International Travel
Trekking Through Italy
Day 1-2
Cincinnati TO Washington, D.C. TO Frankfurt, Germany TO Naples, Italy - sort of.
Mother nature sidetracked our departure from CVG by bringing intense summer storms to Washington, D.C and delaying our trip an entire day. No problem. If you want to be nice to your mental health, you'll roll with the punches and seek the positive. The positive in Washington, D.C. was that my son-in-law from Singapore got to enjoy his favorite Chinese food at a restaurant next to the World Bank. I can tell when something really pleases him. His voice has a more jovial tone, his smile more radiant, and his step bounds quicker up the stairs. Men just love their food.
Don Bosco
Day 3 We lost a day of travel also due to traveling against the path of the sun. Even though we traveled only two days, the sun dial says we traveled three. Upon approaching Frankfort, Germany from France, I spotted through my jet window so many little isolated villages surrounded by checkerboard farm fields. Every so often, I would see clusters of power generating, white behemoths with three rotating arms churning at a slow pace. I truly understand the merits of generating power through wind energy, but their presence always disrupts the continuity of the landscape. You just can't help watching them. They command your attention. Their alien-like stature seems to conjure up scenes from the movie, War of the Worlds, starring Tom Cruise. How can we forget the little girl standing in the yard, staring up at the tentacled monster on three legs? Our only relief is that the wind turbines are anchored in position. Thank God, they don't have legs, or we would all be on the therapist's couch explaining our nightmares.
The drive to our hotel in Naples gave me a real treat. As our driver careened through the congested streets, I spied a banner that said' Don Bosco School' with a two tone pencil drawing of him on the side. I quickly recalled a story I read about a saint in Italy who began a school for poor, deviant boys. It is said he could read the boys' hearts in the confessional and knew all of their sins. He also had a vision of hell and saw many of his boys walking the wide road to perdition. In the end, he saved many of his boys from hell through telling them every wrong they committed.
I quickly blurted out to the driver with the question, "is that Don Bosco's school, I mean his original school?"
"Ah, yessa, his firsta schoolla !", said the driver, waving towards the pale yellow, pasty façade of a two story 18th century building. I learned later in my research that the very first school was started in Turin, Italy in 1845. Maybe the driver meant the first in Naples?
"He is very much a favorite saint in the United States", I explained.
The driver smiled with great satisfaction that the saint of Naples is honored elsewhere. Sometimes it's the little things that make a trip so worthwhile.
"Naples is a city of 500 churches", explained our hotel clerk of our 16th century hotel.
Our first evening walk in Naples, we fell upon a big cathedral just a couple of blocks away. Since The cobblestone streets and cobblestone sidewalks - don't wear high healed shoes- are heavily clogged with motorists and pedestrians, walking into the quiet, but heavy humid air filled Gesu Nuovo cathedral foyer gave me great relief. Among the richly ornate paintings and statues, I saw a 'portable' oil painting of my very favorite saint, Padre Pio. That is another story to be told someday.
The door to our hotel, the Relais Della Porta, looked like it belonged to a medieval castle.During the day, the two halves were swung opened on large hinges to allow guests to enter a dark, cobblestone utility courtyard inside. It was neatly kept and functional, although it was very old. Its double doors created a semi-circle on top and were nearly 1 ft thick. One night, we found the door was already closed. How were we to gain access to our room, we anxiously debated? Our bodies were screaming for a shower to wash away the day's city grime and sweat. Lo and behold, we found the old world mingled with new world technology. On the wall beside the ancient door was an electronic panel to punch in a secret code for opening a little door within the big doors. It was kind of like a Mafia lookout door. 'What is the secret password?' 'Knock 3 quick times, followed by 2 slow knocks'. It was cool.
Oh, by the way, Naples - the birthplace of pizza- doesn't have a corner on the market. Our Cincinnati pizzas are just as good, if not better! No kidding.
Day 4-6
We hired a driver, thank God, to take us to Amalfi Coast from Naples. Once off the main highway, the narrow, winding streets were teaming with motorcycles, pedestrians, smart cars and at times large tour buses. On the way, we saw Mt. Vesuvius shrouded with a thick blanket of humid air and particulates - yes, it's hotter than hell here because of the humidity. An excellent video from TV's Nova about the tragedy at Pompei allowed me to see all that I wanted of that death scene.
As we approached Sorrento, the road hugged the cliffs much like Rt. 1 on California's coast. Wild flowers were everywhere. They grew on the roadside, out of craigs in the rocky hillsides and in front of hotels and villas. One variety was a purple morning glory. The other, similar to an azalea but gigantic and tree-like when mature, came in a variety of colors - light pink, fushia, white, purple and an orangey rose. At first I thought they were purposely planted until I found them in the most unlikely, arid places. Everywhere they cascaded over stones and walls. They just liked it that way, I decided.
I soon realized why George Clooney likes to spend time here with his Italian wife. If you were born here, I don't know how you could leave it. Besides the beauty, there is a certain way of life here. For one, most of the villas, hotels and homes are built into the mountainside that plunges directly into the Mediterranean Sea. Narrow roads switch back and forth among the colorful stucco buildings, but many are only accessed by steep, narrow stone staircases. As I peered up staircases, I saw numerous doors of entry were present, some with business shingles protruding from the tall stucco building walls lining the stairsteps. How could a potential customer find the business in such obscure circumstances? In the U.S., we stay out of alleys for fear of being mugged. Here in Italy, transiting alleyways is the norm.
We hired a driver, thank God, to take us to Amalfi Coast from Naples. Once off the main highway, the narrow, winding streets were teaming with motorcycles, pedestrians, smart cars and at times large tour buses. On the way, we saw Mt. Vesuvius shrouded with a thick blanket of humid air and particulates - yes, it's hotter than hell here because of the humidity. An excellent video from TV's Nova about the tragedy at Pompei allowed me to see all that I wanted of that death scene.
As we approached Sorrento, the road hugged the cliffs much like Rt. 1 on California's coast. Wild flowers were everywhere. They grew on the roadside, out of craigs in the rocky hillsides and in front of hotels and villas. One variety was a purple morning glory. The other, similar to an azalea but gigantic and tree-like when mature, came in a variety of colors - light pink, fushia, white, purple and an orangey rose. At first I thought they were purposely planted until I found them in the most unlikely, arid places. Everywhere they cascaded over stones and walls. They just liked it that way, I decided.
I soon realized why George Clooney likes to spend time here with his Italian wife. If you were born here, I don't know how you could leave it. Besides the beauty, there is a certain way of life here. For one, most of the villas, hotels and homes are built into the mountainside that plunges directly into the Mediterranean Sea. Narrow roads switch back and forth among the colorful stucco buildings, but many are only accessed by steep, narrow stone staircases. As I peered up staircases, I saw numerous doors of entry were present, some with business shingles protruding from the tall stucco building walls lining the stairsteps. How could a potential customer find the business in such obscure circumstances? In the U.S., we stay out of alleys for fear of being mugged. Here in Italy, transiting alleyways is the norm.
We are staying in Praiano, Italy along the Amalfi Coast, where houses, villas , and restaurants are built into the cliffs that dive directly into the sea. Praiano offers a spectacular view of the Mediterranean sea. No matter where you are dining or staying, every locale has a sea view.
With every positive there are some negatives. If you want to go anywhere, you must traverse narrow, centuries worn stone paved stairways that weave around the cliff dwellings. They are ornately decorated with Italian ceramic tiles, an occasional wall inset containing the statue of a saint surrounded by candles and flowers or potted flowers set inside the wall. These stairs are STEEP and not for the faint of heart. Patronizing our favorite restaurant required 306 steps to climb, but oh their 4-cheese pizza was divine!
With every positive there are some negatives. If you want to go anywhere, you must traverse narrow, centuries worn stone paved stairways that weave around the cliff dwellings. They are ornately decorated with Italian ceramic tiles, an occasional wall inset containing the statue of a saint surrounded by candles and flowers or potted flowers set inside the wall. These stairs are STEEP and not for the faint of heart. Patronizing our favorite restaurant required 306 steps to climb, but oh their 4-cheese pizza was divine!
The way to San Luca church, celebrating their 50th anniversary, required climbing probably over 500 steps. Instead of arriving for the Mass and festivities soaked with sweat, my travelling companions and I took a taxi and let chemical and mechanical energy do the work of climbing the cliffs. Best decision we've made so far. The taxi wound around the switch-back stone roads, climbing the cliffs with great speed. We approached an area of vendors, and the men all began waving their arms and gesticulating to our driver in bad Italian words. I could tell they were 'bad words' by their body language. When translated into English, it would have sounded something like, "You fool, get out of the road!", "What are you doing, you asshole?" "Your mother raised you poorly", etc. Oh, you don't comment about their mothers. That's anathema! Our driver pulled over quickly and asked a motorcyclist in Italian (my contrived translation),
" What is going on here? I am going to San Luca"
" Oh, there is a funeral procession coming" said the cyclist.
The driver turned to us and with very broken English,
" We musta waita fora the funeral to goa past"
The driver shut off his car, extinguishing the cherished air conditioning. We waited…… and waited until an officially dressed young man marched around the bend in the road before us. After covering a distance of about 20 ft, he turned around and stopped. Within a moment, a small flat-bed truck, carrying a flower strewn casket, inched its way around the curve,. There followed a short row of 4 melancholy people, meticulously descending the cobblestone road. You could tell they were probably the children of the recently deceased. No mother or father accompanied them. Then wave after wave of mourners came around the corner, some somber and others trying to hold back tears. The processional was dead quiet. No talking. No bursting out words of pain or sobbing. All the vendors stopped their transanctions and all others, including us, paid tribute to the dead.
The air in San Luca church was oppressive. No air conditioning, no fans. In fact, so far, most of the buildings in Italy have no air conditioning due to their age and architectural configurations. The Mass was, of courses, was all in Italian. The 'alleluia' and 'amen' responses were sung just exactly as my home church. I belted my tunes out during those parts, just to feel part of the congregation. My daughter and I tried to follow along. Italian is a little bit like Spanish, but not enough to comprehend completely.
At 8:30 sharp, a 20 piece all male, uniformed band, containing the same instruments of a high school marching ensemble and playing an unfamiliar tune , marched down one of the alleyways towards the peopled square in front of the church. When the tune finished, the band members halted. We all clapped. Then, everything just died, The band members sat down in haphazardly strewn chairs and set down their instruments. Others began to construct the stage, which never seemed to be completed. After a half-hour, these impatient Americans bailed and took the winding 500 steps down to our villa. Thank God my knees held out!
The first three days of the four day San Luca church celebrations required the firing of a canon every 15 minutes around dusk. It would last about 2 hours, I think. We heard our first canon fire while dining on a veranda hanging on one of Praiano's many precipices. We thought we were being bombed. The echoes of the canon fire ricocheted off the nearly vertical cliffs down the coast, sounding like a series of bombs. I wasn't consoled until a young diner blurted, "There they go again, the cannons!" The four-day celebrations culminated with a fireworks display that included many areal bombs. The explosions again bounced off the cliffs in a spectacular fashion. I wondered if Italian WWII veterans might have flashbacks, given the bombings the U.S. gave Mousellini and his fortifications. Not a good memory, you know.
There are some common mannerisms/customs among the town people in Praiano, Italy:
* Everybody says "Ciao (sounds like 'chow'), Grazie, Prego"
* It appears every Italian is a friend to every other Italian; best buds
* The swimming apparel is a little immoral, lots of butts showing no matter what the age or condition of the body.
* Everybody looks happy
* They sound like they are singing when they talk
" What is going on here? I am going to San Luca"
" Oh, there is a funeral procession coming" said the cyclist.
The driver turned to us and with very broken English,
" We musta waita fora the funeral to goa past"
The driver shut off his car, extinguishing the cherished air conditioning. We waited…… and waited until an officially dressed young man marched around the bend in the road before us. After covering a distance of about 20 ft, he turned around and stopped. Within a moment, a small flat-bed truck, carrying a flower strewn casket, inched its way around the curve,. There followed a short row of 4 melancholy people, meticulously descending the cobblestone road. You could tell they were probably the children of the recently deceased. No mother or father accompanied them. Then wave after wave of mourners came around the corner, some somber and others trying to hold back tears. The processional was dead quiet. No talking. No bursting out words of pain or sobbing. All the vendors stopped their transanctions and all others, including us, paid tribute to the dead.
The air in San Luca church was oppressive. No air conditioning, no fans. In fact, so far, most of the buildings in Italy have no air conditioning due to their age and architectural configurations. The Mass was, of courses, was all in Italian. The 'alleluia' and 'amen' responses were sung just exactly as my home church. I belted my tunes out during those parts, just to feel part of the congregation. My daughter and I tried to follow along. Italian is a little bit like Spanish, but not enough to comprehend completely.
At 8:30 sharp, a 20 piece all male, uniformed band, containing the same instruments of a high school marching ensemble and playing an unfamiliar tune , marched down one of the alleyways towards the peopled square in front of the church. When the tune finished, the band members halted. We all clapped. Then, everything just died, The band members sat down in haphazardly strewn chairs and set down their instruments. Others began to construct the stage, which never seemed to be completed. After a half-hour, these impatient Americans bailed and took the winding 500 steps down to our villa. Thank God my knees held out!
The first three days of the four day San Luca church celebrations required the firing of a canon every 15 minutes around dusk. It would last about 2 hours, I think. We heard our first canon fire while dining on a veranda hanging on one of Praiano's many precipices. We thought we were being bombed. The echoes of the canon fire ricocheted off the nearly vertical cliffs down the coast, sounding like a series of bombs. I wasn't consoled until a young diner blurted, "There they go again, the cannons!" The four-day celebrations culminated with a fireworks display that included many areal bombs. The explosions again bounced off the cliffs in a spectacular fashion. I wondered if Italian WWII veterans might have flashbacks, given the bombings the U.S. gave Mousellini and his fortifications. Not a good memory, you know.
There are some common mannerisms/customs among the town people in Praiano, Italy:
* Everybody says "Ciao (sounds like 'chow'), Grazie, Prego"
* It appears every Italian is a friend to every other Italian; best buds
* The swimming apparel is a little immoral, lots of butts showing no matter what the age or condition of the body.
* Everybody looks happy
* They sound like they are singing when they talk
We took a boat taxi/tour to the tourist town of Amalfi. It is utterly amazing how the Italian architects maneuver their materials to construct anything of substance on those cliffs. However, you can find small to immensely large buildings and churches hugging the steep inclines and perched on plateaus. Other barely clothed sunbathers joined our boat excursion, too. Three Californian girls were among them. When asked about the recent duo of strong earthquakes that hit Los Angelos - their hometown-, they brushed it off with giggles saying, " Oh, it's not near us. Our parents live in Orange County" and went off blowing kisses and ' buongiornos' to a passing boat of a dozen Italian Romeos ,doing the same. Just a side note: In the U.S., boating safety rules are followed, which includes accessibility to life vests. On our boat, we were given pool noodles and a cup of wine. Viva Italia!!!!!
Day 7
Rest day. My daughter, son-in-law and I spent most of the afternoon at a restaurant perched over the rocky Praiano beach, debating world politics and enjoying the sea breezes.
A local swimming hole along Almafi Coast
Rest day. My daughter, son-in-law and I spent most of the afternoon at a restaurant perched over the rocky Praiano beach, debating world politics and enjoying the sea breezes.
A local swimming hole along Almafi Coast
Day 8
We said goodbye to Praiano and hello to Rome via a high speed train. In the train station, people of all nationalities and economic conditions were bustling here and there, trying to catch their trains. While we waited to embark our train, I had to use the restroom. When I pulled on the door with the sign ' Toilet', I found it was locked. As I pulled several times and re-reading the sign, a group of elderly Italian men, sitting altogether on a bench, began to shout at me. One of them pointed in the direction of a stairway, speaking God-knows-what in Italian. I made hand signals demonstrating a walking motion with my fingers. They all cried, " Ya, si" in a chaotic harmony. I looked back as I ascended the stairs and smiled. One of the men poked another, spilling out a string of emotional Italian words, which I translated as, "You still got it, man! You STILL got it!" , and they wagged their heads. All these Italian men are Romeos, even the old ones.
A strange man tried to take my luggage from me, disguised as a train official. No, you are not fooling this girl! Once on the train, I loaded my very oversized luggage - I will never learn to pack light- into a floor carousel designed for bags that won't fit into the overhead bins. When I took my seat, flashbacks from my travels to Cambodia haunted me. I recalled my train trip from Bangkok to the Cambodian border where local urchins boarded the train at will in various stops, eyeing my oversized luggage sitting on the floor next to all the others. Something told me that these adolescent boys were up to no good. They sat strewn around the luggage, waiting for an opportune time to grab and go. With each stop, I stood up and turned around to face the luggage, all the while presenting my most authoritative, teacher face I could muster. They eventually gave up and hopped off the train after about 15 stops.
I found myself in the same position on this high speed, 186 mph, bullet Italian train. Before the train began to move, I turned in my seat to keep an eye on my luggage. A young, cheeky lady about 25 years old and dressed in a skimpy, patchwork dress stood in the aisle, blocking my view. I stood up and faced my luggage just as I did in Thailand. The lady then tried to observe me by looking askew to the right of my person. Her fringe vision studied my demeanor. " Is she on to me?", is what she may have said to herself. I don't know. All I know is my sixth sense said to be on alert. Then she took a seat adjacent to where she was standing, played on her phone a little while and looked askew again at me. Shortly, she got up and sat in one of the seats at the back of the car. Suddenly, newly arriving passengers asked her to move because she was in one of their seats. Ah, hah. I was right. She was very suspicious. I held my ground and kept standing and facing my luggage. I was not going to move until the train embarked. She took ANOTHER seat on the other side of the aisle and one row back from my seat. Once she settled into this 3rd seat, she looked up, locked eyes with me, and smiled. I smiled back. Yeah, lady, I'm onto you, big time. We arrived in Rome with all our belongings.
We said goodbye to Praiano and hello to Rome via a high speed train. In the train station, people of all nationalities and economic conditions were bustling here and there, trying to catch their trains. While we waited to embark our train, I had to use the restroom. When I pulled on the door with the sign ' Toilet', I found it was locked. As I pulled several times and re-reading the sign, a group of elderly Italian men, sitting altogether on a bench, began to shout at me. One of them pointed in the direction of a stairway, speaking God-knows-what in Italian. I made hand signals demonstrating a walking motion with my fingers. They all cried, " Ya, si" in a chaotic harmony. I looked back as I ascended the stairs and smiled. One of the men poked another, spilling out a string of emotional Italian words, which I translated as, "You still got it, man! You STILL got it!" , and they wagged their heads. All these Italian men are Romeos, even the old ones.
A strange man tried to take my luggage from me, disguised as a train official. No, you are not fooling this girl! Once on the train, I loaded my very oversized luggage - I will never learn to pack light- into a floor carousel designed for bags that won't fit into the overhead bins. When I took my seat, flashbacks from my travels to Cambodia haunted me. I recalled my train trip from Bangkok to the Cambodian border where local urchins boarded the train at will in various stops, eyeing my oversized luggage sitting on the floor next to all the others. Something told me that these adolescent boys were up to no good. They sat strewn around the luggage, waiting for an opportune time to grab and go. With each stop, I stood up and turned around to face the luggage, all the while presenting my most authoritative, teacher face I could muster. They eventually gave up and hopped off the train after about 15 stops.
I found myself in the same position on this high speed, 186 mph, bullet Italian train. Before the train began to move, I turned in my seat to keep an eye on my luggage. A young, cheeky lady about 25 years old and dressed in a skimpy, patchwork dress stood in the aisle, blocking my view. I stood up and faced my luggage just as I did in Thailand. The lady then tried to observe me by looking askew to the right of my person. Her fringe vision studied my demeanor. " Is she on to me?", is what she may have said to herself. I don't know. All I know is my sixth sense said to be on alert. Then she took a seat adjacent to where she was standing, played on her phone a little while and looked askew again at me. Shortly, she got up and sat in one of the seats at the back of the car. Suddenly, newly arriving passengers asked her to move because she was in one of their seats. Ah, hah. I was right. She was very suspicious. I held my ground and kept standing and facing my luggage. I was not going to move until the train embarked. She took ANOTHER seat on the other side of the aisle and one row back from my seat. Once she settled into this 3rd seat, she looked up, locked eyes with me, and smiled. I smiled back. Yeah, lady, I'm onto you, big time. We arrived in Rome with all our belongings.
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To end the day, we took a night-time bicycle tour of the city of Rome led by a pro-cyclist and art historian. Careening through massive amounts of people, we visited nearly every notable ruin and buildings of antiquity within three hours. The ride was dangerous. I crashed once, and a group of Italian men picked me up from the cobblestone street. I only had one cut on my leg and was glad to make it back alive. Yikes!
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Day 9
When you travel, you must always have in mind a plan B in case your plans cannot be fully executed. Today, my daughter had to be hospitalized in Rome's Salvadore Mundi Internationale Hospital for a malady that, in the end, was constipation. So, we lose a day. Arrivederci ! But, sometimes bad luck can turn out to be good luck. We saw how the Italian hospitals operate. Every building in Rome is ancient, and there is no difference with the hospital. My daughter received all the care I think she would have received in a U.S. hospital, but my opinion can't help but be tainted by the look of antiquity all around me.
When you travel, you must always have in mind a plan B in case your plans cannot be fully executed. Today, my daughter had to be hospitalized in Rome's Salvadore Mundi Internationale Hospital for a malady that, in the end, was constipation. So, we lose a day. Arrivederci ! But, sometimes bad luck can turn out to be good luck. We saw how the Italian hospitals operate. Every building in Rome is ancient, and there is no difference with the hospital. My daughter received all the care I think she would have received in a U.S. hospital, but my opinion can't help but be tainted by the look of antiquity all around me.
Day 10
Before picking up my daughter from the hospital, my son-in-law and I toured the Colosseum and Palatine (old Rome). The tour was 3 hours long and very worthwhile. Much of the Colosseum's large stone blocks had holes in them. I noticed them right away. At first, I thought they were either purposely put there to mount the blocks on wooden poles and transport them to the construction site. Then, I thought, no. Wooden poles would break under the weight. Then, I thought, maybe they were used for water seepage. But, there were too many holes. That wasn't it. Our guide eventually mentioned when 'the games' ended for good, metal rods placed in the blocks for reinforcement were cannibalized for the building of other modern structures. In fact, anything of value and mostly all the beautiful marble in the colosseum and the palaces in Palatine was taken and used in other more modern structures. For example, all the stone seating in the Colosseum is gone. Thus it doesn't really look like a stadium at all on the inside. So, much of the underlying brick is exposed where the marble used to be. Excavators did find some marble pieces somewhat intact. So, you could imagine the opulence displayed at these palaces.
Before picking up my daughter from the hospital, my son-in-law and I toured the Colosseum and Palatine (old Rome). The tour was 3 hours long and very worthwhile. Much of the Colosseum's large stone blocks had holes in them. I noticed them right away. At first, I thought they were either purposely put there to mount the blocks on wooden poles and transport them to the construction site. Then, I thought, no. Wooden poles would break under the weight. Then, I thought, maybe they were used for water seepage. But, there were too many holes. That wasn't it. Our guide eventually mentioned when 'the games' ended for good, metal rods placed in the blocks for reinforcement were cannibalized for the building of other modern structures. In fact, anything of value and mostly all the beautiful marble in the colosseum and the palaces in Palatine was taken and used in other more modern structures. For example, all the stone seating in the Colosseum is gone. Thus it doesn't really look like a stadium at all on the inside. So, much of the underlying brick is exposed where the marble used to be. Excavators did find some marble pieces somewhat intact. So, you could imagine the opulence displayed at these palaces.
In Rome, there are little eateries everywhere. How do they all stay in business? My favorite is a little café not far from our apartment. It is a 'hole in the wall' place where all the local working people run in for a bite or retired community members catch up on all the gossip. A lot of hand waving and gesticulations occur among the patrons. Nobody speaks English but for a young boy who once came to my rescue when the barista could not interpret my pantomime gestures. I've seen groups of commercial painters spattered with their work, white collar workers, and groups of old Italian ladies covering the community or family news. I love to sit at the rickety, white plastic tables and observe a slice of Roman daily life.
Very noticeable to Americans, though, is the lack of souvenir shops. I haven't seen one yet! Even though the city is loaded with people, the absence of tourist traps makes the city feel genuine and unspoiled. Rome is a big city and all buildings are antiquated with huge wooden entry doors 10-15 ft high, brandishing large brass door knobs, with stucco covered exteriors each in its own pale color of cream, white, rose-pink, buttery yellow, mandarin orange, or avocado green. The Romans feel that brick exteriors are undesirable. Every so often you will see an under-maintained building where the stucco has worn off a corner of the building, displaying the thin rust colored bricking down under.
Very noticeable to Americans, though, is the lack of souvenir shops. I haven't seen one yet! Even though the city is loaded with people, the absence of tourist traps makes the city feel genuine and unspoiled. Rome is a big city and all buildings are antiquated with huge wooden entry doors 10-15 ft high, brandishing large brass door knobs, with stucco covered exteriors each in its own pale color of cream, white, rose-pink, buttery yellow, mandarin orange, or avocado green. The Romans feel that brick exteriors are undesirable. Every so often you will see an under-maintained building where the stucco has worn off a corner of the building, displaying the thin rust colored bricking down under.
We also visited St. Peter's Basilica and the Vatican. Wow! There's a lot of booty there, all acquired from the conquering Roman Empire days. On display are lots of Greek, Roman and Egyptian sculptures and , of course, oil paintings by the famous Michelangelo and Di Vinci. I did a little research on Michelangelo a year or so ago. During his time, Rome was the only game in town for painters and sculptors. The Vatican employed artisans to bejewel the wood plank ceilings and walls. During the Papal state days when the pope's kingdom was much larger than it is now, it was necessary to display as much opulence as you could in order to influence foreign dignitaries and display power. So, it's erroneous to think that all of those treasures were acquired in recent times.
Sometimes all this insane human conflict makes me weary!
Sometimes all this insane human conflict makes me weary!
Day 11-14
Florence is a city of many narrow streets filled with little shops and eateries, all radiating out from central piazzas. I keep forgetting these Italian cities are very old and have kept and maintained many of the original statues and other ornamentations. What stands out the most for me are all the places to eat! However, nearly all 'ristorantes' offer the same cuisine: Pizza and pasta. I'm not kidding. We found ONE eatery that offered steak. My son-in-law, a real foodie, perked up when he saw another diner receive his meal of a plate sized steak. He even took a picture of it. I had chicken and peas, a real detraction from the pasta options.
Not to complain too much, but if you are thinking about a trip to Italy, you have to be prepared to do a lot of climbing of steps and walking to see the sites. Of course, you could take a taxi for the longer distances, but it is expensive.
Needing a respite from all the walking - remember I sit a lot due to my occupation of tutoring and writing- I parked myself in a local café just to observe the people and culture. It is hot; people are plentiful and really sweaty. Most of the people here are tourists. Some are dressed liked they came from a Milan fashion show, including the Kim Kardashian look, and others are in their tank tops, shorts and sensible tennis shoes for easily traversing the cobblestone streets. I've met a lot of Americans. We are fueling the Italian economy right now.
We walked to and visited the Boboli gardens, which were the respite grounds for the Italian king residing in Pitta Palace centuries ago. The designer was really into boxwood hedges and pathways. There really wasn't the flora I was expecting. Most of it was burned up by the hot Italian sun during this time of year? The view at the top was spectacular, though. Groves of olive and lemon trees abound. After walking about what seemed 10 miles, I was rewarded with one scoop of pineapple gelato. Sometimes, I feel like I'm competing in 'The Biggest Loser' TV game show. My body is pushed to the max with all the walking and step climbing- I'm traumatized by steps now- only to be rewarded with a palm sized portion of dietetic ice cream.
Florence is a city of many narrow streets filled with little shops and eateries, all radiating out from central piazzas. I keep forgetting these Italian cities are very old and have kept and maintained many of the original statues and other ornamentations. What stands out the most for me are all the places to eat! However, nearly all 'ristorantes' offer the same cuisine: Pizza and pasta. I'm not kidding. We found ONE eatery that offered steak. My son-in-law, a real foodie, perked up when he saw another diner receive his meal of a plate sized steak. He even took a picture of it. I had chicken and peas, a real detraction from the pasta options.
Not to complain too much, but if you are thinking about a trip to Italy, you have to be prepared to do a lot of climbing of steps and walking to see the sites. Of course, you could take a taxi for the longer distances, but it is expensive.
Needing a respite from all the walking - remember I sit a lot due to my occupation of tutoring and writing- I parked myself in a local café just to observe the people and culture. It is hot; people are plentiful and really sweaty. Most of the people here are tourists. Some are dressed liked they came from a Milan fashion show, including the Kim Kardashian look, and others are in their tank tops, shorts and sensible tennis shoes for easily traversing the cobblestone streets. I've met a lot of Americans. We are fueling the Italian economy right now.
We walked to and visited the Boboli gardens, which were the respite grounds for the Italian king residing in Pitta Palace centuries ago. The designer was really into boxwood hedges and pathways. There really wasn't the flora I was expecting. Most of it was burned up by the hot Italian sun during this time of year? The view at the top was spectacular, though. Groves of olive and lemon trees abound. After walking about what seemed 10 miles, I was rewarded with one scoop of pineapple gelato. Sometimes, I feel like I'm competing in 'The Biggest Loser' TV game show. My body is pushed to the max with all the walking and step climbing- I'm traumatized by steps now- only to be rewarded with a palm sized portion of dietetic ice cream.
Day 15-17
Venice is for lovers!
No cars, motorcycles, bicycles or taxis can be seen on this island network of densely positioned Byzantine/Gothic buildings and narrow canals. Upon our arrival via water taxi to our bed and breakfast, I decided to take some rest time by parking myself at a small table on the waterfront, sipping a glass of Coke zero and lemon. Water traffic consisted of large public boats that acted as the city transit system, gondolas galore, long flat tourists' boats and private boats. Every so often I saw a police boat, and once I saw an ambulance boat! There's no rhyme or reason to the traffic flow. I was amused for hours. They all just seemed to avoid one another.
The highlight of my observations was the near miss of a gondola capsizing when making a turn with a human load not distributed evenly in the boat. The gondola was far too heavy on the right side. When the gondolier made a turn to the right, the boat tipped to a point where only about 6 inches of boat remained above water. I saw the boat master work feverishly to right the boat. He succeeded, thank God. There are no life jackets on gondolas.
Venice is for lovers!
No cars, motorcycles, bicycles or taxis can be seen on this island network of densely positioned Byzantine/Gothic buildings and narrow canals. Upon our arrival via water taxi to our bed and breakfast, I decided to take some rest time by parking myself at a small table on the waterfront, sipping a glass of Coke zero and lemon. Water traffic consisted of large public boats that acted as the city transit system, gondolas galore, long flat tourists' boats and private boats. Every so often I saw a police boat, and once I saw an ambulance boat! There's no rhyme or reason to the traffic flow. I was amused for hours. They all just seemed to avoid one another.
The highlight of my observations was the near miss of a gondola capsizing when making a turn with a human load not distributed evenly in the boat. The gondola was far too heavy on the right side. When the gondolier made a turn to the right, the boat tipped to a point where only about 6 inches of boat remained above water. I saw the boat master work feverishly to right the boat. He succeeded, thank God. There are no life jackets on gondolas.
San Marco Piazza is a must-see for tourists, they say. It is a huge public square bordered by what appears to be 3 story apartments built in the 13th century. In Venice, public squares abound. It is a place where the residents of old caught up on the latest events, much like our surfing CNN or other news/social networks on the internet for all the mostly bad news. No wonder why people are so darn depressed these days!
Piazza San Marco is bordered by Palazzo Ducale, a palace built to house the Italian King and all the government operations, including a jail system. Our self-guided tour showed opulence in architecture that far outpaced the Vatican buildings. Gold décor everywhere! I'm no expert at art, but I now know that all the artistic paintings and frescos were used much like we use wallpaper in our homes. They didn't like bare walls showing wooden planks. The jail system was interesting, but a little depressing for the soft hearted like me. Jailbirds didn't see the light of day once sentenced and confined. A narrow passageway leading to the cells was called the Bridge of Sighs, because it was the last window and view of Venice the prisoner would ever see again.
More gelato today! This time, I ordered for myself a bigger size of raspberry flavor gelato. My daughter chastised me for getting so large a size as I was relishing every scoop. Just then, a pigeon nestled on a door jam above us decided to defecate on my daughter. Well, you rain on my parade, something may rain down on you. Tee Hee.
Venice also contains many islands, including the famous Lido island where movie films are reviewed at the Venice Film festival. Our favorite island excursion, though, was to a small fishing village with many colorful houses. We learned that the houses were painted various colors so the fishermen could find their homes in dense fog. All the houses had the same shape, so identifying by color would be useful!
As always, it's good to come home.
God Bless America !!!!
Piazza San Marco is bordered by Palazzo Ducale, a palace built to house the Italian King and all the government operations, including a jail system. Our self-guided tour showed opulence in architecture that far outpaced the Vatican buildings. Gold décor everywhere! I'm no expert at art, but I now know that all the artistic paintings and frescos were used much like we use wallpaper in our homes. They didn't like bare walls showing wooden planks. The jail system was interesting, but a little depressing for the soft hearted like me. Jailbirds didn't see the light of day once sentenced and confined. A narrow passageway leading to the cells was called the Bridge of Sighs, because it was the last window and view of Venice the prisoner would ever see again.
More gelato today! This time, I ordered for myself a bigger size of raspberry flavor gelato. My daughter chastised me for getting so large a size as I was relishing every scoop. Just then, a pigeon nestled on a door jam above us decided to defecate on my daughter. Well, you rain on my parade, something may rain down on you. Tee Hee.
Venice also contains many islands, including the famous Lido island where movie films are reviewed at the Venice Film festival. Our favorite island excursion, though, was to a small fishing village with many colorful houses. We learned that the houses were painted various colors so the fishermen could find their homes in dense fog. All the houses had the same shape, so identifying by color would be useful!
As always, it's good to come home.
God Bless America !!!!
