Three strikes and you're out.

Four episodes of 'Pretty Little Liars', three slices margarita pizza and two beers later (the assigned figures to this list may or may not have been sligtly altered to make me seem like less of a lazy, emotional eating, alcoholic), I can officially say I am sitting alone in a hotel room, by my own will, in Florence.

Just an update in case any of you missed the epic breakdown that was my morning, I'll give you a quick run down.

First strike was when I woke up and due to the excessive downpour of rain that Verona experienced yesterday, my Vans were still wet. Not being a fan of wearing socks and sneakers together, I then had to endure the awful beautiful aroma of that followed when I attempted to blowdry my shoes dry in time to wear. This failed by the way and I was left to spend the rest of the day walking in damp runners that smelt like someone had left a banana in the bottom of a school bag for two weeks.

Second strike was when I decided to use the bathroom at the B&B I was staying at. Now without going into too many details that would make your stomach churn, basically European's have very, strange bathrooms. Not only do they have showers that beep and have reversed hot and cold taps, douchette's and bidets (which I had google how to use by the way, so not something I'm keen on trying whilst abroad), they also have very smalll toilets and piping. I learnt this when I went to flush the toilet this morning and the whole thing basically exploded on me (not literally, thank god) and then started overflowing. I waited for about 20 minutes trying to clean the now un-useable bathroom up but to no avail, decided I leave the owner of the house a note and leave for my train.

This would have all been fine and dandy until the third strike.

Third strike came when I went to leave the apartment and the door wouldn't open.

I pushed, I pulled, I turned the keys left and right but nothing would work.
Annoyed, I walked around the apartment checking if there was another exit or perhaps a window I could climb out. That's when I realised all the roller shutters had been brought down and locked from the outside. Thanks to my mother who had put thoughts of murders in my head the night before, this was when the panic kicked in. I started to envisage myself being the next special feature on 60 minutes and dumped all my bags on the floor in exasperation ready to crawl into the fetal position.

aiiiieee polizia !!

Luckily,  a few slightly hysterical phone calls to my best friend and family back home later, we formulated a plan to call the police to come rescue me.

I then had to explain in very broken Italian that I was an Australian tourist who had locked myself in a strange apartment that I didn't live in and no I couldn't call anyone else to come help.

Thank goodness the crime rate in Verona must be fairly low because within ten minutes, the polizia broke in through a side window and saved me from my 'on the verge of a nervous breakdown' state. Turns out the woman locked the door with a different key, one which I didn't have access to, which is why I couldn't open the door with the key hanging off a shitty foam lanyard that I was given.




So there you have it, those are the highlights of the day that was. I ended up catching a couple of trains to Florence and have spent the night in total rest and repair mode trying to plan my day for tomorrow in order to avoid any possible crises (particulary in the form of being locked in a confined space)

I'm not saying I had an awful time in Verona or that I hated it, I just think we had a few.. let's say differences of opinion on what makes a good stay.

To cap it off, when I went to go buy Maccas after the morning's ordeal, the man didn't give me my 'prevalidated toilet ticket' OR tomato sauce. I don't think I'll be visiting Verona again any time soon, I mean that's just inexcusable.