|
Yay!
They are done, my online photos albums of my summer trip to Italy and France are both finished and posted (France went online less than an hour ago). I even managed to get the ones of France down to fewer than 80 images. Check them out and let me know what you think.
A thoughtful muse: Although it took a surprising amount of work to winnow through the images, then put together the photo albums and post them, I'm glad I did. Now, like the journal postings in this blog, I've got a way to remember the great time I had there and, when the mood strikes me, take a mini-vacation. Also, it will give me a very tangible way to motivate myself to do the things I need to do so I can go again.
All right, now on to the next thing on my to-do list. Hmmm. My nephew Joel and his gf arrive tomorrow night.. . . .Current Mood:  accomplished Current Music: High Time - Grateful Dead |
|
Ta-da! The first of my two photo albums from my trip to Europe is complete and ready for your review and comment! This album captures my time in Italy in fewer than 100 images. I know that still sounds like a lot, but remember that I started with more than 1000 and trimmed it down. I should note that I am people oriented so you'll find this isn't just a constant stream of notable tourist sights but includes pictures of my friends as well. ( For Morgan's fans )
A small rant: These images would have been up hours ago except I discovered that Comcast limits me to 25 megabytes of web space (a ludicrously small amount in these days of video clips and MP3s) which forced me to load the photos into my server space at the University of Washington. That required that I download the university's secure software and then learn how it all worked. I would have been just fine except the university clearly has not updated its documentation. As a result I kept loading the images into the wrong directory and could not figure out why it was not working. Well, several hours later, I decided to ignore the instructions and, voila, everything was working fine in about 20 minutes of experimenting.
Your transition among three separate servers (Comcast, UW, and LiveJournal) should be seamless and invisible. If not, let me know so I can fix any problems.Current Mood: accomplished |
|
In doing some editing and updating to my blog (which is still in progress) I ran across this fantastic website at UC Santa Cruz. It’s a collection of color lantern slides that were taken in the 1920s and 1930s of many of the notable tourist/resort sights in Italy—almost all of which I visited again 70 or so years later, like:
Amalfi
Atrani
Bergamo
Capri
Lake Como, including Varenna
Milan
Pompeii
Rome
Sorrento
The Vatican
Venice
They are well worth checking out and should keep you busy until I get my photos up!Current Mood: fascinated Current Music: I Just Wanna See - Smash Mouth |
|
Bleah.
The little app I use on my PDA to blog offline is a bit temperamental at times. That means that sometimes it decides I'm finished with a post when I'm not and, just to be difficult, it won't allow me to go back and edit these posts once they are queued for uploading. Which explains why my last post ended so abruptly. . . .
So we arrived in Amalfi late in the morning on July 7 and got ourselves pointed to hostel in the next town (around the point, about a half mile away and whose name I cannot remember right now), so we schlepped our things over, got a nice room with a shower to ourselves and decided that we would have lunch and then go check out Amalfi's Emerald Grotto (like the Blue Grotto, only green, larger, and you can walk in for a very small charge.
Stopping in a store to check out the local selection of limoncello, we asked about a good place to get a pizza and were pointed across the piazza to a place we were assured had good pizza. It was nearly empty as we walked in but one of the two customers recognized us as Americans and called to us across the room as we looked over the menu: "This place ha the best pizza. I am a cab driver and I always eat here." It turns out he'd also been a cab driver in America for years. He looked a bit like an aging Elvis but he was darn right about the pizza. Good eats. But, as I noted in a previous post, we weren't quite finished with lunch when they turned on the television and we heard the news about the bombings in London. Morgan went off to send her e-mails and I paid the bill and hurried after her.
A bit later, still pondering what the bombing might mean to us, we went in search of the best way to get to the Emerald Grotto only to discover the seas and tides were too rough and it was closed. Damn.
So we wandered. Morgan took the lead and I followed as we wound up the main street, beyond the touristy areas, and then, on a whim, up a series of stairs climbing up the mountainside. It turned out to be a very, very, very long staircase. It took us past a couple of apartments, then a few homes clinging to the side of the hill. The higher we climbed, the more rustic (euphemism for: rundown, shanty-like) the homes became and then we were out in the country with sweeping vistas of Amalfi and the coast below us, the vineyards and farm houses nestled in the steep valley and watched over by stone watchtowers that dated at least to the last century and that had probably been built on Roman foundations. The sky was a cerulean blue and had those puffy white clouds that created an interesting mix of shadow and light.
It was also hot and we didn't really know where we were going. When we started up, we thought we'd walk for a half hour and then had back to spend some time swimming and lounging in the sun. By the time we found our way back down (via bus) our little hike took us about three hours. As I've noted elsewhere, it was well worth it. At the top we emerged in a little resort village where we ran into tourists who had not taken the hard way up but we also found more incredible vistas of the world. Oy. Wait until you see the pictures.
Once we got off the bus back in Amalfi, we checked out the square once again where, uhm, gee, we ran into another wedding and found ourselves close enough to the bride as she got out of the car that I think we ended up in a couple wedding shots. The bride, by the way, looked pissed and we could not help but notice that most of the guests were formally dressed in black. But, as she was getting married in Amalfi's main church, a really beautiful cathedral, she probably was not worrying about the cost of the wedding. As it turned out, Morgan and I also happened to be there when the bride and groom came out of the church and got back into the car. Her mood clearly had not improved and he looked none too happy either. I couldn't help noticing that they sat apart in the back of the car as it nosed its way through the crowd of holidaying tourists and took them off to their life together.
By the time we got to the beach, the sun was going down over the mountains and everyone was leaving. That, of course, meant we had the beach and the sea pretty much to ourselves. We did get in a swim and, while we were bobbing about in the briny we could hear the church bells ringing to celebrate the wedding as the last rays of the sun touched the hillsides.
Later, after a nice shower in our somewhat funky room, we headed out for dinner and managed to get a table on the piazza where we could check out the passeggiata (that is, people watch). We had earlier begun a game of identifying A and B pairs (pairs of women or girls where there was clearly an A girl and a B girl) and we had lots to work with right there.
We also found ourselves wedged between an obnoxious group of Americans on one side and an Australian couple with a couple of rambunctious kids on the other. And, next to the Aussies, was a large group of really stereotypical Americans. Sigh.
Our waiter clearly was fatigued by a busy night full of demanding tourists but I think we rapidly became his favorite table--largely because we were clearly having fun and, yes, we were a little off the norm. He must have thought we were normal until it came time to order the wine. This restaurant offered a full selection of wines by the bottle, glasses of house wines, and, a small selection of half bottles. The half bottles looked like they were regional wines (that is, thy wouldn't exactly have snob appeal) and they were priced such that you could get two bottles for about the same price as the lower-priced full bottles. So Morgan and I decided it would be fun to order two half bottles and see what we thought of each. (Also, note, this also reduced our chances of getting a crappy bottle of overpriced wine like we'd had two nights before in Anacápri.) The fun began when we tried to explain this to the waiter.
Now his English was pretty good but we must have caught him off guard. When he finally got what we were asking, that was good but we really scored points with him when he asked us which two wines we would like. Uhm, we didn't know. Which two would he recommend? He made his suggestions, we accepted them and, as it turned out, we ended up with, not one, but two really good wines. He came back a couple times to check on us and ask us which wine we thought was superior. He was incredibly pleased that Morgan and I disagreed and that he and she were in perfect agreement.
Dinner was Morgan's treat that night, but, when it came time to pay, the gremlins at Wells Fargo had struck (Morgan had been battling them for nearly a week because they had fouled up the address on one of her cards and then put a hold on the account until they fixed the problem they had created--bastards). When the woman with the credit card machine came by the table, Morgan's card wouldn't clear. The woman, whose English was much rougher than our waiter, had the card back to Morgan and said "'Ok, in Amalfi, women no pay" then looked at me and held out her hand. I tendered my card as we all cracked up and the waiter magically appeared and comped us samples of limoncello and chocolatecello.
Afterwards we walked down to the waterfront, found a bench and parked ourselves to watch the fireworks that were being shot off for some reason. Then, on the way back to the hostel, we stopped off at the American Bar (which oddly was not filled with Americans) and I tried my first Sambuca. Except for being dead tired from our little hike, I cannot imagine a more perfect night.
I don't know what it is, but there is something special about Amalfi. Morgan and I both felt it and, within hours of our arrival, were regretting we had not planned to spend more time there. I think it was not only the beautiful setting, with the old town built under these towering cliffs right on the edge of the sea. No, it was also the people like the waiter and cashier at the restaurant that night, or the friendly staff who had helped us understand the news about the bombs in London earlier that day, or the owner of the hostel who spotted us wandering aimlessly in the piazza and escorted us to the hostel, or the grocers who, spoke no English, but were pleased to help us. It was just kind of a magically place. The next time I visit, though, I'll be there more than than just a day and a night.
It was hard to say goodbye to Amalfi the next morning and, if I had not already had plans and people waiting for me in Paris, I think we would have stayed longer, perhaps much longer. Ah well. Next time, if there is a next time.
Anyway, we got up, had our ritual hostel breakfast and then caught the bus to Salerno where we could catch the train to Naples so I could catch a plane to Paris and Morgan one to London.
The bus trip was spectacular, but getting on the train was the most exciting part of the day. First, for some reason we had the times wrong in our heads and thought we were minutes from missing our train when the bus dumped us in a piazza with no train station in sight. We bumped into a family that Morgan thinks was from Wales who pointed us the right direction and we hustled. In the train station we each took a line and I got the answer first: Our train was still half and hour from leaving. We bought tickets and then goofed in reading the departure list flickering overhead. We thought our train was leaving from platform 6. We humped our stuff to that station and then Morgan guarded it while I headed off in search of a toilet and a bottle of cold water. I found both and was headed back when the announcer started to say something about the train arriving then on platform 3. Now my Italian sucks, but I could have swore they said that train was going to Naples. I looked up at the video screen showing the departures and realized we had misread them. Certainly the train coming to platform 6 would take us to Naples, but not with enough time to make my flight. We wanted the train on platform 3. I was on platform 1 and couldn't see Morgan on platform 6. I started to run.
I charged up on platform 6, calling to Morgan that I thought we wanted the other train. As I ran down the platform, I passed the Welsh family and the father figured out what was going on. As we grabbed our bags, he ran up and said, "Let me get that." He grabbed one of the big bags and the three of us ran down the platform, down the stairs, under the tracks and back up to platform 3. Along the way the man said to me "My wife (puff) speaks Italian. It (puff) comes in handy." We threw our stuff on the train, gave him a big thanks and then went to find our seats. Of course they were filled, but, by being dumb Americans, we got a place to sit and I did make my plane. In fact, we even had time for a quick lunch in Naples. Then it was good-bye to Morgan and good-bye Italy, hello Paris. And that's where I'll pick things up next.Current Mood:  mellow Current Music: I Don't Stand a Ghost of a Chance with You--Diana Krall |
|
Amalfi
|
Jul. 15th, 2005 @ 02:37 pm
|
|---|
|
It's a warm afternoon here, in the countryside south of Paris and it's pretty much been a morning of futzing: A leisurely breakfast with Cathy, Thierry and their daughters in their garden an then, as I was tidying a few of my things up, I picked up the Harry Potter book I'd packed to read. The next thing I knew it was 1 p.m. and I'm nearly a quarter way through Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. But that is what vacations are for, no? Later today, though, Cathy and the girls, Lea and Eva, will be heading off to the Sacré Coeur and Montmartre for some touristy doings in Paris (Thierry, however, has to work).
So back to the story.
Morgan and I got up early to grab the first boat from Capri to Amalfi, which meant packing everything up and hauling it to the local bus stop we'd accidently discovered the day before. Aimless wandering is often a good thing and in this case it was brilliant.
You see, most of the buses on Capri stop in the center of Anacápri and they are used both by locals on their way to work and shopping as well as by the maddening hordes of tourists. It is not unusual to pack passengers in like sardines nor is it rare for riders to be turned away. To handle the crowds, the main stop in the center of Anacápri has these nice little metal railings to orderly confine the queues. Unlike most places in Italy, where everyone rushes the door in a mad crush to get on the bus, the train, the ferry, you must get in line and wait your turn--unless you are lucky enough to discover the bus stop the locals use, the stop that is one stop before the main stop. The stop where you and your luggage can actually still squeeze onto the already packed bus. And that enables you to get to the boat and onboard on time! (Had we missed the boat, we would have had to wait six hours for the next one--and that would have made our stay in Amalfi very short.)
Mmmmm. Now I have to go--we just finished a nice lunch and need to get going to Sacré Coeur so we can make it to the top of the basilica before it closes. I'll pick up the story of Amalfi when next I have a few minutes.Current Mood:  relaxed Current Music: Wind in the trees, distant lawn mowers |
| » Well.... |
|---|
This is just to let you know that you may have to wait until I'm home to read about the rest of my trip: I'll be writing it here and there on my PDA, but I don't know when I may be able to connect and upload it all.
But Morgan just sent me a blip about the last place we visited together, Amalfi. Here's the blip:
Amalfi was at one time the most powerful city in the southern Mediterranean and was the first sea republic of Italy. In its heyday, it was a formidable naval power and outstanding center of shipping and trade, where coffee, carpets, and other goods were first introduced. It is where the compass was invented. However, it was attacked by Pisa and defeated by Normandy, leading to its decline. Today, it charms visitors with narrow streets, historic monuments, beautiful hiking and beaches.
Later.
Jul. 14th, 2005 @ 06:57 pm
|
| » Capri |
|---|
Ah, the Isle of Capri! A little bit of heaven. . . .
Just to recap, when we last left our intrepid protagonists (that would be Morgan and I), we had drunk heavily from the sweet liquor of Sorrento life--not to mention having consumed an adequate amount of Sorrento's native liquor, limoncello.
[And, why yes, for those of you who actually remember your introduction to English literature course, I did just make an allusion to Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, perhaps one of the first travel narratives in the English language. But I digress. . . .]
Anyway, the next morning we stuffed everything into our bags, took another quick spin through Sorrento looking at linen dresses (for Morgan, not me) and various other trinkets (that was my job).
Then we loaded everything up and headed to the waterfront to get the ferry to Capri (Capri, of course, being an island). Despite certain acrobatics Morgan performed while we negotiated the stairs down to the water, we arrived safely and I was really looking forward to the boat ride to Capri: We arrived in time to get tickets for the hydrofoil!
Alas, we missed the boat. Not because we weren't in line. Nope. We were. However, they sold a few too many tickets and we and a half dozen others were left on the dock. We ended up taking the next ferry, a much larger, slower, regular old boat that we shared with 5 million Japanese tourists and two very peculiar couples.
We spotted both couples as we were waiting on the dock. The first couple was English or American (or something like that) and sat right behind us on the boat. They were probably in their twenties. I don't think they spoke three words to each other the entire two or so hours we shared with them, they both buried themselves in books on the ride to Capri, and, if their body language was any clue, they were intimate strangers. Morgan rather thought it was their first trip together; I thought it was their last (and these were not mutually exclusive ideas), but we both agreed they looked pretty darn miserable together.
The second couple looked like they were slumming it. A little older than the first, they were Italian, dressed casually well and were impeccably outfitted in expensive luggage. They sat in front of us and had a kind of intimacy that spoke of a comfortable familiarity. They, too, were blase about the trip to Capri, but you got the sense it was because they had done it before. It was a given that, when we arrived, that they would take one of the pricey taxis while Morgan and I would join the hoi polloi on the bus.
The two couples made an interesting contrast—although I wonder what either of them thought of the couple sitting between them. Hmmmm. What do the watched think about the watchers? Now there's an interesting thought. . . .
But, back to Capri, this dreamy little island off the coast of Italy. As we read in one of the little tour guides about the island, it is really two islands: There is the town of Capri with the Marina Grande on the north side and then, separated by almost sheer cliffs, there are the communities of Anacápri and Marina Piccola on the southside. The two sides of the island were only tenuously linked by a steep stairway cut in the cliffs until the a road was built late in the 19th-century.
That road, which I doubt has been widened much in the last 100 years, is very narrow, winding, and provides breathtaking views of Capri and the sea. Just don't look down as the bus lurches around the outside of a curve.
We stayed at a marvelous hostel in Anacápri, run by the very helpful Rita and her family, although finding it proved to be easier said than done. Once there, though, Rita advised us to leave our bags, put on our bathing suits and grab the next bus to the Grotto Azure (the Blue Grotto). She also took two minutes and mapped out the things we should see during our stay.
The grotto is a remarkable sea cave that boatmen charge 10 euros to take tourists into for a two-minute visit (translated into dollars, that's about $6 a minute). Once you are inside the sunlight reflects through the entrance in an incredible translucent blue. However, as Rita advised us (and as my guidebook had explained), if you wait until 5:30, after the boatmen have finished work for the day, it is possible (if not exactly "legal") to swim into the grotto for free.
Being on a budget and being decent swimmers, we opted for the cheap way in--and I'm glad we did. Even though we took the long way (swimming from the public "beach" about a third of a mile away rather than diving in from the landing at the mouth of the grotto) it was fantastic, floating in this world of liquid, glowing aquamarine. And, yes, we spent much more than two minutes in there.
Then we swam back, played a bit in the water (Morgan actually got me to jump off of a very high rock into the sea and I didn't even scream in terror on the way down), and then dried off on the warm rocks of the beach in the late afternoon sun. Wow.
After that, we went back and had a very overpriced dinner. They pulled a wine swap on us, bringing out the higher-priced bottle of chianti (Morgan had never tried a chianti and we figured, why not?) than I'd ordered. Even though I knew they were doing it, I just wasn't in the mood to argue nor did I feel I had the language skills to do so--which I'm sure they counted on. Bastards. It wouldn't have mattered so much if it had at least been a decent chianti, but it wasn't. In fact, it was easily the worst wine I'd had on the trip. So, if you are ever in Anacápri, avoid the nice-looking little restaurant on the corner of the piazza with big old church with the square clock tower, even though Rita will recommend it. I repeat, bastards. [July 23 addendum: The name of the restaurant is Ristorante Materita.]
The next day we got up late, nearly missed breakfast at the hostel (although that really is not saying much: a tiny cop of coffee, one croissant, and some jam), and were greeted with gray skies as we stepped outside. Hmmm, so much for our plans to spend a chunk of the day at the beach doing nothing much. Instead we opted to take the bus to Capri and ended up on this walk around the headlands that included stunning views through natural arches and stuff like that, splurging on lunch along the way.
By the time the afternoon rolled around, the sun was coming out and we decided to take Rita's advice and head out to the easternmost edge of the island, at the lighthouse at Punta Careena to watch the sun set. We got there, staked out a flat rock in front of the lighthouse and with panoramic views of the sea and the isle of Ischia (I think) in the distance and had a picnic dinner of Italian ham, cheese, bread, and beer. Life was very, very good.
Later that night I went out for a walk and found myself on the old footpath that used to connect Capri and Anacápri before the road was built. Turning a corner in the dark, I was greeted by a view of the town of Capri and Marina Grande, glittering like a blanket of jewels in the dark. I went back to the hostel and brought Morgan back and, as we stood there, leaning on the wall overlooking Capri, we could hear music wafting up from the town below (including a piece I recognized from the Sophia Loren movie (whose name I cannot remember now [July 23 Update: The movie is It Started in Naples) that was filmed on Capri). Cliché, I know, but wondrous nonetheless.
Capri enchanted us and we thought about canceling our plans to move on to Amalfi the next day—two American sisters—Summer and Jennifer-- we'd met at the hostel had asked us if we'd like to rent a motorboat with them the next day and it was mighty tempting.
In the end, though, the thought of checking out Amalfi was too tempting and we got up early the next morning to catch the ferry (the hydrofoil ferry) to Amalfi. As you'll find out, it was a very good choice.
Jul. 14th, 2005 @ 11:00 am
|
| » Sorrento |
|---|
Alrighty, I'm on the train again, bound for Paris and then the palace at Versailles. With luck I'll make it: Yesterday, on the way back to my friends' home I discovered, too late, that there are two "D" trains and that I had chosen the wrong one. A 45-minute ride took the better part of 2.5 hours. Ah, well, it just gave me a chance to experience a part of France I would have missed otherwise. And, of course, it gave us something to laugh about over dinner.
OK, reality note: the young woman facing me right now is reading Sigmund Freud's Totem et tabou (Totem and taboo): It is a frightening reminder of last quarter.
Now back to out story. If you recall, Morgan and I had dropped Claudia at the train station in Pompeii and were off on our own (accompanied by Zeus the wonder dog). Our destination this day was Sorrento, a resort town on the Bay of Naples. It was hot in Pompeii (but not nearly as hot as that fateful day a few thousand years ago) and we ad to find the train station on the other side of town. Looking very American touristy (i.e., burden with luggage and shiny with perspiration, we made it, found our train and, before we knew it, arrived in Sorrento (it wasn't far from Pompeii. We found a fairly reasonably priced hotel off the main plaza with a balcony overlooking the street, dumped our bags and pointed our feet toward the water.
Most of Sorrento is perched on top of a cliff about 200 feet above the bay. At the base of the cliff, the locals have chiseled out a series of private swimming areas and there is one, postage-stamp sized public beach.
Being cheap, we went to the public beach, stepped carefully down the rocks and around people until we could put our feet in the water. It was colder than I expected but I could now add the Mediterranean Sea to my collection of oceans and seas (I'm now up to three: Pacific, Atlantic, Mediterranean). To commemorate the event we took a picture of our feet in the sea. I'm sure anyone looking thought we were mad.
From there we headed back up the cliff and explored Sorrento. It's full of narrow lanes filled with shops and Italian flavor. Sorrento is also ground zero for the manufacture of limoncello, a potent alcoholic drink best drunk ice cold. t is such a popular local specialty, every other shop sells it and a variety of variations on the theme (meloncello, strawberrycello, chocolate-peppercello, etc.). During our trekking around we ran across a street vendor who offered us what we thought was a rare delicacy: creme limoncello. It was like drinking 100-proof lemon meringue pie. We, of course, bought a bottle and, the vendor must have liked us, because he threw in a small bottle so we could have a little after dinner.
We futzed around a bit that afternoon, had a decent dinner served up by an almost stereo typical rude Italian waiter, took a turn around town for the passeggiata, then retired to our balcony to drink creme limonncello and chocolate-peppercello and people watch. It was very cool.
The next morning we headed off to Capri, but I'm pulling into the station now and must go. More later.
Jul. 13th, 2005 @ 09:11 am
|
| » Pompeii and other parts |
|---|
And so the saga continues. . . .
When we last left our heroes, they were bravely on their way to Pompeii, via Naples . . . .
Arriving in Naples, Claudia and I met up with Morgan, who was avoiding propositions from Italian men by reading a book. We then grabbed another train for the short ride to Pompeii, arriving in the heat of the early afternoon. After arranging to leave our bags at the hostel we immediately hoofed it across the city to the archaeological site.
Pompeii's fame is directly related to its rather horrific misfortune: The town was buried in a volcanic blast of steam and ash from Mount Vesuvius around 2000 years ago (I'd give you an exact date from the cool book I bought later, but I'm writing this on the train from Cessons to Paris). The cataclysm caught the community in a moment in time and, of course, killed those who had been reluctant to leave the city when Vesuvius had started to sputter, rumble, and roar. The result has been a gold mine for archaeologists and historians and the dead city has become a destination spot for tourists. Personally, I never expected to find myself one day wandering among the ruins.
On Morgan's suggestion we splurged on the audio tour and spent nearly five hours poking around and finding out how these old Romans lived and, from the contorted plasters casts made from the impressions their bodies had made in the plastic ash, how many of them died.
Despite the heat (not as hot as Venice, Milan, or Rome, but hot enough) t was fascinating. We got to see things like the bakeries, the bath houses, the various temples and markets, the government offices and things you just didn't quite believe--like millennia-old graffiti scratched in the soft plaster of the walls, election slogans panted on the walls, and the fantastic mosaics and sculptures that adorned the homes of the elites (oddly our tour did not include slave quarters and such). A note: most of the most valuable works—out from mosaics, to frescoes and sculptures had been removed for preservation in a museum in Naples, but they have been replaced by copies. Still, there are places where you can reach out and touch an original fresco or an artifact. Wow.
However, one of the things that really struck us were the number of stray, or at least owner-less, dogs lounging about the modern and old cities of Pompeii. There had to be hundreds of them, lying in doorways, rolling around at the entrance to the old city, trotting around and such. One, who I named Zeus, adopted us as we left the ruins that night and escorted us back to the modern city where he left us to find out own way back to the hostel. Oddly, the next morning as we were going to the train station to see Claudia off, Zeus reappeared and toured around the city with us. He only left us when he found a couple more tourists who seemed more interesting. He was a magnificent small shepherd and just exactly the kind of dog I'd have if I had a dog. And, for a while, I was wondering whether he was just going to assume he belonged to us permanently and get on the train to Sorrento with Morgan and I.
After our afternoon at Pompeii we had an unexceptional pizza dinner at a restaurant in town where I unthinkingly ordered a large beer. (I think I've already explained m reasoning for ordering beer rather than wine in Italy: t is invariably served cold, and there's nothing quite like a cold beer after (or during) a hot day of being a tourist.) What arrived was a liter pitcher of beer disguised as a very large mug. Thankfully Morgan helped me polish it off, otherwise I certainly would have staggered out of the restaurant.
Afterwards we joined in the towns passeggiata—essentially where everyone goes out and walks around and looks at everyone going out and walking around--stopping off at a kitschy mechanical fortune teller shaped like the Bocca di Veritá (put your hand in the mouth, drop a euro in the slot and it will tell your fortune and give you your lucky numbers). Of course, our fortunes came out in Italian so Claudia had to translate for us. If I recall, mine said that I would be unhappy and unlucky in relationships. Like that's a secret?
Then we had coffee and this special regional pastry Claudia had been raving about all day—sfogaitelli or something like that (Morgan, I think has got the name correct on her blog). Then Claudia retired and Morgan and I hung out in the hostel's courtyard catching up a bit. It had been a long day (especially for Morgan who had had to leave her place in London at 3 a.m.) but, wow, what a great day!
Next: Two Americans get their feet (and later their entire bodies) wet in the Mediterranean (i.e., our visit to Sorrento and Capri (and maybe Amalfi if I have time on the train ride back to Fontainebleau tonight)).
Right now, though, the train is stopped on the outskirts of Paris, waiting to get into the Gare de Lyon. Today Elisabeth and I are planning to go to the Musée d'Orsay and, maybe, the catacombs. I'm planning kind of a short day because I have laundry to do and a little sleep to catch up on.
Ah, the train is moving again and we are there. Got to go.
Jul. 12th, 2005 @ 09:14 am
|
| » Oh yeah |
|---|
I just posted a link to Morgan's LiveJournal entry about our trip Pompeii and parts south (Italian style) and forgot to mention that my posts might be pretty skimpy as she managed to persuade me to put my PDA away for the majority of the days we were together--something about actually seeing the sights or some such.
Can you imagine?
Jul. 10th, 2005 @ 02:43 am
|
| » A cheat of an update |
|---|
Uhm, I'm in Paris now (well actually 50km south) with my friends Cathy and Thierry and I still haven't found wi-fi connection that I can get to work.
But, in the meantime, you can go to Morgan's LiveJournal ( http://www.livejournal.com/users/mperry10/ ) and see what she said about our trip to Pompeii, Sorrento, Capri, and Amalfi. All I would add would simply be "ditto." We had a great time.
Later.
Jul. 10th, 2005 @ 01:54 am
|
| » In the air again |
|---|
This is just a quickie update on the plane—Flight U2 4252--from Naples to Paris. As the plane, an Airbus A139 roared down the runway a little girl in the seat behind me yelled "Whoo-hoo" and begin this little happy chant as the plane picked up speed, tilted its nose to the sky and left the ground. It was funny and I was not alone in the goofy grin it gave me.
Of course it may have been the perfect tension reliever. In the seat in front of me a French man flipped through pages of a French paper filled with news and accounts of the bombings in London yesterday. Security had been extra tight at the airport—my hand luggage was checked to verify that my travel umbrella was really a travel umbrella and the bottles of limoncello I'd picked up in Amalfi were unwrapped to make sure that they they really were what I said they were and that they had not been opened. I was even asked to take off my watch and empty the change out of my pockets before going through the metal detectors.
I'm sure not a few other passengers—a mixture of Italians, French, Brits, and, of course, we ubiquitous Americans, we're thinking about the attacks and if it was possible it could happen to us. I know I looked up and down the plane thinking what a hash of things a bomb would make.
Morgan and I were in Amalfi yesterday, in the middle of a wonderful lunch of pizza and salad when the staff at the restaurant turned on the television. I looked up from across the room and read the headline. Morgan hadn't seen it so I turned to her and said "There's been a bombing in London."
Morgan has been in London nearly a year, rides the Underground frequently and, most importantly, has made some very important relationships there. We watched the news while the wait staff at the restaurant quietly summarized the Italian in English for us. Morgan watched tensely as the TV showed a map of the stations hit.
She went out to call but couldn't get a signal for her cell phone—which was just as well because apparently all the telephone circuits into London were jammed. As I paid the bill she headed out into the street filled with holiday-makers and around the corner to the nearest Internet point where she could send e-mail: e-mail to check on people in London and e-mail to people who would probably be worried about her being in London.
When I got there a few minutes later, the terminals were already filled by concerned Brits e-mailing family and friends; others stood by the door waiting. Nobody knew anything for sure but the Internet was a link to the important people in their lives and they needed to make that connection.
Morgan finished—in California, nine hours away, most everyone was still asleep, unaware yet, that anything significant had happened. As for us, we headed back out into the sunshine and did our best to resume our break away from the world.
So now I'm headed for Paris—cruising at about 39,000 feet--after spending the last six days in Pompeii with Claudia and Morgan and the Sorrento, Capri, and Amalfi with Morgan. Despite the bombs in London, it has been a spectacular week. I'll write more about it later (and wait until you see the pictures!) but I think the little girl said it best: Whoo hoo!
Jul. 8th, 2005 @ 04:43 pm
|
| » From Capri |
|---|
Uhm, I have been unsuccessful in sniffing out an available wi-fi connection so all my posts about Rome will be a bit delayed....maybe until I get home.
In the meantime, a couple changes in plans took us to Capri, an island of the coast of Italy. We this time is Morgan and I as Claudia had to head home. We swam into the Blue Grotto yesterday and have been having a fantastic time. From here it is off to Amalfi tomorrow morning. From there it will be a trip to Naples for the flight to Paris on Friday.
The clock is running at this Internet site so I best go.
Jul. 6th, 2005 @ 05:47 pm
|
| » Rome: Day Three |
|---|
The plan for Day Three was to get up early and get in line for the Vatican Museums, which include the Sistine Chapel. We did not get up early and, when we walked up to the walls of the Vatican to get in line a little before 10 a.m. the line snaked around for uhm, probably a half mile. Claudia figured it would take us at least two and probably three hours to get to the door. The capper: most of the line was in the already blazing sun.
We did not get in line but opted to spend the day doing other things. I guess I'll just have to put the Sistine Chapel on my list of things to do if I ever get back to Rome.
We opted to start with Rome's chief cathedral (which is not St. Peter's because, well, St. Peter's technically isn't in Rome, but the Vatican City). We wandered around back to the bapistery where we added a baptism to our list of life's events we have witnessed. Then we went across the street to a cathedral built around the stairs Jesus used on his way to the Cross (I think they were in Pontius Pilate's home and they were removed by Emperor's Constantine's wife who had them brought to Rome when he established the Holy Roman Church). Penitent pilgrims can climb the stairs on their knees (the real marble steps are covered in wood to protect them) but we opted for the less sacred stairwell to the right.
Then then we went to a church which was said to contain fragments of Christ's crib. I went down in the little vault beneath the altar to take a look and there, in a gold and glass box, were a bunch of broken pieces of wood that looked really really old. I'll leave it up to ou to decided whether or not they were really from his crib.
From there we went back to the Bocce di Veritas where I stuck my hand in the mouth and . . . . Claudia took a picture. Happily she didn't ask me any questions so I left whole.
From there it was off to the Jewish Quarter (uhm, gee, it was Saturday--everything was closed) and then Campo di Fiori, a piazzi which used to be a flower field but is now known for its market stall where flowers dominate the wares sold. In the middle there's a statue to some guy who was burned at the stake for heresy and this square is one of the few in Rome that does not have a church. It also has, I believe, the highest concentration of gelataerias in Rome. We,of course, had to stop and have some. Mmmmm. The capuccino gelato is very very good.
Then it was too Castle St. Angelo near the Vatican--but with St. Peter's Basilica looming over us, we opted to skip seeing it and head straight to St. Peter's square.
Wow. I'm not a big fan of Catholicism but they do some nice architecture. The square is massive but impressive (its probably mean to inspire awe and it does). It's centered on a spire that supposedly contain pieces of the cross at the very top.
Flash: We just emerged on the coast at Fornmia. It's my first look at the Mediterranean. Wow. It's beautiful. Sparkling blue waters, islands, old cities marching down the hills to the water. Hehehe, I'm going to spend most of the next five days here.
I was worried about missing the closing time for the top of the cupola of the basilica (Three days ago I didn't even know you could go up there, now I had to go.) And, well, we took the pricey ride up the elevator (after walking all day it was worth it) and well, I cannot describe how lovely Rome looks from the top of St. Peter's Basilica in the late afternoon sunshine. You're just going to have to wait until I post the pictures.
Then back down into the basilica where we saw Michaelangelo's The Pieta (behind glass after some guy took a chainsaw or some such thing to it several years ago). We thought, brieflf about going to view Pope Paul's crypt but by then it was getting late. I mailed a couple of postcards from the Vatican because, as a separate nation, it has its own postal stamps. Oddly, however, the currecny is either the euro or American dollars. Hmmm.
From there we traipsed back to Lara's apartment (she was off to a weekend at Latino) stopping at the supermarket on the way there. There on display at the checkout stand was something you would never see in the United States--at least ot at any Safeway and definitely not at any Wal-Mart--condoms, right there next to the chewing gum and breath mints. Sex is apparently a natural thing, you know? Not something to be hidden away on aisle 19 along with the tampons, douches, and pregnancy test kits.
But what I thought was most odd was that they had orange-scented condoms. Say what? Or were they orange flavored? With my limited Italian I couldn't tell and I wasn't about to ask Claudia. All I can say is that Italians certainly display style in unexpected places. (And tempted as I was, I did not buy a packet. I mean, really, where was I going to find orange-scented/flavored condoms again?)
And that was Rome. I do think I need to come back, perhaps, again in the off-season, but I wonder if I'll get the chance. Hmmm.
Next stop Naples on our way to Pompei. In about three hours I'll be standing among the ruins of other people's lives.
Jul. 3rd, 2005 @ 11:13 am
|
| » More Rome |
|---|
Now we're on the train to Naples to make our connection to Pompeii. Outside the window is a mishmash of Roman aqueducts and apartment blocks in a villa style. I'm getting to watch the Italian countryside roll by backwards--Claudia gets motion sickness--so I'm seeing what we are leaving behind, not where we are going. It's
bit like life.
So the Forum. Geez, what to say, It's really old (although, as I reminded Lara the other night, About the time Romulus and Remus were puppies, Indians had already built several civilizations in the the Americas); it's very picturesque and it's touchable: If you get hot, you can park your butt on a broken column tht was carefully carved by some craftsman 2,000 years ago. Today the tourists wander among the ruins as little groups of archaeologists (probably all students) dig around looking for more cool stuff.
For me, who passed many an idle day leafing through the pages of a Time-Life book called (I think) Roman Empire it was like stepping into the pages of the past. One caveat: When that book was put together none of the gray security fences that protect the past from the present had been put up. Those do rather detract from the experience.
From there we walked up Capitaline Hill and took in the panoramic view of the city, including the dome of St. Peter's Basilica. I didn't realize it, but the next day, I'd be looking at the reverse view from the top of the basilica.
We made a detour back to Lara's apartment, then back out to Circus Maximo where they were setting up for the Italian version of Live Aid. Around the corner is the Bocce di Veritas (the Mouth of Truth) where, supposedly, you put your hand in the mouth and, if you tell a lie, it chomps your hand off. How do I know? Because this is what Gregory Peck told Audrey Hepburn Roman Holiday--duh. Alas, it was closed.
Then dinner is Travestere and back to Lara's apartment where we found her watching the Italian verision of It Lies Beneath.
And that was the end of Day 2 in Rome
Jul. 3rd, 2005 @ 10:50 am
|
| » Where was I? |
|---|
Oh yes, beng unimpressed by the Spanish Steps. Ah, but the Trevi Fountain, that was different.
After the Spanish Steps, Claudia asked me if Ithought the Trevi Fountain was large or small. I'd never really thought about it. She said I'd be surprised how small it was. Uhm, she was right, only the fountain is not small. It's beautiful and, even surrounded by a zillion tourists, awesome.
Lara Update: I better insert this now. Lara is sitting across the table and we're talking over coffee while Claudia still sleeps. I can now clarify what she is doing and what she meant when she said she thought Americans were funny.
First she is not a student. She graduated last October with a degree linguistic mediation and is now interning in what sounds like a very cool job translating scripts for TV shows (like Animal Planet) and such so that the shows can then be dubbed into Italian. (I should note that Lara translates in both English and German.) She's hoping this will lead to a job doing the same kind of thing. In the meantime she, like Claudia, does technical translations--mostly patents and such.
As for Americnas being funny, she really wasn't commenting on our strange religious-political habits or anything like that. Rather, as someone who perfected her English in the UK, she finds the American accent funny sounding. For example, she said, when President Bush talks, she said no one in Europe can understand him. I explained that we had the same problem in the U.S. . . .
Alrighty, Claudia is up and we're off to see a new country today: The Vatican.
Jul. 2nd, 2005 @ 08:25 am
|
| » Rome, continued |
|---|
I'm sitting here in the tiny kitchen/dining room of Claudia's friend, Lara. Lara has gone off to her internship with a company that translates television shows and films and Claudia is still asleep so I've got a few moments to knock out some thoughts about Rome.
It rocks.
Claudia and I arrived by train yesterday afternoon and caught a stifling hot subway to Lara's apartment to drop off our stuff. Lara is someone Claudia has known for years and who, after working for Bristol-Meyers in England decided to go back to school to get a degre in, uhm, gee. I'm not really sure . I better check because I got a feeling the she'll be checking out my blog as soon as I give her the URL. (Wave. Hi Lara!) Why she'd want to put up two vacationers is beyond me, but 'm very glad she did, althogugh, as she said last night she finds Americans funny (although I'm not sure why, anotehr question to ask).
Her apartment is a few blocks the Vatican (she pointed it out on bus ride to dinner last night) and very convenient. After cooling off a bit with Lara (OK, pehaps I was too grateful when she offered me a cold beer, but dang it tasted good) Claudia and I head back out. First stop Piazza del Popolo with its three churches. We went ino Santa Maria del Popolo, founded in the 11th century supposedly over Nero's tomb. (Which I did not know until I just read it in the guidebook I bought right after visitng the church. Damn, I was probably standing on Nero's bones.) It has some big ol' paintings by some dude named Carvaggio.
From there we walked down to the Piazza di Spagna where the Spanish Steps lead up the hill to . . . . a billboard? Sad, but true, wait until you see my pictures: They are renovating the church at the top of the steps (Trinita dei Monti) and they have erected a billboard touting athletic gears (I think) over the outside. Claudia was horrified but I don't think any of the eight million tourists crowding the square really cared much--most were concerned with getting out of the sun in the shade around the Fontana della Barcaccia, Bernini's famous fountain at the base of the steps. Th stairs are supposed quite spectacular in the spring when the are filled with mounds of blooming azaleas. On the last day of June they were just a bunch of marble steps leading up the hill. Or, as two young American schoolgirls observed as they caught sight of the fountain as they walked past me: "It's a little underwhelming," said the first. "I thought there'd be more tourists," said the second.
OK, Claudia is ready to go, but a final note about the Spanish Steps, they mark the center of what was known as the English Ghetto becasue it was such a mecca for English tourists and writers.
OK we're off. I'll see if I can post this along the way.
Jul. 1st, 2005 @ 08:54 am
|
| » A Technical Note |
|---|
Interestingly, although I've been able to sniff out quite a few wi-fi connections in the last few days, either I'm not doing something correctly or they have all been configured to prevent people from sending e-mail through them. Once I get a strong signal I can often retrieve my e-mail, sometimes browse the web, often connect to a chat function (n.b., MSN Messenger seems to be the preferred chat utility among Italians), and almost always synchronize AvantGo (which allows me to update my LiveJournal) but I have yet to been able to send e-mail (although I've composed a few, waiting for the chance).
According to Comcast's traveler's set up I have everything configured correctly, my PDA just won't connect to the server for whatever reason. Darn.
Of course, that requires finding an Internet Point and plopping down a euro--not difficult, but still, I like the challenge of getting my PDA to work.
Jul. 1st, 2005 @ 08:46 am
|
| » Aches and Pains |
|---|
Not that I'm whining, but my neck hurts. It's this dull tense ache where I can just feel the muscles tensed up. It started before I left and only got worse on the flights from Seattle to London--I made the mistake of trying to sleep on the plane and just ended up in this contorted slump. By the time I got to Heathrow it had prgressed to a pinching pain that slowly subsided over the last few days.
But, today, after getting up early to take the train from Milan to Rome it's come back with a vengeance: a wound tightness in my neck and shoulders that makes sitting in these train seats uncomfortable.
Part of the problem may be my backpack. I tossed it on my back for the first time this morning as we went from train to subway to train. The pack is old--I bought it 20 years ago for my last trip to Europe--and in the intervening years I've both forgotten how to wear it (how to adjust the zillion straps to carry the load most comfortably) and it's been adjusted and readjusted by people who have borrowed it over the years. Oh, and the last time I wore it I hadn't ripped up my shoulder trying to learn to roll a kayak. The net result is that, until I get all that stuff figured out and readjusted (if that's even possible) I'm probably tweaking my body each time I put it on.
Of course I am, again, impressed, how much crap will fit in the pack and, once it gets adjusted, how relatively easy it makes this kind of traveling. Of course, repacking it prior to leaving for Rome I noticed the stuff that I could have--should have--left at home (like my jeans: to heavy and really ridiculous in 90 -degree weather). Still I didn't do too badly considering I haven't made this kind of trip for a couple of decades.
An added plus to carrying a pack and walking everywhere: weight loss. I notched down another hole in the belt yesterday. Of course it could also be that I'm just melting in the Italian heat.
Oh, well, I guess I am on a train bound for Rome so guess things aren't that bad. Uhm, no. :)
[Composed on my PDA so it will get posted when I find wi-fi.]
Jun. 30th, 2005 @ 09:20 am
|
| » Odds and Ends |
|---|
These are just some odds and ends, composed on my Clie, that I want to get down before I forget. But, because I'm writing them on my Clie (PDA) it means that I won't be able to post them until I sniff out another unsecured wi-fi connection and that may be a while. I found one in Milan today, the first since leaving Seattle.
But I digress....
--On the subway in Milan today I received an unexpected accordion concert froma couple of gypsies who boarded the train looking for gratuities. He played the squeeze box while she sang in accompaniment--all with the background rattle and roar of the subway drowning out their voices. I don't think they got much for their efforts. However, the Gypsy mother with her small daughter who got on a couple stops later did better just by pleading for help.
--The rather distracted skirt-wearing tourist who stepped on the subway grate only to do a Marilyn Monroe to the catcalls of a couple of Italian men (I guess they were upset she was wearing panties).
--The little old lady on the scooter who buzzed by me in Milan today who had carefully stowed her walker on the bike.
--The fact that everyone knows I'm American by looking at me. I don't get that. I mean, geez, couldn't I be British or German or even Canadian?
--Note to self: I would probably meet a lot more Italian women if I could speak Italian. Or maybe if I din't look American?
Jun. 29th, 2005 @ 09:30 pm
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
tim_wright's journal