get the whole story, it’s easy to believe the messy and unlovely parts of our own lives will never size up to Miss Inspiration over there killing it.

To combat the funk and the comparison game, I took a break from my phone. Sometimes you just need to look up and look around for a little while to get some fresh perspective.

When I was tempted to grab my phone, I picked up an old book instead. I’ve been knee-deep in parenting books of late and I was craving something a little less about how to do everything right and a little more about dreams and adventure.

I chose a book I’ve read before about an American girl in Italy. It’s a story about adventure, and love, and a little bit of intrigue. Published over a hundred years ago, the book smells and feels old in my hands as I run my fingers over the slightly raised typeset. I get lost in the romantic Italian language and descriptions of the landscape. And I remember, the last time I read this book I was in high school or college and dreaming of seeing Italy for myself someday.

After visiting Rome, Florence, Venice, Sicily and many other parts of Italy now, the story feels familiar this time around. I need not rely on my imagination so much as I can actually picture from experience the stucco houses and terraced vineyards. I’ve walked these streets and heard this musical language in person.

Why am I telling you all this? Because it reminded me that I used to dream about big things. I used to pick up old books and get lost in a story. I used to love words because they carried me to far off places and lit my heart on fire.

Lately, I’ve been far too inclined to love words only for what they can get me—likes, follows, shares…a sense of affirmation by being given a virtual thumbs up. Where’s the adventure in that? I let the fire go out and it’s no wonder I found myself in a funk.

Tonight I’m sitting in front of a fire sipping coffee and falling back in love with words and the stories they tell. Stories of love. Stories of adventure. Stories of grace and redemption.

And I’m reminded all over again, that I have a story of my own to tell. I have days spent in Paris and Rome, nearly ten years of marriage to a man I still love, the birth of two fiery little babies. I have a Midwest childhood and many a day now spent exploring the streets and nooks of Boston and Massachusetts. I have five brothers. I have one cat. I have a story all my own. And the best part of all—I’m still writing it. There are adventures yet to be had. Love yet to be shared. Words yet to be written. More cities to see.

If you, like me, find yourself discouraged by where you’re at, stop and make sure your eyes are where they actually need to be—on your own story. The story you’re still writing every single day with your own words, pictures, loves, adventures, and mishaps ❤

Wild Flowers

Posted on July 15, 2016 by Kari

Perspective is a powerful thing.

I remember riding the train through southern Italy, snaking along the glittering Mediterranean and gliding past yellow and wheat colored stucco houses. I was lost in thought, captivated by how beautiful it all was. I had expected to be disappointed by Italy, as people and places don’t often meet up to our expectations after years of building them up in our minds. But Italy was perfect…perfectly modern mixed with all the old charm and personality the pictures had me imagine.

So I was surprised, offended even, when I heard a fellow American on the train proclaim loudly, “look at all these crappy houses…how do people live this way?”

I’m sorry? I’d sell all my American everything to live in one of those “crappy” houses—just ask Darren, I’ve tried ;] It’s true, the paint was peeling, the stucco was chipped and cracked, and the whole place looked a bit wild with clothes lines strewn between houses. But I felt magic there and I’ve never been able to shake Italy off; the clothes lines and sunshine and window boxes crept right down into my soul and I’ve tried ever since to sprinkle some of that Italian magic into the way I live here at home.

One traveler saw only brokenness and decay; I saw charm and beauty—that day at least. Our perspectives were different and so our whole experience of that place turned out differently.

I thought about all this the other day when I was looking at our rather ragged yard. With building our house, we’ve had to level and landscape our lawn. All our grass was scrapped off and all winter our house sat in a sea of brown and mud. I bought what New Englanders call “mud boots” to walk from our house to the car because it was so messy and mucky and our feet were always sinking in the dirty sludge. Last winter was the first time I’ve hoped for cold temperatures to freeze the ground and snow to cover all that brown.

So imagine my delight at all the green in our yard this summer—yes, most of that green is weeds, some of it weeds nearly as tall as me—but it’s green. I’m sure our wild, unruly lawn looks like nothing but a disaster to the neighbors around us with nicely manicured lawns, and you know, grass. But to me, our yard is lovely and I’m so happy to look out our windows at green…green weeds, green grass, I care not.

I tend to like the wild flowers best, far more than store-bought roses or houseplants. I like the way wild flowers poke up with the weeds—sometimes they are the weeds. There’s something a little bit daring and rebellious about Queen Ann’s Lace, don’t you think? The way she stands alone in a field or along the road outshining every well-tended garden flower she meets.

My mom told me once in a card, “I hope you never lose your sense of wonder.” And ever since reading that, I’ve tried to remember how much my own perspective colors the world around me. Will I be the traveler who sees brokenness or beauty in a place different from my own? Will I be the mom who can see the joy in a sticky toddler or the one who resents the frustration and restraints of parenting? Will I appreciate all the magic fluttering past me each day in the sunshine and wild flowers growing free among the weeds?

It’s up to me, the way I see my life and the world around me. Sometimes I let darkness settle over me and it’s no surprise in those moments that the whole world looks dark and bleak. But when I focus on the light, I see the light.

Perspective is a powerful thing, after all.

Overflowing.

Posted on January 4, 2014 by Kari

I haven’t thought a thing about resolutions this year because I feel there is nothing in the whole world I could possibly want right now. I feel full to the brim and overflowing. I feel like my heart will burst and to want anything more than what I already have is just plain greedy.

2013 was a bright, beautiful year for me and Darren. Not every year is of course. Actually, the last two or three years before it have been pretty tiring and blah and perhaps that is part of why this past year stood out as such a happy one for us.

Sometimes I’m afraid to talk about the good things in my life—the things I’m most thankful for—because I don’t want to sound like a braggart or someone who has absolutely everything. No one I know enjoys being around someone like that so instead I tend to focus on the hard things in order to be real and relatable, in order to let others know that our lives aren’t perfect and we do truly understand what others are going through. But right now I feel that not being thankful and mentioning the good things would be the exact opposite of real and relatable—we have much to be thankful for and to pretend otherwise would be a little dishonest.

Before this year, I had gotten to a place where I knew certain things in my life needed to change but I couldn’t see any end in sight to the way things were. It was quite depressing, actually—struggling through each day as it rolled in exactly the same as the one before and wondering if there would ever be any way out. I was exhausted and lonely and struggling along but didn’t know how to make any real changes. I felt like the way things were was just exactly how they had to be and how they would always remain.

I started reading about the children of Israel wandering through the wilderness, hoping I would find something to encourage and carry me through what felt like a private wilderness experience. I felt parched, dried up and alone in the desert.

But this year some light broke through and things started to change. I know that real change needs to be internal not circumstantial. But sometimes when you’re drowning, all you really need is to be pulled to shore before you sink completely. This year anchored me and pulled my head above water—it feels really good to breathe again.

First of all, in April Darren and I bought an old colonial house needing a little love. The most important thing about this house is its location—in the country, close to the woods, wrapped around by trees. Both Darren and I grew up in the country and I don’t think either of us realized how much we would miss the land and the woods. We’ve lived in town ever since we moved to Massachusetts five years ago but have been hoping ever since then that we would be able to buy a home of our own in the country.

{Wild flowers Darren picked for me in our new yard}

I grew up in a place that was a little bit magical—though I didn’t know it at the time. In the country, in the woods, close to the land…that is where I was shaped and made into who I am. I left the woods behind and took off as fast as I could for Massachusetts and all the excitement of the coast and the cities out east. I like it here in New England; it’s a lovely place to live.

But I miss the woods. I miss the wheat fields—the golden stalks turned pink and orange in the late afternoon sun. I miss the vastness, the endless rolling hills of crops. I miss the grass and dirt beneath my bare feet. I miss the rhythm of life lived close to the land. I miss having enough time and attention to notice the palette of colors used by the sun in painting the earth awake and asleep each day. I miss how bright and clear the stars were over the fields at night, unobstructed by the lights down here, enchanted by the lights up there.

All these things got into my blood and my soul, and though I left them behind, they won’t leave me alone. I can’t find my place, my peace, my sense of balance without them.

I don’t know that I’ll ever make it back to the plains or the prairies where I’m from but I’ve known for a long time now that I absolutely must find my way back to the woods. And this shabby colonial of ours is just exactly what we’ve needed to do that.

Knowing that soon our days spent sharing a duplex and yard right on the road will end and we’ll be able to settle into our first single family home with our own private back yard is just about too much…I. Am. So. Excited. and so, so thankful. When I get frustrated and discouraged about where we are I’m encouraged by knowing there’s end in sight and soon we’ll be back in the woods where we belong.

{Still waters found on a walk through the woods near our new house}

Here we will have a place to plant a garden and a yard to walk around in. We’ll be able to raise our kids close to the land which is so very important to both of us. We’ll be able to see the stars at night and watch the sun cast its brilliant rays across the fields at sunset. I think we’ll both breathe again and feel like we’re really living the way we’re meant to, just the way our souls were put together and intended to get along. It’s a huge gift and I’m so thankful.

In June we went to Europe—Europe! This was not just a fancy vacation for us—it was a giant adventure we had both hoped for since our teens. We wanted to see the world, experience different cultures and see what people so different from us are like.

From Spain to France, Italy to Croatia and on to England we were able journey and explore. We rode trains and ferries and shared a taxi with strangers from other countries. We jumped in the Mediterranean and Adriatic and wound in a bus up the Amalfi Coast past lemon groves and rooftop gardens.

We walked and walked…through Pompeii, Sicily, Venice, Marseilles, Rome…on and on until we collapsed in bed each night…exhausted but happy.

We drank the best coffee in Barcelona and ate scrumptious pizza while we sat on the curb waiting for the train in Pisa. We found that people all over the world are kind and friendly and willing to help when you are lost and confused and don’t speak the language.

It was magic and I’ll never ever forget what it felt like to be lost and found at the same time stomping around the globe and seeing the world with my own two eyes.

Finally, in the fall my sneaking suspicion that a baby was on the way was confirmed. I’ve known for a long time that I wanted to stay home and raise a family. Though I’ve enjoyed the years I’ve spent working outside the home and am thankful for the skills and experience I’ve gained, I’ve always looked forward to the day when I could wholly focus on raising a family instead.

Maybe some people will think less of me for choosing housework and a baby on my hip over a career at a growing company—that’s fine—we don’t all have to be the same or want the same things. I want to stay home, cook meals from my garden, and raise a houseful of munchkins and I’m thankful we’re finally on the road to starting a family of our own.

I’m sure there will be days when I wonder what on earth I was thinking and will wish for high heels and the office. But ultimately, I know my heart and soul are most settled at home—this is the place where I’m most gifted and centered and I’m ready to make the trade for this new life—however difficult and exhausting it may sometimes be.

{Moments from our year}

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die;

a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;

a time to kill, and a time to heal;

a time to break down, and a time to build up;

a time to weep, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

a time to seek, and a time to lose;

a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

a time to tear, and a time to sew;

a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

a time to love, and a time to hate;

a time for war, and a time for peace

…

He has made everything beautiful in its time.”

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 & 11

I’m thankful for a year of much-needed change that helped refresh our spirits and renew our focus. I’m thankful too that life is all about seasons and that nothing is forever. I’ve enjoyed this season of our lives and look forward to the seasons to come. Thank you for sharing the past year with us; I’m looking forward to sharing this new year with you too :]

Venice, Italy

Posted on July 9, 2013 by Kari

Venice is magic.

We spent our last two days in Italy winding through these enchanting streets and then we were on our way home with one last stop in London along the way.

Thanks for reading along :]

If you missed any of the earlier posts in this series about Europe, you can still read them here:

Pompeii & the Amalfi Coast

Taormina, Sicily

Dubrovnik, Croatia {Former Yugoslavia}

Taormina, Sicily

Posted on July 1, 2013 by Kari

Once in Sicily, we rode the train from Messina to Taormina. The ride in was absolutely beautiful as the train snaked along right beside the Mediterranean. Just so you know, I didn’t do any editing to these photos—the colors you’re seeing are the colors I saw as the brilliant cobalt sky seemed to melt right into the sapphire waves.

Once off the train, we waited for a bus to take us from the station into town. It was standing room only on the bus again but we didn’t care; we were too busy having our minds blown by all the colors and textures of this extraordinary place.

That’s Mount Etna smoking in the far background—an active volcano!

My travel buddy

We found a pizza place for lunch and I just think you need to know that Sicilians put potato on their pizza…which is just about the best thing that’s ever happened to me. My two favorite things—potato and pizza transformed into one thing—potato pizza…oh my gosh it made me ridiculously happy. I would show you a picture but I ate too fast for such things.

We were sort of lost by the time we made it to the pizza place but the man working there was very friendly and helpful and got us heading back in the right direction…which just so happened to be the opposite direction…and then we were on our way to the Greek amphitheater.

View from the ruins of the Greek amphitheater.

Those waves, those gorgeous blue waves. They kept speaking to us and since it was our last day on the Mediterranean side of Italy, we finally decided we absolutely had to get in the water.

We found a store and bought some swimwear and then asked around until we found a bus to take us back down to the train station. From there we took off on foot until we found a way down to the water. The beach was rocky and painful to walk on so we hurried into the waves and found out they were even more painful—so, so cold….like ice water. We stayed in long enough to get some pictures and say we had been in the Mediterranean and then we limped cold and wet back across the rocks…but we had a really good time and I collected lots of pretty rocks from the beach to take back home with me. After that, we had to hurry back to the station so we wouldn’t miss the train.

Once we got back to Messina, we found a shop and tried some scrumptious cannoli. We both already love cannoli and always get some at our favorite Italian pastry shop when we’re in Boston. But Sicily is the birthplace of cannoli so it didn’t seem right to leave without trying some…good choice, Kari Ann, good choice…it was so yummy, and flaky, and creamy, and yummy…and now I want to go back and get some more.

After Sicily we took one day off from Italy and went to Dubrovnik, Croatia {Former Yugoslavia}…I’ll tell you all about it in a day or two.

If you missed any of the earlier posts in this series about Europe, you can still read them here:

Pompeii & the Amalfi Coast

Posted on June 28, 2013 by Kari

After just one perfectly beautiful day in Rome we were on our way to Naples. When our Rome tour guide found out Naples was our next stop, he told us even Italians are scared to visit there and tourists will be pickpocketed to the bone…so that was super encouraging. Admittedly, Naples was the sketchiest place we went but from everything we had been told we were half expecting to be mobbed by savages—and it wasn’t quite that bad :]

People kept warning us about pick pockets everywhere we went and I’m sure it can be a problem but we found the people in each and every city to be kind and helpful. Being in a foreign place where you don’t know the language or where anything is or how things are done can make you feel very vulnerable and finding that people are willing to stop and help you find what you’re looking for was one of the best parts of the trip.

There is a lot of immigration here on the east coast where I live and the cities around us (like Boston and New York) are major cultural melting pots. I never thought too much about what it’s like for people moving here and trying to find their way around but I hope I will be more sensitive and helpful now that I know what it’s like to be in a foreign place myself.

The first thing we wanted to see in Naples was the Amalfi Coast so we took off on foot to find the train. We walked what felt like a really long way trying to find the station and were starting to think we were lost right before we found it. The attendant at the station was actually really friendly and helpful (unlike the other train stations) and we were quickly on our way to Sorrento where we could get a bus up the coast.

I loved riding the trains around Italy because it allowed us to see all the little places in between the big cities and we got to immerse ourselves in the culture for a few minutes. There were lots of kids and teenagers on the trains dressed in beach clothes. They were so different from American young people. Here on the trains young (and old) people put in ear buds and stare at the book in our lap so we don’t have to talk to people. Most Americans also have a pretty large “my space” zone meaning we don’t like people standing too close or touching us. People in Italy seemed to touch each other a lot. If anyone touches me they can just stand back and wait for the popo because I’ll be screaming for my life :] Ok, it’s not quite that bad.

In Italy though, the young people came on and the train was booming with noise. They talked (loudly). They sang (louder). They sat on each other’s laps and clapped to the songs they were shouting. I stared at them in amazement :] I loved them though—they were so full of life and wildly connected to everything going on around them. They didn’t close out the world with ear buds and “personal space”—they just let the world come gushing in and it was really beautiful to watch them having such a good time.

The transformation in the landscape from Naples to Sorrento was incredible. We went from a big black and gray city to a the lush and colorful countryside that felt almost tropical. We rode by all sorts of little towns built right into the sides of the mountain and zipped by pretty little stucco houses and bright lemon groves.

In Sorrento we bought our bus tickets then ran in a little café for another sweet and tangy cappuccino. We asked for a to-go coffee so the barista put it in a plastic cup with tinfoil on top—I guess Italians don’t really get coffee to go like Americans do ;]

There was a very long line for the bus so we tucked ourselves under an umbrella to get out of the sun and waited our turn. The bus was supposed to come every 15 minutes but it took at least 30. By the time we got to the front of the line, the bus was packed full with standing room only so we had to decide if we wanted to wait another 30 minutes or however long it took for the next bus or just get on and stand in the aisle. We didn’t want to waste time so we decided to stand.

We figured people would get off at some of the stops along the way and we would eventually get a seat but instead more and more people kept getting on at each stop. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t any more room, people were going to get on no matter what.

We wound up, up, up the mountain around sharp bends that I never imagined a bus could make. We kept stopping and adding more people and working our way higher and higher up the mountain. And then we popped up around a bend and I found out exactly why everyone says you must see the Amalfi coast.

It is so, so beautiful. None of the pictures I took do it justice because they were taken out of the window of a moving bus. That line running along the side of the mountain is part of the road we had just driven. Our path snaked right along the side of the mountain and sometimes cut right through the mountain by way of tunnel. When I looked out the bus window all I could see below us was water…I felt like I was on a roller coaster hanging off the edge of a cliff. Sometimes I was pretty sure the bus was going to roll off the mountain but it didn’t matter because I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.

That zig zaggy thing is part of the road we were on.

I couldn’t believe all the color—from the crisp, clear blue sky to the turquoise and sapphire water. The pink, orange, and purple flowers hanging off of everything and the bright yellow lemon groves dotted between the cypress trees. It was stunning. The Amalfi Coast is one of those places that’s hard to share because you really just have to see it with your own eyes to understand what it looks like.

Because we were standing in the aisle holding on for dear life, I didn’t really take many pictures on the way up…I just stood there and ate up all the color and beauty accosting my senses. Sometimes, to really appreciate something, you just have to put the camera down and see the world with your eyes instead of your lens. On this trip, I didn’t want to spend so much time getting the perfect shot that I looked back and realized I didn’t actually see anything.

That wild two-hour ride up the coast is one of my favorite memories from our trip. I loved everything about it—standing in the aisle holding on for dear life while our bus seemed to hang over cliffs, listening to Italian swirl all around us, and laughing with and at the other tourists on the bus who were as startled and enamored as we were by this wild, free place built between the rocks and the ocean. Did I mention I loved it? Love, love, loved it.

I wish we could have spent the whole day exploring the coast but we only had one day in the area and wanted to see Pompeii too. So we hopped on a different bus and took the two-hour ride right back down the coast. This time we got seats and sometimes, I admit, I closed my eyes around the bends because I thought I was going to die by plunging into the Mediterranean and I had already seen everything on the way up anyway :]

We accidentally got off the bus at the wrong train station but it didn’t matter because we were still able to get to Pompeii from there. While waiting for the train we met a college kid from Colorado who was backpacking through Europe for the summer—backpacking through Europe is the stuff dreams are made of. He was sort of lost and confused like we were and was also trying to get to Pompeii. He seemed very happy to have met someone else who spoke English. It seems like when you are in a foreign place, you become instant friends with anyone who speaks your language. When normally you would push pass strangers without taking notice, you suddenly are very happy to talk and tell them all about yourself—just because they can understand what you’re saying. So we talked to the backpacking college kid from Colorado and we all knew each other’s life stories by the time we made it to Pompeii :]

Pompeii is huge…and we only had an hour or two before we had to leave. If we ever make it back I’m going to leave a whole day just for Pompeii and do an audio tour so I know what I’m looking at. Here are some pictures:

{Cart tracks worn into the streets from the days when Pompeii was populated}

I used to want to be an archeologist thanks to Indiana Jones so Pompeii was like eye candy for me. So sad and yet so fascinating.

So that was our day in the Naples area. Next we were off to the beautiful island of Sicily…and I will tell you all about it on Monday.

Thanks for reading along. Ciao! ;]

If you missed any of the earlier posts in this series about Europe you can still read them here: Barcelona, Spain; Marseilles, France; Florence & Pisa; Rome, Italy.

Rome, Italy

Posted on June 26, 2013 by Kari

After chasing trains all over Pisa and Florence the day before, we were happy to be taking a guided tour of Rome. We met up with our group in Civitavecchia and took the hour and a half bus ride into Rome. We had our first real Italian coffee at a stop on the way in. Our guide, Giovanni, told us about the different kinds of coffee and what he would pay for each—and told us not to pay more than he would even though we were tourists. We got a cappuccino that was perfectly sweet and strong and I think I’m going to have to invest in an espresso machine now that I’m always craving all the good coffee we had overseas.

Once our bus arrived in the city we picked up our second guide, Valentina. We needed two guides: one to do the talking and the other to protect us from the Roman moped drivers. No kidding. There are about 15 gazillion mopeds in Rome and most of them are trying to run over tourists. I mean, I don’t blame them…it must be kind of annoying when a whole mob of foreigners are trying to cross the street together and are walking really slowly snapping pictures while traffic gets backed up…but let’s be kind and not smoosh each other into the pavement, okay? Okay. I don’t think Giovanni got paid enough to walk out in the middle of the busy streets with his back to the traffic just so we could cross alive…but it was nice of him either way.

{A Roman driver plotting our demise}

Traffic aside, Rome is majestic. Every time you turn around there’s something else to see. It’s incredible to stop and think of the history this city has seen and still has written all over it today. Rome is alive. Many of the places we went felt a little touristy and contrived—like they used to be something but are now used only to relive distant memories of a place that once was. Rome isn’t like that at all; it’s vibrant and bustling with both the people who live there and the tourists who travel great lengths to see it.

We wound through one perfectly picturesque street after another and added our footsteps to the story Rome tells.

We saw so many things—the Trevi Fountain and the ruins of the Roman Forum. Aventine Hill where you can see the Imperial Palaces. The Circus Maximus where chariot races were held…

We went by the Tiber River and walked around the Arch of Titus and all through the Colosseum—and jeez, I thought my head was going to explode from sensory overload.

After all that we walked to St. Peter’s Basilica and if the church wasn’t impressive enough, we got to see Michelangelo’s Pietà. The whole time I was standing there looking at it I was thinking, holy cow, Michelangelo did this when he was 23. I’m 27 and I’m still a loser. Oh well.

The Swiss Guards who protect the Pope. Nice pants, boys.

Our day in Rome was one of my absolute favorites. There’s just no place like it, so busy and alive and full of history too. I hope my coin in the Trevi Fountain works because I would love to go back someday. I picked up a little toy Vespa while we were over there to remind me of the crazy Italian drivers and the busy Roman streets filled with people living and breathing and adding their footsteps to the pages of the Eternal City.

Next we were off to Naples, Pompeii, and the Amalfi Coast.

If you missed the earlier posts in this series about Europe, check them out here: Barcelona, Spain; Marseilles, France; Florence and Pisa.

Florence & Pisa

Posted on June 24, 2013 by Kari

We spent most of our time in Europe exploring different parts of Italy. We had one day to hit both Florence and Pisa…and what a day it turned out to be.

We decided to start with Pisa but getting there took some work. First, we took a shuttle to the bus station. We needed to take the bus to the train station but since it was Sunday the buses weren’t running as often as they normally do. People started getting fidgety when the bus wasn’t coming because they didn’t want to miss the train. Some people decided to walk to the station, some pooled their money and took a taxi, we decided to wait. The whole time we were standing there waiting I just kept thinking, “I’m standing in Italy, I’m standing in Italy.” I had dreamt of that moment for so long—it was incredible watching it unfold.

In good Italian time the bus rolled in and we actually ended up driving right by the people who decided to walk to the station–patience pays off, my friends :] We really didn’t know what was going on with tickets so we just told the crabby man behind the counter what we were trying to do and bought the tickets he gave us.

After that we had to figure out how to validate the tickets and find the right platform to wait for the train. We rushed around, asked lots of questions, consulted with other people who spoke English and were trying to do the same thing, and finally settled on where we needed to be. Once we were settled in they announced the train would actually be arriving at a different platform so we all rushed back into the station and started over. The good news is, we did get on the right train in time :]

The train ride into Pisa was about twenty minutes long and I enjoyed every minute. We rode through the Tuscan countryside and even though I was dead tired, I couldn’t close my eyes for one minute for fear of missing something. Riding the train was perfect. I didn’t take any pictures or worry about a thing. I just sat there and watched the hills and wheat fields roll by while a dream that has lived in my heart for so long slowly came true.

We were told Pisa was a little place overrun with pickpockets and nothing to see or do but stop by the Tower. I would have to disagree. The streets were perfect Italy–exactly what you would picture in a postcard. I wanted to stop at every alley and take a picture of just one more perfectly enchanting little street.

We didn’t really know how to get to the Tower and there weren’t very many signs pointing the way so we just kept wandering in whatever general direction other people seemed to be going. At one point we were sort of lost when I turned around to the Tower peeking up over the buildings and leaning right in our direction. That moment will live in my heart forever.

I have to admit, I didn’t really want to see the Tower. I thought it was too touristy and I wanted to spend the whole day in Florence. But I’m so glad we decided to go because Pisa and the Tower were so much more beautiful and inspiring than I ever imagined. I used to think if I had seen a picture of something, then I was good, I had seen it. The Tower of Pisa changed my mind about that.

After taking pictures at the Tower, we started making our way back to the train station. It started to pour and we huddled under an umbrella and wound through the streets. Walking the streets of Italy snuggled up under an umbrella with Darren is just about as close to perfect as I can imagine.

I swore I wasn’t going to bring any touristy little nick-knacks back with me but I have to admit, a little Leaning Tower of Pisa did make it onto my desk. It was just too cute to leave behind!

We wanted to try real Italian pizza so we grabbed a couple of slices to eat on the way to Florence. We sat on the curb at the station and ate up while we waited for the train. We had lots of pizza in Italy but the stuff we tried that first day in Pisa was the very best–soft and airy–almost pastry like. I sit around and dream about it now :]

The train ride to Florence was another hour and a half but equally beautiful. We wanted to see the Duomo and actually saw the top of it sticking up over the building as we pulled into the station. Well, that should be easy to find, right? Wrong. We walked out of the station and managed to get lost immediately. Unfortunately we had spent more time in Pisa than we intended and we only had a couple of hours left for Florence before we could catch the last train out. Getting lost was eating up our time and we were both a little frustrated.

We did learn something though, when all else fails, find a street buried in touristy nick-knacks and follow the crowd…this leads you to a landmark every time :] We went down a street full of shops and could see the Duomo poking up over the buildings in no time.

I had absolutely no idea how beautiful the Duomo would be. I know I keep saying that about everything, but you really can’t imagine what it looks like until you’re standing right there. It was incredible. I must have taken 100 pictures of it and none of them capture what it really looks like.

Of all the places we went, Florence is the one I wish we had left more time for. But I tell Darren this just means we have to come back someday :]

Our time was up as soon as it started and we begrudgingly made our way back to the station. We had been very careful to leave extra time so we wouldn’t miss our train but once we got to the station we couldn’t find it listed anywhere on the schedule. We asked someone working there if the train was still coming and she assured us it was. We waited right up until the train was supposed to be there and still nothing.

Darren decided to ask again and figured out the train we needed was actually listed under a different name…just in time for us to watch it pull away without us. Our only other option (save a very expensive taxi ride) was to take the train back to Pisa and then on to Livorno. We had just a couple of minutes to find the right platform before this train left too. We made it on breathless and worried about getting back before the buses and shuttles stopped running for the night. Not to mention we had no tickets for the train.

Honestly, that first day we had no idea what was going on. We told the attendant at the first station that we wanted a round-trip but realized later that he had only sold us a one-way ticket. So we rode the train all day not realizing that we could have been asked to get off or be fined had our tickets been checked. Fortunately, that day no one looked at our tickets like they did the rest of the time ;]

We didn’t make it back in time to catch any buses or shuttles but we weren’t the only ones. We met a couple our age from Istanbul who wanted to share the cost of a taxi with us. Normally we wouldn’t take a taxi with strangers but they seemed as tired and befuddled as we were so we agreed. On the way to the taxi stand we snagged another couple from Peru to help cut the cost even more.

All of us started talking about where we’re from and what we do. It came up that I grew up in Missouri and one of the guys wanted to know what part. I told him Kansas City and he told me he grew up in Missouri too…and his parents still live in Joplin. I was like, “What the heck, my parents live in Joplin too.” What are the odds of meeting someone in Italy whose parents live in the same little Midwest town as yours? I guess they aren’t kidding about that whole small world thing.

Anyway, that was our first exciting, stressful, exhausting, perfectly imperfect day in Italy. Sorry I didn’t have more pictures…it was so overcast and rainy, it was hard to get any good pictures 😦

Next up: ROME!

If you have missed the earlier posts in this serious about Europe, you can still check them out here: Barcelona, Spain and Marseilles, France

Outside Air

Words from a Wildflower

Tag Archives: Italy

Wild Flowers

Overflowing.

Venice, Italy

Taormina, Sicily

Pompeii & the Amalfi Coast

Rome, Italy

Florence & Pisa

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