Summertime in Venice....What were we thinking? It's freaking packed here! Parking is a TOTAL nightmare. We almost got hit by a bus because there was no place to turn around, and the parking lot at the end of the road was full, so I somehow missed that I was in a "busses only" lane and turned into their parking lot. I quickly relalized that compared to the behemouth vehicles near me, my little Punto didn't belong.
Before we even found a parking space, I was ready to say the Hell with it and bag the whole trip. There were people EVERYWHERE. And that was just at the train station NEAR San Marco Square. That wasn't even IN the middle of it all. But, I'm a slow learner. So, we parked the car and embarked on an enjoyable day in Venice.
The parking area and train station seemed like a good distance from San Marco Square, so we decided to take a water taxi to get closer. Water taxis in Venice are like regular taxis in NYC. There are a TON of different companies. We bought our ticket at the first ticket booth we came to, and thought we were heading to the right place. It was a good thing they weren't checking tickets, because we later figured out that we were COMPLETELY on board the wrong company's boat. Luckily, it didn't matter and we were dropped off just outside the San Marco's Square. A previous trip to Italy that I took back in high school helped me to negotiate the area. OK...not true...the TONS of people helped me to know we were getting off at the right spot. Once again, following the people helped us. The boat completely emptied when we arrived at the dock.
The square was packed, so we decided to explore some side streets. Since we never get out of our house before 10am, it was almost lunchtime, so we decided to find a place to eat. Having thrown away our travel books, we decided to take Samantha's advice, and find a place that looked busy with locals. When we looked in the window of one place, we saw this huge table filled with guys in striped shirts. Gondoliers! Way cool! Here were some locals. If they like it, the food must be good. Or..maybe the food was just cheap, cause it wasn't that good. The wine was the best thing we ordered. Maybe that's why the gondoliers were so happy. The wine was good, and less expensive than any other item on the menu, including water. So was this from the parable in the Bible where Jesus turns water into wine? Was this the restaurant where it all began? A small trattoria in Venice? Either way, we payed our bill and tipsyied out.
As we passed the Gucci and Dolce stores, I dreamed of one day affording the luxuries of Italian shopping. Ok..not just affording. I don't even walk in the stores for fear that the size "0" store workers will laugh out loud at my full-figured American body. I don't want to get that condescending "You actually eat?" look from them. For now, I'll stick with the pottery and leather (purses) stores. I can fit into them.
Back to San Marco Square. Should we tour the church? I had my shoulders covered..no more throw-aways for me. The line went on...and on...and on. Maybe next time. What about the Doge's Palace? Couldn't even get near it. On top of that, the temperature was hot enough that even the pigeons were hiding in the shade of the statues.
So, we decided to end our touring day of Venice. I think we could have seen more by buying a book. But, we learned some important lessons. Gondoliers know where there is good wine...not necessarily good food. Venice is HOT and smelly in the summer, visit in the winter. And, chocolate gellato makes ANY day end on a good note.
Ciao' for now!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Driving the FAT Car
My oldest son called our rental car the FAT car. I didn't get why, beings it was like a tiny clown car. But then, I figured it out. We were driving a FIAT, and my newly reading son missed the I. The car was perfect, it was our training-bra car. It was small enough to fit, but did it's job. And in the streets of Italy, size matters, especially when you're like us and go off the beaten path to explore.
When you see pictures of people standing in streets with their arms outstretched to tough the walls of the buildings on both sides, this is not just one or two touristy spots in Italy where you can do this. These narrow streets are ALL over. You may be on a regular two lane street that narrows into a single lane, and the next thing you know, you are in a cattle chute. Add to the narrow streets the fact that they are going in between homes, so you have the random person stepping out their front door into the path of your car, and it makes driving a harrowing experience.
I had been worried about the traffic circles ever since watching the Griswold's in their European vacation, "hey kids, Parliament". It turns out they're really not that bad. But then, we are in Italy, and at least we're not driving on the wrong side of the road. That would definitely take some getting used to. The only time traffic circles get to be tricky is when the roads are slippery. People in Italy don't realize that you have to actually slow down your driving in icy weather. You'll see Puntos and Fiats zipping all over the place. When we were driving the rental car, I was a little worried about being crashed into, but now that we have the Jeep, they just bounce right off of us.
Speaking of bouncing off of things, we have been very lucky so far in our driving exploration. There were only 2 times that we were almost hit by a bus. The first time was when we drove to Venice. Until we came here, I didn't even realize that you could drive to Venice. I figured it required boats. But, no, there is a long bridge that takes you out to the historical area. It was there that wreck number 1 almost happened. We went on a very busy day. Mistake number 1. It was also one of the first major tourist areas we attempted to drive into ourselves. DH was navigating and I was behind the wheel. In Italy, there are bus lanes and car lanes. Somehow I got into a bus lane. It took me onto a bus parking lot. All of a sudden, I was surrounded by busses. I knew it wasn't where I wanted to be, so I swiftly went to turn the car around, into the oncoming path of a bus. The driver slammed on his breaks and blasted his horn, the passengers gave me the international sign of "thanks for making our bus driver slam his breaks" and I started to cry. It was one of those frustrational, "I'd rather be on a beach" cries. DH typically does not know what to do with me when I get this way, so he was just offered to drive. I composed myself, and we found an open parking area. Success at last.
The second time we almost were hit by a bus was a similar situation. We were going to Bologna for the day. Bologna has a central area where all the good stuff is located. Sometimes, these cities will limit the automobile traffic to just the people living there or public transportation. Trying to find parking, I made a turn down a narrow street. It was after we made the turn that I noticed one of those signs. But being in Italian, it was taking me a minute to read what it said and process what it meant for me (could I stay or should I go?) I thought it said I wasn't supposed to use that street, so I through the car in reverse to pull back out into traffic. As I went backwards, a bus was coming from the opposite side of the road into the street I wanted to get out of. Close call number 2. He beeped, I freaked. Another grey hair to color.
There are definite good parts to driving in Italy. On the Autostrada, Italy's version of the Autobahn, the roads have a speed limit of 130km/h. That translates to roughly 83 mph. This is good for us, as no car we have driven over here has the ability to go faster than 83mph, so for us, we're hauling tail.
The other thing that I like is that the police will set up speed traps. How can that be good, you ask? Well, the kind police of Italy provide you warnings about 50 feet before the trap. They have these little blue signs they put up to warn you that they are up ahead with a speed radar thingy. How cool is that??? I mean, you have to be a total moron to get pulled over. And NO, it hasn't happened to me yet.
When you see pictures of people standing in streets with their arms outstretched to tough the walls of the buildings on both sides, this is not just one or two touristy spots in Italy where you can do this. These narrow streets are ALL over. You may be on a regular two lane street that narrows into a single lane, and the next thing you know, you are in a cattle chute. Add to the narrow streets the fact that they are going in between homes, so you have the random person stepping out their front door into the path of your car, and it makes driving a harrowing experience.
I had been worried about the traffic circles ever since watching the Griswold's in their European vacation, "hey kids, Parliament". It turns out they're really not that bad. But then, we are in Italy, and at least we're not driving on the wrong side of the road. That would definitely take some getting used to. The only time traffic circles get to be tricky is when the roads are slippery. People in Italy don't realize that you have to actually slow down your driving in icy weather. You'll see Puntos and Fiats zipping all over the place. When we were driving the rental car, I was a little worried about being crashed into, but now that we have the Jeep, they just bounce right off of us.
Speaking of bouncing off of things, we have been very lucky so far in our driving exploration. There were only 2 times that we were almost hit by a bus. The first time was when we drove to Venice. Until we came here, I didn't even realize that you could drive to Venice. I figured it required boats. But, no, there is a long bridge that takes you out to the historical area. It was there that wreck number 1 almost happened. We went on a very busy day. Mistake number 1. It was also one of the first major tourist areas we attempted to drive into ourselves. DH was navigating and I was behind the wheel. In Italy, there are bus lanes and car lanes. Somehow I got into a bus lane. It took me onto a bus parking lot. All of a sudden, I was surrounded by busses. I knew it wasn't where I wanted to be, so I swiftly went to turn the car around, into the oncoming path of a bus. The driver slammed on his breaks and blasted his horn, the passengers gave me the international sign of "thanks for making our bus driver slam his breaks" and I started to cry. It was one of those frustrational, "I'd rather be on a beach" cries. DH typically does not know what to do with me when I get this way, so he was just offered to drive. I composed myself, and we found an open parking area. Success at last.
The second time we almost were hit by a bus was a similar situation. We were going to Bologna for the day. Bologna has a central area where all the good stuff is located. Sometimes, these cities will limit the automobile traffic to just the people living there or public transportation. Trying to find parking, I made a turn down a narrow street. It was after we made the turn that I noticed one of those signs. But being in Italian, it was taking me a minute to read what it said and process what it meant for me (could I stay or should I go?) I thought it said I wasn't supposed to use that street, so I through the car in reverse to pull back out into traffic. As I went backwards, a bus was coming from the opposite side of the road into the street I wanted to get out of. Close call number 2. He beeped, I freaked. Another grey hair to color.
There are definite good parts to driving in Italy. On the Autostrada, Italy's version of the Autobahn, the roads have a speed limit of 130km/h. That translates to roughly 83 mph. This is good for us, as no car we have driven over here has the ability to go faster than 83mph, so for us, we're hauling tail.
The other thing that I like is that the police will set up speed traps. How can that be good, you ask? Well, the kind police of Italy provide you warnings about 50 feet before the trap. They have these little blue signs they put up to warn you that they are up ahead with a speed radar thingy. How cool is that??? I mean, you have to be a total moron to get pulled over. And NO, it hasn't happened to me yet.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Closets and Kitchens and Bidets, Oh My!
Before heading to Italy, we had heard horror stories about housing over in Italy. Everything from bedrooms the size of closets to kitchens without cabinets. People warned us there was no storage, so don't take anything you might not use. I occasionally have selective hearing, just ask my DH. So, when it was time to pack, we brought it all. I figured we've lived in houses with boxes of stuff before, why stop now?
I don't claim to be a lucky person. However, for some reason unbeknownst to me, our whole moving experience was straight out of a fairy tale. Here we were, our little family of 4, tired of hotel living being driven to two houses to look at. If we didn't like either of those houses, we would go back and flip through countless information sheets on other homes, but then have to go to the rather difficult job of dealing with a private realtor. The nice Italian man, whose job it was to drive the cute American families to different homes, informed us that there were not a lot of homes available. He said that some people were spending months in a hotel until somthing became available. CRINGE! Months???? Where is my return plane ticket back to the states? I'll live in my parent's basement rather then in a hotel much longer.
We pulled up to the first house. It was a cute townhouse just outside a cute Italian town. I know I'm saying cute a lot, but if you saw it, you'd definitely say, "Oh, cute!" It wasn't anything fancy, it pretty much fit the other looks of houses in Italy. The house had marble everywhere, but that was to be expected with living in Italy. When he walked us down to the basement, I was sold. It had a completely finished, completely huge basement, divided into 2 areas. It was like the angels from Heaven began singing. We'd have room for all of our stuff!!!! And, if people came over to see us, we wouldn't have to give up our room! True, there was no closets, but with the basement, we could manage. The kitchen had cabinets, and when we went up to the Master Bedroom, I almost cried. We would actually be able to use the king size bed that we had bought in the states before we knew we were coming over to the land of tiny bedrooms. We had found our home!
Ciao' for now!
I don't claim to be a lucky person. However, for some reason unbeknownst to me, our whole moving experience was straight out of a fairy tale. Here we were, our little family of 4, tired of hotel living being driven to two houses to look at. If we didn't like either of those houses, we would go back and flip through countless information sheets on other homes, but then have to go to the rather difficult job of dealing with a private realtor. The nice Italian man, whose job it was to drive the cute American families to different homes, informed us that there were not a lot of homes available. He said that some people were spending months in a hotel until somthing became available. CRINGE! Months???? Where is my return plane ticket back to the states? I'll live in my parent's basement rather then in a hotel much longer.
We pulled up to the first house. It was a cute townhouse just outside a cute Italian town. I know I'm saying cute a lot, but if you saw it, you'd definitely say, "Oh, cute!" It wasn't anything fancy, it pretty much fit the other looks of houses in Italy. The house had marble everywhere, but that was to be expected with living in Italy. When he walked us down to the basement, I was sold. It had a completely finished, completely huge basement, divided into 2 areas. It was like the angels from Heaven began singing. We'd have room for all of our stuff!!!! And, if people came over to see us, we wouldn't have to give up our room! True, there was no closets, but with the basement, we could manage. The kitchen had cabinets, and when we went up to the Master Bedroom, I almost cried. We would actually be able to use the king size bed that we had bought in the states before we knew we were coming over to the land of tiny bedrooms. We had found our home!
Ciao' for now!
Monday, January 11, 2010
Signs of the Lyme's
DH is a bit of a perfectionist. When his orders came down three years ago to be a Drill Sergeant, I immediately took pity upon the poor privates who would have to meet up to his high standards. Like a cowboy and his gun, DH never left anywhere without his identification. I've been known to leave my id in a variety of places, the car, my dresser, the back pocket of my jeans. But DH had never left his behind.
I started to wonder about DH when he had to go back to a hotel we had checked out of to retrieve his wallet, which held his ID card. Then again, we were traveling and living out of our backpacks. Maybe he was just temporarily out-of-whack because of all of the moving around. Then, DH left one of his socks at another hotel. This would not be weird if he was traveling with multiple pairs of socks. But we were traveling with the bare minimum, and he had just the one pair. I had to go and try to explain to the housekeeping woman in Italian that we were looking for a sock. I think she thought I was crazy to be so concerned about a sock, but Rosetta stone didn't teach me how to say, "his only pair." Not that saying that would have made her wonder any less.
About a week into our travels, DH started to feel poorly. He was achy and feverish. Being the tough guy that he is, DH pushed forward so that we could continue enjoying our two weeks of travel time. When his symptoms became worse, I feared he had the flu, and was concerned that if the boys and I also came down with it while away from the post, we would be in trouble. So, the next morning we packed up and I drove the 4hours across Italy to Vicenza.
I was really glad that we made the decision to head "home," as DH went from feeling bad to worse. For a guy who is never sick, DH was light-headed, achy, feverish, and nauseous. He barely left the hotel room, except to report to sick-call and begin the paperwork to officially sign in at the base. I think the people took pity on him, because it seemed like things went much easier for us than it had for others. DH was loaded up with drugs and sent back to the hotel to rest. The boys and I used the time to check out the base and explore the area. We were excited about all of the new things we would get to do. Little did we know just how much adventure was in store for us. But that's another story.
Ciao' for now!
I started to wonder about DH when he had to go back to a hotel we had checked out of to retrieve his wallet, which held his ID card. Then again, we were traveling and living out of our backpacks. Maybe he was just temporarily out-of-whack because of all of the moving around. Then, DH left one of his socks at another hotel. This would not be weird if he was traveling with multiple pairs of socks. But we were traveling with the bare minimum, and he had just the one pair. I had to go and try to explain to the housekeeping woman in Italian that we were looking for a sock. I think she thought I was crazy to be so concerned about a sock, but Rosetta stone didn't teach me how to say, "his only pair." Not that saying that would have made her wonder any less.
About a week into our travels, DH started to feel poorly. He was achy and feverish. Being the tough guy that he is, DH pushed forward so that we could continue enjoying our two weeks of travel time. When his symptoms became worse, I feared he had the flu, and was concerned that if the boys and I also came down with it while away from the post, we would be in trouble. So, the next morning we packed up and I drove the 4hours across Italy to Vicenza.
I was really glad that we made the decision to head "home," as DH went from feeling bad to worse. For a guy who is never sick, DH was light-headed, achy, feverish, and nauseous. He barely left the hotel room, except to report to sick-call and begin the paperwork to officially sign in at the base. I think the people took pity on him, because it seemed like things went much easier for us than it had for others. DH was loaded up with drugs and sent back to the hotel to rest. The boys and I used the time to check out the base and explore the area. We were excited about all of the new things we would get to do. Little did we know just how much adventure was in store for us. But that's another story.
Ciao' for now!
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Even the tour guides lie
Wanting to make the most out of our time on the western side of Italy, we decided to take some of the guided tours held through the travel office of the military base. After the trip to Florence, we tried to get out of the trip to Cinque Terre, but they did not give refunds. I'm guessing too many people would have wanted their money back after being disappointed with the lack of "guiding" given by the tour guide.
The guide to Cinque Terre seemed very knowledgeable about Rome. The problem was, we weren't going to Rome. When it came to questions about Cinque Terre, he kept referring us to the information sheet that he had handed out. The sheet was what we used to decide we wanted to go on the trip, but it was not overly informative about the area. Seems he was a non-informed guide.
If you're not familiar with Cinque Terre, it's a beautiful coastal area consisting of 5 small towns perched along the cliffs and the Lagurian Sea. The guide told us that we would be stopping at La Spezia, a city south of Cinque Terre, where we would board a train which would take us to any of the five towns. After dropping us off at La Spezia, his job was over, and we were on our own. He told us that we could get off the train at whichever town we chose, and could either walk or ride the train to see each town. After grumbling with the other tourists about our lousey tour guide, we boarded the train and headed for Monterosso al Mare, the town farthest away, deciding that we would work our way back towards La Spezia.
The town was fantastic. The water the bluest I've even seen in my life. The town was quaint, with little shops and trattoria's. Our kids had fun playing on a playground, and DH enjoyed some foccacia pizza. I decided to wait until the next town to eat some lunch.
From one vantage point we were able to see Vernazza, the next town along the way. It didn't look far away at all. We were hikers, our kids have handled long hikes. No problem. So, we set out on the path. The first part was a stone stairway cut into the side of the hill. It wasn't a bad walk, but it reminded me that I needed to do some stairmaster training. Then, things got interesting. We were walking along a narrow path, about 18 inches wide, less in some spots. There was a rickety rail along parts, and "precarious" didn't even begin to define the view over the side. DH is not scared of much. However, his fear of heights began to creep in the further up we went. I think things would have been better if we didn't have 2 children along with us. The children weren't scared; the bigger problem was that they have no fear, and wanted to run. Interesting footwork was required when people coming from the other direction had to pass by. Those were the moments you sucked it in and said a quick prayer. Talk about getting close to others.
As we went along, the views were amazing. We were walking through farmer's vineyards and orchards. Plants were being cultivated on the sides of cliffs. Everywhere you looked, the land was being used to grow something. The view of the water was equally incredible. The water was so clear that you could see the rocks deep in the water.
It was funny the response the children garnered from the passing travelers. Calls of "Bravo" and "Way to go" cheered on the boys. I was impressed by the seasoned adults who were braving the walk. I guess their tour guide hadn't been very informative, either, as they were looking as if the decision to walk had been a mistake.
About 45 minutes into the walking, we debated heading back. It was hard to tell just how far away the next town lie. We kept thinking it had to be just around the next bend. When our youngest declared that he needed to use a bathroom, and it was nothing he could take care of on the cliff, we decided to press on.
Two hours later, we finally arrived at our destination. Exhausted, hungry, and in major need of a restroom, we sought out a restaurant. We later found out that it had been a 6k (about 3 1/4 miles) hike through some of the roughest terrain we have ever tackled.
Needless to say, we opted for the train to see the rest of the towns.
Ciao' for now!
The guide to Cinque Terre seemed very knowledgeable about Rome. The problem was, we weren't going to Rome. When it came to questions about Cinque Terre, he kept referring us to the information sheet that he had handed out. The sheet was what we used to decide we wanted to go on the trip, but it was not overly informative about the area. Seems he was a non-informed guide.
If you're not familiar with Cinque Terre, it's a beautiful coastal area consisting of 5 small towns perched along the cliffs and the Lagurian Sea. The guide told us that we would be stopping at La Spezia, a city south of Cinque Terre, where we would board a train which would take us to any of the five towns. After dropping us off at La Spezia, his job was over, and we were on our own. He told us that we could get off the train at whichever town we chose, and could either walk or ride the train to see each town. After grumbling with the other tourists about our lousey tour guide, we boarded the train and headed for Monterosso al Mare, the town farthest away, deciding that we would work our way back towards La Spezia.
The town was fantastic. The water the bluest I've even seen in my life. The town was quaint, with little shops and trattoria's. Our kids had fun playing on a playground, and DH enjoyed some foccacia pizza. I decided to wait until the next town to eat some lunch.
From one vantage point we were able to see Vernazza, the next town along the way. It didn't look far away at all. We were hikers, our kids have handled long hikes. No problem. So, we set out on the path. The first part was a stone stairway cut into the side of the hill. It wasn't a bad walk, but it reminded me that I needed to do some stairmaster training. Then, things got interesting. We were walking along a narrow path, about 18 inches wide, less in some spots. There was a rickety rail along parts, and "precarious" didn't even begin to define the view over the side. DH is not scared of much. However, his fear of heights began to creep in the further up we went. I think things would have been better if we didn't have 2 children along with us. The children weren't scared; the bigger problem was that they have no fear, and wanted to run. Interesting footwork was required when people coming from the other direction had to pass by. Those were the moments you sucked it in and said a quick prayer. Talk about getting close to others.
As we went along, the views were amazing. We were walking through farmer's vineyards and orchards. Plants were being cultivated on the sides of cliffs. Everywhere you looked, the land was being used to grow something. The view of the water was equally incredible. The water was so clear that you could see the rocks deep in the water.
It was funny the response the children garnered from the passing travelers. Calls of "Bravo" and "Way to go" cheered on the boys. I was impressed by the seasoned adults who were braving the walk. I guess their tour guide hadn't been very informative, either, as they were looking as if the decision to walk had been a mistake.
About 45 minutes into the walking, we debated heading back. It was hard to tell just how far away the next town lie. We kept thinking it had to be just around the next bend. When our youngest declared that he needed to use a bathroom, and it was nothing he could take care of on the cliff, we decided to press on.
Two hours later, we finally arrived at our destination. Exhausted, hungry, and in major need of a restroom, we sought out a restaurant. We later found out that it had been a 6k (about 3 1/4 miles) hike through some of the roughest terrain we have ever tackled.
Needless to say, we opted for the train to see the rest of the towns.
Ciao' for now!
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Hotel living - not for the faint-of-heart
By this point we have been living for 5 weeks out of our suitcases. We hadn't been in Italy that long, but before heading to Europe, we spent time visiting family in the States. Knowing that we would have to carry our gear from one place to another for the 2 weeks between when we landed and until we arrived at the base, we packed very conservatively. I have learned to be practical when it comes to packing for trips, especially if there is no valet to handle my luggage. However, there were definitely some disadvantages to traveling lightly.
Our boys are good on long rides, IF they have something to watch. The DVD player was a must-have for the journey, and my biggest recommendation to airlines is that they provide them for anyone traveling with small children. We chose a small selection of their DVD's to take along, worried about packing too much extra stuff. This turned out to be a mistake. By the 999th time Kung-Fu Panda played, I was about to karate kick Jack Black out onto the Autostrada. Hotel for Dogs was cute the first couple times, but not when you can repeat it line-for-line. Headphones would have been great, but our oldest son has a habit of chewing the cord. We couldn't afford to have him get electrocuted while in a foreign country. I would have NO clue how to explain that to an Italian doctor. Electrocution was not covered in Rosetta Stone.
The other thing we noticed that we truly missed were normal American breakfasts. Most Italians enjoy a cup of coffee and cigarette, and sometimes a pastry item for their first meal of the day. At the hotels where we stayed, some offered a Continental breakfast, which usually consisted of pastries and sometimes sliced deli-type meats and cheeses. Chocolate croissant with some Asiago cheese and salami, anyone? What I wouldn't have given for a bowl of Frosted Flakes and a tall glass of milk. Milk....the fresh stuff that can't live on a shelf for 3 years; the kind that comes out of a cow. The only place we found "real" milk was on the military base. Italian stores only carry the fake stuff that tastes like glue water. But we'd have to wait for our cereal with milk, as refrigerators are not readily available in European hotel rooms; remember I said how cold is a commodity?
The last hotel that was stayed in before heading to Vicenza was in Turin. Because Turin was a last-minute trip, we didn't have hotel reservations, but we figured we would find a hote somewhere. We pulled up to this large, 3 star hotel. It looked nice-enough from the outside. I thought we had it made when the receptionist spoke Enlgish, and said they had a room available that fit our budget. She said that she would show me the room before I signed the paperwork. I thought this was a little odd, but then I wondered if maybe there was something wrong with the room, and it was easier to show me first versus dealing with complaints and refunds later. Along we went. I have stayed in some interesting places before. DH and I stayed in a B&B in Texas that turned out to be a converted barn loft. It was cozy, although it had a faint smell of manure, and the donkey woke us up with it's braying in the morning. But this place was even odder. We rode the elevator to the third floor, exited the main building onto the rooftop of another building, then walked/crawled through another door that led us into another hallway. There, she opened a door that led to this huge room. It was larger than our first house at Fort Hood. It ended up being perfect, as the boys had a huge indoor area to run around, and we were so secluded from the rest of the guests that I wasn't worried the boys would disturb anyone. The bathroom was the largest we've seen yet, with a shower big enough for two Americans! Hello, smooth legs! And the breakfast? I guess because Turin is close to France, and the French know how to eat, they had a HUGE spread in the morning. The boys and I thought we were in Paradise.
Ciao' for now!
Our boys are good on long rides, IF they have something to watch. The DVD player was a must-have for the journey, and my biggest recommendation to airlines is that they provide them for anyone traveling with small children. We chose a small selection of their DVD's to take along, worried about packing too much extra stuff. This turned out to be a mistake. By the 999th time Kung-Fu Panda played, I was about to karate kick Jack Black out onto the Autostrada. Hotel for Dogs was cute the first couple times, but not when you can repeat it line-for-line. Headphones would have been great, but our oldest son has a habit of chewing the cord. We couldn't afford to have him get electrocuted while in a foreign country. I would have NO clue how to explain that to an Italian doctor. Electrocution was not covered in Rosetta Stone.
The other thing we noticed that we truly missed were normal American breakfasts. Most Italians enjoy a cup of coffee and cigarette, and sometimes a pastry item for their first meal of the day. At the hotels where we stayed, some offered a Continental breakfast, which usually consisted of pastries and sometimes sliced deli-type meats and cheeses. Chocolate croissant with some Asiago cheese and salami, anyone? What I wouldn't have given for a bowl of Frosted Flakes and a tall glass of milk. Milk....the fresh stuff that can't live on a shelf for 3 years; the kind that comes out of a cow. The only place we found "real" milk was on the military base. Italian stores only carry the fake stuff that tastes like glue water. But we'd have to wait for our cereal with milk, as refrigerators are not readily available in European hotel rooms; remember I said how cold is a commodity?
The last hotel that was stayed in before heading to Vicenza was in Turin. Because Turin was a last-minute trip, we didn't have hotel reservations, but we figured we would find a hote somewhere. We pulled up to this large, 3 star hotel. It looked nice-enough from the outside. I thought we had it made when the receptionist spoke Enlgish, and said they had a room available that fit our budget. She said that she would show me the room before I signed the paperwork. I thought this was a little odd, but then I wondered if maybe there was something wrong with the room, and it was easier to show me first versus dealing with complaints and refunds later. Along we went. I have stayed in some interesting places before. DH and I stayed in a B&B in Texas that turned out to be a converted barn loft. It was cozy, although it had a faint smell of manure, and the donkey woke us up with it's braying in the morning. But this place was even odder. We rode the elevator to the third floor, exited the main building onto the rooftop of another building, then walked/crawled through another door that led us into another hallway. There, she opened a door that led to this huge room. It was larger than our first house at Fort Hood. It ended up being perfect, as the boys had a huge indoor area to run around, and we were so secluded from the rest of the guests that I wasn't worried the boys would disturb anyone. The bathroom was the largest we've seen yet, with a shower big enough for two Americans! Hello, smooth legs! And the breakfast? I guess because Turin is close to France, and the French know how to eat, they had a HUGE spread in the morning. The boys and I thought we were in Paradise.
Ciao' for now!
Driving Miss Crazy
Two car accidents and one motorcycle accident, all of which were bone-breakers, have given me a pretty bad case of PTSD, especially exacerbated when driving. Combine that with narrow roads, seemingly speed-limitless highways, and signs in Italian, and I am one traffic circle away from a nervous breakdown. Now that we have a rental car in Italy, DH and I have to play rock-paper-scissors each time we get behind the wheel because neither of us wants to be the one who has to drive.
When it's my turn, my hands hurt so bad from white-knuckling the wheel that it takes days to recover from a five-minute trip. If DH drives, we have to replace the floorboards for all of the times I slam my foot to the imaginary break pedal on my side.
Our first rental car was so small, it could have fit into the trunk of my Ford Escape that we left behind in the states. Normally, I would have refused driving in such a small car; I would rather drive in a Sherman Tank any day. But the one thing that saved me was that it was comparable in size to most of the other cars on the road. Plus, if I had to carry a child on my shoulders one more time for a three mile trek, I was going to need back surgery, and I didn't want to waste that much time in the hospital.
Having been GPS-dependent since our last move from Texas to Georgia, it was a bit of a switch having to rely on a paper map. I forgot how big they were, and how you actually had to figure out the best way to go; that it wasn't going to automatically be highlighted for you. My Girl Scouts skills came in handy, and we were able to find our way from the car rental place to our hotel, five blocks away.
Ciao' for now!
When it's my turn, my hands hurt so bad from white-knuckling the wheel that it takes days to recover from a five-minute trip. If DH drives, we have to replace the floorboards for all of the times I slam my foot to the imaginary break pedal on my side.
Our first rental car was so small, it could have fit into the trunk of my Ford Escape that we left behind in the states. Normally, I would have refused driving in such a small car; I would rather drive in a Sherman Tank any day. But the one thing that saved me was that it was comparable in size to most of the other cars on the road. Plus, if I had to carry a child on my shoulders one more time for a three mile trek, I was going to need back surgery, and I didn't want to waste that much time in the hospital.
Having been GPS-dependent since our last move from Texas to Georgia, it was a bit of a switch having to rely on a paper map. I forgot how big they were, and how you actually had to figure out the best way to go; that it wasn't going to automatically be highlighted for you. My Girl Scouts skills came in handy, and we were able to find our way from the car rental place to our hotel, five blocks away.
Ciao' for now!
This is NOT the bathroom
We are finding that children are making our travels more interesting in many ways. The kids add their perspectives to things, and often make us take detours from the usual sites we would check out if they weren't along. I've been inside more businesses simply to see if they have a bathroom during one of our many "emergencies." Luckily a kid bouncing on one foot grabbing their pants and dancing around is a universal symbol, and kind store owners simply point us in the direction of the nearest facilities.
We thought we were heading down the stairs of the main Cathedral in Florence to the restrooms. It turned out that there was an additional museum under the main sanctuary of the church. We weren't sure what was being displayed inside, as all of the signs were in Italian. But, it was going to cost less than our first lunch in Italy for us all to go in, so we decided to check it out.
It turns out that when they were refurbishing the church, a Roman village was found below the Cathedral. As it turns out, underneath many roads and buildings in current day Italy, there are more ruins waiting to be found. There were intricately designed tile pathways, columns, and sarcophogies. The walls were adorned with fresco paintings. You could walk along the actual pathways that Ancient Romans had used to get from place to place. We had found a mini-Rome without the traffic! And, no, my son did not wet his pants. It turns out his need to go had only been perpetuated by boredom from his mom wanting to look at all of the paintings inside of the church. Good diversion tactic.
Ciao' for now!
We thought we were heading down the stairs of the main Cathedral in Florence to the restrooms. It turned out that there was an additional museum under the main sanctuary of the church. We weren't sure what was being displayed inside, as all of the signs were in Italian. But, it was going to cost less than our first lunch in Italy for us all to go in, so we decided to check it out.
It turns out that when they were refurbishing the church, a Roman village was found below the Cathedral. As it turns out, underneath many roads and buildings in current day Italy, there are more ruins waiting to be found. There were intricately designed tile pathways, columns, and sarcophogies. The walls were adorned with fresco paintings. You could walk along the actual pathways that Ancient Romans had used to get from place to place. We had found a mini-Rome without the traffic! And, no, my son did not wet his pants. It turns out his need to go had only been perpetuated by boredom from his mom wanting to look at all of the paintings inside of the church. Good diversion tactic.
Ciao' for now!
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Michelangelo and Mapplethorpe: An odd combination
A gay friend from my days in Washington, D.C. invited me to an exhibit of Robert Mapplethorpe's work. Knowing my friend, and his usual lack of interest in the arts, I should have already known what I was in for. If you are not familiar with Mapplethorpe's work it is very "artistic" and very naked. So, when we arrived at the Accademia Gallery ( a museum in Florence) and saw a sign that their current exhibit was combining the work of Michelangelo's David with an exhibit of Mapplethorpe's work, I was not sure what to think. A respected gallery was combining art from an early 16th century artist so respected in his time that he was asked to paint the altar ceiling of the Sistine Chapel with that of a 20th century artist whose homoerotic work was challenged and criticized for being obscene and depraved. Picture Better Homes and Garden having a feature spread, no pun intended, by Hustler.
Here we are in Florence; tickets in hand. Do we stay, or do we go? I made the decision to go in, and if it was flagrantly inappropriate, we would leave. I was trying to be open-minded and remember that although Italians are much more liberal than Americans, it was still a very respected museum that has more than a million visitors each year. Plus, the boys had been handling nudity surprisingly well considering their daily talk usually involved potty words.
I'm so glad my liberal side won. As it turned out, the only time either of my kids mentioned any body parts was when we got to the actual statue of David. At that point, my oldest son pointed out to anyone in earshot that David was not wearing any underwear. I guess it's really hard to miss a 17 foot naked guy in the room. He'd surely get my attention.
Ciao' for now!
Here we are in Florence; tickets in hand. Do we stay, or do we go? I made the decision to go in, and if it was flagrantly inappropriate, we would leave. I was trying to be open-minded and remember that although Italians are much more liberal than Americans, it was still a very respected museum that has more than a million visitors each year. Plus, the boys had been handling nudity surprisingly well considering their daily talk usually involved potty words.
I'm so glad my liberal side won. As it turned out, the only time either of my kids mentioned any body parts was when we got to the actual statue of David. At that point, my oldest son pointed out to anyone in earshot that David was not wearing any underwear. I guess it's really hard to miss a 17 foot naked guy in the room. He'd surely get my attention.
Ciao' for now!
I didn't know they made size 22 bikinis
Ask my friends, and they will tell you I fall somewhere in between being conservative and liberal in how I dress. I try not to completely dress like a haus-frau, but realizing that I'm in my VERY late 20's (cough cough) and would rather tip back a glass of wine than a set of weights, my beachwear is a simple one-piece swimsuit.
DH and I were prepared for seeing topless and teenie-bikini-clad women at the beach. I think we were even somewhat prepared for the men in their weenie-bikinis. I mean, Terrenia is only a stone's throw away from the Italian Riviera, and Europeans are way more liberal with dress than Americans. What we weren't prepared for was the number of OLD women and plus-sized women wearing bikinis. I was the ONLY person on the beach with a one-piece suit. I felt like I was back in the Cathedral with the paper smock on. There were 90 year old women strutting around in thongs. Very pregnant women topless. But that wasn't the worst, or best, depending on how you looked at it. One woman stood up to stretch and she was completely naked...no thong, no nothing...just a really good tan...EVERYWHERE. And believe me, you could see EVERYWHERE!
OK...deep breath. DH was VERY well behaved given this environment. He didn't have whip lash when we left, or anything. And the bigger surprise, our boys, who don't miss ANYTHING seemed relatively oblivious. I guess all of those naked statues in Pisa prepared them.
To balance out the totally naked people, there were peddlers walking the beach selling everything from purses to sunglasses. These guys were clad in clothes from head to toe. Straw hat, shirts, jeans, and even in one guy's instance hiking boots. I never thought I'd say that someone with clothes on looked more out of place than the naked lady. Is Italy making me more liberal? Before going to the beach the next time, I did buy and wear a bikini.Try topless next time? Doubt it.
Ciao' for now!
DH and I were prepared for seeing topless and teenie-bikini-clad women at the beach. I think we were even somewhat prepared for the men in their weenie-bikinis. I mean, Terrenia is only a stone's throw away from the Italian Riviera, and Europeans are way more liberal with dress than Americans. What we weren't prepared for was the number of OLD women and plus-sized women wearing bikinis. I was the ONLY person on the beach with a one-piece suit. I felt like I was back in the Cathedral with the paper smock on. There were 90 year old women strutting around in thongs. Very pregnant women topless. But that wasn't the worst, or best, depending on how you looked at it. One woman stood up to stretch and she was completely naked...no thong, no nothing...just a really good tan...EVERYWHERE. And believe me, you could see EVERYWHERE!
OK...deep breath. DH was VERY well behaved given this environment. He didn't have whip lash when we left, or anything. And the bigger surprise, our boys, who don't miss ANYTHING seemed relatively oblivious. I guess all of those naked statues in Pisa prepared them.
To balance out the totally naked people, there were peddlers walking the beach selling everything from purses to sunglasses. These guys were clad in clothes from head to toe. Straw hat, shirts, jeans, and even in one guy's instance hiking boots. I never thought I'd say that someone with clothes on looked more out of place than the naked lady. Is Italy making me more liberal? Before going to the beach the next time, I did buy and wear a bikini.Try topless next time? Doubt it.
Ciao' for now!
I can't eat it if it can look at me
Terrenia is a beautiful beach town along the western shore line of Italy. Although they have an American beach which caters to the military and DOD guests that visit the area, it is mailny a place for Italians to visit. In Pisa, we found that there were restaurants to target a variety of tastes. Who knew falafels were so big in Italy? This was not true for Terrenia.
Another thing that I found interesting was the type of seafood offered. In the US, seafood involves a wide array of things, from the crustaceous to the gilled. Here, it seemed most seafood was squid, octopus, clams, or muscles, the more mucous-like sealife. When we came to a restaurant that had a large, glass display of their seafood out front, the boys thought we had found an aquarium. They were disappointed, and slightly grossed-out when we jokingly told them that was what was for dinner. On to the next restaurant. Here, the dinners started at $20 euro a plate. Probably not.
Remembering the travel tips of Samantha Brown, we headed down a side street and came to an Italian Restaurant. Quick question....when you're in Italy, is it still called an Italian restaurant, or it just a restaurant? Either way, the menu looked inviting, and by then we had moved past the icky seafood and were ready to eat.
I know now that my children will grow up truly well versed in other cultures. When we sat down to eat, my oldest son requested "spaghetti carbonara." I know some 5 year olds who can barely say carbonara, let alone request it at dinner. Then there was the 3 year old. He said that he wanted "prosciutto and melon," pronounced with the proper Italian inflection. The waiter was impressed by their grasp of the language, I was just glad we weren't eating octopus.
Ciao' for now!
Another thing that I found interesting was the type of seafood offered. In the US, seafood involves a wide array of things, from the crustaceous to the gilled. Here, it seemed most seafood was squid, octopus, clams, or muscles, the more mucous-like sealife. When we came to a restaurant that had a large, glass display of their seafood out front, the boys thought we had found an aquarium. They were disappointed, and slightly grossed-out when we jokingly told them that was what was for dinner. On to the next restaurant. Here, the dinners started at $20 euro a plate. Probably not.
Remembering the travel tips of Samantha Brown, we headed down a side street and came to an Italian Restaurant. Quick question....when you're in Italy, is it still called an Italian restaurant, or it just a restaurant? Either way, the menu looked inviting, and by then we had moved past the icky seafood and were ready to eat.
I know now that my children will grow up truly well versed in other cultures. When we sat down to eat, my oldest son requested "spaghetti carbonara." I know some 5 year olds who can barely say carbonara, let alone request it at dinner. Then there was the 3 year old. He said that he wanted "prosciutto and melon," pronounced with the proper Italian inflection. The waiter was impressed by their grasp of the language, I was just glad we weren't eating octopus.
Ciao' for now!
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Bad Information
After spending a few days in Pisa, we decided to head to Camp Darby, an American military base about an hour south of Pisa. The English speaking hotel clerk at our first hotel had told us it was very simple to get to the base from the bus station; no bus changes and a short walk to the base's main gate.
This proved to be yet another reason to never stay at 2 star hotels again. I swear that the clerk at a 3 star hotel would have had good information.
The only part the man was right about was that we didn't have to change buses. The walk...not short. The gate...closed. I am all about physical activity. Our children are well practiced in hiking and walks, however not along busy, 2 lane roads. The walk to get to the gate was about 3 miles, not 3 kilometers. By the time we got to the gate, and found it was closed, I was about near tears. A security guard manning the gate told us we would have to walk back up the road we came in on, and turn left. The only gate they used was on another road. "Are you kidding?????" Insert a myriad of cussing here. On the verge of tears, restraining myself so my 3 year old would not start crying, we set back out to the other gate. At one point, DH was carrying both backpacks, and I was carrying a worn-out child. Shortly after that, DH and I were each wearing our backpacks and carrying a child on our shoulders. And to think my trainer from the gym in the states said I would get fat living in Italy.
At some point, the gate guy must have taken pity on us, and came back in his car to pick us up. The MP's met us at the gate, confirmed that we were not terrorists, and drove us to the travel office where we were able to book a hotel and get a car rental. After having spent so much time on our feet, I decided it would be better to take our chances driving rather than the risk of having to tote kids on my back again. There wasn't enough Vicodin in the world to ease away my back pain that night.
Ciao' for now!
This proved to be yet another reason to never stay at 2 star hotels again. I swear that the clerk at a 3 star hotel would have had good information.
The only part the man was right about was that we didn't have to change buses. The walk...not short. The gate...closed. I am all about physical activity. Our children are well practiced in hiking and walks, however not along busy, 2 lane roads. The walk to get to the gate was about 3 miles, not 3 kilometers. By the time we got to the gate, and found it was closed, I was about near tears. A security guard manning the gate told us we would have to walk back up the road we came in on, and turn left. The only gate they used was on another road. "Are you kidding?????" Insert a myriad of cussing here. On the verge of tears, restraining myself so my 3 year old would not start crying, we set back out to the other gate. At one point, DH was carrying both backpacks, and I was carrying a worn-out child. Shortly after that, DH and I were each wearing our backpacks and carrying a child on our shoulders. And to think my trainer from the gym in the states said I would get fat living in Italy.
At some point, the gate guy must have taken pity on us, and came back in his car to pick us up. The MP's met us at the gate, confirmed that we were not terrorists, and drove us to the travel office where we were able to book a hotel and get a car rental. After having spent so much time on our feet, I decided it would be better to take our chances driving rather than the risk of having to tote kids on my back again. There wasn't enough Vicodin in the world to ease away my back pain that night.
Ciao' for now!
Mingling kids and museums
Remember the field trips to the musuems when you were a kid? Where one painting looked like another, and you couldn't wait to get to the gift shop? DH and I realized from the start that taking 2 small children to historical sites throughout Europe had the possibility of ending in disaster for everyone. DH loves the military and historical end of things. I love the art and architecture. Our kids, 2 boys who exhibit the ADHD traits naturally inherent in little boys, like activity. So what is the trick to making sure everyone is happy? Bennadryl. Just kidding. We actually found that the boys were agreeable to walking around the sites in Pisa, so long as we played "I Spy" and pointed out the things kids would be interested in.
In the Museo dell'Opera, which houses the original statues of the piazza, typically a snooze-fest for children, we had fun looking for baby Jesus, who was represented plentifully, and angels, another Italian favorite.
After our dinner, we wanted to give the kids a final chance to burn off energy, as the hotel room didn't offer much space to play. Piazzas are known for being large, open areas. We took the kids back to the Piazza Del Miracoli and had fun running races along one of the less-used pathes.
Hot and sweaty we headed back to our hotel room for showers and bed. Remember in one of my first posts where I talked about the difference between European and American hotel rooms, and I mentioned air conditioning? To Europeans, cold is a commodity. When you are served a glass of soda, you consider yourself lucky if you get 3 cubes in your glass. Air conditioning is the same. To Europeans, 80 degrees is cool. If it's below 90, they have their windows open, and a/c shut off. In our hotel room, there was a window unit in the room, but it only ran in the evening hours, and you had to call downstairs to have it turned on. Looking forward to cooling off, we called downstairs to be informed that they were having a problem with the electricity and the a/c would not be working.
To make sure that something hadn't been lost in the translation of the hotel clerk's broken Italian/English, I went downstairs to clarify. To the clerk, it should be no big deal for us to simply open the windows and let the air flow. To me logic said that if it was 90 degrees outside, the air flowing through my room would also be 90 degrees. Not acceptable. After some gentle persuasion and a little batting of my eyes, we were transfered to a sister-hotel a few blocks away. The kind, or maybe just tired of me complaing, clerk even called for a cab to help carry our now exhausted children and baggage to the new hotel.
As we walked into our new room, we were greeted with a burst of cold air, as it seems 3 star hotels put more money into their electric bills than 2 star hotels and provide their guests with not only softer mattresses but also 5 degrees of added coldness.
Ciao' for now!
In the Museo dell'Opera, which houses the original statues of the piazza, typically a snooze-fest for children, we had fun looking for baby Jesus, who was represented plentifully, and angels, another Italian favorite.
After our dinner, we wanted to give the kids a final chance to burn off energy, as the hotel room didn't offer much space to play. Piazzas are known for being large, open areas. We took the kids back to the Piazza Del Miracoli and had fun running races along one of the less-used pathes.
Hot and sweaty we headed back to our hotel room for showers and bed. Remember in one of my first posts where I talked about the difference between European and American hotel rooms, and I mentioned air conditioning? To Europeans, cold is a commodity. When you are served a glass of soda, you consider yourself lucky if you get 3 cubes in your glass. Air conditioning is the same. To Europeans, 80 degrees is cool. If it's below 90, they have their windows open, and a/c shut off. In our hotel room, there was a window unit in the room, but it only ran in the evening hours, and you had to call downstairs to have it turned on. Looking forward to cooling off, we called downstairs to be informed that they were having a problem with the electricity and the a/c would not be working.
To make sure that something hadn't been lost in the translation of the hotel clerk's broken Italian/English, I went downstairs to clarify. To the clerk, it should be no big deal for us to simply open the windows and let the air flow. To me logic said that if it was 90 degrees outside, the air flowing through my room would also be 90 degrees. Not acceptable. After some gentle persuasion and a little batting of my eyes, we were transfered to a sister-hotel a few blocks away. The kind, or maybe just tired of me complaing, clerk even called for a cab to help carry our now exhausted children and baggage to the new hotel.
As we walked into our new room, we were greeted with a burst of cold air, as it seems 3 star hotels put more money into their electric bills than 2 star hotels and provide their guests with not only softer mattresses but also 5 degrees of added coldness.
Ciao' for now!
Monday, January 4, 2010
Shopping in Pisa
We learned a few things about shopping in Italy while in Pisa. First, and this may be the most important thing you can ever read, ladies; it is possible to buy an inexpensive shawl from the vendors outside of the main Cathedrals. This will save you the decision of paper or chastising. Go for the shawl.
Second, there are no Super Walmarts in Europe. The closest they have is a large grocery store called IPER, but those are mainly in the big cities, away from the touristy areas. This leaves you a few choices for your basic food needs. On every other corner, there is a BAR. This is not the American version. No beer on tap or salty nuts. This is a place you can grab a sandwich, cup of espresso, and a bottle of water. Be prepared to pay about $4 euro for a bottle. Or, you can find a little grocery store. These are more than just a convenience store. Here is where most of the people of the community do their daily grocery shopping. I'll talk about why Europeans have to shop daily for groceries when we get to the part where we find our house. For 1/4 the price, you can buy a larger bottle of water and a piece of fruit. If you're going to be in Europe for any length of time, find one of these. Grab your sodas and water from here. Save the money for your meals, you'll need it.
Ciao' for now!
Second, there are no Super Walmarts in Europe. The closest they have is a large grocery store called IPER, but those are mainly in the big cities, away from the touristy areas. This leaves you a few choices for your basic food needs. On every other corner, there is a BAR. This is not the American version. No beer on tap or salty nuts. This is a place you can grab a sandwich, cup of espresso, and a bottle of water. Be prepared to pay about $4 euro for a bottle. Or, you can find a little grocery store. These are more than just a convenience store. Here is where most of the people of the community do their daily grocery shopping. I'll talk about why Europeans have to shop daily for groceries when we get to the part where we find our house. For 1/4 the price, you can buy a larger bottle of water and a piece of fruit. If you're going to be in Europe for any length of time, find one of these. Grab your sodas and water from here. Save the money for your meals, you'll need it.
Ciao' for now!
Relics - Whose foot is that, anyway?
The Cathedral in Pisa is a working church. It still holds services. What amazes me about the places we've seen in Europe is the respect shown to the artifacts. In the US, precious items are kept behind glass and ropes with motion sensor lasers detecting anyone stepping foot near the displays. This is not true for what we are seeing in Italy. People are very respectful of the antiquities. Here is where the Americans tend to stand out.
Case in point: The Cathedral had on display a glass casket containing a man's body. DH tried to double-dare me to go up close to see who it was, but I wasn't budging. I will try pretty much anything, but dead bodies freak me out. We tried the boys, but neither of them read, so that was a no-go. So, we will assume he was just an important dead guy. Anyhow, the Catholics would walk up, kiss their fingers, and gently touch the casket before crossing themselves. Not true of the Americans. We knew they were Americans because they spoke so loudly everyone in Pisa could hear them, and undoubtedly not Catholic, as the dead guy became the focal point of their flash cameras and home video. And, as I'm sure you can guess, the woman with her 3 sizes too small (thanks, Janet) tube top was NOT wearing the suggested paper robe.
After walking past the dead guy, we came to a little case containing a statue, an altar, and a small glass case containing what looked to be a small bone. I grew up in a Methodist family. I am not as knowledgable about other religions as some may be, so this whole bone-thing seemed rather odd to me. Was this some sort of archaeological display commemorating the evolution of man? Yeah...no. It turns out, and if you're Catholic feel free to comment on this post and set me straight, that Catholic Saints, after they died, had their bodies divided up into small pieces and placed in churches all over the world. Later on in a tour of Venice, we toured a church that held the foot of St. Catherine of Sienna. The idea being that people could go and say prayers to that Saint. Now, if you've ever had to consider being an organ donor and were concerned about it's effect on your after-life experience, go ahead and donate. If the Saints were willing to do it, shouldn't you?
Ciao' for now!
Case in point: The Cathedral had on display a glass casket containing a man's body. DH tried to double-dare me to go up close to see who it was, but I wasn't budging. I will try pretty much anything, but dead bodies freak me out. We tried the boys, but neither of them read, so that was a no-go. So, we will assume he was just an important dead guy. Anyhow, the Catholics would walk up, kiss their fingers, and gently touch the casket before crossing themselves. Not true of the Americans. We knew they were Americans because they spoke so loudly everyone in Pisa could hear them, and undoubtedly not Catholic, as the dead guy became the focal point of their flash cameras and home video. And, as I'm sure you can guess, the woman with her 3 sizes too small (thanks, Janet) tube top was NOT wearing the suggested paper robe.
After walking past the dead guy, we came to a little case containing a statue, an altar, and a small glass case containing what looked to be a small bone. I grew up in a Methodist family. I am not as knowledgable about other religions as some may be, so this whole bone-thing seemed rather odd to me. Was this some sort of archaeological display commemorating the evolution of man? Yeah...no. It turns out, and if you're Catholic feel free to comment on this post and set me straight, that Catholic Saints, after they died, had their bodies divided up into small pieces and placed in churches all over the world. Later on in a tour of Venice, we toured a church that held the foot of St. Catherine of Sienna. The idea being that people could go and say prayers to that Saint. Now, if you've ever had to consider being an organ donor and were concerned about it's effect on your after-life experience, go ahead and donate. If the Saints were willing to do it, shouldn't you?
Ciao' for now!
If Samantha Brown does it, so will I
Samantha Brown is my hero. She will try anything (including fried star fish on an episode in China). I diligently watched her shows before we headed for Italy. I wanted to know the ins and outs. Being the research fanatic that I am, I figured it wouldn't hurt to have some pointers. During one of her shows in Italy she gave a heads-up that if you were traveling in summer, and happened to wear a shirt that did not cover your shoulders (ie. spaghetti straps), you would be asked to wear a disposable paper shirt in order to enter most cathedrals. On her episode, tons of women, including Samantha, were shown adorned in these atrocious garbs. But, out of respect for the Church, it's just what you do.
Our first stop in Pisa the morning after our arrival was to the Cathedral. Middle of June, as hot as it gets in Italy, I was wearing a spaghetti-strap shirt. Playing the role of respectful tourist, I obligingly donned the scratchy, bright blue paper smock that was handed to me. I looked more like I was waiting for a physical than about to tour a historical landmark. But, I figured if that was what you were supposed to do, than I was going to play along. As I noisily crinkled my way through the Cathedral, which was so amazing I would have walked through naked if that was the requirement, I noticed that many people were looking at me. Could it be my beautiful blonde hair, streaked from the sunlight (not a lot of blondes in Italy)? Maybe it was my 5'7 frame, accentuated by my heeled sandals (not a lot of tall women here, either). Or perhaps it was the fact that I was the ONLY person in the Cathedral who actually accepted the paper shirt when it was handed to them. There were TONS of women inside walking with spaghetti straps and totally strapless shirts. You know it's bad when your three year old doesn't even want to walk near you. However, I was going to represent Americans well. If Samantha Brown says wear the ugly paper shirt, by God, I was going to wear it.
Ciao' for now!
Our first stop in Pisa the morning after our arrival was to the Cathedral. Middle of June, as hot as it gets in Italy, I was wearing a spaghetti-strap shirt. Playing the role of respectful tourist, I obligingly donned the scratchy, bright blue paper smock that was handed to me. I looked more like I was waiting for a physical than about to tour a historical landmark. But, I figured if that was what you were supposed to do, than I was going to play along. As I noisily crinkled my way through the Cathedral, which was so amazing I would have walked through naked if that was the requirement, I noticed that many people were looking at me. Could it be my beautiful blonde hair, streaked from the sunlight (not a lot of blondes in Italy)? Maybe it was my 5'7 frame, accentuated by my heeled sandals (not a lot of tall women here, either). Or perhaps it was the fact that I was the ONLY person in the Cathedral who actually accepted the paper shirt when it was handed to them. There were TONS of women inside walking with spaghetti straps and totally strapless shirts. You know it's bad when your three year old doesn't even want to walk near you. However, I was going to represent Americans well. If Samantha Brown says wear the ugly paper shirt, by God, I was going to wear it.
Ciao' for now!
Arriving with Fireworks
Exhausted and full from our first Italian meals, we began to trudge back to our hotel room. Darkness had come, and the candles celebrating Luminara of Saint Ranieri were lit. The whole river and surrounding buildings were flanked with countless luminaries. The street vendors and booths were now up and running. Although tired, we decided to check it out, not wanting to miss a chance to see more of Italy's culture.
Marinated olives, anyone? Dried fruits and vegetables? A slice of cheese, perhaps? They even had a whole smoked pig that you could get a slice of to have with your cheese. No wonder Americans are fat - our fairs usually include funnel cakes and deep fried candy bars.
The city was packed with people. They lined the river, were perched up on the bridge, and were looking down from balconies along the way. It was like New Orleans during Mardi Gras, minus the beads and topless women. Groups were passing around bottles of wine and having impromptu picnics as they waited for the fireworks. We figured we would wait around, too. So, we waited. And waited. And waited. I learned that night how heavy a 3 year old gets when he is dead asleep, as I had to carry one back to the hotel. We found out from the hotel clerk that the fireworks were not going to go off until 11pm (we would have waited 3 hours...not happening).
Excited from the day's events and prospects of the next, DH and I stayed up to watch the fireworks from our room's balcony. It was truly a magical ending to an amazing first day in Italy.
Ciao' for now!
Marinated olives, anyone? Dried fruits and vegetables? A slice of cheese, perhaps? They even had a whole smoked pig that you could get a slice of to have with your cheese. No wonder Americans are fat - our fairs usually include funnel cakes and deep fried candy bars.
The city was packed with people. They lined the river, were perched up on the bridge, and were looking down from balconies along the way. It was like New Orleans during Mardi Gras, minus the beads and topless women. Groups were passing around bottles of wine and having impromptu picnics as they waited for the fireworks. We figured we would wait around, too. So, we waited. And waited. And waited. I learned that night how heavy a 3 year old gets when he is dead asleep, as I had to carry one back to the hotel. We found out from the hotel clerk that the fireworks were not going to go off until 11pm (we would have waited 3 hours...not happening).
Excited from the day's events and prospects of the next, DH and I stayed up to watch the fireworks from our room's balcony. It was truly a magical ending to an amazing first day in Italy.
Ciao' for now!
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Skip the travel books...follow the crowds.
Our travel book for Italy, written by the people from the infamous "F" of travel guides (who shall remain nameless since this is not a plug for their company, and this blog is not making me any money so I can't afford a slander suit) only devoted 2pages to the city of Pisa, and one of the pages is a picture of the Tower. I'm guessing that anyone visiting Pisa would be familiar enough with the Tower, and not require a picture for identification purposes. So, we tossed the book aside and followed "the people."
Sure enough, the people were heading to a place with a sign that held one of my favorite Italian words, "Informacion." I was able to use my vast knowledge of Italian to ask, "Parla Inglese?" "Do you speak English?" And would you know it? The person in the information booth did! Bonus!
We bought our combo pass entrance tickets, and set off to check out the Baptista. With the late hour and having had little (the guys) to no (me) sleep the night before, we decided to just do one building that night and tackle the rest the next day.
The Baptista was a beautiful building. It held the pulpit of all pulpits. The thing had a carving on it that took 5 years to create. We climbed the steps to the second floor and were able to look out over parts of Pisa. Even the boys were entertained by the different sculptures and gargoyles that adorned the building.
Tired and hungry, we strolled to a nearby outdoor restaurant. After sitting for about five minutes and getting no service, we ventured to another restaurant down the street. This would be our FIRST real Italian meal. The menu was in English, so we didn't have to do too much guessing. Although I am all for trying new things, it was hot, and I decided that a light salad would be better than a heavy Italian dinner. I was a little confused by the menu, as it said the salad was served on rice. This was new to me, but I thought, when in Rome...or...when in Pisa. Maybe that's just how they do things here. But when the waiter took my order he asked if I would rather it be served on salad. His words, not mine. I said, "Yes, I would like my salad on salad." Next time, I'm ordering pizza.
Our bellies filled, we headed back towards our hotel stopping for gelato. Let me just say this, if you take the smoothest, most flavorful ice cream ever, and made it even more smooth and flavorful, you would have gelato. It is so rich and creamy, that a small scoop is all you need. A little lesson I learned about gelato - if you want to make sure that you are buying gelato from a place that makes it fresh, the pistachio will be a greyish color, and not green. If you can get past the grey, it's really tastey.
Ciao' for now!
Sure enough, the people were heading to a place with a sign that held one of my favorite Italian words, "Informacion." I was able to use my vast knowledge of Italian to ask, "Parla Inglese?" "Do you speak English?" And would you know it? The person in the information booth did! Bonus!
We bought our combo pass entrance tickets, and set off to check out the Baptista. With the late hour and having had little (the guys) to no (me) sleep the night before, we decided to just do one building that night and tackle the rest the next day.
The Baptista was a beautiful building. It held the pulpit of all pulpits. The thing had a carving on it that took 5 years to create. We climbed the steps to the second floor and were able to look out over parts of Pisa. Even the boys were entertained by the different sculptures and gargoyles that adorned the building.
Tired and hungry, we strolled to a nearby outdoor restaurant. After sitting for about five minutes and getting no service, we ventured to another restaurant down the street. This would be our FIRST real Italian meal. The menu was in English, so we didn't have to do too much guessing. Although I am all for trying new things, it was hot, and I decided that a light salad would be better than a heavy Italian dinner. I was a little confused by the menu, as it said the salad was served on rice. This was new to me, but I thought, when in Rome...or...when in Pisa. Maybe that's just how they do things here. But when the waiter took my order he asked if I would rather it be served on salad. His words, not mine. I said, "Yes, I would like my salad on salad." Next time, I'm ordering pizza.
Our bellies filled, we headed back towards our hotel stopping for gelato. Let me just say this, if you take the smoothest, most flavorful ice cream ever, and made it even more smooth and flavorful, you would have gelato. It is so rich and creamy, that a small scoop is all you need. A little lesson I learned about gelato - if you want to make sure that you are buying gelato from a place that makes it fresh, the pistachio will be a greyish color, and not green. If you can get past the grey, it's really tastey.
Ciao' for now!
The Tilting Tower of Pisa: Part Due
June 16th is a holiday in Pisa. We will come to find that every third day is a holiday in Italy. So often there are celebrations and festivals, which is good. The stores and gas stations being closed, is not so good. The other thing Italians do that I think Americans need to adopt the habit of is to take the day AFTER the holiday off. That way, they have a day to recover from their celebrating. Can you imagine? You would get the Fourth of July off to picnic, and then the fifth of July as a bonus to sleep off the hangover and sunburn you got from the Fourth.
In addition to the holiday plus one, they also have a time during the day called a reposo. Basically, it's like a Mexican Siesta. Restaurants and stores close. You need a loaf of bread at 1pm on a Tuesday to have with your lunch? You can't just run down to the local bakery (which is FABULOUS, by the way). You have to wait until it reopens at 4pm in the afternoon. The mall is closed on Sunday, and then doesn't reopen until after 2pm on Monday. Gas stations? Well, let's just say plan ahead.
OK...back to Pisa. We (ok, I) was enchanted by the European streets and architecture. My oldest son just wanted to find the "Tilting Tower of Pisa." After twists and turns, we arrived at the Piazza Del Miracoli. Once again, following the crowds proved to be the best way to get to where we wanted to go. Who needs travel books when you can play "follow the tourists?"
From the angle we arrived, it looked like someone was lying when they called the tower "leaning." That thing looked straight as an arrow. I have to say, I was disappointed...at first. But then, we walked a little further. The tower truly does earn it's name. That thing REALLY leans. I'm not talking "a little to the left." It is amazing that it didn't topple a couple hundred years ago. The piazza was filled with people having their picture taken as they "hold up" the tower. I kept saying to DH, "we are actually HERE!" (A phrase I will repeat about as often as I sing "The hills are alive..." when we eventually get to the Alps.)
The buildings surrounding the tower were no joke either. To think that those buildings have been around hundreds of years before the US was even a country. It was an architects version of Disney World.
Ciao' for now!
In addition to the holiday plus one, they also have a time during the day called a reposo. Basically, it's like a Mexican Siesta. Restaurants and stores close. You need a loaf of bread at 1pm on a Tuesday to have with your lunch? You can't just run down to the local bakery (which is FABULOUS, by the way). You have to wait until it reopens at 4pm in the afternoon. The mall is closed on Sunday, and then doesn't reopen until after 2pm on Monday. Gas stations? Well, let's just say plan ahead.
OK...back to Pisa. We (ok, I) was enchanted by the European streets and architecture. My oldest son just wanted to find the "Tilting Tower of Pisa." After twists and turns, we arrived at the Piazza Del Miracoli. Once again, following the crowds proved to be the best way to get to where we wanted to go. Who needs travel books when you can play "follow the tourists?"
From the angle we arrived, it looked like someone was lying when they called the tower "leaning." That thing looked straight as an arrow. I have to say, I was disappointed...at first. But then, we walked a little further. The tower truly does earn it's name. That thing REALLY leans. I'm not talking "a little to the left." It is amazing that it didn't topple a couple hundred years ago. The piazza was filled with people having their picture taken as they "hold up" the tower. I kept saying to DH, "we are actually HERE!" (A phrase I will repeat about as often as I sing "The hills are alive..." when we eventually get to the Alps.)
The buildings surrounding the tower were no joke either. To think that those buildings have been around hundreds of years before the US was even a country. It was an architects version of Disney World.
Ciao' for now!
The Tilting Tower of Pisa
I am all for flying by the seat of my pants. I love exploring. However, when DH and I were planning this adventure, I did demand one thing; we had to book a hotel for our first few nights in Italy. Having the forsight to know we would be exhausted after traveling over night, and with a 6 hour time difference, I wanted a place to stay. A week prior to leaving for Italy, we weren't even sure where we were going to start our exploration. Should we try to jump on a military flight and head up to England? At least they spoke English. We could head to Germany, my German is rusty, but I could at least order a beer. As you can tell, we decided to get our feet wet in Italy. It was going to be our home for the next three years, so we might as well jump in head-first.
The train was a lot more forthcoming with information than the bus. We actually knew we were getting off at the right stop, no guesswork required. Finding the hotel was a different story. DH grew up in South Texas. If you know anything about South Texas, you know that most all of the streets run either North/South or East/West. Not true in Italy. The Italians built their towns around a central point, a piazza. So, a lot of the streets wrap around and end up close to where they started. Just when you think you're going straight, you hit a piazza (a square) which has a couple of other hubs coming off of it. Then, you have one street having many different names. Also, confusing. It was one of those Grizzwald, "Hey kids, Parliament" moments. I was SO glad we decided to use public transportation and not try to rent a car. That would have probably pushed me over the edge at that moment. You can only expect so much from Zoloft.
One thing Italy has done extremely well is to accomodate English-speaking travelers. Throughout the cities, there are brown signs which have the names of hotels and the direction to head. Near the train station, there was a pole with about 25 hotel names on it. Luckily, one of them was ours. Off we went, on a treasure hunt, with the prize being a warm bed (we would later find out JUST how warm) and a hot shower.
During our stay in Italy, I have learned that there are European hotels and Americanized hotels. American hotels have wonderful things like air conditioners and showers that are large enough to shave your legs in. This is not the case for European hotels. I now see why Italian women are either slender or hairy. I would have had to be one of those contortionists in Cirque de Soliel to actually complete the task with the shower door closed. Then there was the bidet. Our youngest son had to change his shirt after doing his own exploration. Did you know that bidets are fine little basins to have children wash their hands in when they can't reach the sink? A little tid-bit of information for you.
Ciao' for now!
The train was a lot more forthcoming with information than the bus. We actually knew we were getting off at the right stop, no guesswork required. Finding the hotel was a different story. DH grew up in South Texas. If you know anything about South Texas, you know that most all of the streets run either North/South or East/West. Not true in Italy. The Italians built their towns around a central point, a piazza. So, a lot of the streets wrap around and end up close to where they started. Just when you think you're going straight, you hit a piazza (a square) which has a couple of other hubs coming off of it. Then, you have one street having many different names. Also, confusing. It was one of those Grizzwald, "Hey kids, Parliament" moments. I was SO glad we decided to use public transportation and not try to rent a car. That would have probably pushed me over the edge at that moment. You can only expect so much from Zoloft.
One thing Italy has done extremely well is to accomodate English-speaking travelers. Throughout the cities, there are brown signs which have the names of hotels and the direction to head. Near the train station, there was a pole with about 25 hotel names on it. Luckily, one of them was ours. Off we went, on a treasure hunt, with the prize being a warm bed (we would later find out JUST how warm) and a hot shower.
During our stay in Italy, I have learned that there are European hotels and Americanized hotels. American hotels have wonderful things like air conditioners and showers that are large enough to shave your legs in. This is not the case for European hotels. I now see why Italian women are either slender or hairy. I would have had to be one of those contortionists in Cirque de Soliel to actually complete the task with the shower door closed. Then there was the bidet. Our youngest son had to change his shirt after doing his own exploration. Did you know that bidets are fine little basins to have children wash their hands in when they can't reach the sink? A little tid-bit of information for you.
Ciao' for now!
A Year: A Broad
On June 15th, the family stuffed itself into my cousin's car, and began the journey of a lifetime. 2 kids, 2 adults, 4 passports and a whole lot of gumption. The plan: explore Italy before my DH reported to his new duty station in Vicenza, Italy.
Nine and a half hours after leaving New York, our plane touched down at Marco Polo Airport. The pre-researched idea was to take a bus to the train station, then board a train for Pisa, where we had a hotel reservation for the next three nights. Sounds good, right? I mean, DH and I both worked for hours on Rosetta Stone. We can do this....What the f%*@ were we thinking? As we sat on the bus heading to the train station, it looked like we were back in the third-world part of Mexico. Graffiti, houses that were boarded up...this was definitely not the Venice we had pictured. Where were the gondolas?
And here we were, this haggard group of Americans. Dragging 2 small children and 2 heavy backpacks to who knows where. By the way, busses in Italy in the middle of June, no air conditioning. So, let's add sweaty, and probably after a 9 1/2 hour plane ride, a bit on the smelly side.
But, we made it to the train station. At least we hoped it was the train station, as the bus driver did not make any appoint to say "Stazione" - Thank you Rosetta Stone! We followed the throngs of people exiting the bus. They seemed to all be heading in the same direction, so we joined them. Luckily, they were heading to the same place we were. Thank you God! With my amazing grasp of the Italian language, I somehow managed to get us 4 tickets on the next train to Pisa. (At least I hoped they were tickets to Pisa). We didn't have time to grab lunch, so we got to the platform and promised the kids that we would somehow find them something to eat. By this point, all of us were about ready to cry. The kids, from hunger, the grown-ups from exhaustion and the fear that we had totally stepped into something huge.
We somehow figured out our seats on the train. Did you know that in Italy, there are different kinds of seats, but all on the same train? Some people pay for actual seats - you are in seat 2C. Other people pay for just any seat. The trick, figuring out which of those people you are, and if someone that didn't pay for a specific seat is in your specific seat, getting them to move. Luckily, the haggard-traveler appearance we were giving off worked, and Italians scurried out of our way. The other blessing we have during our traveling is 2 very cute little boys. We later found out that there are not a whole lot of little Italians running about. It seems that Italian men like to stay home and live with their mamas. Italian women do not necessarily like sissy men who live with their mamas. They are renegades; they want to work, they don't want to stay home and cook and clean like their mamas. So, fewer younger Italians are dating and fewer Italian babies are being born. Which for us translates to kindness for the 2 kids we are toting through Italy.
OK...back to the train ride. We had finally found a comfortable place to sit. The boys were watching a movie on the portable DVD player, the best invention EVER. Now, to tackle the rumblings in everyone's stomach. By this point in our journey, we had done a pretty good job eating the 3 months worth of snacks I had packed for the travel. Gone were the fruit snacks, asta la vista crackers, ciao Oreo cookies. We were down to the smushed remains of some granola bars, nobody's favorite.
Because I was a little more daring with trying Italian than my DH, ok, actually it was because I just needed 5 minutes peace from the family, I ventured to find food. I had seen people walking down the aisle with food in their hands, so I figured there had to be food somewhere. BINGO! Found it. They had a small dining car. OK, where are the hot dogs? Kids like hot dogs. Damn, no hot dogs. For the low price of $12 euro (which at the current exchange rate was like a million us dollars) we shared a baguette with some sort of smoked meat and mozarella cheeze, a short stack of Pringles chips, and a coke. DH wondered why I didn't bring back more, until he heard how expensive it was. Once again, the what the hell were we thinking feelings invaded my mind.
As we traveled across Italy, I began to feel better about the whole thing. The sights were amazing. Vineyards and olive trees surrounded quaint villages. We must have looked quite the site, pointing every little thing out to each other. The tension slowly eased away as we realized this was where we were going to be living for the next three years.
Ciao' for now!
Nine and a half hours after leaving New York, our plane touched down at Marco Polo Airport. The pre-researched idea was to take a bus to the train station, then board a train for Pisa, where we had a hotel reservation for the next three nights. Sounds good, right? I mean, DH and I both worked for hours on Rosetta Stone. We can do this....What the f%*@ were we thinking? As we sat on the bus heading to the train station, it looked like we were back in the third-world part of Mexico. Graffiti, houses that were boarded up...this was definitely not the Venice we had pictured. Where were the gondolas?
And here we were, this haggard group of Americans. Dragging 2 small children and 2 heavy backpacks to who knows where. By the way, busses in Italy in the middle of June, no air conditioning. So, let's add sweaty, and probably after a 9 1/2 hour plane ride, a bit on the smelly side.
But, we made it to the train station. At least we hoped it was the train station, as the bus driver did not make any appoint to say "Stazione" - Thank you Rosetta Stone! We followed the throngs of people exiting the bus. They seemed to all be heading in the same direction, so we joined them. Luckily, they were heading to the same place we were. Thank you God! With my amazing grasp of the Italian language, I somehow managed to get us 4 tickets on the next train to Pisa. (At least I hoped they were tickets to Pisa). We didn't have time to grab lunch, so we got to the platform and promised the kids that we would somehow find them something to eat. By this point, all of us were about ready to cry. The kids, from hunger, the grown-ups from exhaustion and the fear that we had totally stepped into something huge.
We somehow figured out our seats on the train. Did you know that in Italy, there are different kinds of seats, but all on the same train? Some people pay for actual seats - you are in seat 2C. Other people pay for just any seat. The trick, figuring out which of those people you are, and if someone that didn't pay for a specific seat is in your specific seat, getting them to move. Luckily, the haggard-traveler appearance we were giving off worked, and Italians scurried out of our way. The other blessing we have during our traveling is 2 very cute little boys. We later found out that there are not a whole lot of little Italians running about. It seems that Italian men like to stay home and live with their mamas. Italian women do not necessarily like sissy men who live with their mamas. They are renegades; they want to work, they don't want to stay home and cook and clean like their mamas. So, fewer younger Italians are dating and fewer Italian babies are being born. Which for us translates to kindness for the 2 kids we are toting through Italy.
OK...back to the train ride. We had finally found a comfortable place to sit. The boys were watching a movie on the portable DVD player, the best invention EVER. Now, to tackle the rumblings in everyone's stomach. By this point in our journey, we had done a pretty good job eating the 3 months worth of snacks I had packed for the travel. Gone were the fruit snacks, asta la vista crackers, ciao Oreo cookies. We were down to the smushed remains of some granola bars, nobody's favorite.
Because I was a little more daring with trying Italian than my DH, ok, actually it was because I just needed 5 minutes peace from the family, I ventured to find food. I had seen people walking down the aisle with food in their hands, so I figured there had to be food somewhere. BINGO! Found it. They had a small dining car. OK, where are the hot dogs? Kids like hot dogs. Damn, no hot dogs. For the low price of $12 euro (which at the current exchange rate was like a million us dollars) we shared a baguette with some sort of smoked meat and mozarella cheeze, a short stack of Pringles chips, and a coke. DH wondered why I didn't bring back more, until he heard how expensive it was. Once again, the what the hell were we thinking feelings invaded my mind.
As we traveled across Italy, I began to feel better about the whole thing. The sights were amazing. Vineyards and olive trees surrounded quaint villages. We must have looked quite the site, pointing every little thing out to each other. The tension slowly eased away as we realized this was where we were going to be living for the next three years.
Ciao' for now!
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