Unlocked cuz it's too big for Myspace =/
Ever since a friend and I had planned to explore the steam tunnels beneath our school’s campus, I’ve been fascinated with going places that are off-limits. Or even if the general public is allowed, places that few others wanted to go. And my obsession stayed with me through my family’s trip to Italy. The highlights of the trip, and some of the moments I enjoyed above all others are framed by exploring the places that were behind the scenes.
My family on my mom’s side planned the trip as a graduation present for my sister. Our plan was to fly into Rome on a flight that had one connection and then a few days in Florence, a few days in Venice and finally a few days in Rome. All the time leading up to the trip was filled with question from my mom asking us if we were excited to go. I knew I’d enjoy the trip, because I enjoy traveling anywhere, even if it’s the most mundane and pointless excursion, but I didn’t feel it then. I also knew that we’d be in areas heavily populated with tourists, which I’ve never enjoyed very much.
We flew out of Dulles International Airport and it’d be the last time anyone would see my mom’s suitcase or anything it contained. Upon arriving in Rome, we waited for over an hour and a half for the luggage that fell off the map and missed our scheduled train to Florence. We booked the next one out and finally arrived in the old, old, old, old, old city after a slow and somewhat exhausting 24 hours in transit. We arrived at the hotel in well under 20 minutes and realized we still had to stay awake since it was daylight, about four in the afternoon. We finished out the day with minor sights and wearily went to the surprisingly stuff beds with pillows that we swore looked comfy at first sight.
I can only remember bits and pieces of the sight-seeing I did with my family. However, after some time, we visited the Duomo. This church is a monolith in the center of the city that screams that the architect may have been compensating for something. The outside is magnificent because it’s so unnecessarily big, and the inside was fairly boring because it’s not decorated. “Oh look! Another painted white wall!” As I started to loose hope in the building, I noticed that beneath the dome is a walkway, and upon it there were people. At once, I started looking around for the way up to the top and after a little bit of searching, noticed a side entrance leading to a staircase. I asked if anyone else wanted to go up, but they all gave up early for being tired. Later in the day, after we’d finished with our other sights, I went back to Duomo’s side entrance, five Euros in my pocket, excited to scale the to the indoor balcony. Getting close enough to check the price, I was devastated to find out I was a Euro short and almost gave up. But I was determined to do at least one thing my family wasn’t willing to and went back to the hotel to get the last of the fare.
I couldn’t have been more pleased with my persistence than getting to climb into the building. The first staircase was old and stone and reminded me of movies that had monks climbing stairs in a place quiet enough to hear the sound of each step resonate for miles. But instead of an epic kung-fu battle at the top, I was on a catwalk beneath the enormous mural inside the building. I took a few pictures, which all turned out badly on account of the plastic barrier to keep people from falling, with my sister’s camera. I marveled at being so high because the majority of the sight-seeing public was content to walk along the floor and refrain from the 346 stair hike. (I was also pleased because I passed several people who had stopped to take a breather on the staircase. All my practice racing elevators at school had paid off.)
The indoor terrace wasn’t to be the last of my excitement, though. When I was done looking down at the small congregation that was slowly pouring in for mass, I crossed to the doorway I though would lead back down to the floor. To my surprise, going down was simply an option. A small staircase led up into the wall with a sign that said ‘cupola’ (‘dome’). I started climbing the stairwell, not having a clue of what to expect. It led up straight for a while, and then it became slanted, because it now weaved around the edge of the dome. It was really like traveling between two domes. The one on my right was the back to the mural on the inside of the church, and on my left was the outer dome. Every now and then there were windows that looked out onto the city and let the light pour onto the pale grey stone that surrounded the stairway. At first, they were far to high up to look through, but soon, the steps rose and I stopped at each one from then on to look out at a tiny framed view of the city. Finally, but still all too soon, the spiraling staircase ended and it went straight up the last little curved section of the dome. At the top is a collection of tiny rooms at the center of which is a final stairwell, more like a stepladder, leading to the top of the dome. If this were a lighthouse, I was standing on the balcony outside the light house. But instead of a light, behind me was the way back down, and in front of me…
The entirety of Florence seems to be in a valley, and it’s all visible from the top of the Duomo. Every last inch of the city was in my sight, not all at once though. And behind the city limits are the rolling hills that lead straight up to the forever cloudless sky. I instantly wanted to come back, and at every time of the day. I wanted to see Florence in every different light from every different position the sun could take during the hours the stairs to the dome were open. I wanted to come back in the rain, though it never rained the entire time we were in Italy, in the snow, if it ever did snow there. I wanted to see where the hills ended on the cloudy days, and what buildings were unable to hide on the foggy ones. No postcard could ever do justice to such a grand view, not without the fresh, nearly smog-less air and the glaring sun blinding my eyes.
I spent as long as I wanted up on the top of the dome, because even though the entrance gates may close, explorers can stay up much later. After I’d taken in as much of the city as I could and also made a note of every other area I wanted to explore on foot (though nothing else in Florence would be as grand as this, and nothing else on the vacation would catch my passion quite like view from the top of the monolithic Duomo) I decided to make my way back down. Before I left, I took a short video, the camera was digital, of a small panoramic view and also took a few shots of the hotel so that my family could play a little Where’s Waldo with the tiny structure. On my way back down, which was the same as the way up, I took another photograph out of one of the tiny round windows that framed the city so well, which turned out to be my favorite picture. One last fit of surprise struck me as the path down from the roof led to a balcony inside the church higher than the first. I took a few more pictures and then climbed down the stairs to the ground.
Stepping onto the streets again, my ecstasy had not faded, and it lasted at least until I went to sleep that night.
My family on my mom’s side planned the trip as a graduation present for my sister. Our plan was to fly into Rome on a flight that had one connection and then a few days in Florence, a few days in Venice and finally a few days in Rome. All the time leading up to the trip was filled with question from my mom asking us if we were excited to go. I knew I’d enjoy the trip, because I enjoy traveling anywhere, even if it’s the most mundane and pointless excursion, but I didn’t feel it then. I also knew that we’d be in areas heavily populated with tourists, which I’ve never enjoyed very much.
We flew out of Dulles International Airport and it’d be the last time anyone would see my mom’s suitcase or anything it contained. Upon arriving in Rome, we waited for over an hour and a half for the luggage that fell off the map and missed our scheduled train to Florence. We booked the next one out and finally arrived in the old, old, old, old, old city after a slow and somewhat exhausting 24 hours in transit. We arrived at the hotel in well under 20 minutes and realized we still had to stay awake since it was daylight, about four in the afternoon. We finished out the day with minor sights and wearily went to the surprisingly stuff beds with pillows that we swore looked comfy at first sight.
I can only remember bits and pieces of the sight-seeing I did with my family. However, after some time, we visited the Duomo. This church is a monolith in the center of the city that screams that the architect may have been compensating for something. The outside is magnificent because it’s so unnecessarily big, and the inside was fairly boring because it’s not decorated. “Oh look! Another painted white wall!” As I started to loose hope in the building, I noticed that beneath the dome is a walkway, and upon it there were people. At once, I started looking around for the way up to the top and after a little bit of searching, noticed a side entrance leading to a staircase. I asked if anyone else wanted to go up, but they all gave up early for being tired. Later in the day, after we’d finished with our other sights, I went back to Duomo’s side entrance, five Euros in my pocket, excited to scale the to the indoor balcony. Getting close enough to check the price, I was devastated to find out I was a Euro short and almost gave up. But I was determined to do at least one thing my family wasn’t willing to and went back to the hotel to get the last of the fare.
I couldn’t have been more pleased with my persistence than getting to climb into the building. The first staircase was old and stone and reminded me of movies that had monks climbing stairs in a place quiet enough to hear the sound of each step resonate for miles. But instead of an epic kung-fu battle at the top, I was on a catwalk beneath the enormous mural inside the building. I took a few pictures, which all turned out badly on account of the plastic barrier to keep people from falling, with my sister’s camera. I marveled at being so high because the majority of the sight-seeing public was content to walk along the floor and refrain from the 346 stair hike. (I was also pleased because I passed several people who had stopped to take a breather on the staircase. All my practice racing elevators at school had paid off.)
The indoor terrace wasn’t to be the last of my excitement, though. When I was done looking down at the small congregation that was slowly pouring in for mass, I crossed to the doorway I though would lead back down to the floor. To my surprise, going down was simply an option. A small staircase led up into the wall with a sign that said ‘cupola’ (‘dome’). I started climbing the stairwell, not having a clue of what to expect. It led up straight for a while, and then it became slanted, because it now weaved around the edge of the dome. It was really like traveling between two domes. The one on my right was the back to the mural on the inside of the church, and on my left was the outer dome. Every now and then there were windows that looked out onto the city and let the light pour onto the pale grey stone that surrounded the stairway. At first, they were far to high up to look through, but soon, the steps rose and I stopped at each one from then on to look out at a tiny framed view of the city. Finally, but still all too soon, the spiraling staircase ended and it went straight up the last little curved section of the dome. At the top is a collection of tiny rooms at the center of which is a final stairwell, more like a stepladder, leading to the top of the dome. If this were a lighthouse, I was standing on the balcony outside the light house. But instead of a light, behind me was the way back down, and in front of me…
The entirety of Florence seems to be in a valley, and it’s all visible from the top of the Duomo. Every last inch of the city was in my sight, not all at once though. And behind the city limits are the rolling hills that lead straight up to the forever cloudless sky. I instantly wanted to come back, and at every time of the day. I wanted to see Florence in every different light from every different position the sun could take during the hours the stairs to the dome were open. I wanted to come back in the rain, though it never rained the entire time we were in Italy, in the snow, if it ever did snow there. I wanted to see where the hills ended on the cloudy days, and what buildings were unable to hide on the foggy ones. No postcard could ever do justice to such a grand view, not without the fresh, nearly smog-less air and the glaring sun blinding my eyes.
I spent as long as I wanted up on the top of the dome, because even though the entrance gates may close, explorers can stay up much later. After I’d taken in as much of the city as I could and also made a note of every other area I wanted to explore on foot (though nothing else in Florence would be as grand as this, and nothing else on the vacation would catch my passion quite like view from the top of the monolithic Duomo) I decided to make my way back down. Before I left, I took a short video, the camera was digital, of a small panoramic view and also took a few shots of the hotel so that my family could play a little Where’s Waldo with the tiny structure. On my way back down, which was the same as the way up, I took another photograph out of one of the tiny round windows that framed the city so well, which turned out to be my favorite picture. One last fit of surprise struck me as the path down from the roof led to a balcony inside the church higher than the first. I took a few more pictures and then climbed down the stairs to the ground.
Stepping onto the streets again, my ecstasy had not faded, and it lasted at least until I went to sleep that night.