NOTE: Do you like NyQuil cup-sized portions of lukewarm soft-drinks served at room temperature? Well, then Europe just might be for you.
DOES TRAVELING MAKE YOU MORE/LESS OF A JERK?
So question. Does traveling bring out the *best* in people, as they learn, humbled by the experience of new places, new sights, new sounds and new ways of doing things that reveal the myriad of ways there are for humans to exist?
Or does it bring out the *worst* in people, making them prissy, self-centered and frankly rather gluttonous tourists, who spend most of their time consuming and complaining?
OR IS IT BOTH?
At the risk of devolving into my worst self, let me complain a bit about our (wonderful) foray to Italy.
NOTE TO READER: I will disclose that earlier, my wife told me that I was being “high-maintenance.” To quote James Acaster, ”never in my life have I been so offended by a statement that I one-hundred percent agree with.” Also, our traveling companions Ben and Jess (who live in Europe) gently informed me that “this is just summer in Europe” - which was their kind way of saying “Please get rid of your 21st Century Bay Area snobbery.”
I get it. I do.
But.
But. I do have to complain just a little bit.
Yes, Europe is amazing. It has
All the history.
All the art.
All the buildings.
All the food.
All the fashion.
All the beautiful languages.
But sweet mother of Melchizedek, Europe does NOT understand TEMPERATURE.
And dear reader, I swear to you – on the frosted ramen hair of Justin Timberlake circa 1998 – that nothing here - NOTHING - is the correct temperature.
ICE ICE MAYBE?
An example. Yesterday, it was 100 degrees in Firenze. 100 degrees. (That’s 212 degrees Celsius).
Now, this is not normal. Typically, on average, the hottest that Firenze gets in summer is 77 degrees Fahrenheit (or –2829 Celsius). They’re not used to this kind of heat. And when your top temp is 77 degrees, installing expensive cooling units everywhere is impractical. Okay. I get it.
Also, this is an ancient city, with ancient buildings. And I am willing to concede that maybe my physical ideas about comfort are different than others. I prefer 68 degrees with a fan on me, at all times. Some people might call this “chilly” or “the settings for an average refrigerator” or “winter.” I just call it “a movie theater” or a “plane.” I get it.
But what is baffling to me – what I truly do not understand – is that in Firenze – this global, cosmopolitan city, famous for its leading role in the Renaissance, renowned for its learning and art - how has this bustling corner of humanity never heard of ICE?
There is no ice here.
None.
I don’t get it.
It’s 100 degrees out. You know you have to hydrate. And a cold drink just makes basic biological sense. I mean, even out on the Savannah, rhinos and zebras head for the watering hole in the heat of the day, right? Even animals know about cooling off.
But in Europe, in the middle of July, if you order a drink – let’s say a soft drink, like say, a Diet Coke, or maybe a refreshing Sprite – these Europeans will say, “It’s 100 degrees outside. I’m going to assume that you want that drink lukewarm, served in a warm glass with no ice.”
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why would you think that, Italy? Refrigeration is a thing. Freezers are a thing. Water in its solid form is a thing.
With the scarcity of ice around Europe, you’d think that the only way to obtain it was to travel by boat to Norway, and harvest it, like the folks at the weird, non-sequitur opening of the film Frozen.
“Sorry, we’re out of ice. The shipment of giant frozen blocks that we import daily from the Nordic states was delayed.”
I just don’t get it.
Do people in Europe like warm drinks? Do they sample a beverage and say,
“You know what would make this Fanta better? If it were tepid!”
Is it some sort of psychosomatic thing? By drinking only warm beverages, do they somehow trick themselves into thinking it’s not that hot outside? Is it like smoking on a hot day?
Maybe, if I put some fire close to my face quickly, then when I remove it, it’ll feel cooler?
I know I’m being culturally snobbish, and there is much in Europe that I deeply appreciate and want to emulate and incorporate into my life upon return.
But icelessness is NOT one of them.
<end/rant>
DECORUM AT THE DAVID
Okay, one more thing to point out and I promise I am done whining.
In many of the cathedrals in Italy, there is a dress code.
I did not know this until I got here. The rule is, you cannot have your shoulders or your knees showing. This rule takes so many visitors by surprise that street vendors have popped up around places like the Vatican and the Duomo selling large scarves for about $10 that can serve as a makeshift pashmina or perhaps an impromptu sarong.
Also, Makeshift Pashmina and Impromptu Sarong would both be excellent names for a punk rock band.
I even saw this vending machine, where for a mere $2, you can buy a paper poncho which looks to be made from the same material as dryer sheets, but is just translucent enough to count as a covering for a sacred space.
Shown below: the gowns sold by these vending machines.
Shown here: a girl in one of these vending machine paper gowns. FOR DECENCY!
Now, I realize, I am walking on thin ice here, but as I’ve already established, Europe doesn’t know anything about ice, so I’m going to forge forward.
This strikes me as odd for two reasons.
First, it only applies to the ladies.
My friend Ben and I have been walking around all of Firenze and no one - not one single person in a position of formal authority or otherwise – has approached us and asked us to cover up our shoulder or our legs. Not one.
And let me tell you, Ben and I are *definitely* showing off our legs. We have been wearing shorts the entire time. Mainly because it’s 100 degrees (roughly 1.20303 degrees Celsius).
Our knees? Our knees have been uncovered and unencumbered. Our knees have been out for everyone to see.
For three solid days now, Ben and I have basically been Italian knee whores.
We are knee whores, Ben and I.
And nobody said boo to us.
For further proof, I submit this photographic evidence. As you might imagine, the line to get into the Duomo was quite long. I snapped a pic of these two gentlemen ahead of us in line.
Some points to consider:
The young boy is wearing a Pau Gasol jersey from when he played with the San Antonio Spurs spurs late in his career. An odd choice.
The man in this picture is clearly a Laker fan. He was wearing all purple and gold, including yellow Laker shoes, Laker shorts, a yellow Laker jersey - but I will have you know, that is a purple Minnesota Vikings hat. Correct color. Wrong sport, entirely. Although technically, the Lakers did move from Minneapolis to LA, so maybe it’s a distant throwback.
And finally, these two males are wearing NBA jerseys which show a great deal of shoulder. Now far be it from me to shame anyone on here, but neither of these two men have their shoulders covered AT ALL.
Shown above: clearly some shoulder.
Thirdly, and this is probably my strongest argument, for all the talk about decorum around here, the majority of the time here in Firenze involved us standing around in museums which prominently featured….
uh….
….shall we say male members.
Let me be blunt.
There are a lot of marble penises here in Firenze.
Like, a lot.
A whole lot.
Of.
Penises.
In fact! The *most* famous work of art that people travel hundreds – if not thousands – of miles to come see, is a statue who is not wearing any pants at all.
No pants.
Just like Donald Duck, The David is pants-less.
Nude.
Nekked.
Au Natural.
Here’s David’s backside.
Those buns are chiseled.
Literally.
And let me tell you, because I saw it with my own eyes, The David is not wearing MORE clothes around the front. This is a 17-foot statue, people. His hands are more than three times the size of a normal human’s hands.
Which means….
Using math and ratios….
That - ahem - other parts are also three times the normal size.
And this is on display! For the viewing public!
Do you see that woman in front of me, holding up the digital camera? Yeah, well. That picture is most definitely NOT rated PG.
Unless PG stands for Penis, comma, Giant.
My point is, all of the “all you ladies, be sure to cover your shoulders and knees as you look at giant naked statues” seems a bit hypocritical, if you ask me.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are still some people out here in Firenze who haven’t yet seen Ben and my knees, so…
They let men wear hats?! I thought that was a sin. Maybe that's why it was so hot: divine retribution for so those hats.