Tag Archives: Europe

Travel talk: What Grabbed my Ankle on the Night Bus in Italy

Its no secret that students looking for a little adventure are often not experiencing a lavish, luxurious and relaxing vacation. Travelling on a budget means cutting down on the bare necessities like a decent bed, in order to afford those extra drinks and potentially a plane ride back to home soil.

Badass picture of Santa Maria del Fiore

What I considered an inconvenience, became an exciting part of any voyage. There is something intoxicating about not knowing where you are going to get your evening shut eye. If you’ve been following my recent stories, you will notice a theme developing in my travels. This is the story of my horrible experience riding the overnight bus from Vienna, Austria to Florence in Italy.

A common practice used by budget travelers is the overnight bus or train ride. It is the art of combining hotel services and travel into one spine wrenching jumble. I did not hesitate to try out this new initiative. On paper, this seems like the most logical of options. But what I did not count for, was the other passengers and their antics.

As I take my seat on the bus, a strong smell of urine overcomes my nostrils. I knew this 8 euro, 12 hour ride was not going to be all silk sheets and essential oils, but we were not off to a great start. Instant regret takes over, and alters my eager mood. As I get set for a night of upright slumber, a man sets up camp in the walking aisle of the bus.

Let me paint you the picture. A man, in his thirties or forties, gently places a pillow, his blanket and a small teddy bear in the middle aisle. Leaving no room for anyone to walk in the bus. He lays down gently onto his makeshift bed, placing his head inches from my feet. Clutching his teddy bear and a bottle of whiskey, he closes his eyes.

As he sleeps, he lets off strange gnarls, moans and whining sounds. It took me a bit of time to get used to the idea of leaving my feet exposed to a potential attack, but I eventually let my drowsiness take the reigns. I was woken up abruptly by the a hand clenching my ankle. The man sleeping in the aisle had held on to my ankle for dear life, clenching it with all his might. We did not speak the same language, but he quickly figured out my anger.

As this is happening, the bus came to a sudden halt. The bus driver had noticed the man sleeping in the aisle. This image will always be chiseled into my mind. Now I could not understand Italian, but anyone could of read between those lines. Even with the screaming of the bus driver and other passengers, there was no motivation for getting up from this man.

In what felt like a split second, the bus driver started hammer spanking the man’s rear end. This was shocking for people from small town Northern Ontario. After he had enough, the man let out a lazy whine and gently got up and sat down in his seat.

This happened 3 more times. And then the sun was up.

How I fell asleep in a vineyard in Italy

Travelling through the Tuscan hills, plucking fresh olives and popping them in one’s mouth, and sipping on a freshly fermented glass of Chianti is a dream for many people’s parents.

Let’s be honest, it’s been one my fantasies even before I’ve had the chance to sip on the courage nectar. I don’t even like wine that much, but it’s hard to argue with that glorious vision. I dreamed of absolutely demolishing plates of heavy pasta, wood fire oven pizzas, cannoli, gelato and everything under the Tuscan sun.

In the summer of 2018, I got the chance to fulfill my legacy, when I arrived in the small town of Certaldo of Tuscany. I can confirm with confidence that I had no clue what to expect when entering the Country. I had studied Guy Fierri extensively throughout my teen years, eating a large amount of fettuccine, but never had I experienced the real thing.

In all seriousness, Tuscany exudes an authentic cultural identity — a deep understanding and passion for food and beverage and spectacular landscapes.

Anyways, we arrived at our hostel, located in the middle of a section of secluded woods. It was called the Bassetto Guesthouse and it looked like a confused 14th century settlement, equipped with vines growing on the walls, no real doors, and medieval windows. I was a little weary at first, the place was intimidating as hell, but it warmed up to us.

What happened that night changed my perspective on the Hostel and on travel itself. The hostel owners offered pasta making classes, a wine tour and a tour of the city castle San Gimignano, and even personally drove us to the excursions. After a full day of exploration, vicious eating and sipping wine, we ended up with a big and fantastic group of friends. As we returned to the guesthouse, our newfound group introduced us to a tradition at the hostel.

The front desk offered wine bottles for 4 euros each. But you did not have to pay for them right away. You could open a tab and close it when you check out of the hostel. At night the group would grab many bottles of wine and settle into the backyard of the establishment and drink through the night. There were no artificial lights, so we had to light candles like those you would see in horror films.

As we sat drinking wine, sharing stories, and laughing surrounded by a sea of lit candles in the lush Tuscany wilderness, I noticed something very peculiar. Every guest that I’ve met, had extended their stay by at least a couple nights.

If you add everything up: the unlimited wine, the lit candles as our main source of light, the people unable to leave this wonderful place, it really screams cult. It felt like I had stumbled on a traveler’s cult. A CULT. And I loved it. We even extended our stay as well, to get more nights of candle light wine drinking.

On the final night of our stay, our crew had become very close. We were saddened that we had to depart for Rome of all places. We decided to take a walk, wine in hand to a nearby vineyard. We sat among the grapes and talked about every aspect of life. Until I fell asleep.

I woke up an hour later, surrounded by my sleeping friends, by the sound of an intruder alarm. We ran back to the hostel and called it a night.

I will never forget that amazing hostel, the massive bill I had for all the wine I “borrowed” and the friendships I made during those short days. The candle “cult” will always reside in my memory, and I’m hoping I can find a place that special on each one of my future trips.

For those interested I have included a link so you can check out the place, and potentially plan a trip to stay there.

http://www.fattoriabassetto.com/

https://www.hostelworld.com/hosteldetails.php/Bassetto-Guesthouse/Florence/744

How Nickelback saved the night in Brussels.

Grande place in Brussels.

Here I was, in the beautiful centre of the European Union’s capital. This is a place of serious decision making, a middle ground for international relations between Europe’s superpowers, and from what I could tell, not designed for a night on the town. Brussels is in a interesting combination of incredible food, and a strange alphabet soup of cultural influences.

But why would that stop anyone from having a good time?

The city is the equivalent of someone’s strict parents carefully hiding the remote control. We just had to find the spot, to have the fun we were looking for. As we were walking down the streets sipping on our Belgium beers, a man with a clear North American accent screams down from his second floor window: “KARAOKE TONIGHT, BE THERE!”, pointing at a tiny little bar. Obviously, that was the kind of activity you are expecting to stumble upon in this city on a quiet monday night in May.

Night comes, and we make our way in the empty streets of Brussels to the little pub. We open the doors to find the place filled to the brim with people. We spot the guy from the second floor and join their little group made up of tourists from everywhere and anywhere.

The first thing I noticed; the singers were rocking the house. I guess this bar was a hotbed for vocal talent. I was a little intimidated, but I knew no one in the entire country. Obviously I was going to show everyone that the Trevi bar and grill in Sudbury had trained me for this moment of glory. My belligerent self flips through the pages of the song book to find something worthy of this monday night delight.

For the life of me, I could not recognize any songs. But then I saw it, like a beacon of light in a dark cave. The only song I could recognize, How you remind me by Nickelback. Yikes.

I was about to sing the number one song from the 2002 Billboard hot singles charts, infront of Belgian locals, and a group of my new friends. I honestly thought I was going to get boo’ed off the stage and have my passport removed by the Canadian embassy.

I kick off the song with my best grungy impression of Chad Kroeger’s voice. “Never made it as a wise man…” To my surprise, everyone in the bar started singing along. To every word. I got off stage and I knew I butchered the vocals. I am a terrible singer, but the fact that all these people loved Nickelback or atleast that song, made me wonder. What is so bad about these Canadian treasures?

Thanks for reading, please share and comment ! I would love to hear your stories.