Spending a whole day in Pisa during a stay in Tuscany seems like a good idea. The historic center of Pisa is quite pleasant and clearly less touristy than Florence, for example.
What to do in Pisa Following this publication, I give you some ideas of visits to Pisa, but also some good plans to visit Pisa in one day!
What to do in Pisa: Visit the famous tour of Pisa!
Impossible to visit Pisa without going, at least, at the foot of the famous tower of Pisa (Torre di Pisa in Italian). Even if the tower of Pisa is one of those places in the world that one has the impression of knowing even before going there, it is clearly a necessary step when one is in Pisa for the first time. time!The real name of the tower of Pisa is actually the bell tower of the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Assumption of Pisa (Cattedrale di Santa Maria Assunta in Italian). This cathedral is sometimes called the Duomo of Pisa.
It was a condition she’d accepted all too readily. She retrieved her duffel from the backseat and closed the door. With the dome light out, new dark ensued but Angie didn’t feel threatened.
The lights in the house were adequate beacon; and off to the east, beyond the row of tall pines, dawn steadily approached. She walked across the parking area, down the steps to the front walk. She was in her Army fatigues and standard-issue boots. The attire was comfortable enough, and she’d grown used to it these past three months, but it felt awkward and out-of-place in this North Carolina setting. She wished she’d taken time to change back at the Air Station but too late now. She shortened her stride in an attempt to quiet her noisy footsteps. At the bottom of the steps up to the landing beside the kitchen door, she set her duffel down and reached up under the band to the deck. She hoped it was still too early for copperheads to be active, and she recalled the shiny black spider with the red hourglass on its thorax she’d brought cupped in her hands to her mother as a Mayday present when she was six.
Benign nature had left her unharmed then; she could risk trust in it again now. She counted the joists with her fingers—one, two, three—then reached up to the top of the fourth. Sure enough, there it was—the door key hanging on its nail all these years later. It felt cool and smooth—no rust evident to the touch—as she lifted it off the nail. She unlocked the deadbolt, opened the door, and stepped silently into the dimly lit kitchen. The room felt warm as an incubator after the brittle outdoors; the air was moist and close. Her nurse’s training made her wonder if fear or anxiety had caused her adrenal gland to secrete adrenaline into her bloodstream, raising her heart rate and blood pressure, and in turn causing her to feel hot and sweaty. But a secondary analysis of her body’s vitals assured her that her pulse and pressure were normal, her breathing calm. It was the room, not her, that was very warm, warm and humid after the chill dark. She set her duffel to the side under the coat hooks then turned to head down the darkened hallway toward the faint light emanating from the bedroom. Halfway there, in the darkest spot between the kitchen and the bedroom light, just in front of the coat closet that had been converted into storage for board games and athletic gear, her physiology did have a reaction to her heightened emotional state, only the opposite of the one she’d contemplated moments earlier—her blood pressure plummeted, her heart rate slowed, and her skin was suddenly cold and clammy.
She felt light-headed and would’ve hit the floor with a thud if her hand hadn’t reached out and found the closet door’s knob to steady her. Using the knob as a crutch and tether, she slowly lowered herself to the floor then leaned against the wall, raised her knees to her chest, and lowered her head between her knees so that it was below the level of her heart. She closed her eyes and waited for the blood to return to her brain. “It’ll be O.K.” a voice whispered. Angie tensed at the words but didn’t raise her head or open her eyes. “You didn’t think I’d let you walk in there alone, did you?” “Mom?” Angie wondered if she’d spoken the word or just thought it. “Darling.” “This is the last place I thought I’d find you.” “More likely the Iraqi desert or the Trauma Center?” “So much pain here for you—the betrayal.” “For you, dear; I go where you need me.” “Even if it hurts?” “It doesn’t hurt me anymore—maybe once, not now.” “Why not? He betrayed you!” “Two answers, dear—one, I’m beyond hurt here; two, being beyond hurt allows me to see that he didn’t betray me, he didn’t betray you, he betrayed himself. More specifically, his body betrayed his heart. I’m sorry for him and I’ve told him so, or at least tried.” “His body?” “His body needed Joan, needed her body—her feel, her scent, her breath, her taste —since the day he was conceived.
Once he stumbled on her, he could’ve no more resisted her than a starving child could turn away from a sumptuous banquet.” “He could’ve chosen not to.” “No.” “He could’ve tried.” “Oh, he tried; Lord knows he tried. He took cold showers, freezing cold; he took hot showers. He hit the porno shops and the strip clubs and the Internet sites. He took long walks into the woods and howled at the moon, the sun. He screamed into his pillow in the night, bit his pillow, gnawed his hand, his arm. He tried every way he could. It didn’t work.” “How do you know?” “That’s the good thing about here—you know everything about those you love. But on this one point, I have to admit I knew it then, while it was happening.” “And you didn’t stop it?” “I couldn’t, no more than Josh could. But at least he tried. I didn’t even try, and I’m sorry for that. Even knowing it wouldn’t have worked, I still should’ve tried.” “Why didn’t you?” “I was scared.
There was this yawning hole of need at the center of Josh that I discovered early on that I had no chance of filling. I was frightened by his need and shamed by my inability to meet it. I guess I gambled that Joan might fill that void and still leave me the parts of Josh I loved and needed.” “Some gamble.” “A foolish bet, in retrospect; but one I freely chose. But I never considered the risk to you. That was my fault, my selfishness. I should’ve weighed the risk to you and done something, anything, to spare you that hurt.” Angie could only agree. “Yes.” “I’m sorry, darling.” “We all are.” “Josh most of all.” “You know?” “I know. He’s paid, many times over. Forgive him.” “Is there time?” “Enough.” Angie opened her eyes and raised her head. Blood throbbed in her ears. The hall was perceptibly brighter though still locked in gray pre-dawn. Directly across from where she sat, a few feet above on the wall, a framed portrait photo of the three of them stared down at her. Even in the dim light, she could see the images. Far as she knew, it was the last photo ever taken of the three of them together.
They all looked so calm, relaxed, and happy. Laura’s eyes were locked on Angie like some majestic hawk—high up in the tree surveying the whole countryside with regal detachment and assurance before focusing all her attention on this new entrant—as she pushed open the ajar door to her parents’ bedroom. Angie stood in the doorway looking calmly at Laura seated in the chair with the nightstand light on behind her. Then she redirected her gaze to the slight figure lying in the bed and wondered if that pale, wizened old man were really her father. Seeing that helpless figure caused her to redefine Laura’s intense glare as protective rather than aloof. “I figured you as resourceful,” Laura said quietly but firmly, “but I didn’t know the half of it. Must be your father in you.”
Angie tilted her head in silent question. “Maybe your mother too,” Laura added quickly. “I can’t speak to that. But your father was the most resourceful person I ever knew. You wanted something done, give him the task. He’d find a way, whatever it took.” Angie noted her persistent use of the past tense but temporarily balked at its meaning. “Still?” Laura smiled. The expression did wonders for her face. “We’re here, aren’t we?” Angie nodded. “But is he?” Laura took Josh’s near cool wrist in her fingers and waited for a pulse. It arrived after a long pause, barely perceptible, more an echo of life than life itself. She nodded. “Yes,” then added, “But I don’t know that he’ll come back from this one.” This one what? Angie wondered—this crisis, this coma, this infection, this dream, this sleep, this what? Her nurse’s training wanted an immediate diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment regimen. Time was wasting—she needed to act, not watch. Her legs began to wobble.
Laura stood quickly, caught Angie around the waist, and guided her into the bedside chair she’d just occupied. “Drink some of this,” she said and raised her can of cola to Angie’s nearly blue lips. Angie took a sip or two then sat back in the chair. “Thanks. Long night.” “For us all,” she said, glancing at Josh as she set the soft-drink can on the nightstand. Angie followed Laura’s gaze to her father. The sight of him so radically changed from her last image of him cut her deeply, deeper than she’d ever been cut or thought she could be. So this is it, she thought. This is the reckoning. Laura squatted in front of Angie, reached up and gently turned Angie’s gaze from Josh to her. “I’m Laura, in case you didn’t know; Josh’s first wife.” Angie nodded but said nothing. “Devon, Josh’s other daughter, is asleep down the hall. And Sherri, the home nurse, is asleep in the guestroom. He’s been well cared for.” “I can see that.” “We had the sensors on him, but he made us take them off the last time he was conscious.” “When was that?” “Yesterday morning.” “So we’re flying blind.” It was a statement, not a question. As a nurse— particularly one less than a day removed from service in Iraq, one huge testing ground for the latest in diagnostic technologies—this absence of even the most basic of patient data seemed almost criminally negligent. Laura noted her objection and understood, at least in a general way, its origins.
But she chose to avoid direct confrontation. “He’s flying—well, somewhere. I almost said ‘home,’ but realized this is his home. This is where he wanted to be; this is where he wanted to die. He called me here from California to help guarantee that he died here at home—no hospital equipment, no strangers hovering, no extraordinary measures or lastditch heroic stands. He wanted—.” She paused then corrected herself. “He wants to die at home.” Angie, her blood pressure and heart rate stabilized by the dose of cola and caffeine and her seated posture, looked first to her father then to Laura and nodded silent assent—she’d not made herself available for any of the decision-making; she’d not question or try to undo any of those choices now (too late anyway, she could clearly see). She recalled returning to base from a briefing in Baghdad when the Humvee she was riding in came on the aftermath of a recent bombing. She jumped out and focused on an unconscious Marine being cradled in the lap of a buddy. At first glance, except for being unconscious, the Marine showed no visible injuries. She bent down to begin providing care when the buddy pointed a pistol at her and gestured for her to step back. Tears streamed down the pistol-waver’s dusty face.
She protested firmly, said the man (no more than a boy, really—maybe nineteen or twenty) needed immediate medical attention and that she was a nurse (in case he didn’t recognize her regiment’s medical insignia on her uniform) and trained in battlefield trauma care. Still, the protector wouldn’t relent, kept the pistol drawn and pointed loosely in her direction. She was about to turn and try to find help in subduing this clearly shocked guardian when the unconscious soldier released an awful groan from his core, tensed from head to toe, then fell limp. The guardian took a deep breath, wiped the tears from his face with the sleeve of his free arm, lowered the pistol, and said, “You can have him now
Of course, it is possible to climb to the top of the tower of Pisa. The tower can be visited every day of the week. You can imagine, given the fame of the tower, there is a crowd, especially in high season! To avoid waiting to buy your tickets (and potentially for the visit), it is easier to book your ticket to the Leaning Tower online. You just have to choose a time interval and go to the tower of Pisa to climb to the top without having to queue ... Practice!
The tower of Pisa is still quite impressive. I did not imagine that she was so inclined! Although it is hyper-touristy and is a small cliché, visiting the tower of Pisa is one of the things to do in Pisa.
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