The past month has been a complete whirlwind, so I'm not even sure where to start on this long-overdue post.
My first week in London consisted of never ending flat viewings. I saw some of the grimiest places you could ever imagine, all asking a fortune in rent of course. Just as I had lost all hope, I found a room larger than a shower, that didn't have mysterious stains or odors, nor did it have children running around it (no joke, that happened twice). A good flat for a low price is hard/impossible to find here, so I snatched it up asap.
While enduring this debacle, I was staying in a lovely Georgian terrace house in Islington with several wonderful men. I would give you the exact amount, however it seemed to change every night as the place turned into a bit of a youth hostel. Everyone was extremely welcoming and laid back, which helped at the end of all the exhausting days. So thanks guys!
A friend from Montreal arrived about ten days later. We took up a temporary residency in the grand Victorian Hotel Russell in Bloomsbury. Despite a quirky consierge, the hotel proved to be an excellent resting spot after touring all day and drinking too much all night. Our favourite part by far was the mysterious channel that played a black and white image of a man sleeping from about 3am on... One night there were two men in the bed. If anyone can explain what that was all about, I'm dying to know.
On my last evening in London, before setting off to Italy, I dropped all of my belongings into the new flat, took one last look at the city's soggy gray streets, and took in a good two hour sleep before catching our flight. Landing in the sun and heat of Rome while still wearing a sweater and leather jacket, I felt like a bit of a idiot. How could I have forgotten that summer can actually be hot in some countries?! Silly me..
A blog post could never sum up Rome, so I'll just say the city gets better after every visit and is very difficult to leave. I may have gained ten pounds or so and killed a ton of braincells thanks to the abundance of amazing food and wine. But it was all worth it. At the end of every three hour dinner in some street-side osteria, I realized that this is how to enjoy life!
Following Rome, I left on my own to Venice. Never having been there, and being clever enough to not bring a map, I got thoroughly lost my first day and wandered in circles around San Marco for hours. The next day I snuck onto a waterbus and made my way over to the Venice Biennial. I'll post an article on that later..
Following two 8 hour days at the Biennial, I was exhibited out and needed some wine. I met a few people in my hostel, and we set out to find some local nightlife on a Tuesday night. A nearby piazza hosted a tango night, where neighbors put on their best dresses and precariously high heels and tangoed to music blasted from a boombox. Those participating were clearly experienced, and loving every second of it. Between tango songs there would be a pause to switch partners or take a break. In that pause, the 'dj' hilariously decided to play Spice Girls classics. Not sure if they saw the humour in that... After enviously watching these semi-pro dancers, we went off to a small bar down one of those impossibly narrow streets. They served wine in mini glasses for 90c. In London, 90p wine would taste like cat piss, and probably would be just that. But here it was delicious.
The next day, needing a change from all the Titians and Tintorettos, I wandered over to the Peggy Guggenheim Collection. The collection is stunning, obviously, and so complete- she followed the avant-garde movement from beginning to end. Refusing to partake in Pop Art, she stopped collecting once her favourite movements (and artists) died off. Such a kooky figure, she is buried with her dogs in the sculpture garden.
I took the advice of a friend who had lived in Venice and went to Vino Gia Schiavi, a bustling little bistro where locals dined on wine and mouthwatering cicchetti along a quiet canal. I couldn't read the labels for each dish, but I assume it had tuna in it. Or something that tasted like tuna anyway... The setting was perfect, so I sat in a park across the water from it and sketched for a couple of hours. Following some gelato and a long walk along the water, I then went back to the tango piazza and read under a cafe's umbrellas until I had to catch my flight back to freezing London. Standing waiting for my bus at Liverpool Street Station at 2am, shivering, with a trouserless tranny next to me and some drunk tourists making out on the steps behind me, I questioned why I left Italy exactly... I think I could learn to love Burlusconi and his henchmen quite quickly.
