Oliver Laxer's Adventure

Life was good. I was staying in Chamonix hiking and running everyday through some of the wildest mountains with my friend Luke. We had just begun to make to make a daily routine when it was time for Luke to return home, to go to college. I then had another week in Chamonix and was frankly a little nervous to be alone. On his second to last day, I sat on the couch thinking of how to make friends when I saw my friend’s Instagram story of the view out a train window somewhere in Europe. I texted her and found out she was with another friend in Croatia and was headed to Italy the next day and invited me to join them! I had three free days before flying out of Geneva and spent my evening searching bus and train schedules. Finally, I called them and said “okay, so this really doesn’t make sense logistically or financially, but I think I could make it work,” and I bought my tickets. I wanted to learn how to travel alone, to sit with my own thoughts and be satisfied being solo, but I wasn’t ready yet, and I wasn’t going to pass up this spontaneous opportunity.

It was raining as I got on the bus to Geneva and I remember seeing the mountains of Chamonix disappear. I asked myself if this was a good plan, leaving the mountains, a place to stay and certainty to go to off into the unknown. I arrived in Geneva at 7:30 PM, walked to a lighthouse out on the lake and watched the sunset. It began to rain, so I took refuge in the train station until my next bus at 10:30 PM. I was disappointed in my planning skills when the bus went right back through Chamonix where I was back five hours earlier. Pretty funny in hindsight though. A long bus ride lay ahead of me and I tried to sleep. I arrived in Bologna at 7:15, 25 minutes late… and my next bus to Florence left at 7:15. If anything in this travel plan went wrong, I’d miss the pasta making class, so I ran off the bus and asked every bus driver if they knew where my next bus was. The first driver was playing video games and wasn’t sure, the second grunted at me, and the last pointed to the main building. Luckily my next bus was also late, so it worked out.

I arrived in the outskirts of Florence and was too tired to figure out which train to take to get downtown, so I got on the first one and fortunately it was right! I then took a bus, walked a few blocks, and arrived 15 minutes early, after 15 hours of nonstop travel. Willa and Anika then walked in and it was so strange. I hadn’t seen them in over a year and now we were making pasta in Florence Italy?? Life’s crazy like that. We made three types of pasta: tortellini, ravioli, and pappardelle, each with their own sauce. The tortellini and ravioli were filled with ricotta and a touch of lemon zest. We talked and ate the wonderful pasta until we could eat no more.

After a marvelous meal, we dropped off my bags at the hostel and went to the Uffizi galleries. We walked for hours, looking at paintings and sculptures from the renaissance.

We began by reading every plaque and looking closely at every painting, but as the hours ticked by, the painting started to blend together and we got hungry again. We got ice cream and coffee as thunderheads began to break. We were huddled under an umbrella around a table and decided to wait out the rain at the library. We began to walk and every few minutes we’d jump as a crack of thunder would echo through the streets. It was further than we expected and we got soaked.

We went to the top floor and got a great view of the duomo.

As we dried off, we planned what to do with the rest of the rainy day. We decided to watch a movie, so went to a theater to watch El Jockey at 6:30. The person selling us the tickets told us the film was in Spanish with Italian subtitles. We laughed and figured we could comprehend enough of it. We ate popcorn and tried to understand what on earth we were watching. Google described it “quirky, eccentric, and gripping” and I’d agree. As soon as it was over, we walked and talked, debriefing the film. I was so confused.

I saw earlier that there was a Vivaldi 4 season concert at 8:30 PM. The tickets were €40, a bit out of our budget, so we decided to walk by and see if we could hear anything. The door was closed and windows were blacked out, so I figured we got the wrong day, but as we walked up the steps, a door opened. The first movement of the 4 seasons was playing and we just walked in, but were quickly stopped by the usher asking for a ticket. Anika thought quick and whispered “oh! I thought it was free…” The guy said no and that we needed a ticket, but the ticket office was closed, so we left. But luckily he left the door open, so we sat on the steps of the Auditorium di Santo Stefani al Ponte Vecchio listening to the music waft out of the hall.

After a few minutes, the guy came back and told us we could go in!! He must have seen how much we wanted to hear Vivaldi and felt bad. The concert hall was beauty and had projections of paintings on the walls. We listened in awe of the music and disbelief of our accomplishments of getting in. We heard the last hour and, although I was falling asleep, I was so happy to be there. We then got dinner at a nice Italian place and I got lasagna.

My deep hostel sleep was interrupted by someone’s alarm at 5am. I slept a bit more and then went for a nice run around Florence before breakfast. I got a nice view of the city from a nearby hill. Then, breakfast with Willa and Anika. I had old rice and a can of corn inside four tortillas and a mushy banana. Breakfast of champions. We spent a while journaling and then left the hostel to explore. We passed by an old photo booth while walking and paid €2. They turned out so well and it was fun (see photo later of my journal.)

We learned quite a lot at the Da Vinci museum and then sat at a cafe, journaling, and writing post cards as the people of Florence moved around us.

At 4:30, we learned all about the history of Florence from a walking tour which consisted of many petty rulers, impressive sculptures, and good restaurants. We then walked to the plaza on the hill for sunset. We weren’t the only ones with this idea. Every spot with a view of the city was taken and reserved for sunset. We found a quieter spot with a good view and sat along a stone wall. Anika and I did a watercolor painting while Willa journaled and rested. It was cool to paint as the view already looked like a renaissance painting. So my painting was sort of a meta painting, just not quite as detailed. The golden hour light poured across the green Tuscan hills, over the terracotta roofs, and onto the pastel yellow buildings. Florence is full of color.

As I sat, painting the surely not real view, I was smiling ear to ear. I was thinking about how fortunate I was to be there, in the moment, watching the sunset over Florence, listening to a jazz band play and surrounded by friends. I’d only met Willa once before this trip, when I ran into her while walking around Dartmouth and she showed me around. I knew Anika better as she was a grade above me at my high school and we had many of the same friends. I laughed when Anika said “if you told me a few years ago that I’d be traveling around Italy with Willa Long and Oliver Laxer, I would never have believed you.”

When our empty stomachs outcompeted the view, we walked back down the hill and got pizza! We got one pesto, one salami something and one burrata and ham and shared them all. They were fabulous. We walked to another restaurant to get tiramisu before finally getting some sleep at the hostel.

The following day was September 1st. I needed to be in Geneva early on the 2nd to fly north, but I decided to follow Willa and Anika to the Italian coast for the morning before making my way back. We woke up early and took a train from Florence to La Spezia while journaling, reading, and of course, gazing out the window at the Italian countryside.

We changed trains in La Spezia and the window quickly filled views of the open sea, pastel shops covering the whole color spectrum, and cliffs falling down to the sea. We were in disbelief. The train was packed until Cinque Terre, where all the tourists got off. Well, all the tourists except us, as we took the train a few more stops to Framura. We were stopped at a station for a few minutes when Willa said “Oh I think this is our stop!” We jumped up and ran off right before the doors closed and train continued on. We were alone on the platform. The sea air was warm and our smiles were big. We walked away from the sea and up the hill on weaving narrow cobble stone paths with lizards scurrying around our feet.

I was mesmerized by the color of the town. Bright yellow homes, sage green trees, bright purple flowers, and turquoise sea. We walked a mile and a half and up 900 feet to the hostel. Willa and Anika dropped off their bags and we walked over to the only open restaurant, Scale Rosse. I ordered pesto pasta and we ate, surround by nice locals.

We then walked down to the sea and the word ‘content’ kept coming up in conversation. The pasta satisfied our hunger, the warm but gentle sun felt so good, and soon we’d be swimming in crystal clear water. Anika pointed out that we couldn’t smell the sea, but instead, the sweet nectar of flowers and herbal scent of the Mediterranean Maquis. That was until we finally walked onto the beach and the old sea weed and salty sea affirmed we made it to the coast. We dropped our belongings on the rocks and jumped in. The water was so refreshing and, in this moment, I was so grateful. Seeing the bring sun reflect and dance on the sea’s surface, riding the powerful waves back towards shore, surrounded by smiling friends.

As the day grew later, I began to realize my time with my friends in the sun was coming to a close. The strange feeling I had as I left home three weeks ago returned. Fear of change? Fear of goodbyes? So I took a pencil and paper and began to write:

Salt in my eyes, but I am content. On the Tuscan coast, sage green trees and rocky bluffs flow down hillsides to meet the sea. Between these cliffs, where the valley meets the sea, quaint beaches often lie. Grey stones and pebbles streaked with lines of quartz collect warmth from the sun, creating a cozy bed where I now lay. Next to me, my close friends lie asleep. Tired from travel, our mighty swim, and life. Italian pebbles make good beds. Sung to sleep by the power of the ocean, thrashing ever up the bluffs, wanting to follow the path of the trees. The sea cannot travel where the hills go; where we go. Up the hill, the coastal town of Framura is content. Narrow cobble stone paths winding between pastel homes trapped in time. Homes not houses as this place feels well loved and looked after. A cove of paradise. We swam out to the wave breaking rocks, gently moved by turquoise waves. Staying afloat from the salt of the sea, we were rocked into a trance. Up and down and up and down. I watched Anika and Willa disappearing under the peaks and appearing high above the troughs of the waves. Dodging urchins, Willa and I climbed aboard the shore break. We hopped between boulders as the sea calmed itself into the rocks at our feet. Back on land, we painted the flowing sage green trees and bluffs; aquamarine sea and bed of rocks. Painting to be force to look at the details: the sunlight shimmering and highlighting the movement of the sea, the way the water foams as it rides up ever closer to Framura, or the patterns on the drift wood, littered across the cove. With salt in my hair and sun on my back, I am content. The minutes tick by like seconds and I know my train will be leaving the small station soon. How can I ever leave?

I stopped writing. In 40 minutes my train was leaving from the next cove over. I wiped the dry salt off my arms and put my paints away. I gave Willa and Anika a third of my book, roll of film, post cards for my parents, and a hug goodbye. I turned away and began walking back up the winding stone steps, shaded by olive trees, gazing ahead, unable to look back at the paradise I was leaving. I knew good things were to come, but it was hard to leave. I took the train from Framura to Sestri Levante to Genova to Milan. Above, the skies darkened, bringing heavy rain. In the Milan subway, I asked a group of people for help to find my train and I was surprised when they asked me how I liked Milan fashion week. They saw my dirty hiking clothes and, having learned about “gorpcore” in fashion school, they thought I was wearing it for style and insisted I go try out to be a model. Then, a brutal bus leaving Milan at midnight and arriving in Geneva at 6 AM left me brain dead and stumbling a bit. Finally had made it to the Geneva airport and was well on my way to the next part of my adventure!

Read about traversing the Lofoten Island chain in the Arctic and living in a hobbit hut in the next article!