This Pear Is Not For Eating

Nov 29

What a day.

It appears as though my body has decided that, regardless of itineraries, this trip is over.  From the second I woke up I felt incredibly sick to my stomach.  It took a while, but I finally started to feel better around 11, so we decided to catch the train to Lucca (the rain had ceased and the outlook was 50/50, so we took our chances).  Our original plan was to make eggs for breakfast, but seeing as how that would've been a terrible idea considering the circumstances, we opted for pastries at the train station instead.

We got on the train, ate, and sat down for the long haul.  It took almost an hour and a half to get to Lucca, mostly because it lies on a major route and stopped way too often.  It was prettier than a bus would've been.  Well, it was according to Sam.  I spent the entirety of the ride trying not to unswallow my breakfast, curled as best I could into a tolerable position.

Lucky for you, Sam took pictures from the train!

Oh Italy...

Finally we arrived in Lucca around 1:30. We debated whether or not to get right back on the train and go home, but the fresh, crisp air (read: bitterly cold wind) was a little empowering.  Eventually we decided we'd at least walk around the town a bit and explore the old fortified walls.

On our way from the station into the town, we saw a poster advertising an "Instruments of Torture" museum.  We simultaneously "oohed" and decided to hunt it down.

Lucca's walls and a couple of its hooligans

First, though, we climbed up onto the old walls and walked for a bit.  I'm glad we decided not to rent bikes.  Aside from my intense periodic discomfort, it was very cold and windy up there.  After probably not long enough, we descended into the town to search for the museum and, hopefully, a bathroom.  

He has endless amounts of these faces

After a moany groany uncomfortable journey through the streets of Lucca, we came to the torture museum.  We were both very excited, but I knew I wouldn't be able to enjoy it unless we found a restroom first, which museum had none.  We checked at a bar across the street, and luckily they had one for customers, so Sam got himself something.

We then popped back over, bought student-priced tickets from the cheerful woman at the desk (the first time we've counted as students this whole trip without being members of the EU).  The museum was odd in that it consisted of two floors, with two small rooms on each floor.  We went into the "dungeons" first.

Sam read to me about the Bishop's Kite while I sat on the floor fighting another vicious wave of nausea.  Then I stood up and read about this triangular bondage-type thing that kept you in the fetal position on your back, causing discomfort very similar to what I was experiencing.  VOODOO???

Anyway, the instruments were very interesting, and even though I recognized a few (the rack, the Iron Maiden, guillotine, and the Pear from that episode of Bones), many were new.  But when I the room started swimming and I realized I was about to pass out and/or barf, and I didn't fancy falling onto the spikes of the Rack, Sam and I decided it was probably time to go.

We looked briefly at the two upstairs rooms and then, trying to appear cheerful and not at all sickened by the contents of the exhibit (I wasn't, but I am pretty sure the woman at the desk thought I was.  I can just see her glancing at the security screen, watching me sitting with my head between my legs, my elbow grazing the Spanish Donkey, shaking her head and rolling her eyes).

We walked as quickly as comfortably possible back to the train station and waited the endless 30 minutes for the train.  Sam presented that he thought I had a stomach bug.  I presented that it didn't feel quite like that and that it was more likely my body reacting to exhaustion.  I slept most of the way back, and didn't feel too poorly (or at least not as before).  We just finished dinner, and so far I feel okay.  Sam is very kind and has offered to clean the apartment by himself so I can sleep.  I knew I married him for a reason.

Well, that's about all.  Tomorrow we hope to sleep in and then make our way to the train station to catch our train back to Rome.  I've had a great time here, but I'm definitely ready to go home.  My stomach agrees.

Bummer though that I don't have a cool story to tell the grandkids about passing out in an Italian torture chamber.