Spaghetti Forever.

One more recovered picture of our 20 km hike through the French countryside...

I am now writing, after much stress, tribulations, and literal weeping, from our temporary apartment in Rome. Caught our flight to Pisa, and I think due to the slight cold I caught a day before, I was so plugged up I was not able to pop my ears with the altitude. To add to my beautiful, snotty, sick demeanor, let's add some whimpering, slight convulsing, and the whole hold your nose and blow method, once every 3 seconds. I was a mess. It was a mess. 

We arrive in Pisa. 

We make a booking for Hostel Pisa.

Coincidentally run into a Spanish guy we met in a couchsurfing apartment in Paris.

Explore Pisa.

 Lots of Occupy, anti-Capitalism and Fascism, Anarchy, etc graffiti. 

 Piazza dei Miracoli

The Baptistery

Duomo. 

This looks unreal to me.

A little tidbit of sound.

Internet Festival in Pisa? 

This exhibit on...people.

Welcome to our home.

Somewhere in between here, after some more sweating, we found ourselves in Rome. I did not want to take a train, it was my goal (as it always is) to spend as little money as possible. I had read enough blogs and articles to make me think that hitchhiking would be an acceptable and doable task while in Italy. After numerous sources told us Pisa was not the place to attempt it, and after a bit of a confusing jaunt around the airport to actually track down a petrol station to give it a go, we (I, let it be known Derek never wanted to mess with that business in the first place) relented (after about a five minute conversation with a gas attendant) and we bought a ticket.

Absolutely beautiful train ride. Four hours from Pisa to Rome and most of it right on the coastline.

Upon reaching the city, things went from weird to weirder. I left my rechargeable batteries and the adapter plugged into the outlet in the hostel, a possibly hazardous scenario, I was convinced I was going to set the whole building ablaze. Out of fear and guilt I have yet to message them about it, as it's still a viable option to me that the establishment is laying in charred embers where it once stood, my roasted battery charger lying conspicuously in the center of the ashes...

When we got to Rome, we had nowhere to go, no couchsurfing hosts had gotten into contact with us, hostels were expensive, no map, McDonalds across the street from Termini station would only give wifi password to individuals with Italian phone numbers. Hot mess.

Me, being the silly gung-ho man that I am, somehow convince Derek that he's going to be happy sleeping on the street with me that night and we'll figure out the rest in the morning. Unlike our hitchhiking experiment, I did not want to let this one go..so just as it's hitting the time in the evening where the trams to our best candidate for legal sleeping, Tiber Campground, are ending, I decide to throw Derek a bone and we set off in a mad rush for this illusive campground.

We arrive, one metro, two bus rides, and a 20 minute walk later... 3:30 am.

Dorms are a euro more expensive than a spot for our tent. We book it.

Similar situation next night, only we wind up in a hostel right next to St. Peter's, but a miscalculation in our booking meant we were made to pay 40 euros vs the 20 we thought it was going to be. This, after a very grueling trek to find said hostel, had quite an effect.

It was an emotional moment.

So Italy has been a little challenging. 

We made some a couple nice friends in this hostel that evening, but Derek and I were both a little resentful. I had to come to terms with the fact that money will be spent, and on the other hand, working with someone who has very different ideas of "accommodations" than your own can be a little frustrating at times. 

But here we are, having these frustrating moments, in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

Rome.

St. Peter's Square. Vatican City.

It was a little strange to be here for the second time in my life. To think back on the idea that I was fortunate enough, at such a young age, to already have visited one of the great foreign attractions of the world, like Vatican City. I am very, very fortunate.

St. Angelo's Castle

Ceiling of Sant'Andrea della Valle Basilica

Largo Argentina. Julius Caesar was killed here!

Also, there are lots, and lots, of cats here. Which I like.

I think the best thing about Rome is the feeling that you don't have to pay to go into a museum, that the city is the museum. You see these incredible ruins right in the middle of downtown, and you have to appreciate every step.

11 more days until I fly to Crete, perhaps Athens, then Turkey sometime before November 9th.

A person who is happy.

Beautiful girl, singing on the Metro.

Sound quality, not great, but this was a moment I wish to remember.

And I love the way she pushed out that 'h' for "hundred"

Revolving Poignancy.

To continue accordingly.

Needless Scribbles: Part Deux.

[http://jaycubroad.blogspot.fr]

Still in Paris. Still moving. Still shaking.

View from Montmartre.

Sacre-Coeur

Want to take every piece of it with me.

Church of Saint-Jean-de-Montmartre.

Place des Victoires.

Les Cites station construction.

Best job ever.

Centre Pompidou. Favorite places.

SID.

La Marais.

Fontaine Saint-Michel. And that guy.

Pantheon. Sorbonne. Aspirations.

All lit up. 

One of those days.

Chateau de Vincennes. Hey look, a castle.

THIS. HIGHLIGHT.

Our new best friends.

Huge thank you to our hosts Romain et Raphaelle, taking us on a cruise of the Seine for Derek's birthday. With some of the best food/cheese I have ever eaten. We love them.

Catacombs.

Venus de Milo

This is an odd painting.

This is a familiar painting.

A well-known Frenchman. The horse is terrified.

A scene from Algerie. I love this.

Greece to Mesopotamie.

This guy was very relaxed.

Napoleon's quaint apartment.

Mme. de Vaudey's chambers.

Carcass of Beef. Rembrandt. J'adore.

Water tower.

Milly-la-Foret

Cocteau's house.

Cocteau's chapel.

Milly-la-Foret, covered market.

The Cyclop a la Jean Tinguely. 

Somewhere...

I should take a picture of myself in this very instant. 

I am a beautiful sight to behold, sweat pants, flannel, used tissues piled up next to me; their quickly wilting successors protrude festively from my nostrils. Soon they will join their soiled brethren in the snotty heap next to me. Sad and crumpled, a growing monument to the virus I will not admit to.

I am a toilet paper mummy. 

I am a mucus machine. 

I lead an exciting, jetsetty lifestyle, which is so exciting, I defy and actively resist the petty urge and/or petty need to purchase Day and/or Nyquil. Modern medicine is a crock, right? Things had been too easy anyway. 

I'd say that was an acceptable intro into this new chapter of blogging infamy...

Apparently there's a memory limit on these things, so I did, in fact, create a new email solely to continue documenting my journey for free...while of course remaining consistent by keeping it on the same website. 

Now, what's new...pictured above you see my adventures with Derek around Montmartre, the Pompidou Center, the Louvre, a hike we went on with one of our couchsurfing hosts and some other surfers, organized by the Queer Couchsurfing group. 

The night before I attended a party with our host, held by a member of the same group...A bunch of fun, drunk, international gays all thrown into one room. It was a good evening trip. The host of the party was from San Francisco-an interesting coincidence. One Facebook add later proved that he happened to know a previous coworker of mine, also from San Francisco, who I had not seen for a year or so, and then happened to run into while staying for a few days in Aix-en-Provence. That would also be in France. The world is tiny. 

Derek and I have had to reevaluate our relationship, a never-ending story for us, and will, for multiple reasons, be spending some time apart while traveling in Italy this upcoming month ahead. I am both excited and sad. Excited to be in charge of myself again, of the navigating and innerworkings of travel, free to make an itinerary up on my own, sad because for a moment there I was worried about being on my own again. Which is silly. I've done it before, I can do it again, and the fact that I was worried just shows how I've been babied traveling with Derek...it will be good for both of us to do our own thing for a time. Ah, but who am I trying to convince now?

Our Italian workaway has cancelled on us, we have no couchsurfing hosts there as of yet, I don't think I'll be making it to Morocco this round due to ticket expense...things, like all life should be, are in constant change and motion. And that can cause some growing pains sometimes. Ah well.

Paris has been a source of some very interesting occurrences.

I have experienced some undeniable beauty and culture here, something completely unique to this place and a time I could not have anywhere else in the world.

The Louvre. Seeing some of the incredible creations of the world all in one building. With my own two eyes, for free, nonetheless! 

(Friday 6 pm-9:45 pm, free admission for youth under 26. Dream.)

The catacombs. 

I see myself as a fairly superstitious man. To think about the spirituality of life, of death, and of the gray area in between the two is a train of thought I am prone to. Going to the Catacombs was extremely intense for me. I'm all for bones, don't get me wrong. And the history of it is so fascinating. You just have to think though--if you're me--each skull, each bone, represents a person who has been dug out of their resting ground, transplanted, delicately arranged, mind you, but still placed into an unmarked, mass tomb, where they can be looked upon by nosy tourists. Like myself. For the price of 4 euros or something. It was an extremely spiritual experience for me, which is so highly contradicted by the unceasing pitter-patter of school group tours, couples laughing, talking about the bar last night, an unending stream of people. Looking. Talking. Snapping away with their cameras. The photos I put up of the bones were taken by Derek, I don't know why but I didn't feel like taking any down there. I debated using them, while heading into the catacomb I was openly joking about the possibility of possession. Once surrounded by the bones, every blank, soulless eye socket staring at me as far as the eye could see down there. It didn't really feel like such a laughing matter. Without explanation, my legs were shaking the entire time I was down there. No ghost stories, I wasn't scared of anything, that's how it was. I highly suggest going to see the Catacombs if you're in Paris, but I may advise not to go if you're feeling a little blue, or especially introspective. 

So we return to the present. 

While writing this I have swapped the tissues filling my nose, three times, blown my nose perhaps four, and sneezed only twice. 

Today is Tuesday. Our last full day in Paris. We were supposed to go Pere Lachaise today, or maybe Versailles, two attractions we've thought we had to see before leaving Paris, and still have yet to do. I think I will writhe in bed and finish up watching Chicago, which Derek and I started last night. I like to make jokes about the film now, but their is something so familiar and comforting about those over-the-top dance numbers. And, of course, Queen Latifah's giant rack.

Everything is always fine in the end.

Like always.

A bientot.