Quirky Travel Stories

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       Although I am not even a legal adult yet, I have had the opportunity to travel to some very fascinating and culturally rich countries. During my travels, I have encountered interesting characters that I still remember to this day, even though I only saw them once for a few minutes a couple years ago. These stories are nothing lengthy, just quirky tidbits about colorful foreigners that were either doing something strange, were different looking, or who directly talked to me. Let the reading commence!

1. As my family and I were crossing the border from Italy into Switzerland, a swiss police officer pulled us over on the interstate. A person got out of the car, came to window, and demanded 40 euros from us. The whole operation seemed rather shady, but the real kicker was that I thought the female officer was actually a male. She was beefy and downright terrifying, especially when we told her that we only had a credit card and not a 40 euro note. She said, in a dead monotone voice that sounded like a man’s, “Wait.” I wished you could have been there to hear it—it was the scariest one word command I have ever heard!

2. While my family and I were strolling in the Piazza del Popolo (one of the most famous squares in Rome) after an amazing day at the Vatican, a crazy Italian lady came up to us and started jabbering away angrily in Italian. Shaking her first and refusing to be snubbed even though we tried to walk away from her, she followed us for a short distance, continuing to curse us out in Italian. It was so random, and it reminded me of “Yaya” in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I only just discovered that the Piazza del Popolo was first constructed by Aurelian, an Emperor of Rome who also built the Aurelian Walls. See a 3D version of the Piazza here. The other “Crazy Italian Lady” experience I had was when my family was driving into Rome. A large, ruddy faced woman in a miniscule green tomato truck shook her meaty fist at us because we were driving too slow.

3. Ah, Rome. I wish I could visit that city again simply because the people living there are so colorful and alive. In the Piazza Navona, another famous square that was formerly the Circus of Domitian during the Ancient Roman Empire, an old man was singing karaoke to Andre Botticelli. He was hunched over, wearing a black suit, and yodeling his heart out on a portable microphone. See a 3D image of Piazza Navona here. Music is everywhere in Italy, even on the jam packed subways. Men carrying accordions and speakers play a few numbers on a subway car, go around with a cup for coins, and proceed to the next train, constantly moving.

4. Now we are in Spain! In the sleepy city of Consuegra, famous for its 16th century windmills, I witnessed one of the most bizarre events. A man, standing next to a creaking windmill, way playing his bagpipes by himself. He was not asking for money or even looking at anybody else. He was simply belting out a mournful tune to the barren landscape of La Mancha.

5. I have many good memories in Italy, but I also remember some of the nastier characters as well. As I was gazing upon the beautifully sculpted body of David in La Accademia Gallery in Florence, my mother temporarily vacated to her seat to see David from a better angle. When a large American woman went to sit next to me, I politely said, “Sorry, my mom is still sitting here.” In a typical American fashion, the obese menace replied, “Well, she’s not here, so I’m sitting down.” I seriously do not understand how somebody can be so ornery when they are within breathing distance of the most amazing sculpture in the world.

6. Back in the states! When I was at Art Basel in Miami (an exhibition of Modern Art), I happened to see my first Picasso work, in this case, an incomplete sketch of running nudes. A man in his late 20s or early 30s walked up to me and started talking about Picasso. He told me that I had to visit Malaga, the hometown of Picasso in Spain, and that the work I was currently looking at wasn’t that great. I was rather incensed; who was he, a yuppie from Miami, to tell me that the Picasso work at Art Basel wasn’t that great? I was just happy to finally see a real Picasso (I actually got to hold a real Picasso a few months ago at the Dali Museum!)

7. I have a few more quirky stories (more like unforgettable memories from Italy). The first was that while in Cinque Terre, Italy, a father and son were playing the violin by the azure waters and sheer seaside cliffs. Although I don’t remember the exact piece, I remember the music being beautiful and typically Italian. The second Italian memory was from when I was in Florence. Right before walking onto the Ponte Vecchio Bridge, my mother bought a piece of art from a painter right beside the River Arno. His face was extremely tanned and weathered, his hands were large and rough, and his art was stunning. He painted the Italian countryside with the rolling fields of bright yellow sunflowers and bombed out farm buildings.

8. I don’t have very many stories from England or Scotland because mostly everybody there was rather normal and not promiscuous. However, the tables completely turned in Spain because women there were much more open about their sexuality. On one of the main streets in Madrid off the Gran Via, there was a line of trees going all the way down to a large square. At night, very un-subtle hookers would stand by their trees (or “territory” as I like to call it), enticing men by making eye contact, cat calling them, or simply showing off their chests more. This was flabbergasting to me; they were clearly hookers, but no trace of shame was on their painted faces. The other vivid encounter I had was also in Madrid, although this one was not too positive either. There were many homeless immigrants on the streets, mostly from North African or Middle Eastern countries. This one homeless woman had a leg so disfigured that it actually twisted fully around so the nub of her foot went in the opposite direction. For the four days I was in Madrid, I saw her every day, and after tossing her a few euros, she would purposely come back to my family for more money. In short, I would probably not visit Madrid again, unless I went there only to see the marvelous Prado Museum.

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