I'm sorry that this final dispatch took so long to get out to you all. I don't have any near-future honeymoon/vacation plans so you can rest assured that you won't be getting this drivel from me any time soon. You will, however, receive a follow-up email with a few selected photos of our trip linked to it. That's it. I'll be going back into
my cave now....
Tuesday: Naples is crap, Capri is paradise
It was back on the train to Naples for us again this morning, though this time we needed to take a taxi to the marina. So began Round Two with shady cab drivers. This one was an 'official' cab but we discovered too late that he didn't turn the meter on. I think he was
trying to make money on the sly during his lunch. After a frightening 10 minute ride through the hellhole that is Naples, I was ready to give him whatever he wanted just to stop. I thought that the drivers were crazy in Rome but Naples is like the Wild West. No one used crosswalks; instead, they just stepped out into traffic, usually right in front of you. Our driver came close to hitting at least a dozen people, including a woman pushing a stroller. It was a miracle that we made it without killing someone.
We arrived at the dock earlier than we anticipated (thanks in part to Mr. Toad's Wild Ride) and were told that we could use our boat tickets to catch an earlier ferry. Time stamps mean nothing here. A quick 45 minute jaunt landed us in Capri and, hence, into paradise. Ok, well, the city of Capri is overstuffed with overpriced clothing shops, snotty and loud Italian high school students (apparently school is optional in this country) and German tourists drinking Lowenbrau and snapping photos. Luckily, we couldn't afford to stay there and so made reservations at a cozy hotel in Anacapri, which is a frightening
15 minute bus ride away, up what looks like a shear cliff. Anacapri is paradise. The only reason the tourist make it up to this little hamlet is to take the chairlift to the top of the highest peak on the island and this is usually only done when the Blue Grotto is closed
(The grotto, being the biggest and possibly the lamest attraction on the island, is a sea cave that you get rowed into by an Italian who will then extort money from you to be rowed out). By the time we arrived and got checked in, it was siesta time but we were able to find one place still open near the burgh's church. After a quick meal we wandered a bit in search of a map and some postcards before heading back to the hotel to catch a brief nap. The map we purchased at a local shop is nearly the size of the damn island and consequently, of little use to us. Except as a laugh. We tried to get onto the aforementioned chairlift but by the time we got there, they'd stopped taking people up for the day. Since there wasn't much else open except a few little souvenir shops, we indulged in our new favorite pastime: napping. After said nap, we walked up to a recommended restaurant a few blocks away and had a great dinner. Brooke keeps
saying that there is a pattern to my dispatches: wine, food, Italian high school girls, rinse and repeat. Well, if she's so smart why doesn't she write them, is what I say. Then she hits me or gives me the frowny face. Then I make a 'pasta-butt' comment and it degrades
from there. Regardless, it was a great dinner and they gave us Lemoncello with our bill. Lemoncello is a regional liquor made from gasoline and lemons. It must be drank ice cold and very quickly. Oh, and to say it's regional is to say that every region of Italy seems to claim it as their 'regional specialty'. I only believe the Caprese, though, since they gave me some after a meal that I didn't have to pay for. Marketing executives take note. After dinner, it was off to bed for us and the rest of Anacapri. Random Vespa noises outside our window whisked us off to sleep.
Wednesday: We rode the chairlift twice, it was so cool
Today was by far my favorite of the trip. After breakfast, we headed up to the chairlift and were the second folks to ride up after it opened up. Holy crap, was it amazing. I took more photos of the landscape during our 13-minute ascent than I did of any other single venture thus far. We've seen ancient ruins, uncovered cities, gaudy grandeur and towering obelisks during this trip and NOTHING compared to my first 13-minute ride up to the top of that mountain. It had me, the nigh-atheist, making comparisons to heavenly ascent. Laugh as you might but I actually started to tear up at one point, it was that
beautiful. At the top, there are several outlooks and alcoves for sitting quietly to take it all in. There's also a café where you can get espresso (of course) and other goodies. If I had brought a sleeping bag and a tent, I wouldn't have left. Ever. After an hour or so of 'Wow' moments, Brooke drug me back down hill on the lift so we could go see Capri. The descent was even more beautiful and more photos were snapped, mostly of the terraced gardens and residents working away in them without noticing us overhead. Once we got to the bottom, we walked the 50 feet to the bus stop and shortly boarded a
bus back down the shear cliff.
We disembarked at the bus stop and into a flood of loud Italian teenagers who were either skipping school en masse or on a field trip. It's hard to tell because you never see the teachers herding them…I imagine that they're probably off getting a drink somewhere to calm their nerves. I know I would be. We wandered around the streets and backstreets of Capri for a good spell in search of a place to get bite to eat. It was still early, around 11:30 or so, and not much in the way of food is available at that hour in Italy. Many a designer shop was passed with bored and very stylish 'associates' staring blankly at their wares. Not that Brooke or I were interested in (or could afford) patronizing any of these shops but, if we were and could, I'm sure it'd be a hellish experience. For one thing, we're not even on the fashionista radar in this country. For another, most of the 'associates' scare me. Too pretty and too mean looking. Plus, mullets are IN here, for chrissake! I saw one that had been crimped even! Anyway, we walked past tons of shops and got lost in the back alleys (Brooke would like me to point this out). We wound up eating panini at this little café that we thought was in the middle of nowhere but turned out to be just over the hill from where we started. Bonus. After lunch, we did a little grocery shopping across the street where I bought a liter of top-notch olive oil and a Philly Cream Cheese snack that looked like Handi-Snacks my mom used to put in
my lunches. Rather than crackers with cheese or peanut butter, though, it was bread sticks with full fat cream cheese. If Atkins makes any headway in this country, I suggest Kraft replace the breadsticks with butter. Or bacon. Brooke got a Nutella snack pack
(she just discovered it's choco-hazelnut goodness on this trip and is now addicted) and some olives. Armed with snacks, we motored out of the market and back toward the bus, our second chairlift trip and an afternoon's residence in paradise.
By the time we got back up to the top, we were a little hungry so we found a quiet little nook to eat our snacks. There were a lot more people up there this time around and not all of them were quietly 'taking it all in' but we ignored the Italian high school students as
best we could. We spent the afternoon alternating between sheer awe and reading our books quietly at the café. When we did speak, it was to discuss the possibility of buying this hilltop and moving into the café. Brooke asked what we'd do for work; my answer was 'whatever, as long as we can telecommute'. When we were finally overcome by the
sunburns we were getting and the troop of loud high school students that arrived late in the day we descended to a less noisy, less beautiful reality. I teared up again on the way down. Man, it was amazing.
It was still early for dinner so we headed back to the hotel to relax a bit. We had dinner reservations that were made for us by the hotel's owner at a 'restaurant with a view'. Apparently, the view off of our balcony doesn't count as a real view and we had to be picked up in a small bus to be taken to where the 'real view' and a sit-down meal could be found. The bus picked us up at 7:15 and proceeded to take us on a wild ride through narrow winding streets and back alleys. Let me say again that I am blown away at Italians' ability to fit their cars around the hairiest of hairpin turns while shifting and
talking on their cell phone. We arrived 15 minutes later at the restaurant that indeed had a lovely view of the mainland and other nearby islands. Our table was right at the edge of a sheer cliff (thankfully, there was a rail), between two other couples (older Dutch
lesbians and a hetero German couple). We decided to splurge a bit since it was our last dinner on Capri so we ordered a mixed seafood antipasti to start out with before our main meal. They immediately brought us as plate of bready items that we struggled to taste seafood in. Alas, we thought we'd been ripped off and cursed Italy for messing with us sucker tourists. Then they brought out the real antipasti and we took it all back. It was a large platter with jumbo clamshells filled with all sorts of tasty seafood. I had my first raw oyster, I think. I'm pretty sure it was raw. It was cold, at least. After we ate it all except for the octopi suckers (I can't go there, no matter how hungry I am), we got our main dishes. I can't remember what Brooke had but I got a tenderloin that was excellent, if a bit overcooked for my bloodlust. After Brooke got dessert and I, an espresso, they brought us more lemoncello. This was appropriate, of course, since it was invented in Capri. It was better than the drink we were brought the night before which lead me to believe that it might actually be made with kerosene and not petrol. Anyway, I had to
drink Brooke's for her (speaking of running themes). We were motored back to the hotel after the meal and, after a little packing, fell to sleep fat and happy with our choice of each other and Anacapri.
Thursday: We didn't ride in a rickshaw but that's about all we didn't ride today
We rode, in succession, the following vehicles today over the course of 6 hours: mini-bus, hydrofoil, taxi cab, Eurostar train, airport shuttle train, and a tour bus. Yes, yes, the taxi was in Naples and little dude tried to screw us again on the fair (it went from 12 Euros when he loaded us up to 15 Euros when we arrived). I finally figured out how to beat them, though: don't carry exact change. Italians have this really annoying need for you to pay with exact change. I say it's annoying because when you pull money out of the ATM, it always gives you the biggest bills it can and NO ONE IN ITALY can make change for a 50. You have to go to a restaurant and order a few course to be able to get any change at all. All part of their clever plan to get you to spend your money, no doubt. Anyway, I only had a 50 Euro note and 13 Euro in change when the cabbie tried to raise his price. When I flashed the 50 and asked him if he could make change, he did the
previously described 'Italian Dismissal' and took the change I offered. I win.
At the end of our day o' travel, we wound up at our hotel near the airport. Rome Airport is, it turns out, nowhere near Rome. It's way the hell out in the boonies, actually, but the hotel we stayed at was very nice in that 'Let's-Host-Our-Conference-in-Rome-this-Year' sort of way. We arrived around 4 and were starving. Of course, nothing was open and the concierge rather snottily told us that room service wasn't even serving yet (though the menu in our room didn't indicate any 'breaks' between lunch and dinner). We wandered around the little town in search for an open restaurant in vain. I did find a little 'Super Mercado' that had great deals on Moka-Express espresso makers, though, so I decided to round out my collection with a 1-shot maker. After, we headed back to the hotel and called room service in spite of the snotty concierge and though he was surprised to hear from someone so early ('You want to eat dinner NOW?'), he brought us food anyway.
The rest of the evening we spent repacking and alternating between BBC and CNN to see which had the better coverage of the Pope. CNN won hands down since the BBC seems to think there are more important things to report than the Pope. Like wars and the weather. We drifted off to sleep tired and ready to come home.
Friday: The flight home and the wrap up…
Let me just say to start that check-in in Rome is light years ahead of check-in in any other airport, particularly in the US. You don't just queue up in a massive line to get to the Delta counter. First, you look at a board with all the outgoing flights for the day on it. Next to your flight number is a 'booth' number where you go to queue up for your specific flight. Brilliant! Why have US airports thought of this model? It was way more efficient, after all. We checked in and were through customs in under 20 minutes! Not only that but I got us moved to the Exit row too! When you're 6'8" and flying coach, that's like a little slice of heaven.
Our flight home was long but uneventful and when we arrived, we were glad to be home. We both had a great time, particularly on Capri, but living out of a suitcase for that long can be tiresome. Especially when you keep adding bottles of wine to it. Though we have many fond memories our trip (plus a 28 page Word document) and certainly plan on
going back again some day, it's nice to be home and sleeping in our own bed. Now that we're married, not 'living without the benefit of clergy', it's 'our bed'. Before it was just mine...it just happened to be located in Brooke's room. Anyway, it's good to be home. I hope you all enjoyed my wordy dispatches. Some of you wrote that you did...those of you that I haven't heard from, I'll assume that you simply tolerated them. Thanks for indulging me.
Ciao,
Shaun.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Monday, April 25, 2005
italian Dispatch #7: New Pope makes the sirens go round n’ round
Sunday: Borgese reservations
Today was marked by all the police escorts you could ever ask for. When a new Pope gives his first Mass, everyone that requires a police escort comes out of the woodworks. Usually, these escorts involve a lead car with a blue light and some mad Italian in the passenger seat holding an automatic weapon and wildly waving some long-handled flyswatter (that incidentally looks very similar to the tour guides’ wands leading me initially to believe that for a little extra, you could get a police escort for tour 2-B ‘Vatican at Night’) out the window at pedestrians. Following that is usually a Mercedes or BMW with dark windows (carrying the tour group, no doubt). Finally, there is often a fast car driven insanely by some Italian on cocaine. When I say fast, I’m talking a four-door Maserati with tires as wide as most of the sidewalks here. If I were a dignitary or a high-end tour group, I’d rather ride in the Maserati, frankly. Anyway, there were hundreds of these escorts messing up traffic today on the way to and from the Vatican (where we’re told there were over 350,000 people hanging out to get blessed). Luckily, it was an even tempered crowd and no one got hurt, save the one girl who was somehow able to get heat exhaustion and needed an ambulance. How the hell do you get heat exhaustion in 60 degree weather (14 degree for you metric heads), you might ask? My theory: Ecstasy and the huge winter jackets all the Italians seem to think are necessary when the temperature dips below 90. That’s my best guess.
Anyway, thanks to all the suckers hanging out getting holy at Mass, we were able to score last minute reservations for the Borghese Museum. Usually, you have to make reservations a couple of weeks in advance for this private mansion/museum but we got them the day before. Thus far, this has been our best museum experience. They only let 360 people in at a time and for only two hours so the crowds are manageable. Further, the art was fantastic. The mansion was built by Cardinal Borghese, who was something of an art buff and wanted to prove that Renaissance art had reached the pinnacle that Roman art had. So the rooms are a brilliant mixture of ancient and just plan ‘old’ art and, I must say, the man had a keen eye for the art. Probably the coolest piece was a marble statue of Apollo and Daphne. I can’t remember the name of the artist but he was a contemporary of Michelangelo and the man had talent. This particular statue looked like it was more air than marble and the intricacies were mind-boggling. We used most of the two hours we were allotted wandering around and being generally impressed with everything. One funny thing did happen: Over a fireplace in one of the rooms, there is a paint of Jesus and some other stuff. Jesus is at the top center of the paint and, I swear to god, is in a pose that is reminiscent of the first freeze-frame moment of the opening credits of that television classic, Fame. It reminded me so much of said show that I actually blurted out the first and only line of the song that accompanied it (‘Fame! I’m gonna live forever!’). After a bout of giggling, Keith said ‘Man, you’re going to hell for that one.’ Fair enough; it was funny enough that it might actually be worth it…
After the museum, we wandered around the large park it’s in and wound up down near the Spanish Steps. After having a little lunch, we split up and headed back to the hotel for a nap. We’re getting to the point where we’ve seen most of what we came to see so we can afford to take the afternoon off and relax. We met up later in the evening to get dinner and had our first truly awful meal experience. We opted to stay close to our hotel and went to this little restaurant where the proprietor spent most of his time barking orders at his staff and not doing much else. They weren’t that busy but the loud mouthed owner kept ordering his staff to do something else when they were halfway through finishing whatever other task he’d asked them to do just minutes prior. Consequently, nothing really ever got done and the three waiters were harried to say the least. We probably should have left when we saw no fewer than 3 natives get up from their table and complain loudly to him about waiting for their bill, pay and leave in disgust. We sat for the better part of 15 minutes without getting a chance to place our order or even getting place settings. When we did get to place the order, he actually gave us the pad and had us write it down ourselves. Brilliant. The lame bit was that, like many places, there is a 10% charge for ‘service and bread’ levied on all bills. Well, we got zero service and they had run out of bread before we arrived (at 8:30 which is rather early for most Italians). We had high hopes that the food would redeem the restaurant as most of the stuff we saw coming out of the kitchen looked and smelled great. However, we apparently missed the good food section of the menu and ordered strictly from the mediocre section because our food was crap. So we left, came home and went to sleep with bellies full of untasty pasta. An un-fun ending to an otherwise great day.
Monday: The unchristian behavior of Christians at the Vatican
Warning – What follows might strike some of you as sacrilegious in one way or another. Be forewarned and keep in mind that I don’t intend any offense. Unless you’re a throng.
We decided we’d check out the Vatican the day after the swearing in of the new Pope figuring that the crowds would be gone by now. Man, were we wrong. The Sistine Chapel had been closed for a few days due to Pope-related procedures and Monday was it’s grand reopening day. Consequently, most of the throng that had turned out for yesterday’s Mass was already queued up for the museum and chapel by the time we got there (around 8:30). As we approached the ½ mile line, our taxi driver explained that it was a 3-½ hour wait to get in. We quickly took the decision to skip it and just head over to St. Peter’s Cathedral where we found the remainder of the previous day’s hordes forming a massive queue to get in. We lucked out, however, as we discovered that most of them were in line to see the tomb of the John-Paul and that was a separate line. This was about the best luck were going to have with our Vatican experience. We got in the ‘throng’ for St. Peters and waded our way toward the security screening. I say throng because that’s exactly what it was: a massive horde of people with complete disregard for those around them, save the folks in their party. Call me crazy but I’d have thought that most of these folks would be calm and eerily polite since I figured most of them were religiously inclined and on a pilgrimage of some sort. However, they seemed to mostly consist of Tourists from Hell ™. Instead, they were pushy, mean and loud. I almost had to snap a few necks before we even got to security. It was ugly. Oh, and security was about as tight as Jared’s fat pants after the Subway diet. Sure, we all had to put our bags through an X-ray machine but wasn’t going to keep the guy manning said machine from smoking and carrying on a conversation with his buddies near by. We also had to go through a metal detector and when Keith set it off, the guy looked at him, Keith pointed to his pocket and said ‘keys’ and dude just let him pass! I could have gotten through there with a small nuclear device, a gun or even some nail-clippers! Frightening.
After that frustrating waste of time, we were able to get into the cathedral fairly quickly. St. Peter’s is incredibly huge and ornate, to say the least. Apparently, it is the largest of it’s kind in the Catholic world and it has markers on the floor of where other massive Catholic cathedrals would go were you to decide to move them inside it (sort of like those Russian stacking dolls). All the Popes of eons past are housed here up to and including St. Peter himself, who takes center stage in front of the main altar under a seventy foot bronze canopy. Everywhere you turned, there’d be an ex-Pope’s visage bearing down on you. Some of them looked really stern, others serene and still others humble. Most all of them had huge marble tombs in or in front of various pillars and walls. A few of them were incased in glass, backlit caskets which was creepy and (I thought) a little showy. Located near the entrance, behind bulletproof glass, is Michelangelo’s Pieta (Mary holding post-crucified Jesus). I’ve seen photos of it before and, considering the distance we were kept from it and the dim lighting, the photos were more interesting. If you haven’t seen photos, I highly recommend you Google some instead of going to see it in person…even if you’re in Vatican City and 50 feet from the entrance to St. Peter’s. Did I mention I hate throngs?
We wandered around the cathedral for close to an hour before deciding to leave. As I side note, I’ll have you all know that my feet didn’t feel warm, nor did I burst into flames, upon entering the church. I did, however, start to get a rare headache that lasted until we exited. It could have just been the dim lighting and all the flash photography but I deduced that it was the Fame comment from the day prior. Anyway, getting out was a similar hassle to getting in. The dump you out at the gift shop and post office (what a surprise). Brooke nearly got knocked on her butt by some jerk with a post card who seemed to think he could walk, unhindered, through solid objects (like Brooke). Having a need to send a post card myself, I ventured into the gift shop where I nearly killed a rude Japanese girl who attempted to insert herself between me and the display counter where I was attempting to buy a single post card. Had this been my first day in Italy, I probably would have let her in but I’ve been throng-hardened in my travels and would sooner pluck out my own eyes than let someone cut in front of me while I’m in line. The guy next to me, however, wasn’t battle tested so he let her in and she subsequently delayed my purchase by nearly five minutes with incomprehensible questions about some bit of jewelry in the case. It took all my strength not to deliver a deadly head butt to her and rain down a hail of wallops upon her boyfriend who not only allowed this transgression but also paid for the trinket. I was ready to get the hell out of Vatican City. Outside, I filled out the post card and quickly mailed it. We all walked over to the Tiber to cool off and get away from all the tourists. We’d decided to check out this round castle thingy on the Tiber where the Popes would take refuge if the city was under siege but since it was Monday, it was closed. Instead, we walked back to one of the fountains we’d been to before and had an excellent lunch. Food makes it all better. And wine too.
After lunch, we split up. Brooke and I headed back to the hotel where she decided to take a nap before her next session of shopping therapy. I went down to a little café near our hotel and had one of the most enjoyable afternoons in recent memory. I just sat there in a quiet booth, drinking Italian beer and reading. It was lovely. Brooke came down to get me a little before we met up with Keith and Linda for dinner. Tonight, we decided to take the recommendation of the concierge and go to this place near by called Il Chianti. We were very glad we did. The food was awesome and the house red wine was so good that Brooke ordered two to go (actually, she ordered one and I bumped it up to two). It was a fine final Italian dinner with the two of them. We parted ways after the meal, Linda off to do some shopping and us back to finish packing in preparation for our ‘honeymoon’ (‘luna di miele’) in Capri…More on that in the next installment.
Buona Sera,
Shaun.
Today was marked by all the police escorts you could ever ask for. When a new Pope gives his first Mass, everyone that requires a police escort comes out of the woodworks. Usually, these escorts involve a lead car with a blue light and some mad Italian in the passenger seat holding an automatic weapon and wildly waving some long-handled flyswatter (that incidentally looks very similar to the tour guides’ wands leading me initially to believe that for a little extra, you could get a police escort for tour 2-B ‘Vatican at Night’) out the window at pedestrians. Following that is usually a Mercedes or BMW with dark windows (carrying the tour group, no doubt). Finally, there is often a fast car driven insanely by some Italian on cocaine. When I say fast, I’m talking a four-door Maserati with tires as wide as most of the sidewalks here. If I were a dignitary or a high-end tour group, I’d rather ride in the Maserati, frankly. Anyway, there were hundreds of these escorts messing up traffic today on the way to and from the Vatican (where we’re told there were over 350,000 people hanging out to get blessed). Luckily, it was an even tempered crowd and no one got hurt, save the one girl who was somehow able to get heat exhaustion and needed an ambulance. How the hell do you get heat exhaustion in 60 degree weather (14 degree for you metric heads), you might ask? My theory: Ecstasy and the huge winter jackets all the Italians seem to think are necessary when the temperature dips below 90. That’s my best guess.
Anyway, thanks to all the suckers hanging out getting holy at Mass, we were able to score last minute reservations for the Borghese Museum. Usually, you have to make reservations a couple of weeks in advance for this private mansion/museum but we got them the day before. Thus far, this has been our best museum experience. They only let 360 people in at a time and for only two hours so the crowds are manageable. Further, the art was fantastic. The mansion was built by Cardinal Borghese, who was something of an art buff and wanted to prove that Renaissance art had reached the pinnacle that Roman art had. So the rooms are a brilliant mixture of ancient and just plan ‘old’ art and, I must say, the man had a keen eye for the art. Probably the coolest piece was a marble statue of Apollo and Daphne. I can’t remember the name of the artist but he was a contemporary of Michelangelo and the man had talent. This particular statue looked like it was more air than marble and the intricacies were mind-boggling. We used most of the two hours we were allotted wandering around and being generally impressed with everything. One funny thing did happen: Over a fireplace in one of the rooms, there is a paint of Jesus and some other stuff. Jesus is at the top center of the paint and, I swear to god, is in a pose that is reminiscent of the first freeze-frame moment of the opening credits of that television classic, Fame. It reminded me so much of said show that I actually blurted out the first and only line of the song that accompanied it (‘Fame! I’m gonna live forever!’). After a bout of giggling, Keith said ‘Man, you’re going to hell for that one.’ Fair enough; it was funny enough that it might actually be worth it…
After the museum, we wandered around the large park it’s in and wound up down near the Spanish Steps. After having a little lunch, we split up and headed back to the hotel for a nap. We’re getting to the point where we’ve seen most of what we came to see so we can afford to take the afternoon off and relax. We met up later in the evening to get dinner and had our first truly awful meal experience. We opted to stay close to our hotel and went to this little restaurant where the proprietor spent most of his time barking orders at his staff and not doing much else. They weren’t that busy but the loud mouthed owner kept ordering his staff to do something else when they were halfway through finishing whatever other task he’d asked them to do just minutes prior. Consequently, nothing really ever got done and the three waiters were harried to say the least. We probably should have left when we saw no fewer than 3 natives get up from their table and complain loudly to him about waiting for their bill, pay and leave in disgust. We sat for the better part of 15 minutes without getting a chance to place our order or even getting place settings. When we did get to place the order, he actually gave us the pad and had us write it down ourselves. Brilliant. The lame bit was that, like many places, there is a 10% charge for ‘service and bread’ levied on all bills. Well, we got zero service and they had run out of bread before we arrived (at 8:30 which is rather early for most Italians). We had high hopes that the food would redeem the restaurant as most of the stuff we saw coming out of the kitchen looked and smelled great. However, we apparently missed the good food section of the menu and ordered strictly from the mediocre section because our food was crap. So we left, came home and went to sleep with bellies full of untasty pasta. An un-fun ending to an otherwise great day.
Monday: The unchristian behavior of Christians at the Vatican
Warning – What follows might strike some of you as sacrilegious in one way or another. Be forewarned and keep in mind that I don’t intend any offense. Unless you’re a throng.
We decided we’d check out the Vatican the day after the swearing in of the new Pope figuring that the crowds would be gone by now. Man, were we wrong. The Sistine Chapel had been closed for a few days due to Pope-related procedures and Monday was it’s grand reopening day. Consequently, most of the throng that had turned out for yesterday’s Mass was already queued up for the museum and chapel by the time we got there (around 8:30). As we approached the ½ mile line, our taxi driver explained that it was a 3-½ hour wait to get in. We quickly took the decision to skip it and just head over to St. Peter’s Cathedral where we found the remainder of the previous day’s hordes forming a massive queue to get in. We lucked out, however, as we discovered that most of them were in line to see the tomb of the John-Paul and that was a separate line. This was about the best luck were going to have with our Vatican experience. We got in the ‘throng’ for St. Peters and waded our way toward the security screening. I say throng because that’s exactly what it was: a massive horde of people with complete disregard for those around them, save the folks in their party. Call me crazy but I’d have thought that most of these folks would be calm and eerily polite since I figured most of them were religiously inclined and on a pilgrimage of some sort. However, they seemed to mostly consist of Tourists from Hell ™. Instead, they were pushy, mean and loud. I almost had to snap a few necks before we even got to security. It was ugly. Oh, and security was about as tight as Jared’s fat pants after the Subway diet. Sure, we all had to put our bags through an X-ray machine but wasn’t going to keep the guy manning said machine from smoking and carrying on a conversation with his buddies near by. We also had to go through a metal detector and when Keith set it off, the guy looked at him, Keith pointed to his pocket and said ‘keys’ and dude just let him pass! I could have gotten through there with a small nuclear device, a gun or even some nail-clippers! Frightening.
After that frustrating waste of time, we were able to get into the cathedral fairly quickly. St. Peter’s is incredibly huge and ornate, to say the least. Apparently, it is the largest of it’s kind in the Catholic world and it has markers on the floor of where other massive Catholic cathedrals would go were you to decide to move them inside it (sort of like those Russian stacking dolls). All the Popes of eons past are housed here up to and including St. Peter himself, who takes center stage in front of the main altar under a seventy foot bronze canopy. Everywhere you turned, there’d be an ex-Pope’s visage bearing down on you. Some of them looked really stern, others serene and still others humble. Most all of them had huge marble tombs in or in front of various pillars and walls. A few of them were incased in glass, backlit caskets which was creepy and (I thought) a little showy. Located near the entrance, behind bulletproof glass, is Michelangelo’s Pieta (Mary holding post-crucified Jesus). I’ve seen photos of it before and, considering the distance we were kept from it and the dim lighting, the photos were more interesting. If you haven’t seen photos, I highly recommend you Google some instead of going to see it in person…even if you’re in Vatican City and 50 feet from the entrance to St. Peter’s. Did I mention I hate throngs?
We wandered around the cathedral for close to an hour before deciding to leave. As I side note, I’ll have you all know that my feet didn’t feel warm, nor did I burst into flames, upon entering the church. I did, however, start to get a rare headache that lasted until we exited. It could have just been the dim lighting and all the flash photography but I deduced that it was the Fame comment from the day prior. Anyway, getting out was a similar hassle to getting in. The dump you out at the gift shop and post office (what a surprise). Brooke nearly got knocked on her butt by some jerk with a post card who seemed to think he could walk, unhindered, through solid objects (like Brooke). Having a need to send a post card myself, I ventured into the gift shop where I nearly killed a rude Japanese girl who attempted to insert herself between me and the display counter where I was attempting to buy a single post card. Had this been my first day in Italy, I probably would have let her in but I’ve been throng-hardened in my travels and would sooner pluck out my own eyes than let someone cut in front of me while I’m in line. The guy next to me, however, wasn’t battle tested so he let her in and she subsequently delayed my purchase by nearly five minutes with incomprehensible questions about some bit of jewelry in the case. It took all my strength not to deliver a deadly head butt to her and rain down a hail of wallops upon her boyfriend who not only allowed this transgression but also paid for the trinket. I was ready to get the hell out of Vatican City. Outside, I filled out the post card and quickly mailed it. We all walked over to the Tiber to cool off and get away from all the tourists. We’d decided to check out this round castle thingy on the Tiber where the Popes would take refuge if the city was under siege but since it was Monday, it was closed. Instead, we walked back to one of the fountains we’d been to before and had an excellent lunch. Food makes it all better. And wine too.
After lunch, we split up. Brooke and I headed back to the hotel where she decided to take a nap before her next session of shopping therapy. I went down to a little café near our hotel and had one of the most enjoyable afternoons in recent memory. I just sat there in a quiet booth, drinking Italian beer and reading. It was lovely. Brooke came down to get me a little before we met up with Keith and Linda for dinner. Tonight, we decided to take the recommendation of the concierge and go to this place near by called Il Chianti. We were very glad we did. The food was awesome and the house red wine was so good that Brooke ordered two to go (actually, she ordered one and I bumped it up to two). It was a fine final Italian dinner with the two of them. We parted ways after the meal, Linda off to do some shopping and us back to finish packing in preparation for our ‘honeymoon’ (‘luna di miele’) in Capri…More on that in the next installment.
Buona Sera,
Shaun.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Italian Dispatch #6: Reaching your personal ruins threshold
Saturday: Pompeii and other ruins to the south
I experienced a bit of travelers’ pride today as I was successfully able to get from Rome to Pompeii and back without knowing more than ten words in Italian. Sure, Pompeii is a big tourist spot and most signs there are in English as well as Italian but hey, I walked out my door armed with nothing more than my umbrella, some mixed nuts and an ATM card and I’m back here tonight to tell the tale. Pure magic, I tell you.
Anyway, Brooke and I met up early with Keith and Linda to catch the train to Naples. First class Eurostar tickets in hand, we boarded and journeyed without an issue. First class is nice and really not that much more expensive. We got comfy seats and a dude with a snack cart to service us. You know those pump-top coffee dispensers you see at the gas station when you need your 64 oz SuperUberMega cup of coffee as your gassing up the Buick in the morning? Well, this guy has one of those on his cart…only it’s filled with espresso. Did I mention I love Italy? I tried to get him to set me up with an espresso IV drip but I don’t know how to say ‘Stick it in my vein’ in Italian. Regardless, the trip was lovely and uneventful. From Naples, we had to take the special ‘circle Vesuvius’ train (which is separate from the normal regional train) down to Pompeii. We got tickets and then spoke to the most helpful information desk person ever. He gave us a map and told us exactly where to get off and what column to look at for the return times at the Pompeii station. Before Pompeii, though, we stopped at the Herculenium. The Herculenium is another town that Vesuvius destroyed, only was meaner about it. Apparently, it’s denizens had more time to respond to the mountain blowing its top and most fled to the sea where they attempted to get in boats to get away. Unfortunately for them, a massive tsunami smashed them all back against the rampart walls of the city where they were subsequently covered with Vesuvian detritus. Ugly business. By comparison, Herculenium is much smaller than Pompeii but it’s been visited by fewer folks and is, I think, better preserved and more ‘authentic’. Also, you don’t need a flippin’ map for it which, as you’ll read later, is a boon. Finally, there was a group of Italian high school students there at the same time and I’d like to report that I was finally ‘eyed’ by a few of the girls. Again, I’d like to know where said girls where when I was in high school…
Since I’m on the topic, sort of, I’d like to point out that 98% of Italians are beautiful. They’ve got some silly-ass fashions and often times they look pissed off (in that fashionista sort of way) but they’re beautiful all the same. Even the ‘plain’ looking Italians have this vibrancy and way of carrying themselves that’s gorgeous. Of course, I remember thinking and saying the same thing about the Danes when I was in Copenhagen too. It’s not just xenophilia though. At least I don’t think it is.
Ok, back to the day. After enjoying the Herculenium, we took the train to Pompeii and had lunch at a little food stand in front of the entrance to the site. Panini all around, as well as fresh squeezed lemonade. Apparently, lemons the size of my noggin’ are a regional specialty and much tasty lemonade is made. After lunch we started what would turn out to be a very frustrating and tiring trip through Pompeii. Have experienced a bit of ‘ruin overload’ while at the Herculenium, we decided to get a tour book and map so that we could catch the highlights at Pompeii. For 8 Euro, we got a poorly translated guidebook from a street vendor that included a map. The map, we soon discovered, was for downtown Toronto, not Ancient Pompeii (the fact that it was printed on paper and not papyrus should have tipped us off). Actually, the map may have been ok but it gave names to the streets that we found very confusing because the signage in this massive ruin is distinctly lacking. After spending a half an hour of searching for the Brothels (more time than should ever be spent in search of such, really), we nicknamed the map the ‘Angry Map’ since it instantly made whoever was holding it violent. Arms were flailed, voices were raised and ruins were cursed for the better part of two hours while massive ‘schools’ of guided tourists glided by us raving about the well-preserved beauty of something we’d been looking for in vain. It was the first and only time I’d wished we’d signed on for a guided tour. Later I realized that the guides were probably in collusion with the mapmakers. Bastards.
We did get to see the larger ruins, however, such as the large and small amphitheaters and their mini-coliseum. The best part was at the small theater where Linda insisted that Brooke and Keith walk up to the top for a photo opportunity while she and I sat at the bottom. When they got to the top, Keith did the best impersonation of someone falling over the back of bleachers that I’ve ever seen in my life. There was, of course, a landing at the top that we couldn’t see so it looked quite realistic. So realistic that Linda nearly had a heart attack from shock. All was well, though, as he popped his head back up and Brooke and he continued to giggle like mad about the sketch well into the evening. With all due respect to my mother-in-law, it was giggle-on-the-ground funny.
After all the angry touring of Pompeii, we took the long way back around to the train. Everyone was pretty exhausted from navigating miles of massive cobblestones. (Amazingly, I have avoided spraining my ankles this entire trip, which is nigh miraculous considering all of the cobblestone they’ve got in this country.). We caught the local train back up to Naples Central station and were able to again use our tickets to take a different train. Man, I love Italy. We arrived a little after 10 and had dinner shortly thereafter. We were, of course, right on time for your standard Italian dinner. When you have three courses for lunch at 2 pm, 10 pm for dinner just makes sense. After dinner, we parted ways and I’m currently sitting in the lobby of our hotel typing this, enjoying the quiet, the cool breeze and the wireless internet. I hope all is well with everyone that’s receiving this…and that I’m not boring you too much. I'm off to bed...
Ciao,
Shaun.
I experienced a bit of travelers’ pride today as I was successfully able to get from Rome to Pompeii and back without knowing more than ten words in Italian. Sure, Pompeii is a big tourist spot and most signs there are in English as well as Italian but hey, I walked out my door armed with nothing more than my umbrella, some mixed nuts and an ATM card and I’m back here tonight to tell the tale. Pure magic, I tell you.
Anyway, Brooke and I met up early with Keith and Linda to catch the train to Naples. First class Eurostar tickets in hand, we boarded and journeyed without an issue. First class is nice and really not that much more expensive. We got comfy seats and a dude with a snack cart to service us. You know those pump-top coffee dispensers you see at the gas station when you need your 64 oz SuperUberMega cup of coffee as your gassing up the Buick in the morning? Well, this guy has one of those on his cart…only it’s filled with espresso. Did I mention I love Italy? I tried to get him to set me up with an espresso IV drip but I don’t know how to say ‘Stick it in my vein’ in Italian. Regardless, the trip was lovely and uneventful. From Naples, we had to take the special ‘circle Vesuvius’ train (which is separate from the normal regional train) down to Pompeii. We got tickets and then spoke to the most helpful information desk person ever. He gave us a map and told us exactly where to get off and what column to look at for the return times at the Pompeii station. Before Pompeii, though, we stopped at the Herculenium. The Herculenium is another town that Vesuvius destroyed, only was meaner about it. Apparently, it’s denizens had more time to respond to the mountain blowing its top and most fled to the sea where they attempted to get in boats to get away. Unfortunately for them, a massive tsunami smashed them all back against the rampart walls of the city where they were subsequently covered with Vesuvian detritus. Ugly business. By comparison, Herculenium is much smaller than Pompeii but it’s been visited by fewer folks and is, I think, better preserved and more ‘authentic’. Also, you don’t need a flippin’ map for it which, as you’ll read later, is a boon. Finally, there was a group of Italian high school students there at the same time and I’d like to report that I was finally ‘eyed’ by a few of the girls. Again, I’d like to know where said girls where when I was in high school…
Since I’m on the topic, sort of, I’d like to point out that 98% of Italians are beautiful. They’ve got some silly-ass fashions and often times they look pissed off (in that fashionista sort of way) but they’re beautiful all the same. Even the ‘plain’ looking Italians have this vibrancy and way of carrying themselves that’s gorgeous. Of course, I remember thinking and saying the same thing about the Danes when I was in Copenhagen too. It’s not just xenophilia though. At least I don’t think it is.
Ok, back to the day. After enjoying the Herculenium, we took the train to Pompeii and had lunch at a little food stand in front of the entrance to the site. Panini all around, as well as fresh squeezed lemonade. Apparently, lemons the size of my noggin’ are a regional specialty and much tasty lemonade is made. After lunch we started what would turn out to be a very frustrating and tiring trip through Pompeii. Have experienced a bit of ‘ruin overload’ while at the Herculenium, we decided to get a tour book and map so that we could catch the highlights at Pompeii. For 8 Euro, we got a poorly translated guidebook from a street vendor that included a map. The map, we soon discovered, was for downtown Toronto, not Ancient Pompeii (the fact that it was printed on paper and not papyrus should have tipped us off). Actually, the map may have been ok but it gave names to the streets that we found very confusing because the signage in this massive ruin is distinctly lacking. After spending a half an hour of searching for the Brothels (more time than should ever be spent in search of such, really), we nicknamed the map the ‘Angry Map’ since it instantly made whoever was holding it violent. Arms were flailed, voices were raised and ruins were cursed for the better part of two hours while massive ‘schools’ of guided tourists glided by us raving about the well-preserved beauty of something we’d been looking for in vain. It was the first and only time I’d wished we’d signed on for a guided tour. Later I realized that the guides were probably in collusion with the mapmakers. Bastards.
We did get to see the larger ruins, however, such as the large and small amphitheaters and their mini-coliseum. The best part was at the small theater where Linda insisted that Brooke and Keith walk up to the top for a photo opportunity while she and I sat at the bottom. When they got to the top, Keith did the best impersonation of someone falling over the back of bleachers that I’ve ever seen in my life. There was, of course, a landing at the top that we couldn’t see so it looked quite realistic. So realistic that Linda nearly had a heart attack from shock. All was well, though, as he popped his head back up and Brooke and he continued to giggle like mad about the sketch well into the evening. With all due respect to my mother-in-law, it was giggle-on-the-ground funny.
After all the angry touring of Pompeii, we took the long way back around to the train. Everyone was pretty exhausted from navigating miles of massive cobblestones. (Amazingly, I have avoided spraining my ankles this entire trip, which is nigh miraculous considering all of the cobblestone they’ve got in this country.). We caught the local train back up to Naples Central station and were able to again use our tickets to take a different train. Man, I love Italy. We arrived a little after 10 and had dinner shortly thereafter. We were, of course, right on time for your standard Italian dinner. When you have three courses for lunch at 2 pm, 10 pm for dinner just makes sense. After dinner, we parted ways and I’m currently sitting in the lobby of our hotel typing this, enjoying the quiet, the cool breeze and the wireless internet. I hope all is well with everyone that’s receiving this…and that I’m not boring you too much. I'm off to bed...
Ciao,
Shaun.
Friday, April 22, 2005
Italian Dispatch #5
Thursday: Where the hell are the Italians?
After the last two days here in Rome, I’ve decided that it is really only populated by tourists. Most of them are Danish, for some reason, and most of them are being lead around by ‘guides’ carrying odd items tied to sticks that they raise in the air to distinguish themselves from each other. Thus far, I’ve see bandanas, bananas, silk scarves, chocolate wrappers, trashcan lids, UFOs, kitchen sinks and various other appliances mounted on sticks, hoisted at my eye level and floated about every palazzo, ruin and bit of antiquity we happen upon. I’m starting to hate these guides as well, if only because they portend a swarm of tourists that would just as soon step on your face to get the perfect picture as tell you the time. Oh, and what’s with all the friggin’ video cameras? Who is EVER going to sit through even a 5 minute film of a fountain surrounded by schools of tourists? It’s boring to live through, let alone relive on Beta Max…
So, after paying way too damn much for an unlicensed taxi to our hotel, Brooke and I wandered the two blocks to the apartment that her mother, brother and friends, Rachel and Washington are renting while here in Rome. Word to the wise: if you’re traveling with 4 or more people, this is the way to go. They’ve got a great 3 bedroom place two blocks from said famous fountain (the Trevi) and it’s costing them about 70 Euro per person per night. It’s a sweet deal. Anyway, we met up with Linda and Keith to plan our afternoon. First order of business: laundry. We knew they’d have a washer and only packed half as many clothes as we’d need. After fiddling with and starting their washer (it wasn’t spin drying for them), we headed off to what has been to date my favorite spot in Rome: the Pantheon. Its imposing, mostly complete façade in the middle of a modern-by-Italian-standards square is breathtaking. The inside has been desecrated by those wacky Christians so most of the original ornamentation has been replaced with Christian frescos and statues but the dome is phenomenal. It’s composed of the successively inset octagons. Obviously hard to describe but don’t worry, I took plenty of photos of it. Oh, and did I mention it’s free? Bonus.
From there, we ventured down past a bunch of ruins to the Coliseum. One joke that doesn’t seem to get old is the ‘man, what a dump’ joke when you’re walking through ruins. It’s funny because 1) there are a TON of ruins and 2) it looks like a big, ancient dump. The Roman Forum is a prime example. It takes up acres and acres of prime Roman real estate and is really just a bunch of fallen columns and broken brick-work. I’m sure my high school history teacher would kill me for say this but, why not just either restore it to its former glory or put in condos? It’s not like you don’t walk straight into some bit or piece of ancient history with every turn of the corner here anyway. And the Coliseum is a prime example. It’s really cool…or would be if they’d invest a little in restoring it. Instead, it’s the husk of it’s glorious self. They’ve erected gates around the entire thing and inside a good bit of it so you can’t get near any of the bricks or cool stuff. You can only look at it from afar. This is because people have a habit of ‘tagging’ or writing graffiti on anything that’s old, immobile and that cost money to see. I, along with anyone that’s ever been to a baseball game or in any public toilet you paid to use, understand this. Why not engineer for the people and not against them? I say restore the Coliseum, bring in gladiators (better yet, politicians), wild beasts and sell exclusive beverage selling rights to Budweiser? After all, this big hunk o’ ruin was the Nascar of its day and should be revered as nothing more than such. A thousand years from now, are our ancestors going to be wandering around Talladega or Turner Field, both in complete ruin, in awe and revering our pastimes of the lowest common denominator? As much as I have faith in evolution, I fear the answer is yes…
So, we wandered around the Coliseum for a bit, snapping photos every so often. I know I sound like a futurist jerk in the last paragraph but it was really lovely and stunning. After that, we walked back toward our respective residences and had a dinner in the same alley Linda and Keith are staying in. It was nice, I think, though Brooke didn’t enjoy the meal much. We both ordered the steak and she’s not accustom to the fattiness of the meat here. They like the ribeye, for whatever reason, and they like it thin. I thought it was tasty but hell, I eat anything. After dinner we came home and crashed. Walking and overeating is hard work!
Friday: Babies, puppies, gypsies and the train station
Our first order of business today was to get tickets to Naples and from there to Pompeii for Saturday. We took the Metro to the main station around 11 to get said tickets. This process only took us about 10 minutes. Of course, if you have a Eurorail pass and need to make reservations, they’ve got a long line for you. We were at the train station for two hours, which is long enough for a train strike to occur. Bonus. Anyway, while we were waiting for the non-us part of our party to get reservations for Naples, I was asked by no fewer than a dozen gypsies for change. A third of the gypsies just ask for change. A third of the luckier gypsies have puppies while asking for said change. The even luckier gypsies carry a real live baby while asking. Of course, for my money, the most heart-wrenching are the ancient gypsy ladies, hunched over with cane in one hand and cup in another, slowly pacing back and forth with their faces completely covered in scarves. You all know me. You know I’m nearly a communist when it comes to politics and I’m a total bleeding heart…but something about all the folks that have asked for change here screams “I’m faking” and I’ve been a complete scrooge with them all thus far. They’re all faking, I swear.
As I mentioned, after fun with reservations there was a train and bus strike for the rest of the day. A fat lot of good that did us. Rachel and Washington quickly took a cab to the Vatican (for religious reasons, I’m sure) and we wandered toward Circus Maximus for lunch. We had a light lunch near the Plaza of the Republic (Me: mushroom crepes; Brooke: pasta salad) before walking toward more ruins. We stopped first at the jail where Peter and Paul were imprisoned and killed. No word on Mary (rim shot, please). It was terrible. Cold stone, low ceilings and torture. I’m sure some people come to this place and feel holy or some such. Myself, all I could think of is how awful people are to other people…and how evil institutions can be. We left and headed down to the Circus Maximus, which was wholly under whelming. It’s a big field, people! We stopped for coffee near by and the cashier at the trattoria had the THICKEST glasses in the world. I know we joke about ‘coke bottle glasses’ and all but I swear you could have put on of his lenses in the Hubble and seen the distant distant past. Still stymied by the strike, we walked back the Coliseum and caught a cab back to our place. It was 4 o’clock and we decided to rest up for the evening. With plans to meet around 6:30, we headed to our room for some reading and rest.
The final bit of this evening was our walk from a square south of our place where they burnt a heretic to the Spanish steps (which are famous because they are steps? Maybe?) Along the way, we saw many an authentic Egyptian obelisk. The Romans sure did like the obelisks of Egypt, let me tell you. We saw at least three tonight and they’re very cool. We also might have seen the Prime Minister of Italy but we’re not sure. There were a lot of police near Parliament, after all. Anyway, we took a nice walk and had dinner at this amazingly large restaurant tucked away near the Spanish steps. I had a type of pasta with pesto and Brooke had a pizza…and mousse! Why is it that women are able eat their weight in dessert? I don’t get it. Anyway, it was a great dinner and cost half as much as last nights meal. Go figure…
We walked back from dinner and parted ways with Linda and Keith…until I realized I had no clean underwear. I trotted back to there place to get our laundry and am now here in the lobby typing this long-winded email. The concierge just had a major outburst in Italian about something tenant related. After that, he apologized for ‘not seeing me until the tirade started’. I love the honesty of Italians…he’s not sorry for the outburst, just that I witnessed it. Anyway, I’m about shot so I’ll call it a night. I hope all is well wherever you all are at…
Ciao,
Shaun.
After the last two days here in Rome, I’ve decided that it is really only populated by tourists. Most of them are Danish, for some reason, and most of them are being lead around by ‘guides’ carrying odd items tied to sticks that they raise in the air to distinguish themselves from each other. Thus far, I’ve see bandanas, bananas, silk scarves, chocolate wrappers, trashcan lids, UFOs, kitchen sinks and various other appliances mounted on sticks, hoisted at my eye level and floated about every palazzo, ruin and bit of antiquity we happen upon. I’m starting to hate these guides as well, if only because they portend a swarm of tourists that would just as soon step on your face to get the perfect picture as tell you the time. Oh, and what’s with all the friggin’ video cameras? Who is EVER going to sit through even a 5 minute film of a fountain surrounded by schools of tourists? It’s boring to live through, let alone relive on Beta Max…
So, after paying way too damn much for an unlicensed taxi to our hotel, Brooke and I wandered the two blocks to the apartment that her mother, brother and friends, Rachel and Washington are renting while here in Rome. Word to the wise: if you’re traveling with 4 or more people, this is the way to go. They’ve got a great 3 bedroom place two blocks from said famous fountain (the Trevi) and it’s costing them about 70 Euro per person per night. It’s a sweet deal. Anyway, we met up with Linda and Keith to plan our afternoon. First order of business: laundry. We knew they’d have a washer and only packed half as many clothes as we’d need. After fiddling with and starting their washer (it wasn’t spin drying for them), we headed off to what has been to date my favorite spot in Rome: the Pantheon. Its imposing, mostly complete façade in the middle of a modern-by-Italian-standards square is breathtaking. The inside has been desecrated by those wacky Christians so most of the original ornamentation has been replaced with Christian frescos and statues but the dome is phenomenal. It’s composed of the successively inset octagons. Obviously hard to describe but don’t worry, I took plenty of photos of it. Oh, and did I mention it’s free? Bonus.
From there, we ventured down past a bunch of ruins to the Coliseum. One joke that doesn’t seem to get old is the ‘man, what a dump’ joke when you’re walking through ruins. It’s funny because 1) there are a TON of ruins and 2) it looks like a big, ancient dump. The Roman Forum is a prime example. It takes up acres and acres of prime Roman real estate and is really just a bunch of fallen columns and broken brick-work. I’m sure my high school history teacher would kill me for say this but, why not just either restore it to its former glory or put in condos? It’s not like you don’t walk straight into some bit or piece of ancient history with every turn of the corner here anyway. And the Coliseum is a prime example. It’s really cool…or would be if they’d invest a little in restoring it. Instead, it’s the husk of it’s glorious self. They’ve erected gates around the entire thing and inside a good bit of it so you can’t get near any of the bricks or cool stuff. You can only look at it from afar. This is because people have a habit of ‘tagging’ or writing graffiti on anything that’s old, immobile and that cost money to see. I, along with anyone that’s ever been to a baseball game or in any public toilet you paid to use, understand this. Why not engineer for the people and not against them? I say restore the Coliseum, bring in gladiators (better yet, politicians), wild beasts and sell exclusive beverage selling rights to Budweiser? After all, this big hunk o’ ruin was the Nascar of its day and should be revered as nothing more than such. A thousand years from now, are our ancestors going to be wandering around Talladega or Turner Field, both in complete ruin, in awe and revering our pastimes of the lowest common denominator? As much as I have faith in evolution, I fear the answer is yes…
So, we wandered around the Coliseum for a bit, snapping photos every so often. I know I sound like a futurist jerk in the last paragraph but it was really lovely and stunning. After that, we walked back toward our respective residences and had a dinner in the same alley Linda and Keith are staying in. It was nice, I think, though Brooke didn’t enjoy the meal much. We both ordered the steak and she’s not accustom to the fattiness of the meat here. They like the ribeye, for whatever reason, and they like it thin. I thought it was tasty but hell, I eat anything. After dinner we came home and crashed. Walking and overeating is hard work!
Friday: Babies, puppies, gypsies and the train station
Our first order of business today was to get tickets to Naples and from there to Pompeii for Saturday. We took the Metro to the main station around 11 to get said tickets. This process only took us about 10 minutes. Of course, if you have a Eurorail pass and need to make reservations, they’ve got a long line for you. We were at the train station for two hours, which is long enough for a train strike to occur. Bonus. Anyway, while we were waiting for the non-us part of our party to get reservations for Naples, I was asked by no fewer than a dozen gypsies for change. A third of the gypsies just ask for change. A third of the luckier gypsies have puppies while asking for said change. The even luckier gypsies carry a real live baby while asking. Of course, for my money, the most heart-wrenching are the ancient gypsy ladies, hunched over with cane in one hand and cup in another, slowly pacing back and forth with their faces completely covered in scarves. You all know me. You know I’m nearly a communist when it comes to politics and I’m a total bleeding heart…but something about all the folks that have asked for change here screams “I’m faking” and I’ve been a complete scrooge with them all thus far. They’re all faking, I swear.
As I mentioned, after fun with reservations there was a train and bus strike for the rest of the day. A fat lot of good that did us. Rachel and Washington quickly took a cab to the Vatican (for religious reasons, I’m sure) and we wandered toward Circus Maximus for lunch. We had a light lunch near the Plaza of the Republic (Me: mushroom crepes; Brooke: pasta salad) before walking toward more ruins. We stopped first at the jail where Peter and Paul were imprisoned and killed. No word on Mary (rim shot, please). It was terrible. Cold stone, low ceilings and torture. I’m sure some people come to this place and feel holy or some such. Myself, all I could think of is how awful people are to other people…and how evil institutions can be. We left and headed down to the Circus Maximus, which was wholly under whelming. It’s a big field, people! We stopped for coffee near by and the cashier at the trattoria had the THICKEST glasses in the world. I know we joke about ‘coke bottle glasses’ and all but I swear you could have put on of his lenses in the Hubble and seen the distant distant past. Still stymied by the strike, we walked back the Coliseum and caught a cab back to our place. It was 4 o’clock and we decided to rest up for the evening. With plans to meet around 6:30, we headed to our room for some reading and rest.
The final bit of this evening was our walk from a square south of our place where they burnt a heretic to the Spanish steps (which are famous because they are steps? Maybe?) Along the way, we saw many an authentic Egyptian obelisk. The Romans sure did like the obelisks of Egypt, let me tell you. We saw at least three tonight and they’re very cool. We also might have seen the Prime Minister of Italy but we’re not sure. There were a lot of police near Parliament, after all. Anyway, we took a nice walk and had dinner at this amazingly large restaurant tucked away near the Spanish steps. I had a type of pasta with pesto and Brooke had a pizza…and mousse! Why is it that women are able eat their weight in dessert? I don’t get it. Anyway, it was a great dinner and cost half as much as last nights meal. Go figure…
We walked back from dinner and parted ways with Linda and Keith…until I realized I had no clean underwear. I trotted back to there place to get our laundry and am now here in the lobby typing this long-winded email. The concierge just had a major outburst in Italian about something tenant related. After that, he apologized for ‘not seeing me until the tirade started’. I love the honesty of Italians…he’s not sorry for the outburst, just that I witnessed it. Anyway, I’m about shot so I’ll call it a night. I hope all is well wherever you all are at…
Ciao,
Shaun.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Italian Dispatch #4
Wednesday: Tours = Lame
Today we decided that we needed to hit all the spots in Florence that our tour book told us were ‘must sees’. That meant even more walking as well as the need to pack some snacks since sitting down for a meal was just not going to be possible, at least until dinnertime. Our day started off with reservations as the Accademia, where David is housed along with several other unfinished chunks of marble blessed with the chisel marks of Michelangelo. I visited the museum when I was there last and, though it’s expensive and small, I think it’s worth it. Seeing David is something you should do, if only to gawk in amazement for a few moments. In a word, it is perfection and if you’re in Florence, you have to go. In addition to David, the unfinished marbles and the throngs of tour groups, there is also a large room filled with plaster models of many of the other great sculpture found throughout the city, including one of my favorites: Niccolo Machiavelli. The actual statue is in the courtyard of the Uffizi and is just plain wicked. The depiction reminds me a little of busts of Caesar, only he has straight hair and an academic, almost diabolic, expression. This makes sense, of course, since the devil was a pragmatist too.
After about an hour in the Accademia, we jaunted down the street to the Duomo, this time to just check out the inside. This was the first free thing we’ve done since we arrived in Italy. Well, not totally free since we spent 3 Euro to see the crypt below the main floor. A word to the wise: the crypt has low ceilings and, besides that, really isn’t worth the cost. I’d spring for a Euro, maybe, but 3 Euro is too much. Regardless, the inside of the cathedral is simply massive and brimming with this strangely echoing murmur of the crowds. I commented that it must be quite scary to be alone in the cathedral…since it was a little scary even with all the people wandering around. Once you walk the length of floor where hundreds of pews must have once been, you’re standing under the Duomo itself. The dome is covered in a mural of some sort that, though you are allowed to take photos, you can’t get a decent one of. My favorite part is the skeleton on the edge toward the back. I don’t know why…perhaps it was growing up watching He-Man?
After the Duomo, we decided to walk over the Ponte Vecchio to get some gelato and check out the Pitti Palace. Gelato is like ice cream, only with more crack cocaine in it. It has to be crack because it is incredibly addictive. I had them stick the chocolate gelato directly into my vein. Anyway, we wandered from there to the Palace and, upon realizing that there are three floors and they charge you for going to each of them, we decided to have a bite to eat at a café across the street instead. Crusty bread and divine deli meats (I’m totally going to get the gout from this trip) were followed by espresso and a realization that we could never be as cool and Mod as the Swedes sitting next to us. Mostly because Brooke could never come to putting a bowl on her head and cutting off random segments of her long hair. Feeling like squares, we trudged back toward the Arno River and our hotel for a rest.
The results of that little rest were described in 3.5 so I won’t bore you again with the details. Instead, I’ll tell you about our stupid tour guide for the Uffizi. The Uffizi (the Offices) is a building that was built by the Medici family about 500 years ago as office space and now houses one of the most impressive collections of Renaissance art in the world. Of course, if you were being given a tour by our crappy guide, you’d miss most of the good stuff. We took a guided tour because getting reservations for the museum is nearly impossible (they told us they were booked up until May 7th) and neither of us felt like waiting in line for 3 hours to get in. The alternative was to pay 27 Euros for a guided tour that included reserved entrance to the museum. Our tour was to begin at 4:30 and end an hour and a half later, leaving us about 45 minutes to wander the museum on our own. This may sound like a lot of time but this place is huge. You could literally spend an entire day and not absorb it all. It was to be whirlwind, to say the least. Our tour started with the guide, a condescending old bat, showing up 20 minutes late with no apology or explanation. After making our way through security with the group, she then informed us that she would need to give the tour in both English and French because of a mistake in booking and that that was ‘just how it has to be’. It was at about this point that Brooke and I decided that self-guided was the way to go and we broke from the group. And lucky we did. We ran into some folks from our group about 20 minutes later and were shocked that they had somehow gotten in front of us. It turned out that the guide had completely skipped the section with all of the Botticelli paintings, including the famous Venus di Milo. No doubt she skipped it because Botticelli is “passé” and decided to school us heathens on the beauty of some obscure Flemish painter. Bunko, I say! The Venus di Milo is flat AMAZING and should never be skipped, especially if you’re a heathen. No doubt, she also skipped the famous Michelangelo paintings as well. Anyway, it was gratifying, in an immature sort of way, to see a good segment of the group break off and head back when we informed them of what they’d missed.
We blazed through the museum at a lightning pace just go to see as much as possible before it closed. This is my one regret on our trip so far. If I had it to do over again, I would have gotten to the museum early in the morning, waited in line and spent the day wandering leisurely. Hell, they have a café and a bar there…we could have had a lovely lunch in between rooms. And we could have spent the last hour or so enjoying the World’s Largest Gift Shoppe ™. Holy crap, is it huge. Instead, we quickly meandered through it and exited onto the rainy streets along with every Italian high school student in the nation. About said students, you only have to know two things: They’re exceptionally loud and travel in large groups like fish. Avoid them at all cost.
After that, we decided to grab our last meal in Florence at the trattoria we’d eaten at the night before. You know me; I just can’t get enough of the hairy boars legs. This time, we got a meat plate and a cheese plate, along with a lovely bottle of 1999 Chianti Classico. I was tempted to order the ’81 but came to my senses when I realized we were sitting directly across the street from where we sold our souls for our leather jackets the day before. Also, Brooke would have killed me. We wound up having a nice conversation with a couple next to us. Seeing our jackets, they too became interested in the soul-for-leather exchange and we pointed them to Dante’s (not David’s as previously reported) across the street. They actually may be able to pay with money, however, since he was a divorce lawyer who’s uncles founded and subsequently sold Pyramid Brewing in Seattle. I asked him to thank his uncles for inventing such a fine product and told him that I alone probably accounted for 10% of their sales in Pullman when I was in college. Good stuff.
After dinner, we walked home and discovered the aforementioned bottle of champagne and note of apology. We watched a little of the only English channel that they have here: CNN Europe. We’ve been watching that and Italian commercials (because they’re hilarious and sometimes have nudity) at all the hotels we’ve stayed at so far and are very disappointed in the coverage. CNN should be renamed ‘Pope-o-Matic 3000’ because that’s all they report here. Pope B-16 is giving mass today; he just took a poop; breaking news: Pope sneezes. Boooooring. At first we’d hoped that CNN Europe would be held to a higher standard that it’s US counterpart but, sadly, it’s crap here too. I’d kill for the BBC right now. Or an update on Paris Hilton and Michael Jackson…
Ok, so, our train is about to stop in Rome so I’ll stop here. Our morning was uneventful and we caught our train without issue. Soon, we’ll be meeting up with Brooke’s brother and mother to do some laundry and plan the next few days in the heart of civilization.
Ciao,
Shaun.
ps-- We took (and gotten taken by) an unlicensed taxi from the train station to our hotel! I didn't even notice because we were digging for our hotel voucher...at least until I got in and realized there was no meter and he insisted I sit up front. It cost us 35 Euro...for a <10 ride. LAAAAME. We got screwed. So now Brooke thinks everyone's out to get us and is currently ordering automatic rifles and switchblades online for our protection here in Rome. I think it was a bummer...but part of the experience. No matter how much of a seasoned tourist you think you are, you'll wind up getting taken at leasts once. On a lighter note, the travel company that booked our hotel that Brooke complained to yesterday arranged for yet another bottle of champagne at this hotel. Bonus. I think that they were just trying to be nice but Brooke swears, after seeing the 'excuse our mess' construction signs in the elevator, that they're trying to keep us drunk so we don't mind then noise...
Today we decided that we needed to hit all the spots in Florence that our tour book told us were ‘must sees’. That meant even more walking as well as the need to pack some snacks since sitting down for a meal was just not going to be possible, at least until dinnertime. Our day started off with reservations as the Accademia, where David is housed along with several other unfinished chunks of marble blessed with the chisel marks of Michelangelo. I visited the museum when I was there last and, though it’s expensive and small, I think it’s worth it. Seeing David is something you should do, if only to gawk in amazement for a few moments. In a word, it is perfection and if you’re in Florence, you have to go. In addition to David, the unfinished marbles and the throngs of tour groups, there is also a large room filled with plaster models of many of the other great sculpture found throughout the city, including one of my favorites: Niccolo Machiavelli. The actual statue is in the courtyard of the Uffizi and is just plain wicked. The depiction reminds me a little of busts of Caesar, only he has straight hair and an academic, almost diabolic, expression. This makes sense, of course, since the devil was a pragmatist too.
After about an hour in the Accademia, we jaunted down the street to the Duomo, this time to just check out the inside. This was the first free thing we’ve done since we arrived in Italy. Well, not totally free since we spent 3 Euro to see the crypt below the main floor. A word to the wise: the crypt has low ceilings and, besides that, really isn’t worth the cost. I’d spring for a Euro, maybe, but 3 Euro is too much. Regardless, the inside of the cathedral is simply massive and brimming with this strangely echoing murmur of the crowds. I commented that it must be quite scary to be alone in the cathedral…since it was a little scary even with all the people wandering around. Once you walk the length of floor where hundreds of pews must have once been, you’re standing under the Duomo itself. The dome is covered in a mural of some sort that, though you are allowed to take photos, you can’t get a decent one of. My favorite part is the skeleton on the edge toward the back. I don’t know why…perhaps it was growing up watching He-Man?
After the Duomo, we decided to walk over the Ponte Vecchio to get some gelato and check out the Pitti Palace. Gelato is like ice cream, only with more crack cocaine in it. It has to be crack because it is incredibly addictive. I had them stick the chocolate gelato directly into my vein. Anyway, we wandered from there to the Palace and, upon realizing that there are three floors and they charge you for going to each of them, we decided to have a bite to eat at a café across the street instead. Crusty bread and divine deli meats (I’m totally going to get the gout from this trip) were followed by espresso and a realization that we could never be as cool and Mod as the Swedes sitting next to us. Mostly because Brooke could never come to putting a bowl on her head and cutting off random segments of her long hair. Feeling like squares, we trudged back toward the Arno River and our hotel for a rest.
The results of that little rest were described in 3.5 so I won’t bore you again with the details. Instead, I’ll tell you about our stupid tour guide for the Uffizi. The Uffizi (the Offices) is a building that was built by the Medici family about 500 years ago as office space and now houses one of the most impressive collections of Renaissance art in the world. Of course, if you were being given a tour by our crappy guide, you’d miss most of the good stuff. We took a guided tour because getting reservations for the museum is nearly impossible (they told us they were booked up until May 7th) and neither of us felt like waiting in line for 3 hours to get in. The alternative was to pay 27 Euros for a guided tour that included reserved entrance to the museum. Our tour was to begin at 4:30 and end an hour and a half later, leaving us about 45 minutes to wander the museum on our own. This may sound like a lot of time but this place is huge. You could literally spend an entire day and not absorb it all. It was to be whirlwind, to say the least. Our tour started with the guide, a condescending old bat, showing up 20 minutes late with no apology or explanation. After making our way through security with the group, she then informed us that she would need to give the tour in both English and French because of a mistake in booking and that that was ‘just how it has to be’. It was at about this point that Brooke and I decided that self-guided was the way to go and we broke from the group. And lucky we did. We ran into some folks from our group about 20 minutes later and were shocked that they had somehow gotten in front of us. It turned out that the guide had completely skipped the section with all of the Botticelli paintings, including the famous Venus di Milo. No doubt she skipped it because Botticelli is “passé” and decided to school us heathens on the beauty of some obscure Flemish painter. Bunko, I say! The Venus di Milo is flat AMAZING and should never be skipped, especially if you’re a heathen. No doubt, she also skipped the famous Michelangelo paintings as well. Anyway, it was gratifying, in an immature sort of way, to see a good segment of the group break off and head back when we informed them of what they’d missed.
We blazed through the museum at a lightning pace just go to see as much as possible before it closed. This is my one regret on our trip so far. If I had it to do over again, I would have gotten to the museum early in the morning, waited in line and spent the day wandering leisurely. Hell, they have a café and a bar there…we could have had a lovely lunch in between rooms. And we could have spent the last hour or so enjoying the World’s Largest Gift Shoppe ™. Holy crap, is it huge. Instead, we quickly meandered through it and exited onto the rainy streets along with every Italian high school student in the nation. About said students, you only have to know two things: They’re exceptionally loud and travel in large groups like fish. Avoid them at all cost.
After that, we decided to grab our last meal in Florence at the trattoria we’d eaten at the night before. You know me; I just can’t get enough of the hairy boars legs. This time, we got a meat plate and a cheese plate, along with a lovely bottle of 1999 Chianti Classico. I was tempted to order the ’81 but came to my senses when I realized we were sitting directly across the street from where we sold our souls for our leather jackets the day before. Also, Brooke would have killed me. We wound up having a nice conversation with a couple next to us. Seeing our jackets, they too became interested in the soul-for-leather exchange and we pointed them to Dante’s (not David’s as previously reported) across the street. They actually may be able to pay with money, however, since he was a divorce lawyer who’s uncles founded and subsequently sold Pyramid Brewing in Seattle. I asked him to thank his uncles for inventing such a fine product and told him that I alone probably accounted for 10% of their sales in Pullman when I was in college. Good stuff.
After dinner, we walked home and discovered the aforementioned bottle of champagne and note of apology. We watched a little of the only English channel that they have here: CNN Europe. We’ve been watching that and Italian commercials (because they’re hilarious and sometimes have nudity) at all the hotels we’ve stayed at so far and are very disappointed in the coverage. CNN should be renamed ‘Pope-o-Matic 3000’ because that’s all they report here. Pope B-16 is giving mass today; he just took a poop; breaking news: Pope sneezes. Boooooring. At first we’d hoped that CNN Europe would be held to a higher standard that it’s US counterpart but, sadly, it’s crap here too. I’d kill for the BBC right now. Or an update on Paris Hilton and Michael Jackson…
Ok, so, our train is about to stop in Rome so I’ll stop here. Our morning was uneventful and we caught our train without issue. Soon, we’ll be meeting up with Brooke’s brother and mother to do some laundry and plan the next few days in the heart of civilization.
Ciao,
Shaun.
ps-- We took (and gotten taken by) an unlicensed taxi from the train station to our hotel! I didn't even notice because we were digging for our hotel voucher...at least until I got in and realized there was no meter and he insisted I sit up front. It cost us 35 Euro...for a <10 ride. LAAAAME. We got screwed. So now Brooke thinks everyone's out to get us and is currently ordering automatic rifles and switchblades online for our protection here in Rome. I think it was a bummer...but part of the experience. No matter how much of a seasoned tourist you think you are, you'll wind up getting taken at leasts once. On a lighter note, the travel company that booked our hotel that Brooke complained to yesterday arranged for yet another bottle of champagne at this hotel. Bonus. I think that they were just trying to be nice but Brooke swears, after seeing the 'excuse our mess' construction signs in the elevator, that they're trying to keep us drunk so we don't mind then noise...
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Italian Dispatch #3
Greetings from the heart of Tuscany and the home of fine leather goods! I’m typing this in the lobby of our hotel, Hotel de la Pace, about six blocks north of the Duomo. I’m enjoying a Grappa (a liquor made from what’s left over after they press the wine grapes). This particular Grappa is from the north and has a ‘strong’ flavor, or so the 90 year old Italian bartender just told me. So far, I’m the only non-Italian I’ve met that actually likes Grappa, which either makes me incredibly cultured or a lush. I’ll leave it to you to decide. Anyway, it pretty much picks up where yesterday left off so enjoy…
Monday: I’m Getting Fat
When last you heard from the solo duo, we had arrived in Florence without a peep from the conductor. The thing I forgot to mention was that when our train arrived, we stayed on it as everyone else departed. You see, our tickets said Florence Campo Marte or some such and we were at Florence SMD or some such (like the Secretary of Defense, I’m ‘not a detail-y guy’). I figured the next station was it. Of course, had I consulted a map (or looked out the window) I would have realized that the tracks, they were no more. We would have had to have gotten off at the previous station to catch a train to the Campo Marte. Whatever. It’s not like the conductors gave a hoot and it turned out we were closer to our hotel at this station anyway.
A word on our hotel: I believe that it was built before the Constitution was writing, possibly before the Magna Carta. That’s not to say it’s falling apart; far from it. It is very swank and chic with stark lighting and strange gilded lighting everywhere. The walls seem to be ancient brick covered with inch-thick masonry mud (the brick has been tastefully left exposed over the archways to each room. In a word, this place is perfect. Except, that is, for the construction that seems to go on next door from 8 to 5 or so. It makes sleeping in impossible and getting an afternoon nap difficult. Mostly it’s just random pounding and the occasional masonry saw of some sort. If they could just keep a steady rhythm, it might not be so bad.
Regardless, we spent most of the day wandering around and eating (two of the most popular Italian pastime). We were supposed to meet up with Pat and Mel but we missed each other, unfortunately. We also have no idea where the heck Brooke’s brother and mother are. They, along with a few others, rented an apartment here for a few days but we don’t have the complete address or a phone number so we’re essentially on our own. So, we wander and eat to look like locals. Of course, I look about as Italian as a Kenyan so it’s hard for me to blend in. Brooke, on the other hand, would like me to point out that she was approached by an Italian woman at the train station who thought she was Italian as well until Brooke waved her arms and said ‘Eee-yo Americano!’ The woman just walked off but Brooke’s proud nonetheless. I say it’s the jean jacket but she’s not buying it. Regardless, nothing much happened yesterday except that I continued my weight-gaining regime of deli meats, fresh cheese and crusty bread. Oh, and wine of course.
Tuesday: My Dogs is Tired
Holy crap, did we do some walking today! After a European continental breakfast (consisting of granola, yogurt, deli meats and bread), we hiked down the street and up to the top of the bell tower that’s part of the Duomo. It has a name and if you want to know it, you’ll need to ask Brooke. I can’t remember the name but I can remember that it had 663 steps to the top. My mind works in functions, not names so you’ll just have to deal with it…or email Brooke. They charge 6 Euros to climb to the top which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is a steal at less than a penny per step per person. When you get to the top, there is a little booth in which a uniformed man sits and reads the paper. When we arrived, breathing heavily from the trek, the first thing I said is ‘How can this man have a pot-belly?’ He spends the equivalent of 20 minutes on a Stairmaster every day, for godssake! I decided it was the deli meats. Anyway, a fun fact for you: you’re not supposed to photograph him. Or use a flash. I’m not sure which. When I took his photo he yelled at me but I couldn’t understand. When I stood there looking confused and alternating between ‘Sorry’ and ‘What’, he stopped yelling and made the Italian sign for disgusted dismissal (for the uninitiated, this involves simultaneously rolling one’s eyes and swatting with both hands in your direction). Regardless of what I was sure was my impending arrest, the view from the top of this tower was amazing. All of Florence lies out before you and, on a clear day, I’m sure most of the rest of Tuscany does too. Sadly, it was not a clear day so we had to console ourselves with views of the city and of the suckers across the way that had climbed the 50 extra steps to the top of the Duomo. Sure, it was that much higher but even a monkey could see from the ground that the view was somewhat obscured by the scaffolding. Apparently, they’re doing some restoration on it. After many photos, we descended feeling superior and in need of espresso.
Our next stop after coffee was the Science Museum. I have three things to say about that: 1) the damn thing has been a working research lab for 300 years, 2) I’ve never seen so much brass instrumentation in my life and 3) museums are sooooooo much more interesting when the exhibits are in a language you can understand. Oh, and there were two Italian and one German tour groups that we moseyed between on our trek through the museum. It was during this visit that I came to terms with the fact that Italian high school students view me as an anomaly and female German high school students think I’m hot. Where were the latter when I was an unmarried high school student, I’d like to know…
After the Science museum, we headed back to the hotel for round two of ‘nap attempting’. I was successful and Brooke was not so she headed down to the internet café for a bit. Later, I would wish that I hadn’t been successful because both of my hands wound up falling asleep and I walked around for the next few hours feeling like a twin-hooked pirate minus an eye patch. Anyway, our plan was to go to the Duomo to check out the inside but it was closed, open for Mass or just too confusing for us to figure out so we wandered looking for stuff to spend money on. Man, did Florence see us coming…
In addition to buying Grappa, Lemoncello (a lemon liquor), an adaptor and a super-cool espresso maker we discovered Italian leather. I blame this discovery on Brooke. After all, it was she who wanted to go into the leather shop. So what if it was I who said she should keep trying on jackets? And what did it matter that I had decided that if she got a jacket, I would get this sweet leather attaché case? Sure, I tended the crop but Brooke was the one that sowed the seed. I can hardly be faulted for what happened next.
We gained our senses at the first leather store and said that we’d think about the jacket she had tried on. We wandered out and two blocks away, meandered into another leather shop. Brooke (aka- the Guilty One) jested with the proprietor that they ‘surely didn’t have anything that would fit my gigantic frame’. This is where things get a little fuzzy. The dude took the challenge, producing not one but three beautiful jackets that all fit me. In truth, these jackets were truly fantastic. The reputation that Italian leather has around the world is well deserved and the style is haute, to say the least. Anyway, while Brooke and I stood staring in shock at the three wonderful jackets, they apparently also fitted and sold Brooke a jacket as well. It’s all sort of hazy because the jacket I was wearing was just that mesmerizing. So was the price, which I’ll spare you out of a combination of shame and humility. Suffice it to say that the final price was 1/3rd the price on the tag and it was still the most money I’ve ever spent on a jacket in my life. The big seller for me: if I get a tear in it or need any maintenance done on it, I can send it back to the seller and he’ll repair it for free (I only pay for shipping to him). Oh, that and he said that I should do absolutely NOTHING to the jacket (in fact, I think he said that if I ever took it to the cleaners or Scotchgarded it, he’d kill me). Bonus.
Two more things about this jacket store (called David’s. I have cards and have been programmed to recommend him): 1) There was this rather annoying Californian girl that hung out in the store the whole time asking stupid questions and considering the purchase of two jackets. Among the questions, I kid you not: ‘Where does leather come from?’ 2) Just before we made the purchase, wine magically appeared and was drunk. When was the last time you were in Target about to make a big purchase and the clerk busted out a bottle of wine? God, I love Italy.
In shock after our big purchase, we decided to eat on the cheap. We wandered to a local trattoria to get a cheap plowman’s dinner (rustic bread, meats and cheese). This trattoria was the first place we’d been to with freshly curing meats on display (read: boars’ legs, skin and hair intact, hanging behind the bar). Despite the view, the food was awesome. However, our light dinner was marred by the ‘Techno Music’. This is our new code, thanks to Mrs. Burrito, for something annoying and distracting during our meal (Lozianna, during our dinner on Sunday night, had the waiter turn the tv and techno music down no fewer than three times). You see, sitting at the table next to us were two American girls in their early twenties who apparently hadn’t gleaned the concept of ‘inside voices’. Over the course of our rustic dinner, we heard about their first sexual encounters (it was prom night for one of them, I kid you not), their thoughts on living ‘in the City, but not in Manhattan’ and their impressions of Chicago’s suburbs. It was at this meal that I finally understood what my older brother, Seth, meant when he commented on the impression I made at his 40th birthday party a few years back: ‘Everyone liked you; you just talked about yourself a lot’. I suddenly realized that no matter how much you think you’ve matured when you’re in your early twenties, you still think that the world revolves around you. It’s that leftover youthful ignorance that causes you to believe that everything you’ve gone through since leaving home is unique and worth sharing. All I could think was ‘God, I KNOW I wasn’t like THAT’ and ‘Shit, I probably was’. Anyway, the best part of the experience was coining new relationship ‘slang’ that we can use in the future. From this point forward, ‘no techno at dinner’ will have a place in the Brooke and Shaun Dictionary.
Ok, that’s about enough for one evening. The Grappa, a nectar I hope you’ll all eventually kick the tires on and enjoy, is working its magic and I’m getting sleepy. Tomorrow, we figure out the Duomo, the Academia (where David is) and visit the Uffizi so I’m going to need some sleep.
Buona Noche,
Shaun.
Monday: I’m Getting Fat
When last you heard from the solo duo, we had arrived in Florence without a peep from the conductor. The thing I forgot to mention was that when our train arrived, we stayed on it as everyone else departed. You see, our tickets said Florence Campo Marte or some such and we were at Florence SMD or some such (like the Secretary of Defense, I’m ‘not a detail-y guy’). I figured the next station was it. Of course, had I consulted a map (or looked out the window) I would have realized that the tracks, they were no more. We would have had to have gotten off at the previous station to catch a train to the Campo Marte. Whatever. It’s not like the conductors gave a hoot and it turned out we were closer to our hotel at this station anyway.
A word on our hotel: I believe that it was built before the Constitution was writing, possibly before the Magna Carta. That’s not to say it’s falling apart; far from it. It is very swank and chic with stark lighting and strange gilded lighting everywhere. The walls seem to be ancient brick covered with inch-thick masonry mud (the brick has been tastefully left exposed over the archways to each room. In a word, this place is perfect. Except, that is, for the construction that seems to go on next door from 8 to 5 or so. It makes sleeping in impossible and getting an afternoon nap difficult. Mostly it’s just random pounding and the occasional masonry saw of some sort. If they could just keep a steady rhythm, it might not be so bad.
Regardless, we spent most of the day wandering around and eating (two of the most popular Italian pastime). We were supposed to meet up with Pat and Mel but we missed each other, unfortunately. We also have no idea where the heck Brooke’s brother and mother are. They, along with a few others, rented an apartment here for a few days but we don’t have the complete address or a phone number so we’re essentially on our own. So, we wander and eat to look like locals. Of course, I look about as Italian as a Kenyan so it’s hard for me to blend in. Brooke, on the other hand, would like me to point out that she was approached by an Italian woman at the train station who thought she was Italian as well until Brooke waved her arms and said ‘Eee-yo Americano!’ The woman just walked off but Brooke’s proud nonetheless. I say it’s the jean jacket but she’s not buying it. Regardless, nothing much happened yesterday except that I continued my weight-gaining regime of deli meats, fresh cheese and crusty bread. Oh, and wine of course.
Tuesday: My Dogs is Tired
Holy crap, did we do some walking today! After a European continental breakfast (consisting of granola, yogurt, deli meats and bread), we hiked down the street and up to the top of the bell tower that’s part of the Duomo. It has a name and if you want to know it, you’ll need to ask Brooke. I can’t remember the name but I can remember that it had 663 steps to the top. My mind works in functions, not names so you’ll just have to deal with it…or email Brooke. They charge 6 Euros to climb to the top which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is a steal at less than a penny per step per person. When you get to the top, there is a little booth in which a uniformed man sits and reads the paper. When we arrived, breathing heavily from the trek, the first thing I said is ‘How can this man have a pot-belly?’ He spends the equivalent of 20 minutes on a Stairmaster every day, for godssake! I decided it was the deli meats. Anyway, a fun fact for you: you’re not supposed to photograph him. Or use a flash. I’m not sure which. When I took his photo he yelled at me but I couldn’t understand. When I stood there looking confused and alternating between ‘Sorry’ and ‘What’, he stopped yelling and made the Italian sign for disgusted dismissal (for the uninitiated, this involves simultaneously rolling one’s eyes and swatting with both hands in your direction). Regardless of what I was sure was my impending arrest, the view from the top of this tower was amazing. All of Florence lies out before you and, on a clear day, I’m sure most of the rest of Tuscany does too. Sadly, it was not a clear day so we had to console ourselves with views of the city and of the suckers across the way that had climbed the 50 extra steps to the top of the Duomo. Sure, it was that much higher but even a monkey could see from the ground that the view was somewhat obscured by the scaffolding. Apparently, they’re doing some restoration on it. After many photos, we descended feeling superior and in need of espresso.
Our next stop after coffee was the Science Museum. I have three things to say about that: 1) the damn thing has been a working research lab for 300 years, 2) I’ve never seen so much brass instrumentation in my life and 3) museums are sooooooo much more interesting when the exhibits are in a language you can understand. Oh, and there were two Italian and one German tour groups that we moseyed between on our trek through the museum. It was during this visit that I came to terms with the fact that Italian high school students view me as an anomaly and female German high school students think I’m hot. Where were the latter when I was an unmarried high school student, I’d like to know…
After the Science museum, we headed back to the hotel for round two of ‘nap attempting’. I was successful and Brooke was not so she headed down to the internet café for a bit. Later, I would wish that I hadn’t been successful because both of my hands wound up falling asleep and I walked around for the next few hours feeling like a twin-hooked pirate minus an eye patch. Anyway, our plan was to go to the Duomo to check out the inside but it was closed, open for Mass or just too confusing for us to figure out so we wandered looking for stuff to spend money on. Man, did Florence see us coming…
In addition to buying Grappa, Lemoncello (a lemon liquor), an adaptor and a super-cool espresso maker we discovered Italian leather. I blame this discovery on Brooke. After all, it was she who wanted to go into the leather shop. So what if it was I who said she should keep trying on jackets? And what did it matter that I had decided that if she got a jacket, I would get this sweet leather attaché case? Sure, I tended the crop but Brooke was the one that sowed the seed. I can hardly be faulted for what happened next.
We gained our senses at the first leather store and said that we’d think about the jacket she had tried on. We wandered out and two blocks away, meandered into another leather shop. Brooke (aka- the Guilty One) jested with the proprietor that they ‘surely didn’t have anything that would fit my gigantic frame’. This is where things get a little fuzzy. The dude took the challenge, producing not one but three beautiful jackets that all fit me. In truth, these jackets were truly fantastic. The reputation that Italian leather has around the world is well deserved and the style is haute, to say the least. Anyway, while Brooke and I stood staring in shock at the three wonderful jackets, they apparently also fitted and sold Brooke a jacket as well. It’s all sort of hazy because the jacket I was wearing was just that mesmerizing. So was the price, which I’ll spare you out of a combination of shame and humility. Suffice it to say that the final price was 1/3rd the price on the tag and it was still the most money I’ve ever spent on a jacket in my life. The big seller for me: if I get a tear in it or need any maintenance done on it, I can send it back to the seller and he’ll repair it for free (I only pay for shipping to him). Oh, that and he said that I should do absolutely NOTHING to the jacket (in fact, I think he said that if I ever took it to the cleaners or Scotchgarded it, he’d kill me). Bonus.
Two more things about this jacket store (called David’s. I have cards and have been programmed to recommend him): 1) There was this rather annoying Californian girl that hung out in the store the whole time asking stupid questions and considering the purchase of two jackets. Among the questions, I kid you not: ‘Where does leather come from?’ 2) Just before we made the purchase, wine magically appeared and was drunk. When was the last time you were in Target about to make a big purchase and the clerk busted out a bottle of wine? God, I love Italy.
In shock after our big purchase, we decided to eat on the cheap. We wandered to a local trattoria to get a cheap plowman’s dinner (rustic bread, meats and cheese). This trattoria was the first place we’d been to with freshly curing meats on display (read: boars’ legs, skin and hair intact, hanging behind the bar). Despite the view, the food was awesome. However, our light dinner was marred by the ‘Techno Music’. This is our new code, thanks to Mrs. Burrito, for something annoying and distracting during our meal (Lozianna, during our dinner on Sunday night, had the waiter turn the tv and techno music down no fewer than three times). You see, sitting at the table next to us were two American girls in their early twenties who apparently hadn’t gleaned the concept of ‘inside voices’. Over the course of our rustic dinner, we heard about their first sexual encounters (it was prom night for one of them, I kid you not), their thoughts on living ‘in the City, but not in Manhattan’ and their impressions of Chicago’s suburbs. It was at this meal that I finally understood what my older brother, Seth, meant when he commented on the impression I made at his 40th birthday party a few years back: ‘Everyone liked you; you just talked about yourself a lot’. I suddenly realized that no matter how much you think you’ve matured when you’re in your early twenties, you still think that the world revolves around you. It’s that leftover youthful ignorance that causes you to believe that everything you’ve gone through since leaving home is unique and worth sharing. All I could think was ‘God, I KNOW I wasn’t like THAT’ and ‘Shit, I probably was’. Anyway, the best part of the experience was coining new relationship ‘slang’ that we can use in the future. From this point forward, ‘no techno at dinner’ will have a place in the Brooke and Shaun Dictionary.
Ok, that’s about enough for one evening. The Grappa, a nectar I hope you’ll all eventually kick the tires on and enjoy, is working its magic and I’m getting sleepy. Tomorrow, we figure out the Duomo, the Academia (where David is) and visit the Uffizi so I’m going to need some sleep.
Buona Noche,
Shaun.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Italian Dispatch #2
This one's being typed as we ride the train to Florence. Actually, it's the train to Pisa that we'll be swapping for the train to Florence shortly. It's not the train we have tickets for, to tell the truth, but as long as you have a ticket that has been stamped by the little yellow boxes at the station and that have a destination on them, you're golden. At least we think that's the case since the conductor just checked our tickets and didn't say much of anything. Hell, we're not even in our assigned seats. This would not fly in Germany.
Since it's been a couple of days, and much has happened, I'll break this note up by event. Think of them as chapters.
Friday: More Wine!
Let me start by saying that even though I haven't seen all of Italy yet nor will I by the time we leave, Tuscany is my favorite place on earth. It's a very hilly country and the motto seems to be 'Have hill, will terrace'. And if you have a terrace, you have wine. Lovely. Anyway, the bus driver picked us up around 1:30 on Friday in a bus that was much too large to be driven on windy Italian streets. The trip from Santa Margherita Ligure to a vineyard in Lucca took a little over two hours, mainly because the driver got lost. We arriveda bit late but, trust me, it was worth it. The vineyard, whose name escapes me at the moment, was a true Villa. A lovely old mansion perched on a hill surrounded by 60 acres of vines, olive trees and wild flowers. Our guide, Nello, was the perfect, relaxed expert. He didn't really give us a presentation but would move from small group to small group answering questions and sharing his experiences. For our rowdy bunch, this proved the perfect approach. After a tour of the grounds and the cellars, we were treated to a 'horizontal tasting' while sitting at a long bench filled with local olives (which Brookeactually ate AND liked), salami and fresh parmesan. A horizontal tasting, we were told, involves drinking different wines of the same or close vintages (the opposite, a 'vertical' tasting, is drinking the same wine over a span of vintages to see how the grape changes and matures over time). We started with a chardonnay then progressed through Sangiovese, Merlot and Cabernet. Brooke was drunk by the Sangio and the entire party got 50 dB louder by the Merlot. It was brilliant. Thanks to Brooke's Aunt Ann and her penchant for sweet wines, we were treated to one of the best dessert wines I've ever tasted. A twenty year old wine call Vin Santo. Brooke's cousin Ken and I fell in love with it immediately. When we inquired how much a 375 ml bottle would cost, we were told 15 Euros. That's right, 1 and 5 with no zeros between. Ken and I immediately ordered two each and started talking about getting an importation license. We figured we could get $15 a glass in the US. Oh, and the bonus was that they're 500 ml bottles...
After staying a little longer than we were supposed to, we were whisked back down to the second vineyard where we were too late for a tour of the cellar. Instead, we had yet more wine (an 'apperitivo') before sitting down to a multi-course meal at their restaurant. Italians like their courses and, if my belly is any indication, so do I. And, of course, there was more wine. The food was 'phenomenal' (Brooke's new favorite word) and I only wish that we'd gotten a menu so that I could tell you what we had. By the time we all boarded the bus for the trek home, we were all ready for a nap. This was good because the bus home took almost 3 hours because the driver would only drive 80 km/hr and kept flashing his brights. At first, we feared he was a bit drunk but seeing that he was very alert, we settled on night-blind. He would only speed up when we were in lighted tunnels. Luckily, a good 50% of the highway goes through such tunnels so we were spared a maximum 5-hour trip. We arrived back at the hotel a little after midnight and were all whisked quickly off to sleep…
Saturday: Wedding On!
Up at the lag-induced hour of 7 am, Brooke and I started our big day. Well, Brooke did at least. Having little to do besides don my suit and smile big for the cameras, I spent most of my day eating, visiting and getting on Brooke's nerves. She was off to the hairdresser's at 10:30 and that was the last I would see of her until the actual wedding. That's not to say I wasn't assigned errands to run, oh no. But, having spent over 48 hours in Italy, I'd already adopted the local lifestyle…at least in as much as I didn't really feel like I needed to hurry for anything or anyone. This was not to Brooke's liking as she had yet to acquire the same local customs. Luckily, after she had snapped a few times and I had a glass or two of wine with lunch, we got everything sorted out and amazingly everyone arrived at the Villa Durazzo on time and in costume. The ceremony itself was done in both Italian and English and was quite lovely. The MC of the wedding (we're not sure if he was a priest or not…he had an eyebrow ring) did a great job with everything except our names. We are now known as 'Shhaaaouuun' and 'Brrrrrrroooookaaaa' here in Italy but, in the end, we were ok with this. In fact, we like our new names so much, we've been calling each other by them. Anyway, Brooke just reminded me that when we woke up that morning, it was pouring down (and to the left and right) rain. It cleared up shortly before the wedding but not before the MC told us an Italian proverb: 'A wet bride is a lucky bride' which was followed by 'I am not sure about the groom'. Everyone laughed except Shaaouuun, who just snickered.
After the ceremony, we were all whisked down to the Grand Hotel Miramare for the reception in the taxi vans we'd rented. Well, most everyone was whisked. The groom and a few others couldn't fit so they hoofed it. Good times. The reception was AMAZING! The hotel is one of the oldest in the area and is straight out of a James Bond movie. I was wearing a suit and felt underdressed compared to the bellhops (I'm kicking myself for not forcing the white tuxedo issue!). We were served cocktails and tasty appetizers for an hour or so during which time Shaun and Brooke led a couple of tours of our room. We had reserved a normal room but got upgraded…twice! First to a junior suite and then to a corner suite on the top floor. It was bigger than Pat and Melissa's apartment in Boston! Two balconies, two bathrooms and, I kid you not, switches next to the bed to summon either a porter or a maid (they each had their own switch). I was so impressed, I've decided to install such switches in our apartment when I get home. The hard part is going to get Brooke to wear the little porter outfit I bought…
So, after cocktails and a few trips up stairs, we were escorted into the reception room where we were served several courses and plied with much wine. This time my memory doesn't have to serve because we saved the menu. Of course, it's exactly like the one that we selected and posted on our website so I won't bore you with the details. During the final course, I gave a little speech. Actually, I gave two speeches because I forgot to thank Brooke's parents for making it possible in my first speech. I'm an idiot. Anyway, after that, Brooke's father gave a speech that brought tears to most everyone's eyes. It was then I realized I needed a better speechwriter and fired myself. It had to be done.
When we had finished the final course, we spent the better part of 45 minutes thanking everyone for coming and kissing them all goodbye. All save Pat, Melissa, Tido and Lozianna (aka Pitterpatter, Mel-e-mel, Burrito and Baton Rouge, respectively – I'm big on nicknames), that is. The six of us got a couple of bottles of wine from the bar (that they delivered to our room…again, I'm a rube) and adjourned to the antechamber of our room to discuss travel plans and generally catch up (a little backstory: Tido, Pat and I all went to college together. Tido's German and Pat and I haven't seen him since 2000 when we graduated. We're all very lucky men who have found women that can tolerate us). After an hour or so, Brooke and I gave them the boot and passed out with exhaustion. Getting married is hard work…
Sunday: Cinque Terre with Mr & Mrs. Burrito
Most all of our guests left S. Margherita Ligure in the early morning after the wedding. Tido and Lozianna stuck around for the day, however, and we all decided to head down to the Cinque Terre in the afternoon. Cinque Terre (pronounced 'Chinn-qwaa Tear-ra') means 'five lands' and is made up of five small towns on the rocky coast all joined by footpaths. It's a beautiful place to hike and, if you're Brooke, freeze to death. We walked from the southern most town (Riomaggiore) north to the next town (Manarola) where we ate lunch. Pesto was invented in this region and we all ate our weight in it at lunch. Also, we tried some of the local white wine which has a reputation for being slightly salty thanks to the sea air. I'm happy to report that it does taste slightly salty and very tasty. After lunch, we took the train to Vernazza because the footpath was closed due to a rockslide. There, we wandered around, climbed to the top of a lookout tower for a Euro and drank more coffee. Oh, I forgot to mention that we stopped about every 2 hours for an espresso. Also, we have one after every meal. How the Italian's can drink so much
espresso and be so relaxed is a mystery of science. Personally, I walk around either food-sleepy or wired for sound most of the day. Anyway, after several photo shoots, we took the train back north and got booted from a train about 5 stops from home because of 'technical problems'. Not with our tickets but with the train itself. It was a luck boot, however, since we found a nearby store where Brooke was able to purchase a jacket, dubbed by me as the 'Eurotrash jean jacket'. It's got a funny fur lining which makes it both chic and mod (though not nearly as mod as Chris Broom's orange pants, which but a lucky few of us have had the pleasure of seeing in action). But, it was inexpensive and keeps her from the shiver-and-whine routine that she'd been developing. We got the next train back home and had our first pizza of the trip before saying good night and goodbye to Tido and Lozianna. The pizza was very good (though we were told that it would be better in Rome) and the company was most excellent. Burrito is a great guy and I miss hanging out with him dearly. Like Pat and myself with our wives, he's been very lucky in finding such a rare gem in Lozianna and we were happy to get to spend the day with them.
Well, that brings you up to the present. We're about 10 minutes from Pisa and our train change. I hope this dispatch finds you all well. More to follow.
-Shaun
ps-- We actually made if from Pisa to Florence without anyone even asking for our tickets! I'd like to forgo even getting them from this point forward but Brooke's out voted me. You see, as a husband my vote only counts 2/3rds. Ciao...
Since it's been a couple of days, and much has happened, I'll break this note up by event. Think of them as chapters.
Friday: More Wine!
Let me start by saying that even though I haven't seen all of Italy yet nor will I by the time we leave, Tuscany is my favorite place on earth. It's a very hilly country and the motto seems to be 'Have hill, will terrace'. And if you have a terrace, you have wine. Lovely. Anyway, the bus driver picked us up around 1:30 on Friday in a bus that was much too large to be driven on windy Italian streets. The trip from Santa Margherita Ligure to a vineyard in Lucca took a little over two hours, mainly because the driver got lost. We arriveda bit late but, trust me, it was worth it. The vineyard, whose name escapes me at the moment, was a true Villa. A lovely old mansion perched on a hill surrounded by 60 acres of vines, olive trees and wild flowers. Our guide, Nello, was the perfect, relaxed expert. He didn't really give us a presentation but would move from small group to small group answering questions and sharing his experiences. For our rowdy bunch, this proved the perfect approach. After a tour of the grounds and the cellars, we were treated to a 'horizontal tasting' while sitting at a long bench filled with local olives (which Brookeactually ate AND liked), salami and fresh parmesan. A horizontal tasting, we were told, involves drinking different wines of the same or close vintages (the opposite, a 'vertical' tasting, is drinking the same wine over a span of vintages to see how the grape changes and matures over time). We started with a chardonnay then progressed through Sangiovese, Merlot and Cabernet. Brooke was drunk by the Sangio and the entire party got 50 dB louder by the Merlot. It was brilliant. Thanks to Brooke's Aunt Ann and her penchant for sweet wines, we were treated to one of the best dessert wines I've ever tasted. A twenty year old wine call Vin Santo. Brooke's cousin Ken and I fell in love with it immediately. When we inquired how much a 375 ml bottle would cost, we were told 15 Euros. That's right, 1 and 5 with no zeros between. Ken and I immediately ordered two each and started talking about getting an importation license. We figured we could get $15 a glass in the US. Oh, and the bonus was that they're 500 ml bottles...
After staying a little longer than we were supposed to, we were whisked back down to the second vineyard where we were too late for a tour of the cellar. Instead, we had yet more wine (an 'apperitivo') before sitting down to a multi-course meal at their restaurant. Italians like their courses and, if my belly is any indication, so do I. And, of course, there was more wine. The food was 'phenomenal' (Brooke's new favorite word) and I only wish that we'd gotten a menu so that I could tell you what we had. By the time we all boarded the bus for the trek home, we were all ready for a nap. This was good because the bus home took almost 3 hours because the driver would only drive 80 km/hr and kept flashing his brights. At first, we feared he was a bit drunk but seeing that he was very alert, we settled on night-blind. He would only speed up when we were in lighted tunnels. Luckily, a good 50% of the highway goes through such tunnels so we were spared a maximum 5-hour trip. We arrived back at the hotel a little after midnight and were all whisked quickly off to sleep…
Saturday: Wedding On!
Up at the lag-induced hour of 7 am, Brooke and I started our big day. Well, Brooke did at least. Having little to do besides don my suit and smile big for the cameras, I spent most of my day eating, visiting and getting on Brooke's nerves. She was off to the hairdresser's at 10:30 and that was the last I would see of her until the actual wedding. That's not to say I wasn't assigned errands to run, oh no. But, having spent over 48 hours in Italy, I'd already adopted the local lifestyle…at least in as much as I didn't really feel like I needed to hurry for anything or anyone. This was not to Brooke's liking as she had yet to acquire the same local customs. Luckily, after she had snapped a few times and I had a glass or two of wine with lunch, we got everything sorted out and amazingly everyone arrived at the Villa Durazzo on time and in costume. The ceremony itself was done in both Italian and English and was quite lovely. The MC of the wedding (we're not sure if he was a priest or not…he had an eyebrow ring) did a great job with everything except our names. We are now known as 'Shhaaaouuun' and 'Brrrrrrroooookaaaa' here in Italy but, in the end, we were ok with this. In fact, we like our new names so much, we've been calling each other by them. Anyway, Brooke just reminded me that when we woke up that morning, it was pouring down (and to the left and right) rain. It cleared up shortly before the wedding but not before the MC told us an Italian proverb: 'A wet bride is a lucky bride' which was followed by 'I am not sure about the groom'. Everyone laughed except Shaaouuun, who just snickered.
After the ceremony, we were all whisked down to the Grand Hotel Miramare for the reception in the taxi vans we'd rented. Well, most everyone was whisked. The groom and a few others couldn't fit so they hoofed it. Good times. The reception was AMAZING! The hotel is one of the oldest in the area and is straight out of a James Bond movie. I was wearing a suit and felt underdressed compared to the bellhops (I'm kicking myself for not forcing the white tuxedo issue!). We were served cocktails and tasty appetizers for an hour or so during which time Shaun and Brooke led a couple of tours of our room. We had reserved a normal room but got upgraded…twice! First to a junior suite and then to a corner suite on the top floor. It was bigger than Pat and Melissa's apartment in Boston! Two balconies, two bathrooms and, I kid you not, switches next to the bed to summon either a porter or a maid (they each had their own switch). I was so impressed, I've decided to install such switches in our apartment when I get home. The hard part is going to get Brooke to wear the little porter outfit I bought…
So, after cocktails and a few trips up stairs, we were escorted into the reception room where we were served several courses and plied with much wine. This time my memory doesn't have to serve because we saved the menu. Of course, it's exactly like the one that we selected and posted on our website so I won't bore you with the details. During the final course, I gave a little speech. Actually, I gave two speeches because I forgot to thank Brooke's parents for making it possible in my first speech. I'm an idiot. Anyway, after that, Brooke's father gave a speech that brought tears to most everyone's eyes. It was then I realized I needed a better speechwriter and fired myself. It had to be done.
When we had finished the final course, we spent the better part of 45 minutes thanking everyone for coming and kissing them all goodbye. All save Pat, Melissa, Tido and Lozianna (aka Pitterpatter, Mel-e-mel, Burrito and Baton Rouge, respectively – I'm big on nicknames), that is. The six of us got a couple of bottles of wine from the bar (that they delivered to our room…again, I'm a rube) and adjourned to the antechamber of our room to discuss travel plans and generally catch up (a little backstory: Tido, Pat and I all went to college together. Tido's German and Pat and I haven't seen him since 2000 when we graduated. We're all very lucky men who have found women that can tolerate us). After an hour or so, Brooke and I gave them the boot and passed out with exhaustion. Getting married is hard work…
Sunday: Cinque Terre with Mr & Mrs. Burrito
Most all of our guests left S. Margherita Ligure in the early morning after the wedding. Tido and Lozianna stuck around for the day, however, and we all decided to head down to the Cinque Terre in the afternoon. Cinque Terre (pronounced 'Chinn-qwaa Tear-ra') means 'five lands' and is made up of five small towns on the rocky coast all joined by footpaths. It's a beautiful place to hike and, if you're Brooke, freeze to death. We walked from the southern most town (Riomaggiore) north to the next town (Manarola) where we ate lunch. Pesto was invented in this region and we all ate our weight in it at lunch. Also, we tried some of the local white wine which has a reputation for being slightly salty thanks to the sea air. I'm happy to report that it does taste slightly salty and very tasty. After lunch, we took the train to Vernazza because the footpath was closed due to a rockslide. There, we wandered around, climbed to the top of a lookout tower for a Euro and drank more coffee. Oh, I forgot to mention that we stopped about every 2 hours for an espresso. Also, we have one after every meal. How the Italian's can drink so much
espresso and be so relaxed is a mystery of science. Personally, I walk around either food-sleepy or wired for sound most of the day. Anyway, after several photo shoots, we took the train back north and got booted from a train about 5 stops from home because of 'technical problems'. Not with our tickets but with the train itself. It was a luck boot, however, since we found a nearby store where Brooke was able to purchase a jacket, dubbed by me as the 'Eurotrash jean jacket'. It's got a funny fur lining which makes it both chic and mod (though not nearly as mod as Chris Broom's orange pants, which but a lucky few of us have had the pleasure of seeing in action). But, it was inexpensive and keeps her from the shiver-and-whine routine that she'd been developing. We got the next train back home and had our first pizza of the trip before saying good night and goodbye to Tido and Lozianna. The pizza was very good (though we were told that it would be better in Rome) and the company was most excellent. Burrito is a great guy and I miss hanging out with him dearly. Like Pat and myself with our wives, he's been very lucky in finding such a rare gem in Lozianna and we were happy to get to spend the day with them.
Well, that brings you up to the present. We're about 10 minutes from Pisa and our train change. I hope this dispatch finds you all well. More to follow.
-Shaun
ps-- We actually made if from Pisa to Florence without anyone even asking for our tickets! I'd like to forgo even getting them from this point forward but Brooke's out voted me. You see, as a husband my vote only counts 2/3rds. Ciao...
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Italian Dispatch #1
All~
This is the first of what I hope will be several dispatches to you all from our Italian wedding trip. We have a wireless access point here at our first hotel and I’m hoping that we’ll at least have a wired connection at the rest of our stops.
As part of our arrangement with the wedding planner, Brooke and I were picked up by a private car whilst everyone else that flew in with us (a total of 15 folks) had to find their own transportation from
Yesterday afternoon, we took a walk to the Villa Durazzo, where the ceremony will be held tomorrow evening. Much to Brooke’s surprise and glee, the Villa looks just likes the pictures and the nearby cesspool she imagined our planner had left out of the photos doesn’t really exist, thankfully. Stay tuned for lots of great photos.
Well, I’m feeling the need for a cup of coffee so I’ll scribble some more tomorrow if I can. We’re off to a winery tour this afternoon (I’m sensing a pattern here…). Tomorrow’s the big day. More, more coherent scribbling to follow. I hope everyone is doing well.
Shaun.
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