Those Damn Tour Guides

My son's teacher told me that she has had a problem with him being a bit too headstrong and wanting to do things his own way. I certainly have NO idea where he got this from. It MUST be from his dad. . I mean, when we arrived in Italy, I was more than content trusting and following in the footsteps of our trusted tour guides. I figured there was NO way I could know more than they did...that there was NO way they could lead me in the wrong direction. I mean, I grew up in one of the most "touristy" corners of the US. I've SEEN tour guides. They carry their colorful umbrellas or tour signs with such authority, how could they possibly not know what they are doing? I mean, at least in the US, I spoke the same language they did, and could tell that they weren't spouting B.S. Here, with the heavy Italian accents, I truly have no clue if what they are saying is truth or a crock.

I realize that the front desk guy at the hotel was not an official tour guide, but it was Pisa, and we were not the first tourists to stay at his hotel. When we asked him how to get to the bus station, he had NO clue. It wasn't that he didn't understand our English, or that he didn't understand that we were looking for a bus. He just had no CLUE where the actual station was located. It turned out that it was merely 3 blocks away. We ended up walking to the train station, about 8 blocks away, just to be re-directed to the bus station, five blocks back towards our hotel. Oh, and don't ask a cabbie for directions unless you are sitting in their cab and paying them money. BIG mistake. I thought maybe the lost blonde American woman thing would work for me. He must have been gay.

Then there was the worthless tourguide to Florence. During the one hour bus ride to Florence, he droned on and on about the amazing city of Rome. Wrong trip, fella! For the low price of $35 per person, our family of four was plopped at the edge of the city and pointed in the general direction of the center of town. He also scared the canollis out of us by saying that if we weren't back to the bus in time, it would leave without us. So, we cut our trip short to make sure we weren't stuck in Florence without a ride home.

But was this the last time I was misled by a tour guide? Oh no, not me. I truly am a glutton for punishment. I really do want to give people a chance to show me they care, and I figured maybe just the tour guides on the western corner of Italy are crummy. Why not see what the east coasters can do.

What can they do? They can lead a group of 16 women onto a bus, and then almost get us each a 75 euro fine (that would be about $125 US dollars) for not stamping our bus pass. She was hurrying our group onto the bus so fast that she told us to bypass the stamp machine. Next thing you know, some burly, anti-American bus patrol guys are on the bus and happened to pick the loudest girl in our group to question on why her ticket wasn't stamped. When I say loudest, what I mean is most likely to argue with a burly anti-American bus patrol guy. And where was our tour guide during this time? She was towards the back of the bus, sitting comfortably in a seat, chatting it up with some other Italian people. Were we fined, no. Were we happy that we were almost fined, no. Am I done with Italian tour guides, definitely. Well...at least until we need to go somewhere that my headstrong and stubborn self isn't quite willing to lead the way through herself.

Ciao' for now!

Italian Polizia - Are they kind, or just lazy?

It's either one of two things. The Italian Polizia are either the kindest group of law enforcement or they just don't like to work. This is a really good thing for us more aggressive drivers. Now, I have to add a caveat; I have only been pulled over once (knock on wood), and the one time I was pulled over, I actually didn't even know I was speeding at the time (I was in traffic, a school bus was next to me, and I didn't see that the speed limit had changed from 45 to 35.) There have been plenty of times where I could have gotten a ticket and didn't, so I just wrote that one off as being due.

Here in Italy, the police will set up speed traps. Scary, right? Not in Italy. They actually set up signs about 50 feet in both directions from where they are set up with their radar guns. So, providing you are not totally oblivious, you have plenty of warning to slow down and not get pulled over. Have I ever seen anyone pulled over near a speed trap, no. Have I ever seen anyone pulled over in Italy? Only on the military base and by the MPs. I truly think the Italian police just aren't really in a hurry to ruin anyone's day (including their own.) Whenever you drive by a speed "trap" the officers are standing around, cigarette and espresso in hand enjoying their afternoon. Not like the American police who have their foot hovering over the gas pedal, ready to charge after any offenders.

I will say this, though. If you do happen to be charged with a traffic violation, hold onto your wallet and kiss your license goodbye. They are very heavy-handed when it comes to punishment. It doesn't take too many traffic tickets (for even the little stuff like parking in the wrong type of parking space) to get your license yanked.

The true story of Army Wives...and a little about our trip to Venice

I've watched the show. More just to see how accurate "we" Army wives were portrayed. I became "hooked," not because I related so well to the characters on the show, but more because I could only WISH my life was that exciting. Wait...change that...I do not want my life to be any more exciting than it currently is. Those of you who know me would affirm that my life is far from boring. However, my life is exciting in more of a sewage-water flooding, lyme's diseased, motorcycle wrecked sort of way.

The show depicts us as this group of women who give birth on pool tables, get blown up in bars, and if we happen to be the wives of enlisted soldiers, were pulled out of a hopeless situation by our man in uniform. My Army wife friends are educated, have all given birth in hospitals, and rarely have the time to frequent bars let alone have one get blown up while we're in it.

One thing the show gets right is the commraderie we share. At a gathering for new Army Wives to Vicenza, I met a great group of women. Part of our week's activities included taking a train to Venice for the day. In just the short train ride, I knew more about the three ladies I shared seats with than I ever learned about my college roommate. (Don't worry, Vicki...I won't tell them what YOU said!)

Our day in Venice was fantastic. It was my first day getting to tour around without kids. We purse shopped, enjoyed a great lunch (ok..not great lunch, but great wine and even better conversation), and saw some of the sights not mentioned in the tour books. I learned that there was a separate area in Venice where the Jewish people were sent to during WWII. Because the area was so small, and so many Jews were forced to live there, they had nowhere to go but up, so the buildings there are some of the tallest in Venice.

While walking around, we also saw a funeral. With no cars in Venice, the casket was wheeled through the piazza on a cart, and taken to a boat where it was carried to the cemetery.

We finished our tour of Venice with a water taxi ride back to the train station. Like kids after a day at the amusement park, we were all exhausted and slept the ride back. The next day we would be touring Vicenza, and there were street markets to shop.

Ciao' for now!

Italian Fashionistas

Search the web and you will find a website dedicated to the fashion nightmares of WalMart. The hot-pink, spandex-wearing, belly-exposed women (and men) are caught unknowlingly by presumably more fashion-savy people with cell phone cameras. These pictures are then posted for others to enjoy (aka mock). The pictures are like minitaure train-wrecks; capturing and holding your attention as you utter words of, "what were they thinking? do they have a mirror?"

So, could it be possible that in Italy, the fashion mecca of the world, there are people who walk around wearing anything but the latest styles? You better believe it! My son, who normally is oblivious to most anything as his eyes are usually pointed straight at his DS, once said as we were driving, "Do all of the men in Italy wear purple pants?" "Only the guh..." - a swift backhand to DH prevented him from finishing his answer. We don't need to go there YET.

On driving home yesterday, as I rounded the traffic circle near our house, I saw a man on a bike. He was wearing a full length mink coat (I'm guessing it was mink...I luckily didn't get a feel), huge Paris Hilton sunglasses, a FABULOUS black sequined winter hat (the kind with the brim that rolls, also covered in sequins), and was carrying a rainbow colored umbrella, as it was raining. I know it was a man because I got a really close look at him, as he was driving in the center of my lane and almost became my hood ornament because he was traveling at a slow 2 miles per hour.

An Italian national (what we military call the Italians that work on base) that works at the cell phone store in the P/X dresses very "revealing." She leaves little to the imagination (picture Peg Bundy). I once asked an Italian friend of mine if she was typical of how Italian women dress, and my friend's reply was, "No, she's just trashy." So, I guess Italians do have their own version of WalMart people.

Ciao' for now!

Mount Pasubio and the great outdoors

DH exclaimed to me that he was tired of looking at buildings. How??? How could you be tired of looking at buildings when we are in a country where the buildings we are looking at were made before our country even existed? Ok, so DH does not have the appreciation for architecture that I do. I give him credit though. He did not complain during our excursions to any of the cities we've visited so far. Up until now, I thought he was enjoying it when I stopped every few steps to point out a buildings facade or unusual window casing. (Turns out Italy has some interesting architecture because during the time of Columbus, when they were taking their ships to the Far East for spices and other stuff, they brought back with them the ideas of some of their architecture. Bored yet? DH was.) OK, so he wasn't enjoying my tid-bits of knowledge, but at least he went along with it. So, we decided to have a day for him to choose our adventure.

My DH's idea of fun is to hike up a mountain. Don't get me wrong, I love the outdoors. I love to hike. I love to pack a picnic, stop and take pictures, and enjoy a leisurely stroll. DH and I differ a little bit here. DH is happy donning a 30lb rucksack and high-tailing it straight up a mountain, and then tying ropes to the top and rappeling down said mountain. I'm ok with the rapelling down (LOVE heights). But having my heart explode out of my chest at high elevations from running up a 60 degree path strewen with rocks and sticks along a cliff's edge, not so much.

Here is where the lyme's disease worked in my benefit. DH actually kept a pace with me. I don't know if it was just the lyme's, or if he was liking the fact that the boys were at daycare, and this was the first time in months that we had any time to be alone. We were both half-way dead until we made it half-way up the mountain. But, the views were so amazing. Even he understood when I wanted to stop and take pictures. He wasn't even upset when the tour group from the local nursing home passed us (I don't know if it's the pasta or the wine, but older Italian people are one physically fit group).

We finally made it up to the top. DH had chosen to hike Mt. Pasubio because it is where the Italian soldiers during WWI built tunnels in the mountain to use as bunkers and as a way from getting materials from one camp to another. Turns out we took a wrong turn, and the area of Mt Pasubio we climbed was NOT the side with the tunnels. Whoops! Maybe next time. Stupid GPS.

Ciao' for now!

All that marble and still nowhere to sit

Everything in Italy is made of marble. In our house, every floor and even the stairs are covered in marble. So, you would think that in a country where marble is so readily available, someone would have figured out that it would benefit human kind if they used some of their marble to make some toilets. We have visited lots of places where the best they could come up with was this odd thing to stand on. There were handy grooves cut into the marble so you knew exactly where to put your feet, but yet there was nowhere to put your butt.

For men, this is not too big of a deal when out in public. They just stand and aim for the hole. For women, this is like being back in Girl Scout camp and having to dig your own hole then pray you keep your balance. I now understand why women in Italy where boots up to their knees. It's not actually for the fashion, they're using them as splash guards.

And you can't judge a building from the outside as to the type of facilites they will have on the inside. Even newer buildings are designed with the anti-toilet. How much does a toilet cost? It can't be THAT expensive. From now on, I think I'm going to refuse to pay the cover charge the restaurant charges if they don't have an official toilet.

Here is also the part of traveling in Italy that has been made the most interesting with kids. Unlike adults, who can hold bodily functions until they get home, three year-olds can't. When a three-year old says they have to go, you find them a place to go. The blessings of boys are definitely noticed until the fateful words, "I have to poop" are uttered. I opened the door to the restroom to find a hole in the ground. Fantastic. Now what? I ask my son if he can wait until we find another bathroom, but he has already learned that public bathrooms are not easy to find in Italy. Should I have him just poop in his pants? I can always throw away the underwear. Forget that, I have the only three year old who refuses to go commando. So, I become a human toilet seat. I crouch down in the small bathroom and basically hold up my kid so he can do his business. Not pleasant. The look on my face must have been priceless when I returned to the table, as DH didn't even ask, "How did it go?"

Ciao' for now!