Belllllliiiiiiisssiiimmmaa!

I was going to wait until after I got back from Italy for this one, but I just couldn't. The awkward saga of Nicole Gulotta is far from over...

I arrived at my Florence hostel around 11:30 pm on Saturday night after having taken a metro, a train, a plane (where they had made me check my regulation sized carry-on bag), a coach bus, and a regular city bus. The regular city bus had been a little confusing, but I managed it after being helped by a very kind young woman who had witnessed me attempting to put a coin in the slot where your bus ticket is supposed to go. She helped me find my hostel and I was buzzed in. Upon arriving, the very confused hostel employee asked me when I had made my reservation, as he had no record of it. I gave him my piece of paper that proved I was staying there. He glanced at it, looked back up at me, and said, "Nicole, this says February 22nd, and it's the 21st." He then went on to explain to me that he didn't have anything open that night. As I was visibly distraught, he calmed me down and told me to try the hostel one floor above this one. Luckily it had a bed in a room that contained two Japanese boys who were sleeping with the lights on. While I found this odd, I had no complaints.

The next day I awoke, had breakfast, and had a brief conversation with a hostel employee named Kujtim (I know; it's almost impossible to pronounce) and his friend Sally (male). They were playing copious amounts of Mariah Carrey and trying deliberately to make me tragically confused by responding to all of my questions with obvious lies. They then gave me a map and I left. This, however, was not the last I saw of them.

Throughout the day, I had some time to kill before Evan got back from Prague so I went to the Uffizzi Galleries, a huge museum filled with Renaissance art. I also found this little Carnivale parade that featured lots of people from different countries, mostly in Latin America. The spectators were by and large little kids with their parents and most of the little kids were dressed in some sort of Halloween costume and throwing lots of confetti. But despite the costumes and the music and the dancing, the most interesting aspect of this particular parade was the old woman sitting next to me. We were sitting on the base of a really old looking ionic column with a pretty decent view of the parade when a few younger men came and stood in front of her. Now in New York, when you're leaning against or sitting on pretty much anything to watch a parade and someone comes and stands in front of you, you're out of luck. Any verbal attempt to remove the obstacle blocking your vision would be met by either apathetic stares or the requisite "fuck you," so generally you say nothing. Not so if you're a little old Italian lady. After a stream of angrily uttered, unintelligible words, the men responded apologetically and moved out of the way. Later, one of them lit a cigarette. The woman swatted at the air with a look on that suggested someone had just shoved something rotten into her face. She eventually repeated her angry rant, and the men moved down so as to keep the cigarette smoke out of her face. Again, in New York a similar rant may have resulted in a violent verbal exchange followed by something to the effect of "then why don't you stand the fuck up?" Apparently in Florence, the little old lady is not one whose aggravated bursts are ignorable.

In the event that my cell phone wasn't working or that Evan couldn't get through to me, I was supposed to meet him in front of the Duomo at 7:45. I was early, so I just chilled on the steps and people watched. At one point a dog ran by, and I looked up and accidentally made eye contact with its owner. This proved to be a huge mistake. The man looked at me, stopped, backed up a bit, and started talking to me in rapid fire Italian. When it surfaced that I didn't understand, he switched to English: "Would you like to take a coffee?" I explained that I really didn't have time because I was waiting for my friend. This was followed by "Can I know you? I mean, I don't know you but can I know you?" I was clearly confused by the significance of this question, so he switched gears. After learning that I was from New York, he preceded to tell me all about his experience staying with relatives in "The Queens," about his job with General Electric, his study abroad experience in Copenhagen, and many other facets of his life in a fashion almost as if he were reading it off an index card. He then asked for my phone number, but I refused and reminded him I was only on vacation for a few days and that I was waiting for my friend. He bid me farewell by attempting to kiss me on the lips, missing only because I turned my head. He then said, "Goodbye," and then more quietly "I want to bite your lips..." turned, and headed off, leaving me sitting on the steps of the Duomo, completely alone, but laughing audibly.

It was soon after that Kujtim resurfaced. He found me sitting on the steps becoming increasingly worried that Evan wasn't there yet. Being that I was on the verge of an epic freak out, he took me out for coffee and told me that if I couldn't find Evan he would let me stay in the hostel that night for free. Luckily this wasn't necessary. As it turned out, Evan's flight had been delayed, thus delaying his train, and the number I had given him to reach me at wasn't working. I got in touch with him only because one of his roommates had facebook mobile.

So the morals of this very long story are these:
1. Nicole should never EVER travel alone
2. Facebook is God. Long live Faceboook.