You're a Dirty Beach

As a native Floridian, I've been to a lot of beaches.  It's just what us Floridians do.  

If we're from the East coast of the state, we'll drive all the way to the West coast to compare and contrast the sand, the water temperature, the ambiance.  It's a way of life, really.

Today, I'm sad to say, I visited the ugliest beach I've ever come across.

I went to Viareggio on the West coast, which is a 90-minute train ride from Florence.  Ged and I tried to spend a day on this beach about three weeks ago but it ended up raining so we left.

Italian Beaches Are Greedy

Of the three beaches I've been to in Italy so far, all have had "private" sections that are reserved for paying customers.  

That's something I'm not used to.  The only private beach I've been to was a tiny, secluded spot in a very wealthy area in Palm Beach.  And the stretch of beach wasn't long at all.

In Italy, however, these private beaches take up a majority of the shore. There are ropes, fences and signs telling you where you can and can't lay, not to mention the pesky lifeguards who tell you to move or just flirt with you for 10 minutes because they can't take a hint...

Today, I simply walked out to the first bit of beach I saw and set my towel down where other people were laying.  It looked pretty public to me.  This part of the beach was nice enough.  The water looked a little polluted, but the sand was fairly clean and there were no creepers.

Here's a couple of shots I took of that part of the beach:

About an hour and a half later, one of the lifeguards came up to me and told me I had to leave.  I complied and he pointed down the beach where the public part was.

After I walked a .25-mile stretch of beach, I arrived to a 50-foot stretch of beach that was packed from end to end with people.  This tiny, overcrowded bit was where I was allowed to sunbathe.  

I searched for a clean patch of sand but couldn't find one.  Cigarette butts, candy wrappers and what looked like a used diaper littered the beach.  

I wanted to take a picture as evidence of this sad sight but I was honestly scared to take my camera out because there were lots of shady characters lurking about and the last thing I want is a stolen camera.

I told Ged about this crappy beach, but he couldn't attest to such a thing. He said he usually goes in February when the big carnival happens and in April when the private beaches aren't set up yet.  

But in July, it's gross.  And I will stand behind that criticism.

~Amanda

The Polenta Project

...was a success!

Monday night was the first time I've ever tried cooking polenta, a food made from cornmeal for those of you who aren't familiar with it.

For someone who has very little experience with cooking, I was proud of the way it turned out.

How I cooked it:

1. Heat pan with olive oil to a medium-low.
2. Cut six 1/2-inch thick squares.
3. Fry each side for five minutes each, careful to move the pieces around as they might stick.

Super easy and tasty.

I added some sauteed eggplant into the mix, then covered both in a sauce that included:

• tomato sauce
• 1 chopped up veggie burger (I pretended it was "sausage")
• capers
• minced garlic
• sliced artichoke hearts
• oregano

And a salad on the side.

I can honestly say that I feel better about cooking.  I used to get this feeling of fear whenever Ged would ask What's for dinner? because frankly, I don't know jack about cooking and I tend to eyeball everything.  Man, progress feels so good.

Nighty night.

~Amanda

Where'd the Energy Go?

Do you ever have one of those days when you just feel tired?  You can't explain why.  You haven't done anything dramatically different lately, but today all you feel like doing is wrapping yourself up like a mummy in your bed sheets.

Yesterday was one of those days for me.  Fortunately, I didn't lay in bed all day.

Ged and I rode 60km (~37mi) with a total riding time of 2.5 hours.  We did the first part of this ride and then went to Monte Morello (the second half of this ride).

I wasn't feeling strong at all during this ride.  Even though the cloudy sky provided a lot of shade and made the air feel cooler, I was still drenched in sweat by the time I reached the top of the first climb.  According to Ged, I was a "sweaty Betty."

I think days like these are unavoidable.  You can't predict or prevent them.  Yes, you can eat healthy and exercise regularly, but there will always be days when you don't feel the greatest.  The important thing is to keep your head up and power through it.

Thankfully, I have someone in my life who pushes and motivates me to go a little further, a little longer.  If it weren't for him I would've probably headed home after that first daunting climb.

Thank you, Ged.

Post-ride Nutrition
After our ride I concocted a seitan dish.

I threw some seitan, pepper, scallions, garlic and tomato into a pan and then added Basmati rice when the veggies were nice and soft.

Yum.

~Amanda

Let's Never Do That Again

I slept in a train station last night.  And not by choice.

Yesterday I took a 1.5-hour train ride to Siena to watch Il Palio, an historic horse race held twice a year where 10 riders representing the 10 different parts of the city ride bareback around the piazza.

If you don't mind hot, sweaty crowds, then I would recommend seeing this spectacle.  Each "team" parades around the city all day before the actual race, and it was really great to see the costumes and elaborate decorations.

Flags hung from buildings on nearly every street.

People paraded around donning their respective flags.

Each of the city wards marched around this piazza waving their flags and pounding on their drums.

I managed to catch the dismal match between Brazil and the Netherlands.  Now who am I going to support?

The race horses were off limits to the crowds.  Here they are preparing for the race:

I stood in a thick crowd of people waiting to get into the center of the piazza for about 30 minutes.  There was lots of sweat and shoving but I managed to get a decent spot near the rail.

The race took a while to actually start because the announcer kept telling the riders to re-do the lineup.  There was no starting gate so getting 10 horses to stand next to each other quietly while the crowd roared and their blood pumped was like trying to extinguish a fire with vodka.  I think the announcer eventually just said "screw it" and started the race.

Here they come!

The second lap:

Train Trouble
I was still stuck in the middle of the piazza at 8 p.m. as the horses were cleared off.  The last train to leave Siena for Firenze was at 9:18 p.m.  There was no way I was going to get out of this heavy traffic and to the station in time.

Having no credit on my phone to call Ged or anyone for that matter, I started to panic.  What was I going to do?  Should I start looking for a place to sleep for the night?  Wait, I can't afford a hotel.

I sat on a curb and cried for a little.  By 10 p.m. I decided to search for the train station again.  Everything, of course, looks different at night.  Streets you look for from memory suddenly disappear.  Dead ends come out of nowhere.  After getting lost too many times to admit, I eventually found the train station.

Other people were sleeping there so I did the same.

I laid down on a bench and closed my eyes, but the bright lights of the station and the cold bite of the air wouldn't allow sleep to descend upon me.

Around midnight Ged called me to see where I was.  I told him.

"We've all been there," he said.  And maybe he's right.  Maybe this was an experience I needed to have instead asking him to come pick me up in the car.

I had six hours to kill until the next train arrived heading to Florence.  I waited.  I didn't sleep.  I listened to the sounds around me.

Spanish teenagers blasted today's hits like the train station was their own personal nightclub.

Italian preteens rode their bikes back and forth along the platforms, pumping their brakes until they screeched in agony.   And when they got hungry, they rocked the vending machines until sweet drinks and treats fell from the racks.

I think the worst was the slightly demented man with the Vuvuzela.  His goal must've been to keep everyone within a five-mile radius from sleeping.  Mission accomplished.

The ride back was one big sleep.  The ticket man had to wake me to get off.

I can honestly say that I've never been so happy to be back in Florence.   I speed walked from the station to the apartment, jumped in the shower to scrub off the Siena dust and dirt and collapsed into bed.  No questions asked.

I think the Siena city commission needs to discuss extending the train schedule on the days of the Palio.  If I spoke a lick of Italian those officials would be hearing from me.  But I don't, so they won't.


~Amanda

Love/Hate or just Hate?

My Relationship with Cycling
I'm new to cycling.  I haven't even owned my road bike for a whole year, yet I like to consider myself a "rider."

Before I came to Italy around a month ago, I had only ridden on the flat terrain in Florida.  No hills.

Coming to Florence and riding throughout Tuscany with Ged has completely changed my perceptions about cycling.  It's really freaking hard.  I have a new respect for the sport, but it seems that with that new respect there has also developed a slight hatred of it.

This was me pouting before our ride on Monday afternoon in Elba.  Thanks for the candid shot, Ged.

There are times (quite often actually) where I dread going on a ride.  There's something so discouraging about turning a corner after just finishing a steep climb and seeing yet another steep road ahead.  And by the time I reach the top (about 30 min. after Ged), I can't breathe for about five minutes.  It can be nauseating, infuriating, exhausting.  I guess one can argue that those are all elements of a good workout, right?  Yes and no.

I like being challenged physically and pushing myself.  When beach volleyball was in season, I would spend all day under the hot South Florida sun chasing after a volleyball and sweating until my body felt as dehydrated as a raisin.

But there's a difference:  I loved volleyball.

I'm not sure I love cycling.  But I do wonder if I can learn to love it.

You know, kind of like what happens in an arranged marriage:  As more time passes, the potential of developing tender feelings grows.

I have this awesome road bike and all of these hills.  Couldn't I appreciate this sport and come to enjoy it after spending enough time with it?  But do I even want to spend my time on it, because what if I never come to enjoy it?


Light at the End of the Tunnel
I must say that I did have one of those "breakthrough" moments yesterday.

Ged and I went for a ride after he finished work.  We did a part of this ride--a ride we had done exactly a month ago.  I can remember how hard I thought this ride was the first time I did it four weeks ago.  I remember hating the world.  I remember wanting to barf.  None of those thoughts or feelings resurfaced yesterday as we rode to Imprunetta and finished our 35 km ride.

I felt great climbing and getting out of the saddle to haul myself up to the top.  I even felt, dare I say it, happy.

Despite the good ride I had, I'm almost certain that yesterday's feelings of accomplishment will disappear by the next hilly ride.  I'll be too busy thinking about gradients and being able to breathe.

So, I guess what I'm asking is is there a point where you find out if you like or don't like a certain sport?

As a newbie, I know that any sport is going to frustrate me at first, but I have never found it so difficult to motivate myself as I have with cycling.  I want to keep pushing myself in hopes of eventually loving this sport, however, I don't want to set myself up for self-destruction either.

Any thoughts/opinions would be much appreciated.

~Amanda