Side Trip to Firenze.

By prior arrangement, we drove to Florence to meet our friends the Drydens, who were in town on a 6-hour whirlwind tour off a cruise boat parked in Livorno. After some anxious hours we finally made contact by email and agreed to meet by the golden doors of the Baptistry, by the Duomo. Despite out limited time together, it was all a great success: Nancy took Patti and her sister-in-law Carol to the local food market for a bit, while Rod and his mother and I walked around a bit before picking up tickets for the Uffizi. We all went through the museum together, though a bit rushed for time, and still managed a drink and antipasto in a cafe by the Sprito Santo before they had to load up. It was great for Nancy and me to be in the company of such enthusiastic travelers; we sometimes get stressed by our forays into the "big city" and forget what a special place it is!
Apart for our meeting with the Drydens, Nancy and I had some nice walks and couple of swell dinners. Our hotel from two years ago had closed shop to become a residential hotel, and we ended up in nice room - part of the "Old Bridge" hotel , which seemed to be composed of two floors of an apartment building - which was just a couple of blocks from the Ponte Vecchio. The catch, of course, as per usual in Florence, no real parking availiable except what you can pay dearly for: the first night we got bad advice and gained a parking ticket; the second night we ponyed up for an indoor stall at a nearby garage. At 25 euros, not cheap, but not the end of the world. We also discovered that cappucino and brioche for two costs 10 euros in a "neighborhood", as opposed to 18 euros with sight of the Palazzo Vechio.
We returned to our little farmhouse in Camaiore on the first of September, and our Australian/Italian cousins the Casalis came over for a short visit in the afternoon.

Settling In.

In the days following our arrival we hustled to get ourselves squared away in our new place. One of our "Italian" cell phones the oldest, had been deactivated due to lack of use, and we had to buy a new SIM card and phone number for it; the nice man at the shop in Camaiore walked us through it. We some basic food shopping at the Conad, a smallish grocery store in town (one of the few businesses that remains open during the "pausa" in the afternoon) and stocked up on anti-bug provisions: plug-in repellants and sprays.
The grocery stores here, especially the big "Esselunga" market in the next town, look similar to their American counterparts. Notably, the checkout clerks sit rather than stand at their stations, and all bagging is left to the customers. If you use a shopping cart you must surrender a one euro coin to a receiver on the cart, which you can only retrieve after you surrender the cart back to the rack - not a bad idea.

We contacted Gabriella, my second cousin and our original point of connection with the family in Lucca. She has recently retired from her job teaching English in a secondary school, much to her happiness, and apparently has has obtained a more joyous outlook on life and slimmed down quite a bit as well. We has a drink with her in the early evening in Lucca, at a bar in the Piazzale Napoleone. She passed on what she knew about the members on the local family and we began to make plans for a family picnic on the ninth of September.

The next we contacted my mother's first cousin Luanna and were invited over for drinks, and this evolved into dinner, and a rather late night talking and hanging out with the family - Luanna, her daughter Isabella, son-in-law Lucciano and their two daughters, Claudia, about 12, Frederica, about 9. Isabella can speak a little English, in a pinch, but this was essentially an all-Italian night. Nancy and I were doing much better than we ever had before, in terms of following the conversation and making appropriate contributions, but we are agreed that this family speaks very fast and are the greatest challenge for us. Towards the end of the night the girls had us attempting to translate some of their favorite American boy bands songs, and Lucciano had me fully engaged in a discourse on the the recent italian World Cup Victory over the French.

Venice to Lucca

Our last day in Venice we resolved to take the boat ride to see the "unspoiled" outlying island of Burano, famed of colorful fishermen's homes and a cottage lace-making industry. A boat stop along the way was the more frequently-visited island of Murano (with an "M"), the glass-blowing center. For the record, we agreed that this stop would entitle us to say "yes, we did see the glass factories on Murano" and to remark "It's amazing to how they can get all those colors into the glass and twist it around like it was taffy" and claim without fear of discovery " we bought a beautiful glass parrot on a grass tree branch, but it was broken by baggage handlers" - this last, of course, will be a bald-faced lie.
Burano, with a "B," where we actually got off the dock, was a pleasant enough place, kind of a small-scale mini-Venice, with 2-story, brightly-painted homes, just a few canals, and more space between the buildings, all of which allowed for a more cheery feeling. More familiarly, there were the over-priced small restaurants and long line of gift shops. There was an emphasis on the use of lace, most evident in displays of lace parasols, an item for which it is difficult to imagine any use (a very "romantic" outdoor wedding?)
There was little indication of the fishing tradition of the island - which we nearly circumnavigated in 20 minutes of strolling - in fact, most of the place had been primped and painted to the degree that it gave some of the impression of having being "dressed" for benefit of the tourists. "Unspoiled"? Hardy; our beer-pasta-cheese lunch: fifty-plus euros, multiply by 1.28 for dollars.
Our last night at the hotel, there was lightning and thunder and a tremendous downpour which had the waiters at the pizzeria under our windows scrambling to get table linens and menu boards under cover.



Happy to have see Venice again but not unhappy to be moving on, we managed the boat ride back to the parking structures and were on our way southwest towards Lucca. Our destination this night was an agriturismo near Bologna, a small place run by a couple to produced wine and fruit products. The only other guests present at the communal table were a couple from Ravenna, their young son, and one of their mothers. All 3 adults spoke quite English quite well, and we stayed up late with the father, an archaeologist and professor, exchanging thoughts on the World Cup, moving to the country, and the World Cup. But we were done, Nancy and I had gone through a whole bottle of the house Sangiovese as addition to some walnut-flavored grappa, and went upstairs to our commodious flat a bit tipsy.

Taking most of the next day, we choose the scenic route over the mountains - part of the Italian "Alpes" - and down to Fiesole and Florence, then west to Lucca and on to our rented farmhouse near the coast in Camaiore. It was our third appearance at this place; as usual, we presented ourselves at the landlord's villa. He and his wife were relieved to see us, as they had tried to confirm us via one of our local cousins, but had gotten no reply (see was out of town), Signor Dazzi gave us the normal walk-through on the house, discussing various "improvements" that had been made since our last visit, and promising to come in response to our phone call, if anything was needed. In testament to our advancement in the Italian language, we now conduct ourselves unassisted in our dealings with Sig. Dazzi, without any difficulty, though he speaks essentially no English. This is very gratifying.
The place has been and remains "rustic"; it is a two-story stone farmhouse, having been a home for a tenant-farmer's family on the estate. The mechanics of the modernized kitchen and the bathrooms are of the jury-rigged, vacation-cabin variety: everything seems to leak a little, or make a funny noise, or have a funny smell, or be entirely useless. The furniture ranges from older, damaged antiques to threadbare sofa-beds. You get the idea.
Still, the price is right. Sig. Dazzi accepted our reservation months ago, without any deposit, and at the same price as 2 years ago, which is probably less than half the going rate for a rental of this size. We had considered changing to a more "upscale" place this year, but the dollar/euro relationship being what it is...

After doing battle with the local indoor insect population the previous evening, and then awakened by a prolonged thunderstorm in the wee hours, we greeted the new day on the farm and made a late start to check out Lucca. Being Sunday, not much was open for business, but we did some window-shopping and had a cafe lunch (the waitress didn't break out of Italian for us, nice) and afterwards we rented a tandem bike for a giro around the walls - a first for us!

In the Cafe.

For the first time, we have both slept through the night. Nancy is off this morning to take a special tour - a "secret itinerary"- exploring passageways and hidden rooms in the Ducal Palace. I would have liked to have gone also, but there was only one ticket available! Instead I am in an internet cafe this morning, and have already managed to help a couple of English-speakers while here - so many people traveling without a working knowledge of computers or even their own cameras! There are more cafes here than last time, and although time is not very cheap (8 euro per hour) they are acquiring the capacity to hook up visiting laptops.

– Jim

Days in the city.

We've been trekking far and wide around the city for two days, mostly to see "important" churches and outlying neighborhoods. There is a new picturesque scene in every piazza and from every small bridge; the difficulty lies in maintaining the illusion that one is having any sort of personalized experience, as the crowds of tourists are pervasive. Although we have walked miles from St. Marks Square, we have yet to have a meal without the company of fellow (non-Italian) tourists Thankfully we will not need to queue up for St. Mark's cathedral or the Doge's palace (waits of hours) as we accomplished those missions in 2001.
There is a seemingly endless display of wares near the center of the city: the normal souvenir stands with shirts, novelty hats, snow-globes, pens; shops with glittering papier-mâché masks, puppets, glassware, beads; upscale storefronts with expensive jewelry, lingerie, high-fashion clothes and shoes. In short, it is the nightmare of most heterosexual American males.
There's no denying the remarkable beauty of the city, and the accumulated works of architecture and decorative art are beyond impressive. The sheer complexity of the decorations within even the smaller churches speak of many lifetimes of work by generations of craftsmen, and it is quite humbling.
But there is a special brand of fatigue in viewing such a breath of history and art in the space of a few days (and in the company of thousands of fellow pilgrims). We have still not found it possible to get through an entire day without retreating to our hotel room at mid-afternoon, and today our "nap" extended 'til past sundown.

We splurged last in the evening a had a drink and coffee at Bar Florian in San Marco; an extravagance, but how often can we have this experience, to listen to live music and be attended (for once, promptly and with wonderful manners) by white-jacketed waiters, under a summer sky?

–Jim

Arrival in Venice

We spent last night on the mainland at an agriturismo (lodgings at a family farm), a few miles from the autostrada in the countryside. Our room was of recent manufacture (done up with first rate fixtures) in a building that appeared to be a reconstruction of a line of horse stalls: -our room's door was an amalgam of entry door and horse stall door. We had dinner in a dining hall with the few other guests and the staff, a nice simple meal of spaghetti, eggplant and seasoned pork chops, with a strong red wine, and grappa (distilled spirits) afterwards.
Now we've arrived in Venice.
We were last here on September 12, 2001! What a bizarre time that was. This time, being here in August, the city seems quite a bit more crowded, which is not surprising, as most of Europe seems to be on vacation during this month. We make a game of trying to guess the nationality of our fellow tourists before we hear them speak, and we're acquiring set of "clues." For instance: anyone wearing a shirt with english words is almost certainly NOT an english-speaking person, as it seems to be the fashion to wear clothes with innocuous english words, i.e., "St. Diego -California - class of 55" or "Let's Kiss" or "Fashion Sport". Women with very stylistic eyeglasses and shoes will be italian, or possibly French. Older couples who look almost American - but slightly more "upscale" - are probably German. Deep tans often indicate Italians, or young Germans. Peoples who seem particularly pushy in restaurants or standing in lines are often French. Overweight folks are most often northern european, English or German (or Americans, although they are smaller minority this year).
Our hotel room this year, in the same place as last time, is very pleasant, if not very large. We have air conditioning, which is welcome, as it has been fairly humid since our arrival in Italy, and when the sun is out it can be very uncomfortable outside. As in Baveno, we have a TV, though only 2 channels are in English: CNN International and a British sports channel. Much of Italian TV, the sit-coms and dramas, are dubbed American shows, like "Law and Order," or "Walker, Texas Ranger" or something old like "The Munsters." Almost anything might show up, apart from shows with all-black casts, for reasons one can imagine.

–Jim

The Road to Venice.

We're outside Milano, stopped at an AutoGrill turnout on the autostrada - we saw a sign for WiFi! Picked up mail, and made these first posts.
Saw hundreds of bike riders this morning on the shore road around Lago Maggiore. I was jealous. About 50% with helmets, despite the 2-lane road without a shoulder. Outfits all in order, a preference here for plain jerseys, or your own local team - very few "pro" jerseys, then mostly on very old men.

–Jim

First Days in Italy.

Baveno, Lago Maggiore

Well, we've been in Italy for a couple of days now, doing very little apart from recovering from the flight and adjusting to the new time zone (9 hours different). This is our third time staying in Baveno, about an hour and a half from Malpensa airport (Milano), but up in the mountains on the shore of Lago Maggiore. It is a picturesque spot, as are most all the little towns near here, but there are few of the "must-see" tourist attractions that might incline one to jump out of bed early. It is a good place to rest and recover, and we have had no agenda except to take take an occasional walk into town for a gelato or a good meal, or to stroll along the promenade in the evening. And we've been napping quite a bit, trying recover from the lack of sleep during the journey (Los Angeles-New York-London-Milano) while still managing to stay asleep during some large fraction of the nighttime.
Our Italian language skills are serving us well, and we have been successful in doing all our hotel and restaurant business with hardy a stumble. The town is fairly crowded with tourists, mostly Italian, but with a good number of Germans and a few French and English speakers. Most of the businesses on the main street are equipped to deal with all of these, we're sure, but still our efforts seem to be appreciated: it even seemed to us that we were given preferential treatment -over French and German-speaking couples- in getting a table at at local restaurant. Or maybe they even LIKE Americans in this area. There are almost no "PACE" (Peace) flags displayed here, but rather an unusual number of Italian national flags, possibly a sign of a right-of-center party dominance(?).

The flight was uneventful. Mercifully, we were traveling as points-upgraded business class, so our seats were fairly comfortable, we had plenty of legroom and polite flight attendants, and we could take advantage of the special lounge areas in the stop-over airports. Of course all these things only mitigate what is inescapably an unpleasant assault on one's sense of time and space, however much it is miracle to travel so far in so few hours.

–Jim