Guildford, England

Guildford, England? Where am I? Hmm.. about 40 minutes south west of London that's where. I found myself in a small university town visiting my friend Matt who I'd met over the summer in Ottawa during my working experience at the hostel. Away I went on the train to begin my reunion. I've grown quite accustomed to the train and can now forge some decent sleep on it, so now, I often look forward to it.

There wasn't much going on in this little town, especially so as we were tucked away up on a hill hidden in amoungst the University buildings in a quaint Residence. It was weird to find myself on campus again and gave me a bit of a sickly feeling in my stomach because it had reminded me of all of the years of academic incarceration that I'd put myself through. One thing was forsure, after hearing everyone talk about mid-terms, essays, and master thesis's I was glad that I'd gotten that part of my life over with... for the time being at least.

Matt did his best to entertain me but I'd arrived in one of my classic moods... you know... tired, cranky, whiney... what a strong man he must have been to put up with the likes of me. Thanks for that. I just wanted to sleep and that I did. We did the campus tour and checked out some of the local drinking establishments. The University of Surrey Campus was dead considering it was Easter break. We had some pints, brushed off some very arrogant Physics Phd students which we could have done with out, watched some films and eventually ventured out into the bustling downtown centre of Guildford.

On our way we had checked out a castle that was way up on top of the hill. I fancied the chains doubling as a door way at the top and the bars everywhere... felt like I was in some sadists home, but my delusions were put to rest when Matt told me it was probably all just to ensure the Pigeons don't fly into the castle... blah. Anyway I took the usual touristy photos as the castle gave a nice view of the city and for a moment I imagined being held captive up there... I didn't have the long braids to have my knight in shining armour climb up to save me though, shouldn't have cut my hair.




Two main streets, that's it, but it wasn't a bad place. I rather liked it there. It had all of the amenities, most importantly, hug cups of coffee -- wheeeeee. Being a bit of a tea man Matt looked a bit frightened by his massive cup of coffee that was so big it had 2 handles on the cup...


I had been able to get caught up on some old times with Matt and we checked out some book shops and I'd gotten some major writing out of my system over the massive cups of coffee that we'd found. All in all, Guildford was a nice break from the bustling cities that I've been in on this trip and allowed me to step away from the well worn backpackers trail to catch some of the life in England and meet an old friend.

Liverpool, London

She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah... oh England! oh Liverpool! Okay, so I really was a tourist this time around. After my very moving experience in Berlin I had decided that it was time to do something fun so, it was my love of the Beatles that had brought me here. The entire experience is surreal to me, even still. I landed in John Lennon airport! I think I was more excited about that than anything else on my first day. I kept asking people if the airport really was named after John...it wasn't until I saw the sign that I would actually believe it.

I was floored. Everyone in Liverpool had received me so well. People were so helpful and out going it was like I had been trasported back to Italy -- okay, may be not, but it was nice. Eventually I found my hostel and it was exactly what I needed. A big old house that was let out to hostellers and it was run by a father and son. The walls were welcoming and it had satisfied my need to be 'home'. I was quick to get going on my tour, as the owner shared my enthusiasm for the Beatles...so off I went.




My first destination was the Beatles museum called, The Beatles Story. In my hunt I had found myself wandering down near the shores of liverpool and even thought that I had an Elvis sighting. I thought it strange to have found Elvis in Liverpool but everyone wants to be close to the beatles... upon closer examination though I'd discovered that Elvis had eluded me and it was just a look alike. After my faux Elvis sighting I made my way into the museum just in time. I had found myself absolutely awestruck as I wandered the halls and rooms of this museum that had brought the beatles back to life for me. It was amazing.



The last part of the museum meant the most to me, it was entirely dedicated to John and his relationship with Yoko. There was his white grand piano in the white room and photo's of he and Yoko. I couldn't escape the room, it had captured me entirely... so much so that I had been ushered along by one of the workers reminding me of closing time...I was mesmorized by what John had stood for in his later years and touched by the love that I could only assume he and Yoko shared. Truth be told, after I left the museum I felt a bit saddened and wondered if I'd ever find my Yoko (the male version of course).

Next stop, The Cavern Pub. After my week of shunning alcohol I decided that it was imperative to have a beer at the Cavern where my beloved Beatles had a pint or two in there day. I wandered around the street and read the stones in the wall dedicated to the Beatles and marvelled at the sculpture of John Lennon outside of the Cavern Pub. While I was admiring the memorbilia I had overheard the door man at the Cavern Pub turn away 4 well dressed women saying that they were full -- it was only 6 pm. I felt rather disheartened and disappointed.

I decided that I wouldn't let that rain on my parade and then decided to check out the other places...but something pulled me back and I mustered up the motivation to ask the door man if I had heard right and if he really was full... he motioned me in. I was estatic... though keeping my cool on the outside. I thought it was quite amusing that I was ushered in considering that I had my usual backpacking clothes on and these women were done up to the nine's. I didn't question my luck and quickly went down the stairs to see what I'd come to see.


The place was so full that I had no idea what direction the bar was at I actually had to ask. There was a live band playing on the small stage just in front of a glass enclosure containting a drum set of the Beatles and the mood in this small basement pub was simply beyond words. The music was loud, beer was flowing, and everyone was smiling...I found my spot in the crowd and would find myself not long after dancing the night away. Yes, me... dancing. I tell you, there was something magic about being in there...oh what a night!

The next day there was one more thing that I needed to cross off of my list... there was this beatles tour. Our tour guide drove a mini van, had red hair, and told tasteless jokes but he did offer amazing sites and stories. We drove and I felt ever so stalker like...driving by the former houses of the beatles which were converted into museums, birth places, marriage locations, and the old neighborhoods that the beatles themselves had paid to restore. It was just so beyond me to be seeing the places that the songs were about... Strawberry Fields, Penny Lane, Elenore Rigby's grave... Lime Street, wow.























So Liverpool... the hostel had everything that I had needed and so did the city. It had been so long since I'd seen the water and here I found myself in a port town -- the company that actually behind the titanic still on the shores. The city was full of life and most importantly, English speaking people. I had found my share of organic shops, good pubs, and good people. I kinda like it here...

Berlin, Germany

German Wings... that was the flight company. I was solo now and thought I was going to die on my flight from Munich to Berlin, seriously. The plane would make sudden drops and quick sharp turns and my stomach would be up in my throat...suddenly I was having visions of Edward Norton in fight club and I wondered if the oxygen masks would make me high enough not to care that my plane was going down. It was all very dramatic for me and I couldn't wait for the flight to be over -- but even the landing was something else. We came in so fast that I thought we were going to overstep the run way. Needless to say, I was quite happy to be on solid ground. Welcome to Berlin.

Berlin was a suggestion of Megans and really, where else would I go if I was in Germany? My impressions of this city was that it was just so run down I couldn't see the beauty of it, as soon as I was there I found myself online looking for another destination to get me out of there. I was still feeling ill and longed for the comfort of the English language. After I had made the appropriate travel arrangements I decided to see what this city had to offer. My priority was to find some dinner.

Dinner... now realizing that I was in a country where sausage, potatoes, pretzels and beer were the main courses this would prove to be tricky. Still feeling ill, I really didn't have the stomach to think about beer or any alcohol for that matter and the sight of "curry wurst" (a sausage drenched in curry sauce) wasn't doing a whole lot for me. I had read about a falafel place that was to die for so this was my desitination.

I had left the hostel after dark in search of this place...didn't look far on the map. After a while I had suddenly felt as though I was back in Zurich on the hunt for the lindt chocolate factory. Eventually, about after an hour of walking I had given up and gave into my hunger. I was dead set on having falafel so I allowed one of the vendors to lure me in and ate perhaps the wurst falafel ever, but I ate it anyway... no wasting food mom says. The irony of it all? As soon as I got up to leave feeling unsatisfied and looking for something more to eat I looked just behind these awful street vendors and there it was, dada falafel the vendor I sought after. Feeling rather spiteful and still hungry I went over and ordered up a proper falafel and boy was it good... mmmm falafel. What a fatty I was.

My efforts to find the falafal place had paid off and I had met a local who had showed me around the city and had taken the edge off of what I had perceived as a cold boring city. He was an artist and he would allow me to see parts of the city that I would have never noticed. The first place he had taken me was this place called Cafe Zapata. Had I not done any reading about the place there would have been no way I'd followed him into there.

The Cafe Zapata, like the rest of Germany had a long history. It was a building that had been abandoned but saved by squatters just after the war. There was a dance bar in the basement along with a funky coffee/dining area -- but there was more. We had walked into the building and began to walk up the stairs, graffiti had lined the walls and it was actually a rather surreal experience. Each level opened up to a new world, one being an art gallary with some unique art, another level being a quiet candle it bar over looking the city, and yet another having an open area where a live band would be performing. The building was frequented by people of all ages and social classes, it was nice to see the unification.

We wandered around the city in and out of art gallaries and trendy cafe's for the rest of the evening. It was amazing to see the city through an artists perspective, it was refreshing. The next morning would however provide me with a perspective that wasn't so cheerful.

I'd been encouraged to go on a free historical tour offered by the hostel and I would not be disappointed. I am not a fan of tours, but with the limited knowledge that I had about Berlin I thought I could broaden my horizons with the help of a tour guide. The tour guide was genuine and the tour itself was moving.

The tour had provided me with a new understanding of Germany, Berlin, and the people that had inhabited this newly rebuilt, newly restructured city. It's difficult to believe that you are standing amoungst a city that was ruins not so long ago and even more so to be standing in a city that had been separated from the rest of the world by a wall. It wasn't just the wall, but it was the stories of escape and death that had accompanied the wall often motivated by love and a sheer determination to live a free life. Standing in the presence of the wall itself was a powerful experience.

Below are the contrasting photo's of both the German's happy view of communism verses the reality of it for the people it had directly affected. Most of the people in the black and white photo's were shot to death for protesting against the communist regime.

I had struggled most with the amount of death that had occured in this one city due in part to almost one person entirely and to be in the presence of where he'd given his famous speeches to his troops (below). I was perplexed as to how people could treat one another so horrendously. The most moving experiences was to be in the Jewish Memorial which had been recently built in the heart of the city purposively to remind the people of Berlin to never forget their history. The memorial was symbolic and represented the rise of the Nazi reign. It had blocks that were at first inlaied into the walking path and slowly they would come to rise above one another. It portray how the underlying hate was there lying dormant and how quickly hate could esclate without much effort. It was frightening to me.

I hadn't taken many picture when I was in Germany as it was an experience that I would not soon forget but I'll leave you with a few of the images that were the most powerful to me.

A man sitting on the Jewish People's Memorial

Remaining bit of the Berlin Wall

Freising, Germany

Germany? What am I doing in Germany? That's what I was thinking. Freising Germany lies just south of Munich Germany -- that's all I knew. Megan and I found ourselves there visiting a friend of hers, it was something that we had looked forward to. I had been still feeling the effects of Zurich so I didn't do much. They say Munich is a beautiful city, I couldn't tell you, because I didn't go. For the entire week after Zurich I felt ill. It wasn't a great time really, all I was capable of was sloth like behavour and I didn't move around too much.

Freising was however a cute little town. Admittedly though I was getting a little bit tired of cobblestone streets, cute towns, and foreign languages -- it began to seem like all of these places that I'd been were meshing together to create one cobblestone hell. Perhaps it was due to my being under the weather...may be it was just my frustration often being lost in translation. Whatever the case I took myself out for a walk to explore this quaint little town.

A town of bears. That's what Freising was. It was kind of amusing really. Large bear statues littered the town and each had its own theme. Outside of the cheese store there was the swiss cheese bear, outside of the police station the police bear, and the same goes with the bakery. I think my favorite bear was the gummy bear with gummies painted all over him and of course the bear with a big hole in his stomach. If only I had a huge hole in the place of my stomach to have all of the chocolate I'd eaten fall right through... if only.

That was about it for Freising. A little bit of relaxing and a lot of reading. If there is one thing to be remembered about Freising is isn't the bears for me, but the first town that I had actually read my first book from cover to cover in the run of a night... though the bears were quite impressive.

Zurich, Switzerland

It had been due to my adventure and her misadventure in Italy that had allowed me to meet up with Megan. I found myself having a diffucult time letting go of my experiences in Italy and even more difficulty trying to choose another country to visit. While Megan on the other hand simply didn't have things go her way in Italy and wanted to get out of Italy as soon as possible and hoped a flight to Geneva. We had been trying to coordinate a country to meet in for the past month and then without any effort at all we were both in the same place. Without any hesitation I had asked where she was off to and bought myself a train ticket, destination: Zurich, Switzerland.

The train ride to Zurich had turned out to be the train ride that I had imagined when I thought about travelling the rail system around Europe. There were rolling hills, the pastures were green, the houses that looked as though they were build into the hills, and there was a beautiful view out on to the water with snow covered mountains in the background. The rail seemed to be on the edge of the hills and at moments, and it was frightening to look out of the window for fear of rolling down one of those oh so pretty hills. Switzerland is certainly a country of beauty, but a strange one, nonetheless.

When we arrived in Zurich we booked ourselves in for 2 nights and were eager to see what this, the biggest "city" in Switzerland had to offer. The lonely planet had boasted of this city having an "electricity" in the air that was unmatched by all of Switerland so, we were off. Once we hit the cobblestone it seemed as though they must have been going through some huge power outage because not only did we not feel any of the "electricity" but the streets were dead.

Seeing the "sights" in Zurich had taken us a hefty 2 hours or so and that's when I began to wonder. I turned to Megan and asked if we had made a mistake by booking 2 nights, to which she replied in a consoling manner -- it's okay it really only like having one day because we arrived so late. Somehow that made me feel slightly better. There was however the rumour of a Lindt Chocolate Factory being in town so it left us with some hope for the city yet.

In the meantime we wandered the streets in search of dinner and a pub and found some eerie yet somehow playfully eccentric qualities of this strange little town. There was the skinned cat hanging on the wall over the fireplace of a coffee shop and of course the guy who walked up and down the street with a red shoe balanced on his head -- for no apparent reason (though, what would an appropriate reason be??) And there was of course the life size gnome that I had befrieneded.

The wide range of our discoveries in Zurich had also included some surreal signage and some rather disturbing graffiti. The first encounter of the very strange signage occured at the train station, I found myself bewildered when I had laid my eyes upon it not because I was wondering what product it was trying to sell but exactly what the King was doing to the Queen back there. It turned out to be selling... cigarettes, go figure. I guess even the King needs a smoke after getting randy with the Queen.

By the end of our first day... which was a long one. We had eaten dinner in a mexican restaurant and made a temporary home at the bar in an Irish Pub called Oliver Twist. We had come away from the pub ever so slightly twisted, curtosy of this cute little blonde bartender who after only 5 days on the job decided that didn't get paid enough to care. We hadn't paid a cent.

The next day was a painful one but with the lure of a world famous chocolate factory in the city we managed to eagerly haul ourselves out of bed at the crack of 1 pm. Megan and I had shared the idea that nothing was beyond walking distance had taken on more than we were willing to chew that morning. It seemed as though we were walking out into the middle of now where. We'd walked so far I think we had even left the city of Zurich. Finally after almost 2 hours of walking there it was, this huge Lindt gold chocolate bunny's head peering at us from around a building, and even more on the front lawn...oh what a sight.

As we sized up the building the scent of chocolate had filled the air, it was so intense it was as though you could taste it. After some careful navigation we spotted a tour bus with loads of old people and we tried to blend in and make our way to the sweet place we had sought after all morning, uh, I mean afternoon.

When we climbed the stairs to this chocolate heaven we saw people walking out with shopping bags full of chocolate, yes, bags plural. I didn't think it was possible to do this, but when we go into the entrance it became apparent to us, this was a chocolate grocery store -- it even had shopping carts! I couldn't believe my eyes. I'm not sure how long we were in there, but I'm sure it could have been much longer. It was surreal to find myself inside a Lindt Chocolate Factory in Switzerland...I had managed to limit myself to buying a few gifts and was outta there. My purpose for being in Zurich had been achieved.

In my mind our experience in Zurich was synonymous to that of Pinocchio's when he had run away to the Circus. In the end, Zurich had turned out to be a city of indulgences but one that could turn bad if you stayed there too long, so before we could grow donkey ears and tails we were outta there. Feeling a little fatter, a little hungover, and a lot happier to have moved on.

Mama Mia!

I've sat in front of this computer for days staring diligently at this screen in search of the words to describe my experiences in Italy. I've come to the conclusion that there are no words that could even begin to give what I had experienced any justice. It wasn't the trip itself, or the places that I'd seen but rather the culture that I had experienced and the people that I met that will allow this trip to be the one of the most memorable of my life.

My trips aren't usually based on sight seeing and don't often carry with them any kind of itinerary, but with this trip I had 2 specific things that I wanted to take in, the Sistine Chapel and the flowing streets of Venice, that was as far as my planning had gone. Okay,okay... admittedly, before to going to Italy I hoped for and envisioned a little Italian woman coming to my aid as I wandered around the streets with my backpack lost, hungry, and tired with the offer of a home cooked meal and a place to rest... perhaps a little far fetched, may be not.















Perhaps the best part of being in Italy was having friends to share the experience with. Not long after I'd arrived in Italy, myself and 2 other solo travellers would come to form a band of friends that had gotten along so well in such a short time that we could have easily been mistaken to have known one another for years. By the end of 3 short days in Rome we had a list of inside jokes of our own stupid admissions that was at least an arms length.

First there was Anna. She had carried a backpack so massive that she had to back into door ways and when possible unlatch the second door just so that she could enter a building or room. Her backpack, I'm sure, had rivaled her own body weight. She was from New Zealand and just finishing up a one year travel spree. Of course, we needed an xy to balance out the group, plug in Nihal the American, and then there were three. As it were, an odd bunch. Sounds like the beginning of a joke. So a kiwi, a canadian, and an american walk into a bar and... well, naturally they walk out quite drunk... or fleeing some overly aggressive, semi-scary, dirt bag Italian men on the prowl-- who would have thought claiming lesbian status wouldn't frighten them off... but that's another story.





Nihal was our leader -- we had dubbed him our alpha male. He never truly felt comfortable with the title, suggesting that he thought Anna and I could do more damage than he, if need be. Nevertheless, Nihal had brought us to all of the important sights, The Coliseum, the Vatican, Monuments, the ruins...he even provided nifty little read ups about them because he never left the hostel without having his trusty Rick Steeves guide in hand. He made seeing the sights worth seeing. I fear that if he hadn't been so keen on seeing the sights that Anna and I would have simply wandered around aimlessly and simply gotten lost in shops and markets.












Each of us did however have our turns navigating. I held the night shift, as it seemed I would come back to life as the sun went down. I was in charge of scoping out drinking and eating venues... which was fine by me. It was a job that I had taken very seriously... there was food and drinks at stake here. Of course they were rather amused with my diligence and snapped a photo of my cross referencing.



After 3 nights in Roma it was time to go forth, 3 nights being my usual limit per city. As it had turned out, Anna and I had gotten along so splendidly that we'd decided to see the rest of Italy together. Nihal had a friend fly in to join him in his adventures so we didn't feel bad leaving him behind. Besides, we suspect that he wanted to ditch us because because of our disbelieve in using the public transit system. We had him walk the entire city with us causing him to limp for the next few days.

Friday morning we had hopped a train and went to Florence which is in the Tuscany area. Unbeknownst to me, I thought Tuscany was a city not an area, and in another classic moment I had leaned to Anna and asked , "Why can't I find the city of Tuscany any where on the map?"

In the absence of Nihal we had spent our days just as I had suspected we would. Browsing markets, shopping, & eating. Perhaps our most favorite passtime in Florence was sitting on chruch steps in a Piazza drinking €2.50 bottles (yes bottles) of wine, eating figs & dates until the sun went down. One day we had even musterd up the motivation to march up a hill that had been listed in our guide book to overlook the entire city. It was emphasized that we must see The Duomo, the chruch Florence is famous for...We had stood up there briefly and not 30 minutes later found ourselves back on our church steps assuming our favorite position.




The next day, finally feeling the pain from our wine, we had crawled onto the train and headed to Venice. The train ride was painful and the mood was glum, as Venice would be our last trip together. Anna would be heading off to Ireland for some St. Patty's activites and I would be flying solo. Once we had arrived and saw the flowing streets of Venice we were overwhelmed by it's charm and it had breathed new life into us. How could you not get excited when the streets are rivers?? We were anxious to explorer!





Not much had happened in Venice, apart from getting lost on the walking pathes and island hopping -- though it was amusing to see traffic lights on rivers. If I had to sum up Venice in two words they would be; Beautiful and Expensive. We'd spent only one night in Venice and then the day had come that Anna and I would go separate ways. We had decided to have a ceremonial Gelato before parting and away we went.

It was strange to find myself on my own. What was even more strange was that I could go anywhere I had wanted to go but didn't have the slightest clue. On a whim and much deliberation, I had gotten on the train and headed back towards Florence. For the entirety of the train ride I felt as though I was watching my own life afar as I leaned my head on the window staring out in a daze, I wondered what was calling me back to Florence. I would soon find out.

I had often joked that nobody gets lonely in Italy, and I'll tell you this, I never once felt alone. As my time there had progressed so did my love for their culture and a curiosity for their language. Italians have by far the most patience of any culture that I've come across, in my own poor attempts to offer some of what I thought was the Italian language, most individuals had taken the time to correct my accent and allow me to begin my sentence all over again.

Florence is a place that could cause even the most impatient to sit back and take a look at what life can truly be like. The little town of Florence had opened up before my eyes, my favorite time of the day had been the mornings. It was idyllic to say the very least, and everyone and everything had come to life. Gates had been elevated each morning to reveal the shops that had been hidden in the walls of unassuming buildings, walk ways were swept, and tables and chairs had been placed out in the Piazza's with great care and the table tops were adorned with fresh cut flowers.

People greeted one another as just that, people. Businessmen to butchers, and police officers to shop owners eagarly professed their gratitude ever so gleefully for the beginning of a new day , Buongiorno! But it didn't end there, people were greeted with a kiss on each cheek and a genuine desire to speak with one another to inquire about what the day may bring them. And when all was said and done, often times departing also resulted in 2 more kisses followed by a Ciao! As often as this ritual had been repeated over the course of a morning each person was greeted as though it was the first person they had seen that day, there had not been any lack of enthusiasm.


The markets were an amazing sight to see, it was as though the crowds had creeped up and suddenly there was no room to walk. Fruit had flown through the air, bags whisked from vender to vender, money being passed around all the while keeping track of who's change was who's. Vendors shouted in their Italian tongue over to one another making what I can only assume were wise cracks and jokes, as they'd have time for a quick laugh while they wieghed in someones produce. I sat there and watched the vendors offer only their best fruit to the buyer, and if they didn't think the fruit was good enough, they'd take it back and send you to another booth where you would get the best. The sense of community and unity that I had witnessed at these markets was extraordinary.


Wandering the streets in Italy was like reading a good book, each corner turned brought forward a new adventure and could often times cause you to completely forget what you had just been thinking about. As it were, each corner turned had also brought you deeper into the mase of streets that is Italy but it didn't matter. Streets were littered with Gelato shops, Bakeries, and Shops dedicated only to candy and chocolate. If sweets weren't your thing, you could find yourself awstruck with the monumental architectural achievements equally spread out through the country. Buildings were made with such precision, bridges spawned houses on each side, and churches were so intricate and explicit with detail that they could lure even the unreligious inside of their wall for a quick peek.



The streets were often made of stones and had only enough width to allow a horse and carriage. The buildings were old and beautiful had still remained the cornerstone of any Italian village. They were unwavering of alley ways and and had nestled the small streets away from the rest of the world. The streets were close but not cramped, shadowy but inviting. Perhaps it was the hanging linens and clothes lines that had softened their appearance or the potted plants that sat on the window ledges, what ever it was words could not give it justice.


















Buildings often housed shops on the lower levels while housing entire families on the upper. When walking on the streets in Italy it is imperative that one not forget to look up, because it is only then that you will catch a glimpse of what it might be like to be a part of this great culture. If your attentive, you will catch unsuspecting people carrying on conversations from their windows or people hanging laundry from their windows. It was like being in a colony of worker bee's, everyone was doing something and I almost felt guilty just sitting there.


Thinking back to my arrival, I remember getting off of the train that night in Florence it was already dusk. I had hoisted up my backpack which seemed heavier than I had remembered it. I wasn't exacty sure where to go, but had an idea. I was heading back to a small shop where the owner had befriended Anna & I over Pizza and wine one night. I was unsure about how I would be received but as I walked around the corner into the entrance of his shop his face lit up and I knew then that I had made the right decision, -- Ciao bella! Put your bag down, put it in the back room, is heavy, no? You want drink? Coffee? No? Let's go.

Finding this peculiar leather shop was easy -- in hindsight I think that it was meant to find me. But it was Anna who had lead the way that time. She had been pulled into this leather shop like a fish on a hook, and without warning there she was standing in a shop adoring a green leather hand bag. I've never seen someone love the colour green as she had. Even though she had walked out sans hand bag we had walked out with something more valuable, a new Italian Amici. His name was Sacha.

Each day he wore a three quarter length dark plaid peacoat, black buttoned dress shirts with another dark shirt underneath that would peer through near his collar. He had softened this look with black casual pants and unassuming black shoes. His was a stout man, but not fat. His stature, may be 5'7. He had dark black wavy hair that was neither short nor long. His mouth was thin, his lips so fine that they almost looked as though they were drawn on. He had dark skin with an olive tint and eyes that were a deep brown. The entire look would be topped off with a pair of thick black rimmed glasses, the kind you might picture when thinking about Buddy Holly -- except these were the classy Italian version. His style of dress had presented him in an almost ambiguous and inpenetrable manner but I would come to see beyond his front and meet an extraordinary individual.

Coffee had turned into Gin & Tonics, and Vodka & Soda's, we didn't stray far from the shop -- close enough so that we could keep a watchful eye, even though there had been someone left inside working. He'd run in and out of the cafe, often times giving me his cigarette to hold and coming back out with a new drink or pieces of Italian cheese that he felt imperative I sample. In return, it was my responsiblity to make sure not a soul would enter his shop without my telling him. I couldn't understand this at the time. Worried about the shop in his absence we had finally returned, drinks in hand.

I found myself a spot behind the main counter enjoying both my drink and the free Internet and not any sooner did an American couple walk in. They didn't look like much to me but I'd gathered that they were in the shop the night before. When the taylor had returned, out of breath from running with the leather goods with a custom fur neck piece I still didn't think anything of it. But when when the couple couldn't be hassled to carry their goods home and would have them fed exed I began to get the picture. Also the huge wads of various currency that this man had hauled from this pocket helped clear things up for me. I've never seen someone carry that much money while out on a stroll.

After business was finished up in the shop it was shut down and it was time to take a stroll out to run some other errans before the days end. He explained to me as we walked through the tiny streets from shop to shop that he was a wholesaler, he needed to go to each shop to collect the days take. --Most people do it once a week, for me, my father is Jewish -- is in my blood to go everyday, no? If I don't go every night they spend and can't pay. As we walked around this tiny neighborhood and small maze of streets it became apparent to me that everyone knew who he was. They had addressed him as Grande Sacha and would shout out at him to make him aware that he didn't walk past unackowledged.

I had quickly realized that as I had trailed behind him that I was in partaking in the collection business, even if just in theory. Suddenly I began to be very aware of my waredrobe compared to him and felt underdressed, should I change? I asked. -No, is fine. Was his reply. I couldn't help but wonder what they thought about me and what the nature of my relationship was with him. At random times he would introduce me to his counterparts usually when they could no longer conceal their inquisitive stares. Otherwise, I would always just walk quietly behind him a pace or two and was usually seen but not heard as I had imagined that was how it was supposed to be. Every once in a while he'd turn back to ensure that I was still there.

After trodding along behind him while he had taken care of business he had suddenly paused and looked at his watch. He complained that it was too early for dinner -- it being only 7 pm, nevertheless he began to scan the piazza for a suitable restaurant. --What time you eat at home? 5... 6? Is too early. (9-10 pm being a suitable time to eat in Italy). After we'd chosen a restaurant we had found ourselves surrounded by all of the tourists who were also out for dinner. I found myself to be annoyed with them, at some point in the evening I somehow felt that I made the transition from traveller to that of a local, therefore I rationalized that I did hold a valid complaint.


Dinner was great. He'd ordered for me which was fine by me. The owner hovered around our table, happy to have us there...to have him there. Bottles of red wine were brought to compliment our meals as serenade's filled the background of the outdoor dining area with just the right ambiance. Vendors would approach our table with a bouquet roses, he would politley tell them Grazie and shoo them away until the poorest vendor would stop by and then he would indulge. He said he only liked to buy from the vendor who needed the money, and with that, he'd buy enough roses for each server and myself.

When dinner was done the owner didn't present us with a bill, rather a handshake and two customary kisses on the cheek to Sacha. We would later return to the restaurant and drop off a custom made white leather coat for the owners girlfriend to show our gratitude for the meal. Imagine.

Just when I thought the night was about to come to a close, it was now time to go out for some real drinks. This was the best part of it all. We had gotten into his small car and had whisked through the streets of Florence. It was thrilling, considering they were barely wide enough to contain 4 people walking side by side. The maze of streets had opened up before me bringing me back to the places that I had foot patrolled only a few days earlier, only this was much better. We would slow down in front of establishments that he knew, everything was owned by a friend of his.

Our destination, I don't even know the name of it, but boy was it posh. It was filled with people my age, except it looked as though they had just won the lottery and just came off of a runway somewhere. We had walked in like we owned the place, well... okay, he did and I had followed suit. I could feel their eyes on me and I could only imagine what they were thinking, but I didn't care and it didn't matter. I felt secure in his presence by then and didn't care the least bit that I wore hiking boots, old ratty jeans, a windbreaker, and sported no hair product, make up, or extensive jewelry. I knew that I was in a place where I could have never gotten into and loved being there even more for the reason alone.

We had stayed at this particular bar just long enough. Soon we would be in the car again and the night would begin to wind down. And without question he would drive me back to my hostel and ensure that I had gotten in alright. I would be dropped off outside of my hostel doors with a kiss on each cheek and a Ciao along with the promise of coffee the next day -- I see you at 9:30 tomorrow for breakfast? no?

Throughout this entire experience it wasn't the meals, the drinks, or the venues that had impressed me the most, rather to be in the company of a remarkable person and being priliged enough to really hear what he had to say. After our meals he would order some grappa and finally let the days troubles fall away. He loved to talk and had a kind sense of humour. Once he had fooled me into thinking that Grappa was water and said to have some, it would take the taste of my expresso away from my lips...he laughed at the face I made and then quickly finished it off himself.

He would often talk to me about his family, particularily of his father. Even though he himself was a grown main he looked up to his father as though he was still a child. He would use hand gestures to describe this ex-military man's broad shoulders and height. A man with both strong morals and good looks. He'd tell me about how his other siblings were all either doctors or lawyers and that it was only he who hadn't gone on to post graduate studies.

He didn't wallow in all of this, in any event he found humour in it all and it had in fact allowed me to see beyond his ambiguous and seemingly inpenetrable demenour. He would lose himself in childhood stories over our meals and laugh at the memories that he held of his mother always yelling his name first when something was found broken or done wrong.

When I was in his company I didn't say much, for one of the few times in my life I had listened. I listened as he told me of both his achievements and of his defeats. His stories brought forth a clear message for me; don't waste your time focusing on what others can do, but focus what you can do. After all, even if he was the smallest in stature amoungst his family and didn't have the prefix of Dr. in front of his name on the streets of Florence, he was Grande Sacha and everyone loved him.

My return to Florence had in effect provided me with what I had wished for. So it wasn't the old lady who would take me in off of the street to feed me and house me, but times change I suppose. In the end, I was sad to leave, but it was time to move on. I had expressed my utmost gratitude for everything that he'd done for me. In return he had replied, --ahh, is nothing...you know my father told me that if someone does something good for you, you do something good for 5 more people. That is all, you do this, no? And that was that.

I've thought back to my experiences in Florence time and time again and there are a few things that I wonder about Sacha... and I wonder what I was a really a part of on those evenings in Florence. May be we've all just overloaded ourselves with too many episodes of the Soprano's, then again may be not.