I am sitting in a overpriced Hotel in Pisa room getting some work done. The space is about a 5x20 room, bathroom down the hall, and my window overlooks the wall of the building next to where I will stay until early tomorrow morning when I try to catch the plane… this time. This time. I have not had very good luck with the inter-European flight system. The first flight to italy was cancelled and rebooked the next morning, and my flight out of Italy was unfortunately on time…and I was not. The joys of city traffic, interstate construction, and accidents are common in Pisa too. 
Thank goodness for good friends, perfect strangers really, but nevertheless, have treated me like I was an old pal from elementary school.
Actually Serena and Marco are childhood friends from elementary school. They grew up together in Montiroso, Italy. If you remember my BLOG from the Chicqueterre, Italy; Montiroso is the last village, a beautiful village on the sea-and Marco calls it his sea. This is where I met Marco, this past April, only the first week and a half into my 2-month journey.
I must be honest. I actually scoped Marco out as he sat on the beach. Blond hair, light eyes, kacky shorts, nike shoes- I thought American. At this point during my travels, I found comfort in being around other travelers; not the hoards of early 20 something foreign exchange student action obnoxious, but “older” single travelers. So I sat down, on my beach towel within a good distance from him. After a while, I asked him if he knew where the restrooms were. As he spoke, I knew he was not American. After chatting a bit I found that Marco is actually a local, well- was a local until he moved to a small city named Mirandola north of Bologna. We spent the evening chatting about normal everyday life in our countries. A mechanical engineer who spends his week days perfecting dialysis machines, and his weekends are spent returning home to his family’s summer home on the sea. At this time at his job, he was responsible for translating English documents to Italian. He told me it was nice to actually speak English and work on his pronunciation. He invited me to dinner, so I had dinner that evening. He taught me about the local food, wine, and lemon liquor that originated the south and if you remember is in that movie “Under the Tuscon Sun.”. That evening we departed, exchanged emails, and of course I gave him my BLOG. Over the past few months after I left Montorosso, Marco continued to read my BLOG and we began to send email messages ever so often. So when I knew I was going to Italy, I knew that I should only ask if I cold take him out to dinner this time; if he was close to Florence.
He was not in Florence, but offered to meet me in Bologna, about 45 minutes from his home. He then invited me to come to is home for a couple days to ride my bicycle while he was at work; then we could visit in the evening, and he could take me to Pisa in the morning to catch my flight. I met Marco in Bologna and got the pleasure of meeting Serena. I natural beautiful Itallian, stong,smart, motivated, warm spirited, and so happens has the best smile on a woman that I have seen in a long time. SelenaShe made us dinner, a unique pasta (well to me, was not tomotoe based) , with a tomotoe, tuna, and montzerella salad. She and Marco were not so impressed, but I told then that this was absolutly wonderful. In america, when one makes pasta, it usually includes opening up a can or jar of "something". All fresh ingrediance, with time; all is good.
Mirandola located in the Italian planes, reminds me a lot of the planes of Wyoming and Colorado. It even smells like it; however this place smells of pig, not cow. If you can get past the smell, this is a perfect place to spin out your legs after 6 days straight of riding up Spanish mountains or tuscun hills. Flat and Straight. Marco warned me “that his home did not have the beauty Tuscany or the cost”. I told him it was perfect and I see beauty in all lands. The barns are made of stone..
Thank goodness for good friends, perfect strangers really, but nevertheless, have treated me like I was an old pal from elementary school.Actually Serena and Marco are childhood friends from elementary school. They grew up together in Montiroso, Italy. If you remember my BLOG from the Chicqueterre, Italy; Montiroso is the last village, a beautiful village on the sea-and Marco calls it his sea. This is where I met Marco, this past April, only the first week and a half into my 2-month journey.
I must be honest. I actually scoped Marco out as he sat on the beach. Blond hair, light eyes, kacky shorts, nike shoes- I thought American. At this point during my travels, I found comfort in being around other travelers; not the hoards of early 20 something foreign exchange student action obnoxious, but “older” single travelers. So I sat down, on my beach towel within a good distance from him. After a while, I asked him if he knew where the restrooms were. As he spoke, I knew he was not American. After chatting a bit I found that Marco is actually a local, well- was a local until he moved to a small city named Mirandola north of Bologna. We spent the evening chatting about normal everyday life in our countries. A mechanical engineer who spends his week days perfecting dialysis machines, and his weekends are spent returning home to his family’s summer home on the sea. At this time at his job, he was responsible for translating English documents to Italian. He told me it was nice to actually speak English and work on his pronunciation. He invited me to dinner, so I had dinner that evening. He taught me about the local food, wine, and lemon liquor that originated the south and if you remember is in that movie “Under the Tuscon Sun.”. That evening we departed, exchanged emails, and of course I gave him my BLOG. Over the past few months after I left Montorosso, Marco continued to read my BLOG and we began to send email messages ever so often. So when I knew I was going to Italy, I knew that I should only ask if I cold take him out to dinner this time; if he was close to Florence.He was not in Florence, but offered to meet me in Bologna, about 45 minutes from his home. He then invited me to come to is home for a couple days to ride my bicycle while he was at work; then we could visit in the evening, and he could take me to Pisa in the morning to catch my flight. I met Marco in Bologna and got the pleasure of meeting Serena. I natural beautiful Itallian, stong,smart, motivated, warm spirited, and so happens has the best smile on a woman that I have seen in a long time. SelenaShe made us dinner, a unique pasta (well to me, was not tomotoe based) , with a tomotoe, tuna, and montzerella salad. She and Marco were not so impressed, but I told then that this was absolutly wonderful. In america, when one makes pasta, it usually includes opening up a can or jar of "something". All fresh ingrediance, with time; all is good.
Mirandola located in the Italian planes, reminds me a lot of the planes of Wyoming and Colorado. It even smells like it; however this place smells of pig, not cow. If you can get past the smell, this is a perfect place to spin out your legs after 6 days straight of riding up Spanish mountains or tuscun hills. Flat and Straight. Marco warned me “that his home did not have the beauty Tuscany or the cost”. I told him it was perfect and I see beauty in all lands. The barns are made of stone..
The towers show the wealth of the ancient families ....
The green still continues here in the north...
On my way on the Emilia, the old ancient road to Rome.. Beautiful.Amore Katelyn
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