October24, 2005
ITALY - Pisa. Tower. Leaning.
Related pic galleries: Pisa! I was there for one day.
I remember as a punk kid seeing numerous references to The Leaning Tower of Pisa in advertisements, pizza boxes, cartoons, and restaurant logos, so I thought I must find out where this tilting column of marble endured, and go take some photos before it teeters over and slams to the ground. Another train took me to a place called Pisa - imagine that, the Leaning Tower of Pisa is in a town named Pisa! I learn something new every day. I shlepped along across the small city, first stopping for a four euro and fifty cent cappuccino that was about the size of a thimble, then over the river to where hundreds of vendors sold plastic leaning tower lamps and other cheap Italian souvenir crap manufactured in China. Off in the distance was the fabulous tower poking up between buildings. I get this growing excitement in the pit of my stomach every time I visit another famous monument in Europe - I keep thinking, "wow, look where I am" - a year ago I never imagined I'd be on the other side of the world soaking up the history of all these wonderful things I've only seen on television or in movies. I moved quickly towards the tower, trying to out-walk the thousands of other people behind me unfolding maps and fumbling with cameras. As I got closer I was amazed at just how far the bell tower is tilted - it's much more dramatic than the images in vacation brochures. When I entered the courtyard, raising my camera to snap a few frames of leaning tower, I became disheartened at the unlucky steak of monument restoration I was encountering in every bloody city in which I sightsee. They had a mesh fabric wrapped around the second row of arches - probably fastened to the smooth marble walls ten minutes before I arrived. My attention was slowly diverted by the swarm of tourists scrambling for a good position to capture that special moment of each other feigning to keep the tower from falling. Who's going to take my photo while I pretend to push it over, crush it beneath my feet and light it on fire? I suddenly felt so alone. Then the yells of security personnel from all around snapped me out of my depressive daze. Once again I understood why Italians working in tourist areas are so miserable. People were climbing on statues, hanging from ancient carved stone, standing on fences, walking on protected areas of grass - the security were like primary school teachers frantically running around trying to keep the mischievous children out of trouble.
I bought a fifteen euro ticket to climb the tower. Only twenty or so people at a time are allowed to climb to the top of the spiraling three hundred steps and only a thirty minute visit. Again, while at the top section, the security personnel were shouting at people not to touch the bells or not to do this and not to do that - I wanted to run from the tower screaming, "I'm not a tourist, I'm not a tourist!
The next day before jumping on a train to Venice, I went for another cappuccino at the same cafe as the day before. I ordered the same drink from the same server as the day before, only this time it was only one euro and fifty cents. As I stood dumbfounded stirring sugar into my tiny gulp of black bitterness, I heard someone question the recent price changes, and the lady behind the counter said "tourist season ended today".
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