Day 6. 'Zaville.

We took a train down south to Naples for one reason and one reason alone: To visit the birthplace of 'za and to see if it really lived upto the hype.

Naturally, great conquests like this came at a price. Naples has a reputation for being a bit dodgy. We were warned often during our days in Italy, and sure enough, as soon as we stepped off the train we felt like a thousand leering eyes were making us walking targets. We found the hostel relatively easily. But it occurred to us rather soon that this was a much different city...

Trash everywhere. Everyone screaming. Bıkes whizzing by. No regard for calm and no hope to ward off confusion. As we were leaving the hostel, the dude warned lady luck not to bring her purse...As if it wouldn't even be worth it...It's bound to be snatched. So with the bare minimum of possessions we set out to find Da Michele, much regarded as the best 'za in all of Italy.

5 minutes later and we were in a lıneup and confused as all hell. A dude would come out with a ticket, give you one if you needed one and then call out random numbers. There was no line or anything, just a mass of people.

We stood around for half an hour, unsure of what the hell was actually happening. Folks were also coming out with takeout...Which line were we in? Damn. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Finally lady luck stepped upto the plate and went into investigate. It was a goddamn mad house in there. But we were told that we could get a takeout order in 15 minutes.

And 15 minutes later, we were standing next to the ovens, watching them toss 'zas in and out of the fire. Fire ovens. The only way to go.

We took our piping hot, greasy 'za out to the street with our bottles of beer. We ate like savages. And it was that good. I could have turned around and got right back on a train and had a good opinion of Naples.

But instead we pressed on, looking for a place to happen. Turns out Naples isn't kind to walkers. It's not an easy city to navigate and we found ourselves just becoming a small piece of the big frenzy.

Our stop for dinner was at Pizzeria Brandi, where Pızza Margherita was born. (And some argue the birthplace of 'za itself) We booked a table and we were the first ones in there for the dinner slot. Classy joint. And damn good 'za. Really. And there was some dude behind us who couldn't speak above a grumble. Very Italian, but we couldn't stop from laughing. Anyway. Well worth it. And check out that video for some authentic Italian-ness.

I'm torn as to whether or not I'd go back to Naples. I know I missed out on some other delicious 'za. Really. That really pained me. But it's too damn gooey. Eating more just bungs you up to the point of no return.

But the city ain't too charming. So I guess I'll have to think about it. Hunger though, that's a strong arm to wrestle. Damn it was good. And damn, I've got a lot to learn about cooking them 'zas.

"The apogee of pizza"





Friendly pizzialo's. Some might call them mentors.

After this, you can understand why I was chagrined about going back to Turkey and kebaps.

Roma...Days quatro and 5.

I'm feeling a bit hungover and lethargic so I can't be bothered to write a bunch on Rome. Actually, I feel kind of the way I did when we rolled into Rome.

After that gastronomic monstrosity whic was Christmas dinner, I felt a bit sluggish for most of our first day in Rome. It rained a bit at the Coloosseum, though that didn't really damper how fucking righteous the whole thing was. Really. I can't figure out that feeling you get when you approach another world monument...You know, Eıffel Tower, whatever. It's kind of a gigantic nothingness. Weird shıt.

Anyway, the Colosseum and the Forum were cool. You know, it's not those ancient ruins that get you. It's the ruins that lıtter the city that really blew me away. They're everywhere. I remember leaving and 10 minutes out of Rome, in the distance there was a soccer game. And dırectly behind that game, those scamps, was more ruins. Yeah, you get all kinds of crazy perspective.

We moved on throughout Rome and I was dragged my feet a little. We stopped for some pasta and went to a market. At one point lady luck stopped to take a photo of some Christmas wreath on a statue. Give me a break, I thought and rolled my eyes. The next thing you know, a crazy Roman driver whizzes by me and drives right through a puddle ın the process, leaving the entire left side of my body soaked.

It was all she could do not to laugh. But surprisingly, that whole thing lightened me up big time. We went to Pızzeria Baffetto, which most claim to be the best 'za in Rome. I've already told you that it was the best 'za of my life. So I'll tell you again that I lıterally got high from this 'za. More drinks and then to bed for an early day at the Vatican.

We arrived at the Vatican around 8.15 am. The lineup was already 700 strong (A rough estimate...Counting in groups on 10)

We found our way in there around 10.30...I guess it was cool, I don't know. The Sistene Chapel was pretty righteous. I got a kick out of all the dumb motherfuckers taking photos without trying to hide it, while there's some dude yelling at you in 30 second intervals "NO PHOTOS!"...."Oh, you mean I'M not allowed to take photos? Surely me, being a tourist and all, the rules don't apply, right?" Assheads. Anyway. We snuck a photo, the way you ought to.

Me and lady luck split up for the day...I took to the streets in search of a record store while she did the St.Peters Basilica. Good day. Very good day. Traıpsing around Rome under the headphones and a hot sun got me high again. The right on. Rome's the place to be.

We met up later and climbed this castle for the best view of Rome. By this point, we didn't want to leave.

For dinner, we followed one hell of a recommendation. While we were eating in Venice, I said something like "Damn, I don't wanna turn 30. That's too old for me." I went out for a Marly and returned to find this American family chatting up lady luck. Apparently they took offence to being labeled "Old." Hmm. Anyway, they told us about this restaurant in Rome that they'd saved a clipping about in the New York Times years earlier. They didn't remember the name of the joınt, but they remembered the name of the article. They didn't remember the street, but they remembered the area.

Anyway, we found the joint after killing time in a bar down the street first. (You know what's a sweet part of life? When you don't realize it's happy hour and you get yer bill. Awesome)

We were the first ones in this restaurant. Small joint, with angry old ma and pa running the show.

After the pastas (The best I had) she was a little nervous about ordering a meaty main. And then it happened, for her. She decided on sauteed veal with mushrooms. I'll never forget that look when she took her first bite. And damn she was right. She called it the best meal she's ever had.

More drinks back at the hostel with some Mexicans. Rome was ace. Everything. That's the city I'm still longing for. Damn the hours walking around, damn the sore legs, damn the tourists. What do they call it...The place to be!

Well then I shall be there.Early start in Venice.

Yes.

The fist with the thumb in as the Roman symbol for victory. Fuckin' Gladiators and shit. I don't think that light in the background is just a coincedence.

Nosehairs in the Colosseum.











Baffetto himself.





We were sat with this Spanish couple. That's how authentic the joint was. This is her, trying to explain why Spanish ham is the best in the world. Apparently they only feed the pigs acorns. I don't get it.

We had the best seats in the house.

NO PHOTO!

Lining up for Jeebus.

The best.

The best beards.

Italy days two and three...Venice...

Arriving in Venice is supposed t'knock you on yer ass, you know, aesthetically and all. I suppose it did, but after awhile. Granted, we were a little groggy after the train ride, but I still remember thinking that we'd have no chance of finding our hotel. For reals.

Anywhere you roll in Italy, you're bombarded with dudes selling useless trinkets. You know, leaning towers, fat mobsters, that kinda shit. But on coming out of the train station in Venice, I was hit with a million euro idea; sell compasses. You'd make a fortune. I kid you not, getting lost in Venice isn't so much an inevitability as it is a constant state of mine. You find yourself in these narrow little alleyways, with no common tower or anything to gauge yer dırection or even how far you've came.

The trade-off is that it's a righteous place to get lost in. Every turn more daunting than the last. Shit, it makes you use words like daunting for fuck sakes. Aesthetically, it was all that I'd hoped. We filled our days drinking cheap wine during pıt stops after being lost. I had the 3rd best 'za of the trip. On Christmas eve, lady luck convinced me t'go to midnight mass, cos we really had fuck all else t'do.

She thought it was a great idea. But I'd been on the piss all day, and by the time we fanagled our way into this monster of a church, I was long passed out on the shoulder of someone holier-than-I. But I suppose it's a sliding scale.

Christmas day in Venice was righteous on so many levels. It was our first blue sky of the trip, and that morning blue sky was exactly what I needed. Lady luck woke me around 9, after I'd gotten off the phone with the comrades back at Casa De Kesek around 4. Cool. We toured around on some boats for awhile; we were debating getting in a Gondola, but the fucking drivers kept calling me "Amigo!" I don't know if this is a new gig, but for the past year everyone thinks I'm of Spanish descent. But hey, they lost out on a prime fair. Plus, it seemed like only wide-eyed Asians ride Gondolas anyway. We rode some other boats, for a fraction of the price, froze our asses off and did just fine.

Then Christmas dinner came. We hadn't eaten mcuh all day (2 or 3 delicious paninis) in the hopesof gorging for Christmas dinner.

We found a joint that looked homely enough, complete with a waitress taking our orders with her baby on her arm. I asked if I could hold the baby, she obliged. Then, the REAL mother came dashing around the corner (Nothing daunting about that) and snatched the baby away. For that moment, I understood Italian.

"Maria! We're trying to clean up the homeless problem here in Venice! How dare you let my child mingle with trash like him! God only knows how much he's paying a girl like her to even sit at the same table at him." It was depressing. I regretted bringing my Italian phrasebook; it only brought me shame.

Anyway, I don't think she spat in our wine. But it lıkely wouldn't have mattered. We washed a litre of wine down with this Christmas Dinner-

2 salads.
2 pastas.
1 large 'za.
1 piece of veal.
1 steak.
1 bowl of strawberry ice cream.
2 glasses of lemon alcohol which we thought was to wash our fingers with.

We crawled home, enjoyed more wine and slept early. The train to Rome left at 6.43 am.

Venice is worth it. Apparently it's one of the three most-visited cities in the world; the fact that it's quiet enough in the morning to lıterally hear the sun rise over the canals makes things that much less daunting, and that much more righteous. Transcendence achieved.


A common pose for lady luck.

Obligatory photo of a young North American couple in Venice on Christmas.

Even Dali would get tripped out in a place like this.
She didn't know it was gonna be black pasta.
But I didn't give a shit.
But this is what we were bummed about, mostly.
Venice is as confusing as this sign.

More aesthetics.
That little dude is tired of arguing from behind the scenes.
Lonely Planet recommends....

Lonely Planet delivers...

Italy Day Uno...Florence...

There was nothing righteous about the beginning of the trip. We had to kill entirely too much time at both İstanbul's and Bologna's airports, until catching a 5.15 AM train to Florence, where we were to spend our first day/night in Italy.

The only real plus was the croissant I had as soon as we landed. Of course, they don't have croıssants in İstanbul. And of course, it was delicious.

Boarding the 5.15 train to Florence amidst hordes of dudes pissing on the tracks felt right in so many ways. I suppose it actually felt more comfortable than right. It hadn't been that long since me and lady luck rode the rails in the hopes of escape and discovery. At least the 5.15 train from Bologna to Florence was comparable to the shit trains in Poland. Sort of eased me in and all.

I grabbed the first bit of sleep I had all night but soon found myself in Florence. It was almost half past 6 by this poınt, but for some reason there was no sign of the sun. Absolutely nothing. Kind of freaked me out.

We left the station around 7.15 after getting some help from a fucking friendly train dude. He saved us lots of cash. Awesome.

We wandered around 'til 8 or so. Still no sun. Really weird.

Finally found our hostel and slept 'til 10 or so. Hit the town under a bit of rain and some clouds t'boot. To the city center, where I was surprised t'see how many pizzerias there were. Really. Why was I surprised? You'd think it was some kind of sacred art over here but it almost cheapened it, I thought.

Anyway, the city center was righteous. The Duomo, the world's first dome, apparently. You mean to tell me that never before in the history of mankind, no one made a semi-circle? Apparently not. I wasn't about to doubt Lonely Planet this early in the trip.

It was a pretty righteous spectacle and walking around all wide eyed and wide mouthed made me hungry. We used a Lonely Planet suggestion and stopped in at a Panini Bar. "A local institution" (There were a lot of those)

Anyway, I think these panini bars were the best food I ate the entire trip. Just stop in at any hole in the wall, have a small glass of house red and fresh mozzarella and prosciutto packed between even better bread. I started my day with one of these and I'd continue to for the rest of the day.

We continued on towards one of the city's many bridges. Lots of overpriced jewellery but good photos nonetheless. Aesthetıcally, Florence has it made. Which makes sense, considering how many art museums and dudes in Berets there were. After the bridge we stopped for 'za and tomato soup (And I quote..."I don't know what they put in there...But it tastes exactly like it's supposed to taste") and headed out to find Michaelangelo's "David".

It wasn't all that hard to find the museum, considering it wasn't all that well-hyped or labelled. Kind of a hole in the wall. Anyway, soon enough, I'm looking at the statue, knowing how important everyone thinks it is, but I'm still no sure how t'feel.

Simply put, I couldn't take my eyes of his hands. Man, that fucker had some monsters. Really disproportıonate to the rest of his body. But cool t'see. If yer tired enough, and you allow yer mind to wander, the statue starts to bob and weave like Cassius Clay. But I was really tired.

From there, we headed up to the top of some watch tower to get a view of the city. 414 steps, which doesn't sound all that impressive now. But it was. Good views, even worse tourists up there. But really awesome views. From the top, I realized that that was the best part of traipsing from city to city. Just getting up and getting higher. It's as terribly cliched as people think it is; but we all know that we love taking part in cliches. Anyway, felt good up there.

But I wondered what else there was to see as well. So we checked out a meat market, and I realized how much I missed pork. Damn. I bought an 8 euro hunk of salted, cured pork and carried that fucker around with me for the rest of the trip.

It must have been dark by then. So we looked for dinner. A Ma and Pa joint served us lots of house wine, salads an righteous pastas. Then more wine. Then some dessert. Our waiter had a lazy eye and kept saying "Don't mention it". So we didn't...But damn was that eye lazy.

Anyway, we called it delicious after a few more glasses of wine and prepared for our early trip out to Venice.

Pork. Awesome.