Pieces of Pisa

Young people by the River Arno

Of all the destinations that my friend Viktor and I travelled to on our "Marvellous Misadventure"*, Pisa was the one that surprised me the most. Designed mostly as a brief stopover that conveniently doubled as a tourist destination neither of us had seen, I expected it to be no more than that - a cramped city where we'd have to endure throngs of crowds to snap a few pictures, rest our heads a few hours and nothing more.

Perhaps it was the surreal day preceding our arrival that made it particularly treasurable. They say** that to travel is to suspend one sense of reality and trade it for another. And October 24 was nothing short of surreal: in the space of 12 hours we travelled 200km, with 10 of those kilometres spent traversing the rocky cliffs facing onto the Italian Riviera (and another 5 running back and forth between the train station and some kindly hotel staff who agreed to mind our bags while we hiked). We saw the candy-coloured buildings of a Cinque Terre village, painted in a vintage palette that confirmed their primordial standing. Tasted traditional gelato for the first time since entering Italy and scarcely made our pre-booked train onwards. Maybe entering Pisa was remarkable for the simple promise it kept on our arrival - that we had survived a journey dreamt up by the more idealistic corners of our minds and as a reward, now we could rest.

It was dark but by no means dull when we arrived in the city. Already I've forgotten the train station but I remember our hotel being within walking distance, and dragging my small suitcase along smooth, sympathetic gutters that framed the cobblestoned streets. Here, as in Lyon, where we'd stayed a few days prior, the river and its bridges drew youths like a magnet - young people gathered in groups along the river Arno, where old fashioned street-lamps cast golden reflections in the water. Their laughter and gestures carried out into the warm night and the air was close but comfortable - I was happy in my t-shirt and cotton pants.

We checked into the Royal Victoria Hotel, where the receptionist Ricardo handed us a large old-fashioned key which was extremely fitting for the building which boasted its 1000 year-old history with antique furnishings and sepia-toned photographs on the walls. Although starving we temporarily distracted our bellies by visiting the famed Leaning Tower by night, giggling a little deliriously all the way, "I can see it in the distance!" "No way, that building is wayy too straight" "Betcha I'm right" (I was). There was barely anyone around and we contented ourselves by running all around the peculiar column, taking photos and then punishing our feet just a little more to find a well-rated local restaurant. 

Gloria welcomed us to her trattoria and we sat at a small metal table out on the cobblestones, where she listed off the specials for the evening. In a town nearby, mushrooms were in surplus, so they had designed a special menu - sausage and mushroom bruschetta, mushroom pappardelle, mushroom risotto. There was also a new seafood linguine the chef had created - something fishy but fresh. We ordered all but the risotto and added a local red wine, drinking to a day well-spent. We demolished our meal then waddled back to our hotel, seated ourselves on our little stone balcony and watched the youths by the river a little longer.

*In 2022, Viktor and I planned an interrail trip around the UK and continental Europe, an adventure spanning 21 days and almost 30 cities.

**I say