Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 29)
Chapter 10 Part I
Cindy Bradford
It took Patrick only ten minutes to walk from the train to the Duomo. Stefano had suggested an inexpensive place to stay nearby and knowing the hotels fill quickly in peak season, he had called ahead for Patrick. Looking at the prices, Patrick thought it cost more than it should have, but the location was excellent. His room was small and clean though somewhat tired from the countless other tourists who had obviously selected this no-frills place for a number of years. Dropping off his two bags, he realized he was hungry. From his research, he had learned that Florence was the perfect city for walking, with the centro storico practically car-free. Finding a place to eat lunch took only minutes because small food stands were everywhere. He selected one that had a vacant place to stand and ordered Chianti and Panini, deciding a quick sandwich would be an easy and cheap lunch. Tonight he could splurge and sit down for a nice quiet meal. His plan was to see inside the Duomo. Noticing that an English speaking tour was about to begin, he rushed to join the group.
After climbing more than four hundred spiraling steps to the summit, he realized that although he jogged some, he had let himself get out of shape after basketball. He must walk more, he reminded himself. Stepping out from the dark cathedral into the sun, he squinted as he looked up at the red-tiled Duomo. He marveled at the architecture of this magnificent structure, built five centuries prior. Admiring the Baptistery in front of the Duomo, dedicated to John the Baptist, the patron saint of Florence, he followed several others inside the vault of the Baptistery to see the magnificent gilded mosaics from the 1200s. He decided to pass on climbing another four hundred plus steps to the campanile, thinking the view from the bell tower would be similar to that from the Duomo.
For a full week Patrick walked around the city, taking in the museums, churches and markets. He spent two full days at the Uffizi, looking at centuries of art by Leonardo da Vinci, Rembrandt, Raphael, Michelangelo and numerous Florentine, Flemish and Venetian masters.
In the Mercato San Lorenzo, Patrick found a box of Florentine stationary for Carmella and a leather wallet for Stefano. Even though he knew they had everything they wanted, he wanted to be polite and send something for their hospitality and kindness.
On his last day in Florence Patrick took the train to the medieval walled city of Lucca and then on to Pisa. Upon his returned to the hotel, he packed and prepared for the continuation of his journey to Venice.
The next morning according to Stefano’s recommendations, Patrick caught the early train. In order to secure a budget room, Stefano had said it was important to arrive before lunch. After locating a small, dark single room with a shared bath near the Rialto Bridge, he was surprised by the cost. He knew it would be expensive, but had not counted on paying double what he had paid in Florence. Later, while walking around the city, Patrick quickly understood the lofty price and why Lord Byron had described Venice as “a fairy city of the heart.” Normally his first stop would have been the Basilica di San Marco, but his whole life he had read and heard about the Grand Canal. So he hopped on the number 1 vaporetto for a leisurely cruise from Piazza San Marco to the Ferrovia. Along this two mile ribbon of water he saw the palazzi, churches and buildings dating back from the fourteenth to the eighteenth century, their facades faded to muted reds and greens.
He thought to himself how strange not to see cars and asked an older Italian gentleman on the water bus if he spoke English. “A little,” he answered with some difficulty.
“What does a policeman drive?”
The old gentleman smiled broadly and Patrick wondered if he understood. Then, just as Patrick began to ask in another way, the man pointed to a small boat, with the word “Policio,” passing the vaporetto on the side opposite where Patrick had been looking.
“No cars?” Patrick asked.
The man shook his head to say no.
As the day heated up, he stopped at a gelato stand around San Marco Square, already dreading going back to the small room he had taken, knowing that it had no air-conditioning and only one small window.
It hadn’t taken long for Patrick to understand that Venice is indeed, a city of canals and narrow alleyways, a city built for water travel. After getting lost three times, he gave up and decided not to worry about seeing sites on a schedule, but rather to roam about discovering what he stumbled upon.
For the next three days he marveled at the statuaries, the marble columns, the art, the elaborate ceilings and furnishing of the churches and studied the weathered decadence of a city fighting against the elements.
He found the islands of Murano, Burano and Torcello, though small, to be more beautiful in some ways than Venice. On his last night he found his way to the Campo Santa Margherita, to watch the people and stop in a little trattoria along a canal that the hotel desk clerk had recommended. It was dark and musty inside and the walls smelled of aged wood and stale wine. But it was also full of what appeared to be locals and international groups of students. Two girls, who looked to be college-age, sat at a small round table in one corner drinking cappuccinos and writing postcards. A rowdy group of seven boys stood around the bar drinking beer and a mixed group of boys and girls were talking quietly over wine. Several middle-aged couples were playing chess while still others were engaged in animated conversation, hands waving in the air.
Patrick thought it looked like a fun place and sat down near the group of boys and girls and ordered a Campari. Before long, one of the girls asked if he would like to join them at their table. They were all from the American Midwest, backpacking their way across, “as much of Europe as we can in two months,” one of the boys said.
Four of them were students at Iowa State and one attended classes at a small university in Kansas. When Patrick told them he had just graduated from Notre Dame, they all did a cheer.
“I’m Jenny. Where are you going from here?”
“I’m not really sure, but I need to move on. It’s quite expensive to stay here, plus I think I have about done the city.”
“We’re going to Lucerne on the train tomorrow night if you’d like to come along,” a guy named Kenny said.
Patrick had not given any thought to that direction, but he was tempted.
“It is much cooler there and we’re tired of sweating in our sleeping bags,” the student from Kansas said.
“I didn’t get your name.”
“Oh, I’m Mike.”
“I want to see the lakes and the mountains. The pictures in the brochure are so pretty. I’m Kathy,” she added.
“What time is the train?” Patrick asked.
“It leaves at 9:00 p.m. and we arrive, I think, at 5:30 or 6:00 in the morning. That gives us a break from the sleeping bags although I haven’t found train sleeping to be all it is cracked up to be, either,” said Kenny.
“Yes, but the bathrooms are sure better than we are used to,” Zeke offered, and they all laughed.
Then without thinking about it further, Patrick said, “Then I guess I’ll go, too. Where shall I meet you?”
“What do you think?” Kathy asked.
Kenny, obviously the accepted spokesperson and leader of the group said, “Why don’t we meet about 6:30, at that little café, you know the Bueno Vino, I think it’s called; the one by Piazza San Marco. It is on the Rialto Bridge side. We can eat a pizza or something before we board.”
“Sounds great; I’m going to stop at the market and get a few items for the train on my way,” Patrick said. “I’ll have to check out of my room before noon, but I think they’ll allow me to leave my bags. The hotel, if you can call it that, is close to the Rialto Bridge.”
“At least you have a place here. We’re all the way out in Padua. We couldn’t find a hostel or anything cheap so we are riding the train back and forth,” Jenny commented.
“How long does it take you?”
“About thirty minutes. Hey, I guess we had better be going, too. I need to wash a couple of T-shirts tonight so they will dry before I pack,” Kenny said.
“I wouldn’t call what you do as packing,” Zeke said with a big grin.
“Well, you don’t see that many wrinkles do you?” Kenny remarked, hitting Zeke with a fisted hand on the upper arm.
“No, you’re one big wrinkle so it is difficult to count them individually,” Jenny teased.
Patrick had to admit Kenny looked a little rumpled, but clean, nonetheless.
“Okay, lay off,” Kenny said, unfazed by his friends’ remarks. “Pay up and we’re gone!”
“We’ll see you tomorrow, Patrick,” as they left laughing.
It was obvious to Patrick that they enjoyed each other and he was glad he had made the quick decision to accompany them at least as far as Lucerne.
Kenny’s mention of washing t-shirts reminded Patrick he needed to do the same. They should dry fast in this heat but the humidity is another matter.
The next morning he went back to the Basilica, this time paying to go up to the open balcony area on the front of the structure that overlooks the San Marco basin.
Afterwards, he bought a couple of paperback books for the train and an inexpensive backpack from a vender on the bridge. He had grown tired of rummaging through his duffle whenever he needed something quickly so he thought this might help and also give him more room if he saw something he wanted.
Excited about having some people his age to converse with and anxious to see Switzerland, he met his new companions at the designated time and ordered pizza and house red wine.
When they had finished they walked to Venice Station, Santa Lucia, arriving thirty minutes before departure time, and bought their tickets. Deciding to pay for a sleeping couchette in hopes of getting a better night’s sleep, the girls counted out extra money leaving the guys to rough it in a regular seat. By midnight all were asleep until they were startled awake around 1:00 a.m. at the Swiss border by a guard, who requested to check their passports. Shortly after this stop, Patrick fell back to sleep and when he rubbed his eyes open, they were nearing Lucerne. Though dark, there was enough light from the moon that he could see a glimpse of the lake against the backdrop of the Alps. Feeling a chill for a minute he considered pulling out his windbreaker, but guessed the sun would be up shortly after they reached the train station.
Jenny and Kathy came through the doors to the section where the other boys were still sleeping.
“Hello. How were your beds?” Patrick inquired glad to see them.
“Hard,” Jenny replied. “I think you guys were smarter than we were.”
“Maybe you should ask my neck,” Patrick suggested, smiling.
“The books all talk about the comfortable night trains. They even make it all sound so romantic,” Kathy said, frowning. “The dorm bed will actually feel pretty good in the fall,” she laughed.
“Shhh. That’s a stretch,” Jenny whispered, trying not to wake Kenny, Zeke and Mike.
“I’m awake,” Zeke mumbled from under his pillow which was cupped around his head. “Are we there yet?”
“The good news is it is nicer weather,” Patrick told him.
“As soon as we arrive I’m buying myself one of those cool Swiss Army knives that has about twenty different blades and stuff on it,” Mike said, yawning.
“Then what will you do with it?” Kenney asked, sitting up slowly.
“You never know, so you need to watch out!” he grinned.
At the station in Lucerne Patrick agreed to meet them at five o’clock at the famous old wooden bridge. Although none of them really knew where it was, they determined that it would be a place they could find. Walking in the dim morning light, Patrick found an open coffee shop and bought a pastry and coffee. This is nice, he thought as he sat down in a small booth.
When the stores opened, he decided he liked Mike’s idea of a Swiss knife as a gift for each brother. Sometime in the night he had also thought about looking for watches for his mom and dad. Going from store to store, he found knives and watches. Although the prices were about the same at all the stores, one owner offered to box and ship them to the States. Before paying, Patrick asked, “Could you give me a few minutes to write a quick letter, before you pack it for mailing?”
Nodding yes, the woman handed Patrick a pen and single sheet of paper.
Patrick wrote:
July 1,
I’m in Lucerne, Switzerland. I met up with some students in Venice from the Midwest and traveled by train with them. I’ll probably only stay here another day and be on my way to who knows where! I thought you might like Swiss watches. I think the watch you gave me when I was ten was one of my best gifts ever, second only to my blue bike. I don’t have John, Robert or Andrew’s addresses, so will you please give them these knives when you see them? Also, please tell Mary Margaret and Rose Marie I didn’t forget them. I’m getting them rosaries blessed by the Pope when I return to Rome. Don’t tell them what they will be receiving though. Mom, you’re getting one also.
Gotta go; the woman is waiting on me so she can pack the box.
Love,
Patrick
Following his shopping and a lunch of cheese fondue, Patrick took a boat ride on Lake Lucerne. As he looked up at the snow capped mountains, he marveled how the scene looked like a postcard.
After overhearing tourists on the boat discussing the Lion Monument, he figured he had just enough time to see it before meeting his friends. Rushing to the wooden bridge he met first Kenny, who reported, “We are going on to a little town that is by the lake where we can camp. Want to come?”
“I already paid for a room tonight, plus I don’t have camping gear. I think I’ll take the train to Innsbruck tomorrow. But thanks,” Patrick said, a little regretful that he was going to be alone again.
“We’re going on before it gets dark. Sorry about dinner.”
“No problem. You guys have fun. Maybe we’ll meet up again.”
They waved good-bye as Patrick walked to a small café on the banks of the River Reuss to read and eat a light dinner.