It felt a little sad leaving Venice. The dramatic beauty of the canals, architecture, and charming winding streets exert a pull on the uncharted, romantic depths of the brain. Turning our backs on the city and entering the train station was not something we longed for, and we lingered on the steps outside, watching the parade of people and boats along the Grand Canal, and feeding the pigeons the last crumbly bits of our lunch.
The train to Pisa was uneventful except for one stop where a young woman, dressed shabbily and toting a sign in Italian, stopped by our seats, pointing at her very large “pregnant” belly. I would not have minded parting with some small change if she actually looked pregnant. She aggressively pointed at her sign and then Eric and then me, yet her skinny little face looked not the least bit preggers. When she puddled spit on her lips, threatening to spew it on me, I waved her away, saying, “Vai! Vai!” Thankfully, she gave up to harass someone else.
Pisa is a small town with little other than the tower and basilica so we only stayed one night. I was happy to see prices, except at the tower, were less than anywhere we had been. The tower was expensive at $45 and worth every penny. We didn’t really get an appreciation for how much it was leaning until we climbed the narrow spiral stairs to the top. The nearly window less stairs are deceiving to the senses because without a point of reference, you cannot tell which way they are leaning, so you end up falling against the walls as you ascend. To add to the fun, the steps are so worn by millions of tourist footsteps, they have 3 inch curved indents, making it hazardous to not watch your step. I had envisioned lovely marble floors on each level and was thus surprised to discover the center of the tower is an unadorned shaft. It is only a bell tower. A near fatally leaning, heavily touristed, rightfully famous, bell tower. That was cool, now back to Rome.
