The Cows and the Contraband

Purple is so embarrassed by this story, he hangs his head in shame…and falls over!

I’ve often said that of all of the jobs one could have at an airport, the worst has to be manning the Lost Luggage Desk. People are never nastier than when they are told that, somewhere between the check-in desk and the baggage claim carousel, their black, nondescript Samsonite just *POOF* disappeared. I will spare you my soliloquy entitled, “For crying out loud, it’s 2014 and if an iPhone app can track the whereabouts of my friends and family in real time down to the inch, why can’t US Airways track my mother-loving bag?!?” and pose the following question – where does all of the lost airline luggage go?

Answer: Florence, Italy.

We’ve had two suitcase fatalities since arriving on The Continent two weeks ago – Ladybug, the pink polka-dotted bag we sent under the plane with our liquids, popped a strap in Venice and could no longer be carried and now, my beloved Pink rolleybag is officially crippled, having lost a wheel in Rome and a support foot sometime since then. Like Scarlett’s mule, he took me as far as he could and then, with Tara in sight through the smoke and mist, he just…well…croaked.

Luckily, we’re in Florence and Florence is our family’s favorite place to procure new luggage. In 2007 when the Cash Cow, the Little Calf, and I realized that we had perhaps over-indulged in the shopping arena over the course of our three-week adventure and with several days (and several train rides) left on our trip, we needed to acquire a new suitcase in order shlep all of our stuff home. So one afternoon, while the Little Calf napped, the CC and I took a little field trip into the Florentine market to find one. Seven years ago, stalls in the Mercato Centrale overflowed with cheap luggage options, and we had no trouble finding a new, medium-sized canvas bag into which we could stuff our pile of purchases.

But when we got back to Hotel Casci and began transferring our crap from various cumbersome shopping bags into the new suitcase, we realized that the newest member of our baggage brigade was, in fact, too small to fit everything. So back to the market we went, heads drooped in shame, to procure a second, LARGER suitcase to accommodate our trinket transportation needs. And when we left Florence the next day, we also left the first, ‘holy-hell-how-much-did-you-buy-if-it-won’t-all-fit-in-me’ suitcase abandoned in our hotel room, free to a good home.

We’re not proud of it.

Anyway, on Saturday morning, the Cash Cow and I set out for an encore performance of “Wanted: New Suitcase” and returned with a relatively generic, medium-sized, 360-degree bag, sold to us by one of the pop-up stall keepers by the train station (apparently, we’re

My poor baby!

not the only people who arrive in Florence with a crippled crew.) Anyway, we checked the bag out, opened the zippers and made sure that everything worked before the CC haggled with the merchant and we hauled the newest member of the team back to the hotel. This morning, after I finally accepted the fact that my beloved Pink was, indeed, beyond saving, the CC and I set out once again to purchase a second (or fourth, depending on how you look at it!) Florentine suitcase before packing everything up, hitting the tracks and heading back to Venice for the conclusion of our trip (insert blood-curdling wail-o-sadness here.)

So as we are gathering up all of our stuff (before we left, I distinctly remember saying to myself, “Self, you’ve been to most of these places before. How much could you possibly buy?” and in response to that, I now say, “HA!!”), the CC rolls out her new, relatively generic, medium-sized, 360-degree bag and casually begins opening all of the pockets so that she can asess the room that she has and what can go where.

And out falls a boarding pass.

No, not just a boarding pass, but an entire PACKET of travel information belonging to one El-Aziz Abdi Williams (I can’t make that up) of Rome, Italy. That is, we assume he lives in Rome because the itinerary was for a round trip flight from Italy’s capital city to another capital city – Cairo – aboard Egypt Air, dated May 2014!

The Cash Cow and I literally stopped what we were doing, froze in our tracks, and just stared at this pile of papers in the middle of our hotel room floor, willing it to pop up, sprout a mouth, and explain to us what just happened.

Our new suitcase was used!

A thousand questions immediately filled my head – How had this suitcase ended up for sale in a tent outside of Stazione di Santa Maria Novella when its original trip had concluded in Rome? Had it been abandoned in a hotel room by a trio of gluttons only to be scavenged by the hotel staff to be resold at 100% profit? Or had it been lost on a tarmac, found, gutted of all of its valuables before being resold at 100% profit? Had Mr. Williams used it to transport contraband back into Italy before ditching it on the side of the road, only to have it discovered by a group of jawas in the Tantooine desert who put it in their steel slave transport vehicle and drove it north?

Or…was it stolen? Had Mr. Williams stopped to ask someone for directions in Leonardo da Vinci International, only to discover moments later that his bag had walked away with a new owner? Had Mr. Williams been off’ed by a pair of women desperate for a new piece of luggage only to have the bag chucked when they realized it was, indeed, too small for their purchases? Had it been stolen from a hotel shop to transport a body from Bali and then ditched in the hope that two oblivious Americans would purchase it and deflect attention away from the real criminal?

The plot thickened when, upon further investigation, the CC and I discovered yet another intriguingly bizarre item hidden in the deep, front pocket of our used/new suitcase – a wooden egg, resembling one that you might find in a market in Finland or Sweden. Um…what??? Had there been a clandestine trip to the Land of the Midnight Sun in this bag’s sortied past? This thing is almost as well-travelled as me!

Long story short, I couldn’t get that packet of info and the mysterious wooden egg into the trashcan fast enough, hoping somehow that discarding the evidence of our recent acquisition’s shady past would absolve us of any wrong doing should we discover that our used/new piece of luggage had been involved in unsavory activity before being adopted by us. I had visions of us standing in the Marco Polo Airport only to have a drug-sniffing dog show interest in said used/new suitcase and the next thing you know, we’re the newest cast members of Locked Up: Abroad. Let’s face it, when I say I don’t want to leave Italy, I don’t mean I’d rather be dragged into a prison cell by the Politzia than go back to the States.

After all, to quote an earlier blog post, I don’t do deglow!

Oh, and if your name is El-Aziz Abdi Williams, and you were recently relieved of a suitcase…well, finders keepers 🙂

The Other White Meat

I am a pig.

That statement is how I opened my college application essay to William and Mary, in which I discussed how my personality lines up with those traits attributed to people born in the Chinese Zodiac Year of the Pig. Among other things, we are stubborn, hot-tempered, non-confrontational, guarded, well-behaved, and loyal to the people we love. We also love to eat and enjoy the good life.

Sounds about right 🙂

Anyway, while the Cash Cow and I toured two of Tuscany’s hill towns today, this little piggy realized that she is more hog than she originally thought. It hit me square in the snout. Literally! Ok, here’s what happened:

The CC wanted to make sure that I got a chance to see some of the Tuscan countryside while we were in Florence, and so with help of the Hotel Casci staff, she arranged to have a driver take us on a day trip to a couple of the hill towns today (most of the little towns are not accessible by train, and if they are, it’s a haul from the station to the town center, so a car really is the way to go. And the roads around here can get tricky, so it’s nice to have a local in the driver’s seat!) So Francesca, a young Italian lady who, as it turns out, works for the Uffitzi Gallery, met us this morning and off we went, bound for San Gimignano and Volterra.

At Francesca’s recommendation, our first stop was San Gimignano and within an hour of leaving Florence, the CC and I were walking through the gates of the 2,000-year old walled city. It was a bit overcast this morning (Francesca even offered us umbrellas, but we declined out of optimism!), so the temperature was brisker than we’re used to, but it seemed an appropriate way to set the scene in the sleepy town (most of the shops weren’t even open yet at 10:00am. Europe rules.)

San Gimignano is known for its towers, and in its prime, over seventy of them jutted up over the medieval city wall. Only fourteen of them remain today, and the CC and I passed by several of them as we meandered through the quiet streets and through moss-covered passageways to look over the hill at the countryside, dotted with orange roofs and cylindrical cypress trees. Occasionally we would walk by a house with laundry drying on the line in the garden. We saw a cat scratching at a back door and toys piled in a doorway. Sometimes, it’s hard to imagine that these tiny towns are still alive and filled with people who call it home. And then it’s easy to imagine living here (although one does wonder where they shop!)

Anyway, the town began stirring around 11am and the streets quickly filled with locals and tourists alike. We wandered through a pop-up flea market (always on the hunt for wine glasses, although I’m not sure how I’ll get the eight I’ve already purchased on this trip home. Details.) and into shops selling huge bags of pasta and brightly pottery and stuffed boars (yep, the symbol of Florence is everywhere there too, as San Gimignano fell under Florentine control in the 14^th Century after half of the town’s population died of the plague. Although I’m sure his omnipresent likeness has more to do with tourism than tradition.)

But the thing that San Gimignano is best known for, shopping wise, is wood. The Cash Cow brought me a risotto spoon after her first visit here in 2010, and I use it almost every day. We found the store again, and I treated myself to a gorgeous wooden serving bowl (well, I saw it but had to think about it before committing, which required a return visit to the store just before we had to meet back up with Francesca. I had flashbacks of London, circa 2004, when I decided at the very last minute that I just had to have the porcelain coffee mug depicting the Kings and Queens of England that I’d seen in the Westminster Abbey gift shop. So back across town we went, dodging the man-eating pelican in the process, so that the calf could have her mug. Trust me, it was totally worth the brush with death. And this bowl was worth the uphill climb.)

Ok, so San Gimignano was adorable and both the CC and I really enjoyed our brief but fulfilling visit. But the one thing that stuck with me was the smell. (Ask the CC – it was all I could talk about in the car on the way to our next stop. I just kept repeating “It smelled SO good!”) I couldn’t put my finger on what it was and the only way I could describe it was that it smelled like Italy, if Italy was a smell – like salt and soil and richness and warmth.  In all of the time I’d spent in Italy, in all of the time I’ve spent in the world, I had never smelled anything like it. It was potent and deep and it hung in the air even as we left San Gimignano and headed to our next hill side town – Volterra.

I love that the Cash Cow decided to take me to Volterra not because it’s another charming Tuscan walled city within driving distance of Florence, but because it’s featured prominently in the Twilight books (yes, I read them all. And I’m not ashamed of it. Even well-educated English majors have guilty pleasures!) as the hometown of an ancient, somewhat evil Vampire coven, the Volturi. Even though the movie (which I’ve also seen. Judge away.) was filmed elsewhere, the Tween cult series put Volterra on the pop culture map (something I’m sure makes Fake Dad cringe, as he calls Volterra his favorite Tuscan hill town.) You’ll be pleased to know, however, that there wasn’t a vampire in sight! Phew 🙂

We should have known that something big was up when the Poletzia wouldn’t let Francesca pull up the main city gate, forcing her instead to drop us off on a side street. And then, we really should have known that something was up when we noticed that about half of the people headed up the hill with us were dressed in medieval garb. Turns out that we had chosen to visit Volterra on the day of the town’s feudal appreciation festival (or at least that’s what we think it was) and it would cost us a staggering €10 EACH to enter the town square. The CC (who had visited Volterra with her girlfriends in 2010 and later revealed that she hadn’t thought much of it) and I both decided that the Euro would be better spent on wine, and so we made the disappointing decision to nix the city center and just walk around the perimeter of the town’s wall and graze on what we could find there.

Now, by now, we should know that the unexpected leads to the unforgettable on this trip and it didn’t take long for us to realize that not paying to enter the town square was probably the best decision we would make all day. Turns out, the pedestrian road around Volterra’s inner wall is lined with tiny shops and sidewalk restaurants, all of which went completely overlooked by the CC and her friends when they visited. Volterra is famous for its alabaster, and the craftsmanship on some of the pieces (you name it, they make it in this semi-soft, translucent mineral!) was exquisite. Four years ago, the CC brought me a white alabaster butterfly in memory of Grandmommy. I treated myself to a beautiful rose box.

And as we strolled from shop to shop, my swiney sense began to tingle again! The same smell I had encountered in San Gimignano was also in the air in Volterra, and once again, the CC had to endure my “it smells so good here!” exclamations on continuous repeat.

Finally, it was time for my favorite part of the day – lunch! – and so the CC and I sat down at a small table at a bustling sidewalk trattoria called La Taverna (we selected it because we liked the decorations around the restaurant door :)) After the trattoria’s owner took our drink order, he told us that he had fresh black truffles before rushing back into the restaurant (it was like sitting down at a restaurant in Virginia Beach and being told that they have soft shell crabs on the menu), leading the CC and me to deduce that it must be black truffle season in Tuscany. I had never eaten truffles before, and it had been years for the CC, so  we took the hint and ordered bruschetta with fresh black truffles along with two of the ‘specialties del giorno’ – fettuccine with shrimp, zucchini, and saffron and ravioli filled with crustaceans (that’s as specific as the menu got) in an orange sauce.

While we enjoyed the house wine (delicious!) and waited for our meal, the CC and I watched the friendly proprietor emerge from the restaurant carrying a bowl piled high with golf-ball sized truffles from which he then shaved thin chips of the funny looking delicacy onto bowls of fresh pasta.

I’ve always thought of truffles as being expensive and very, very potent (the Food Network chefs are always advising against the use of more than a drop of truffle oil in dishes), so to see them added to plates in such generous portions was simply fascinating, and I couldn’t wait to try them.

But before we did, I asked the man to bring bowl over for a photo op. (They really are gnarly looking things. Makes you wonder who first thought to try and eat one, much less determine that they are a prized food item!) And after I snapped a few pictures, I leaned in to see what the truffles smelled like. And…

EUREAKA!!

That smell, that incredible ‘I’ve-never-smelled-anything-like-this-and-it’s-amazing’ smell that hovered deliciously in the streets, first in San Gimignano and now in Volterra! It finally had a name – Truffles! They were in season and the restaurants were serving them and the grocers were selling them and so the air was filled with truffles! It was, for me, one of those incredible moments you have while traveling when everything suddenly comes together and your eyes are opened to something new and different and exciting.

And what do farmers use to sniff out truffles?? PIGS!! Amazing!

In case you’re curious, the taste lived up to the smell – delicate, salty, meaty, earthy – and they added just the right amount of unique flavor to our fresh bruschetta pomodoro. The entire experience will definitely go down as a trip highlight, as will the rest of our meal, which was finished off with tiramisu, freshly made this morning by the proprietor’s wife. Delizioso!

I should also mention that lunch was enhanced by Laura, the nine-year-old red short-haired dachshund who pranced out of her house (located next door to our trattoria) and followed her Papa into the family’s store. By the time the Cash Cow got up and went into the store to see her, Laura was already flaked out lengthwise in her Papa’s lap. About an hour later, Laura obediently pranced back across the street to her house to nap. We just love how this country loves its dogs!

So after we left Volterra, Francesca drove us back to Florence but not before surprising us with a stop at Piazza Michelangelo, a famous square on the south side of the Arno that offers a panoramic view of the city. Chances are, if you’ve seen a picture of the Florence skyline, it was taken from this location, and almost as soon as I stepped out of the car and onto the terrace, I felt completely overcome with emotion as I gazed out over the city that I love. It was, simply put, breathtaking.

Putting my own spin on Gertrude Stein’s famous quote, I often say that Virginia is my country, but Florence is my hometown. The Old Dominion has my heart. And The City of Lilies has my soul. Standing there, watching The Duomo keep patient and dutiful watch over the city, I had no doubt that my soul is in excellent hands.

What an amazing day!

Ciao for now,

The Calf

 

The Saga of the Boar and the Bird Poop

Greetings to all on this, the evening of our first full day in Florence!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – I just LOVE this city! Everything about it draws me in and soothes me and makes me feel alive. There is a song in the musical “The Light in the Piazza”, which takes place in Florence, that describes this city as one of statues and stories. I couldn’t have said it better. What a rich and deep and beautiful place to be!

Even in the rain. It started to spritz a bit this morning just after breakfast (which included the fabulous Hotel Casci cappuccino that I remembered from seven years ago!) and turned into full-fledged rain shortly thereafter. Luckily, both the CC and I were packing umbrellas AND neither of us is made of sugar (shocking, yes, but true.) And to me, the gray skies and showers only seemed to make the city more regal and more affecting. I always thought that the William and Mary campus was prettiest in the rain. It was something about the way that the matte light made the ancient bricks look wiser, shrouded in mystery and memory and subtle grace. To me, a rainy Florence is the same – just as beautiful under dark clouds as under a cloudless sky.

Anyway, our first order of business this morning was to hit the Mercato Centrale, Florence’s big outdoor market which both the CC and I remembered as being full of stalls selling traditional Florentine goodies – marbled stationary, wooden trays, etc. – as well as clothes, shoes, and leather items all at very reasonable prices (with a bit of bargaining, of course!) I bought a red linen dress there in 2007 that not only still fits, but remains a summer wardrobe go-to staple. I know that it will eventually give up, and so I had hoped to find the same dress (or something similar) and stock up. The Cash Cow and I had planned on our market shopping experience being so successful that we would have to purchase an additional suitcase (also available in the market) just to get all of our purchases home!

Boy were we surprised to find that not only were all of the gifts and trinkets we had hoped to buy not for sale on the makes-shift stall shelves, but most of the merchants (who I remember as being flirty and forward) were not even Italian. Most of the stalls were manned by immigrants who seemed more interested in their cell phones than in making a sale. I didn’t even see a single dress for sale! All of the goodies we had purchased seven years ago had been replaced with cheap knock-off purses and every crude t-shirt you can imagine (David’s nether regions were a very popular image on everything from magnets to boxer shorts to aprons…seriously) The unexpected nature of this trip continued as the Cash Cow and I left the market having bought nothing!

We tried again at the Mercato Nuovo, a smaller covered market near the Ponte Vecchio, but again left empty-handed. We did, however, finally find Porcellino, a bronze statue of a baby boar (the boar is the symbol of Florence) that sits on the sidewalk next to the market.

Tradition states that if you run Porcellino’s snout, you’ll return to Florence one day. You are also supposed to place a coin in his mouth to have a wish granted. Porcellino got plenty of love from me (in the rain, it looked like he was drooling, which somehow made him extra adorable. I couldn’t decide whether he looked more like Pumba or my dachshund Cinnamon!) to ensure a future visit to this, my soul city. Man, rubbing the exposed appendages of bronze statues seems to be a theme on this trip!

So after our date with Porcellino, the Cash Cow and I continued over the Ponte Vecchio (which was crazy packed with people, even in the pouring rain) to the southern bank of the Arno River and wandered toward Piazza Santo Spirito, which Fake Dad had mentioned as a good place to enjoy an outdoor lunch (yes, even when it’s raining we eat outside!) As we neared the Pitti Palace, the rain let up a bit and so we put our umbrellas away, which turned out to be a big mistake because not a moment later, the Cash Cow stopped dead in her tracks and exclaimed, “Ah! What was that?” I turned to look at her as she started combing through her hair with her fingers. “I just felt something land on me!” she told me. “Was it bird poop?” Now, sometimes, I have known the CC to be a bit of a bovinecus dramaticus, especially when we are in an area with a very large avian population (she is a popular potty target for pigeons) and so I took a (very brief) look at her head and dismissed her claim, telling her that she was crazy and that it was just water. Suddenly, the Cash Cow pulled her fingers back and lo and behold, they were covered in the tell-tale green-grey slime, prompting us both to do a tiny freak out dance right in front of the Medici Palace. Throwing Fake Dad’s advice to the wind (he tells us in his tour book to wait for the poop to dry should you find yourself the recipient of a special bird blessing; it’s easier to chip it out after it’s hardened), the Cash Cow and I pulled out a package of kleenex and began the tedious task of clean up on aisle Firenze. And while I wanted to make every “vanity! Thy name is madre!” reference out there, I was quite impressed when the CC demanded that I use water from a puddle in the street to aid in our efforts. In the end, you never would have known about the Cash Cow’s unfortunate run-in with the runs of the Roman Squirrel. But she did look at all of the pigeons we encountered throughout the rest of the day with an evil “be glad I don’t have my crossbow with me right now” stare.

After a fun lunch at a little outdoor cafe in Piazza Santo Spirito (we ate a kind of pasta that I have honestly never seen before!),

the Cash Cow and I traveled back over the Arno for a visit to Santa Croce Church, the final resting place of (among others) Michelangelo. Seeing the Statue of David was one of the most affecting moments of my life, and since then, I’ve tried my best to gorge myself on all things related to the Florentine artist. It was important to me to pay my respects, as well as see the funerary statues decorating the other cenotaphs and tombs in the church, most specifically Galileo and Machiavelli. There is also an elaborate tribute to Dante, although he is buried in Ravenna. Dante loved Florence the way that I love Virginia and it’s heartbreaking to me that his body was not returned to his beloved hometown after his death. The man authored one of the most incredible and influential works of literature in the known world, but he pissed off the wrong people (placing real people in your fictional hell probably isn’t the smartest move) and so it was exile for Florence’s not-so-favorite son.

Anyway, the church is lovely and provided a nice, quiet respite from the crowded city streets. What’s fascinating is that there are a slew of unmarked graves in the church and graves with markers embedded in the floor that, over time, have eroded to the point of being practically unrecognizable. It sort of reminded me of another thing that I love about Florence – a nobody like me can walk through the streets and rub shoulders with the legacies of history’s somebodies. Florence is city built by great men that is now accessible to the every man. It’s hard not to feel like you’re a part of something great here.

The Cash Cow and I finished our day with dinner at the same little restaurant at which we ate last night. Our waiter recognized us right away and again encouraged me to try out my (not so great) Italian. As I sounded out the words, he told me to just say it like it is spelled and to do so with confidence. Alas, as a long-time student of French (where nothing is pronounced the way that it is spelled!) I think I have a long way to go. Luckily, fluency is not a prerequisite for dinner and we enjoyed another fabulous one – prosciutto and melon, caprase salad, fusilli with tuna, pici with garlic and ham, and chocolate and pear torta.

Everything we put in our mouths was delicious and again, the place was packed with locals and other adventurous tourists who wanted something more than just the run-of-the-mill pizza options near THE Duomo.

Another wonderful day done and tomorrow, we’re off to visit the hill towns of Tuscany!

I cannot believe that our trip is almost over! Where did the two weeks go??

Ciao for now,
The Calf

Rome (if you want to!)

Wow – what a day!!

Today was one of those travel days that truly separates the USDA-Certified Premium Choice Cows from the run-of-the-mill rump roast. And it taught us, once again, that this really is the trip of the unexpected. Here’s how it went down:

The Cash Cow and I got up early to enjoy our last breakfast on the MS Riviera Terrace before disembarking and heading to Florence. The plan was simple – gorge (because, frankly, we didn’t know when we would eat again; we also stashed a few extra croissant in a couple of CLEAN Ziploc bags just in case of a hunger emergency!), then hop the free shuttle from the ship to the pier entrance, hop a shuttle from the pier entrance to the Civiteveccia train station, hop a train from Civiteveccia to Rome Termini, and then hop a train from Rome Termini to Florence.

Piece of cake, si?

No way, Jorge! Our rookie mistake was thinking that we would be the only bucket in town, when in fact five OTHER cruise ships had also pulled into Civiteveccia this morning, resulting in hundreds of disembarking passengers contending for the same seats on the same shuttles taking us all to the same train station at the same time. Mamma Mia! What was equally hilarious was that our fellow Oceania passengers looked to the CC and me as the authority and the little authority on where and when to catch said shuttles. No worries there, though. There’s nothing we do better than starting lines!

Which leads us to surprise number one of the day. While waiting to be picked up by the silver bus (that was our stage direction – “wait for the silver one” – the CC and I were engaged in conversation by a young lady and her madre, who were also attempting to reach Rome (albeit to catch a flight back to Chicago.) This fellow mother and daughter act, soon to be known as Jennifer and Maria, turned out to be fabulous traveling companions, and they made an otherwise slightly stressful (and VERY hot) transfer experience very enjoyable. As a quartet, we successfully navigated the shuttle system, the electronic train ticket machines, the convoluted Civiteveccia station, and the trains (complete with less-than-friendly train compartment occupants.) We chatted together until they got off of the train just before Rome Termini, and Jennifer (Maria’s calf) gave me hope that like her, I might one day find a husband who would be very supportive of me traveling the world without him. It’s a shame that we only met this fellow mother-daughter act as we were leaving the ship, but better late than never, right? On our next cruise (and the CC assures me that there will be a next cruise, even if she doesn’t know it yet!) I think we should organize a mother-daugher meet-and-greet (like Friends of Bill W., only with booze :))

Anyway, we bid our new friends farewell, and soon we arrived at Rome Termini, the largest train station in the known world when you pull into platform 56 and need to get to platform 2 in ten minutes while schlepping two broken suitcases. Oh yes, did I mention how, when attempting to run from the shuttle bus to the train station ahead of the cruise ship passenger horde, my precious rolley bag popped a wheel? Yep, like Tiny Tim but without the “God Bless Us Everyone” attitude, my rolleybag went from two working feet to just one (what was even more hilarious was Maria running behind me holding the busted wheel yelling, “you lost a wheel!” Eh, I guess you had to be there.) So the Cash Cow and Calf, seasoned world travelers, once again looked like the Clampets, tugging two broken suitcases, two cumbersome suitcases, two Vera Bradley bags, and a partridge in a pear tree across the largest train station in Italy, trying to catch a train to Florence. All that was missing was a pair of piggly wiggly bags, a roll of duct tape, and a film crew. How we are not a reality show, I just do not know!

Ok, so we purchase our tickets and find our platform and hoist all of our crap onto the train to Firenze, only to discover that like so many Italian innovations, form doesn’t actually fit function and there is nowhere to store the two broken suitcases, the two cumbersome suitcases, the two Vera Bradley bags, and the Partridge. Not only do we look like morons trying to push our St. Bernards through the cat door, but we are getting some rather nasty looks from our fellow passengers, all of whom apparently got the memo that this train wasn’t exactly baggage friendly (I am SO learning Italian before I come back.) So the moral of this story is that we ended up purchasing two second-class train tickets for our luggage, which sat in our seats while the Cash Cow and I stood between the train cars in the exit row all the way to Florence.

Six hours after disembarking the Riviera, the Cash Cow and I arrived at our final destination – the Hotel Casci in Florence! This small, family-run establishment endeared itself to us seven years ago when the CC, the Little Calf, and I stayed here during our whirlwind, eight-day tour of Italy. It’s everything that a European hotel should be – cozy and charming with character around every curve of the long, narrow hallway that connects all of the hotel’s 28 or so rooms. The staff treats everyone like family, and when we arrived, Paola (the front desk manager) greeted us with a smile and a warm welcome while Signora (the hotel’s matriarch, we think) sat at a nearby table, unphased by our arrival as she counted out Euro. Soon, we were shown to our room, which is far more spacious than what we’re used to, though the shower curtain is a bit smaller than what we would expect (in that there is no shower curtain. You have to love Europe!)

We had just enough time to throw our six suitcases down and use the bathroom before it was time to head out on our first Florentine adventure of the trip – a visit to the Uffizi Gallery to see, among other things, Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. Hotel Casci had arranged out tickets (you have to do at least one touristy thing when you’re in Florence) and we had just enough time to walk over to the museum, past THE Duomo and the Piazza Vecchio (home to the Fake David and the Real Perseus.) I can’t imagine what it must feel like to live here and pass these incredible buildings every day (when Paola gave us directions, he told us to turn right at the Duomo like we would tell someone to turn right at the 7-11!) Of course, the Duomo hasn’t changed a bit in seven years (well, it hasn’t changed much in 500 years, but who’s counting?) and as we passed by, it took my breath away much the same way it did the first time I saw it. It’s truly a miracle of man!

This brings me to another surprise of the day – Birth of Venus.

Now, I fully admit that neither the CC nor I is a connoisseur of Renaissance art (I admittedly almost flunked art history in college, but I was only taking it because I heard that Prince William was majoring in it at St. Andrew’s…a lot of good that did either of us!), nor did we do the reading/research that we should have done before going to see this, perhaps one of the most famous paintings in the world. But after climbing to the second (unairconditioned) floor of the Uffizi Gallery, entering the Botticelli room, and turning the corner to view this iconic masterpiece, the Cash Cow and I looked at each other with the same underwhelmed expression.

First of all, it was much smaller than I thought it would be, and the colors were much more muted than I was expecting. It was a lovely piece, certainly, and it really was something to see the real thing in person after having seen countless manifestations of it over the years. But unlike our experience with The Last Supper, a work that I can only qualify as awe-inspiring, Birth of Venus was, in my opinion, just ok. It didn’t evoke any emotional response from either of us. What was surprising was that photography was allowed in the exhibit, and most of our fellow visitors seemed more interested in snapping pictures of Botecelli’s painting than they did in simply observing and admiring the piece. It’s a shame that nowadays, people seem to prioritize the imortilization of a moment on film over simply being present and losing one’s self in the joy of the experience. I still remember how I felt the first time I saw the Statue of David. No photograph could ever capture that.

On our way home from Uffitzi, the Cash Cow and I casually strolled into a stationary store next door to Hotel Casci. Now, taking this Calf into a notepaper store is like taking a friend of Bill W. into a vodka factory – I have an addiction to all things mailable (just ask the Little Calf; I wrote him everyday for six months while he was in Afghanistan and didn’t have to buy a single new card…have to being the operative words in that sentence. I totally stocked up like a Doomsday Prepper!)  Anyway, as I was perusing the beautiful Florentine stationary (and it really was all gorgeous!) the Cash Cow rounded the corner and told me that the owner of the store, Francisco, was conducting a demonstration of how he creates the iconic marble design that has become associated with Firenze.

He said it was much easier to show people the technique than to explain it as he used various tools to add swirls and dots and ribbons of acrylic paint to a tub filled with wallpaper glue (he noted that the time-honored process really hadn’t changed much in five centuries.) Francisco then gently placed a thin piece of parchment paper into the tub and voila! The page was instantly transformed into a work of marbelized art! The fascinating thing was that the primary colors of the acrylic paint, when mixed with the glue, morphed into the most beautiful pastels – bright greens and neon pinks, almost like a Lily Pulitzer design. It reminded me of the block printing process we had seen in India. The artist applied one color, only to have a completely different color appear on the printed fabric. Francisco told us that there wasn’t any real skill involved, but I had to disagree. Each of the pages he created before our eyes was a masterpiece!

Later, while I was admiring a box of hand-embossed notecards, Fransisco engaged me in conversation by asking me where I was from. When I said Virginia Beach, he told me that his daughter had been born there. Sure, I thought. What are the odds of meeting a shopkeeper in Florence who has ties to Virginia Beach of all places? But then he started talking about Princess Anne Country Club and the Boar’s Head Inn and the Oceanfront, and suddenly, I realized that this man really did have a connection to my home state. He told me that he holds Virginia very close to his heart, as he has very fond memories of living there (albeit briefly) and I told him that I consider Virginia the Florence of America – without it, there would be no country, the same way that Italy as we know it would not exist without the contributions of the Florentine people. We gave the world Washington and Jefferson. They gave the world Dante and Machiavelli and Michalengelo..hmm, when I put it that way, it’s a bit lopsided. But you get the point!

Turns out, Fransisco is a fifth-generation Florentine bookbinder, who transformed his father’s business into a high-end paper company and franchised it world-wide (he has stores all over, including New York City and Palm Beach, Florida) doesn’t usually come into the store, but today, his sales assistant had to leave early and so he agreed to fill in. What luck! Listening to him talking about creating and designing and producing and procuring art from around the world truly touched me. The passion with which he discussed his work, the connection he had to each and every piece in his store, the way he put creative expression over any financial gain – we were in the presence of a true artist. But it doesn’t strike me as odd that Florence, the city of Dante and Botticelli and Michelangelo, would still be home to today’s artistic masters, even if the products are a bit subtler than David or The Birth of Venus. One cannot spend a single moment in this city and not be inspired in some way. It gets under your skin and into your soul and makes you believe in the greatness achievable by mankind if one only puts pen to paper or chisel to marble or paint to glue. The two hours we spent chatting with Fransisco were unexpected, but indelible and so very enjoyable that we chucked all of our original plans for the afternoon to stand and chat with him. His soul spoke to mine, just as the soul of Florence speaks to my soul, and I think our visit here will be better for having crossed his path.

We finished our day with a delicious (and again, rather unexpected) meal at a tiny Trattoria on a side street around the corner from THE Duomo. Our waiter was eager for me to try out my (rudimentary) Italian, explaining that it was possible to learn the language one word at a time. Buonessimo was the first adjective he taught me, a word that easily encompassed our culinary experience at our table for two in the quiet square, barely big enough for five tables, a few vespas, and a fountain – pear and pecorino salad, fusilli with tuna, and steak with sun-dried tomatoes, spinach, and olives, all specials of the day and all washed down with several glasses of the refreshing vino della casa. The meal was fabulous and fabulously slow, as is the Italian way. Food is just one of the many secular sacraments here.

I’m always happy to worship at that altar!

Have I mentioned how much I love this country?

Ciao for now,
The Calf

We’re going to need a bigger boat!

This is the part of the trip where we look around our stateroom and say, “ok, hold the phone. There is no way we’ve purchased this much! Clearly our room steward has been using our cabin for storage! Or there is a squirrel loose on Deck 7!”

Honestly we really haven’t purchased all that much, but most of our acquisitions have been bulky items. Like wine glasses. And crèches. And the extra-large bath sheets stamped with the Oceania emblem (ok, just kidding about that last one but man, are they nice!) I did try to take the pair of complementary slippers, but when the Cash Cow saw them, she wisely pointed out that the space could be better allocated. We did, after all, buy lemoncello today 🙂

Everything is fine and wonderful until you get the letter from the Reception Desk telling you that your luggage must be packed, labeled, and in the hallway by 10:00pm or else. The Cash Cow’s carry-on is currently top-heavy and won’t stand up on its own (she swears that she didn’t steal any cutlery from the dinning room, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Two Holland America dinner forks did mysteriously appear in our kitchen drawer several years ago. Someone should really get the Little Calf into a 12-step klepto program ;)) I hope the suitcase is given a nice, quiet place to sleep it off  before tomorrow as we will be training it to Florence and will need everyone to be on his/her game!

Enjoyed our day in Capri and Sorrento immensely,  especially lunch, despite the fact that it was a sweltering day. The ferry ride over to Capri was lovely as was the open-air taxi we took from the pier to the mountaintop. The CC found a crèche made out of a ceramic lemon (so cute!) and I bought a little silver lemon for my charm bracelet.

In Sorrento, everything smells like citrus, and you can find just about any product your heart desires made out of lemons – soaps, perfumes, candles, sauces, candies, even risotto and pasta. Every other shop boasts its own brand of lemoncello, and every restaurant wants you to finish your lunch with a shot of it (it was VERY strong!) Garlic and peppers are also everywhere, hanging on doorways to protect houses from evil spirits. We saw a woman selling long braids of fresh garlic to passersby – no vampires to worry about here!

We sat and sipped the local wine over anti pasta and pizza in the Sorrento town square before heading back to the ship. I loved watching the dogs walk in and out of the restaurant with their owners, so well-behaved and so welcome. I think Cinnamon would love to be an Italian dog…except for the well-behaved part!

And just like that, the day was done, and tomorrow our cruise will be too. The CC and I agree that it’s been seven days of unexpected experiences, but while we’ve enjoyed ourselves, we are very much looking forward to being on our own again in Florence.

First item on the agenda tomorrow- tiramisu!!

Ciao for now,
The Calf

Hello from Sicily (Insert Your Favorite Godfather Reference Here!)

Greetings from Taormina!

The Cash Cow and I are flaked out after a very productive and enjoyable day on the island of Sicily, a place we visited briefly in 2007 on The Trip of a Lifetime, but didn’t really think much of. But as we’ve learned time and time again, you really cannot see just one city and make a judgement call about the entire area. Seven years ago, The Prisendam docked in Messina, which I remember as being dusty and pretty desolate. Taormina, on the other hand, is a delightful little hilltop town located about four miles from the cruise terminal of Giardini Naxos.

Getting there required a tender ride from the anchored ship (always an adventure, but hardly as harrowing as the return trip to the ship in Cozumel 2005. If you’re not afraid for your life, then it’s a good tender day!) followed by a somewhat terrifying taxi trip up the narrow, winding roads to the ancient city, perched on the edge of the mountain in the shadow of Mount Etna (Italian drivers are, simply put, crazy; one of our taxi companions compared our trip to the Tour de France!)

After our disappointing experience in Messina, the Cash Cow and I had admittedly low expectations for Taormina, but we were pleasantly surprised to find that our efforts to get to there really paid off. We were greeted by a small but lovely Sicilian town with pedestrian-only cobblestone streets lined with dozens of little shops, B&Bs, and cafes. But unlike Corfu, the merchandise didn’t all seem mass-produced and the merchants seemed more interested in sharing with us the traditions and history of their town than they did in hawking their wares. Sure, it was still clearly a touristy town, but it felt richer and more authentic than some of the other places we’ve visited on the cruise thus far. Clearly, Taormina has been able to maintain its identity despite being an established port of call for Mediterranean cruise ships.

In one shop, the CC and I met an artist who taught us about the Trinacria, a Sicilian symbol representing the island and used by locals as a talisman to ward off evil in their homes.

In another shop, a Canadian woman explained that pine cones are the Sicilian symbol of hospitality (very much like Virginians use the pineapple) and it is customary to put a pine cone in a house as a way of welcoming visitors. She also told us that she had moved to Italy at the age of seventeen after falling in love with an Italian man whom she met on vacation after finishing high school (he was working at the reception desk of her hotel – how cute!) I’ve visited Italy multiple times and have yet to be swept off of my feet by one of the (rich, handsome) locals. Some women have all the luck!

Perhaps one of the most interesting things we learned about Taormina was that it is traditionally thought to be the home of Polyphemus, the cyclops encountered by Odysseus in The Odyssey. The face of the Cyclops is everywhere around the city, mostly in the form of painted masks hanging in doorways.

Masks of Bacchus, the West Wind, and Hermes are also very prevelant as well as elaborately cast glazed pottery heads depicting a legendary prince and princess.

Although their story is apparently very tragic (the Canadian shopkeeper told us that they had their heads cut off!) their likenesses appear on everything from mugs to jugs to candlestick holders to vases in shops around town. I suppose it’s better than ceramic horse heads 🙂

We headed back to the ship just after lunchtime, sharing a cab with several of our fellow passengers, all of whom seemed to be Australians in the middle of seven-week European vacations (yes, I asked if they were adopting!)

This afternoon, the Cash Cow and I enjoyed snacks on the ship’s back patio before indulging in a little more pedal pampering (the ship gave us a boatload of on-board credit, and we figured it probably wasn’t smart to drink it all.) No fish this time, but the view from our pedicure chair was of Mount Etna, who while hidden by some heavy haze seemed to be smoking a bit.

Tonight, the ship is scheduled to sail past Stromboli, and we’re told that we might see a bit of lava if we stay awake for a viewing. And since it will probably take us all of the next two nights to pack up all of the stuff we’ve managed to accumulate over the past five days, we’ll most likely be awake.

Sorrento and Capri tomorrow!

Ciao for now,
The Calf

It is the East! And Leonardo is the sun!

Buonanotte!

Boy, we have had quite the day (in fact we’re still on the train right now, headed back to Venice. If we were still stateside, I’d guarantee that we’d both be in bed!)

We began our day with breakfast in our hotel,  which included our first Italian cappuccino of the trip, before setting off to the train station,  Milan-bound. The city was very different this morning – quiet, as all of the tourists were still asleep, and dry! – which made our quick trip to Santa Lucia that much quicker. The 2 1/2 hour ride west was uneventful and after a short subway ride and another pair of cappuccino, we found ourselves at Santa Maria della Gratzie, home to Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece, The Last Supper.

Dan Brown’s The da Vinci Code was published in 2003, and I picked it up shortly thereafter. It took me exactly four hours to finish it, and when I was done, I was a changed person. Not in a big, dramatic, shave my head and sell all of my worldly goods to fund peace in Tibet way. But changed nonetheless. For me, The da Vinci Code wasn’t just a pop-fiction page turner. It literally changed my perspective on the foundations of Christianity. What I fundamentally believed wasn’t altered, per say, but I was suddenly struck by an insatiable curiosity about all things pertaining to Christ, Mary Magdalene, and the legend of the Holy Grail.

da Vinci’s 15th century fresco plays a ginormous role in Dan Brown’s novel. I still remember bounding out of my room, book in hand, and running downstairs to pull the “D” encyclopedia out in our study to have a look at a picture of it. The CC vividly remembers me screaming,  “It IS a woman!” before rushing out to share the novel’s revelation with my family – that Jesus and Mary Magdalene were married and that Leonardo da Vinci,  as a member of the Knights Templar and therefore privy to the truth, painted Mary into the Last Supper disguised as the apostle John. While I was already familiar with da Vinci’s work, seeing The Last Supper in person became an instant bucket list item for me and the CC, who read the novel and was similarly intrigued by the plot.

We tried to get tickets seven years ago, but due in part to the popularity of the novel, everything was sold out (tickets are typically purchased months in advance and visits are strictly regulated – only 25 people are allowed into the vestibule to view the fresco every 15 minutes) so as soon as the CC and I booked this trip, I went online and began scouring the various state-sanctioned websites for tickets. And would you believe that the ONLY two tickets available in the month of August were for today at 1:45pm?!? Those suckers were purchased so fast, it ruffled the hair of all 12 painted apostles. Gather ye rosebuds, people 🙂

The first thing I noticed was how lifelike all of the figures are. Leonardo painstakingly crafted every element of the fresco to be to scale from the viewers’ point of view. Christ seems to be inviting us to pull up a chair and dine with him on this, the last night of his earthly life. The work depicts the moment after Jesus announces that one of his twelve chosen will betray him to the Roman authorities, and each of the figures is depicted in a different state of raw shock and disbelief. Their hands, faces, and body language are all captured in unique positions, conveying each individual’s reaction to the idea that it could, perhaps, be him. Even Judas, furtively clutching his thirty pieces of silver, looks ill-at- ease. Only Christ and Mary (ok, John but seriously, it’s a woman) are content, their faces serene and resolved, both resigned to the ultimate reality. Leonardo’s genius shines through in his attention to the most minute details – the creases in the table linen, the glasses half-filled with wine (though the Holy Grail is conspicuously absent), the angry wrinkles on Peter’s forehead, etc. I half expected the men to jump off of the wall and begin interacting with our small crowd, each one defending himself against the suggestion that he is ready and willing to betray Christ.

Now, as for The da Vinci Code‘s suggestion that the figure of John in the fresco is actually Mary Magdalene, I realize that I (and anyone else who has read the novel) was predisposed to seeing a woman sitting to the right of Jesus. But honestly, when you stand up close to this incredible work of art, it’s hard to believe that anyone thinks it’s NOT a chick. Our guide told us that the apostle to Christ’s left is youthful looking because John was the youngest of the disciples and therefore would be portrayed as shy and innocent. I’m not buying it. Looking at his/her face and then at the face of Christ, I couldn’t help but see a connection between the two, some suggestion that these figures shared more than just a faith journey. It was almost as if the figure of Mary/John knew what was about to happen, as if Christ had taken him/her into his confidence and broken the bad news ahead of time. To me, Leonardo painted the faces of partners who are standing (well, sitting) together, secure in the fact that God has a plan. The disembodied hand depicted at Mary/John’s throat is clearly visible in the fresco, and while our guide explained that Peter is walking like an egyptian in the painting and the hand therefore belongs to him, again I’m not buying it.

I could go on and on and on about this remarkable work of art but I’ll defer you to Wikipedia and to Dan Brown’s book for more on the subject. Suffice it to say that as the CC and I chatted about it on the train later this afternoon, we pondered what in our own country requires you to purchase tickets months in advance only to have 15 minutes of viewing time. We couldn’t come up with anything. We also couldn’t come up with anything that we as a nation have that will withstand the test of time like Leonardo’s 500-year-old fresco. It has survived the elements, bombings during WWII, and Napoleon (who apparently saw it as his right to damage just about every world treasure with which he came in contact) among other things. And while it has been cleaned and restored several times over the years, it still stands as a tribute to man’s great ability to create.

So next, the CC and I visited fair Verona, where we lay the rest of this blog scene. Shakespeare loved it. Dante loved it (or loved it as much as he could as a Florentine exile). And the Cash Cow and Calf loved it. This medieval walled city looks almost exactly as you think it would – old shops and houses with terra-cotta roves, a massive bell tower rising up over the town squares, which are dotted with fountains and statues and market stalls, and narrow cobblestone side streets, which is where you will find Casa di Guilletta, which boasts to be the real house of the fake Juliet from Shakespeare’s most famous and familiar tragedy. We all had to trudge through it in high school and if you’re like me, you take issue with a few of the plot pieces, most especially the part of the play where Romeo, a typical, lazy Italian boy with too much time on his hands, mopes around like Eeore complaining that the woman with whom he is madly in lust doesn’t lust after him in return only to go to a partay and fall madly in lust with the underaged daughter of his sworn enemy. The kid needs therapy, not half of his own play. The supporting characters save this play, even if they can’t save the day before the two lustbirds decide that clearly, the smartest thing to do in a situation where they are not getting their way is to off themselves in a hot tomb filled with decaying members of the Capulet family. Oh yeah – what a love story for the ages!

All of this aside, we clearly couldn’t go to Verona and not visit the real house of the fake Juliet. There is a sign in the courtyard reminding visitors that while cannot prove that Romeo and Juliet did exist, we also cannot prove that they didn’t, which is true so I suspended my disbelief and my ‘down with love’ attitude as we entered the courtyard of the house. It was actually a lovely little space, even if it was packed to the brim with tourists, and as I looked up at the real balcony, I could imagine fake Juliet standing on it, “aye, me”ing all over the place in the pale moon light. On one side of the courtyard was a gate covered in thousands of multicolored locks, left by lovers to honor their eternal bond and connection to each other (gag…oh, I mean how romantic!) Also very romantic were the rounds of chewing gum which had been pressed into another wall, each signed with lovers’ initials to honor…um…well, I’m not really sure what they were in honor of other than being gross, but nonetheless, there they were. But the biggest draw in
the courtyard is a statue of fake Juliet, wearing a Greecian-style dress and looking much older than her twelve years. And we hope that she was at least eighteen because the tradition here is to rub her exposed boob to bring yourself luck in love. As you might imagine, the one uncovered lady has been well attended to over the years as if evidenced by the fact that the boob is bright gold. It was rather hilarious to watch the tourists take turns posing with her and copping their feel. Girls did it. Guys did it. Even little kids did it. And of course, I got in on that action. Suffice it to say, Juliet got very lucky this evening!

The CC and I then popped a squat at an outdoor cafe which was situated on the edge of the square, drank the amazing local soave classico white wine, and enjoyed some great antipasta. We’d probably still be at said cafe drinking said wine if we hadn’t had to catch the train back to Venice tonight.

There’s really nothing we enjoy more while traveling on The Continent than sitting outside and enjoying food and wine while watching people. Verona provided a fabulous opportunity to do what we love doing, and all harsh criticism of The Bard’s take on young love aside, it was really neat to visit a city that plays such a prominent role in the work of one of my favorite storytellers. His characters may have been imaginary, but the settings are very real, reminding us that his tales are just as rooted in reality as they are in fiction. And something tells me that if Shakespeare were to visit Verona today, he’d find it much the same as it was hundreds of years ago.

I bet he’d even give Juliet a cheap thrill.

Ciao for now!
The Calf

The Merchants of Venice

Greetings from Venice, Italy!

I promised the CC that I would document as much of the last 24 hours as possible before I crash (the first day of an international trip is always a very long day!) so here goes nothing!

After some minor travel difficulties which included a delayed flight to Philly due to crazy weather and a rather brisk sprint from one end of the Philadelphia Airport to the other (and y’all know how much we like sporting!), arriving just as the doors were closing only to then sit on the tarmac for an hour, again due to the wicked weather, the Cash Cow and I arrived safely in Venice, Italy. With one fully functioning brain between the two of us (we both slept on the flight, but only got one cup of weak coffee each before we landed!) we easily passed through customs and shared a moment when the CC’s new Passport was stamped for the very first time (I had the confetti cannon all ready to go, but in the end, I decided just to hum a few bars of “Like a Virgin”. It was so sweet to see the Italian agent give her the “is this your first trip out of the country, little girl?” look and to see the CC counter with a sad, but convincing round of, “you should see my old passport, sir. It was the Julia Roberts of international travel documents!” I tried to be as supportive as possible. After all, I experienced something similar last year when I had to renew my little black book.

Anyway, we claimed our baggage without issue and purchased our city transfer tickets from a kiosk in the terminal, after which we were approached by an American woman traveling with her two children. She heard us speaking English and hoped that we could advise her on how to get to her hotel. We suggested that she follow our lead and take the public water taxi, saving her and her family a sizable chunk of Euro (always better spent on vino and gelato!) As luck would have it, they were headed our way, so on the hour and a half long trip into Real Venice (not to be confused with Fake Venice, which is the island across the Grand Canal where most of our fellow boat passengers got off sporting that “whoa whoa, this doesn’t look ANYTHING like the pictures on the website!” look) CC and I shared with them some insider tips on traveling through Italy – information on how to find the best tours, where not to eat, where to shop, etc. It’s always good to pay it forward when it comes to travel advice. After all, without Fake Dad and Trip Advisor, where would we be?

Finally, after what seemed like ages, we arrived in the city of Venice – a new old world that you really have to see to believe. It’s one thing to be told that this city has roads made of water filled with hand-crafted ebony gondolas tied to colorful barber-poled docks instead of cars. It’s quite another to see it in person. It’s sort of like the cows of India – until you see them causing chaotic traffic jams in the capital city of a billion-person nation, it’s really hard to believe that it can and does happen. And oh does it happen!

Anyway, we found our hotel, ditched our suitcases, and headed out to explore the meandering alleyways and piazzas of this, a city unlike any other. I will say that I am very happy that I have been here before, mostly because the city seems to be packed to the brim with tourists and it’s slightly difficult to really take in the beauty and magic of this place when you’re constantly dodging strollers, selfie-snapping foreigners, and those visitors diligently studying maps in the middle of the pathways, completely unaware of the fact that in Venice, your primary goal should always be to get lost. It is an island, after all. There are only so many places you can go.  Every via leads to a campo, every campo to a piazza. And in every piazza, there is at least one cafe with an empty table and a special house wine. Who wouldn’t want to get lost here??

But speaking of things you really have to see to believe, this afternoon, the CC and I encountered something that I’ve only ever read about in National Geographic – the tendency of Venice to flood. Summer is the rainy season in Italy, and they’ve apparently had a lot of the wet stuff lately. Add that to an unusually high tide and poof! St. Mark’s Square floods! It was pretty incredible to see locals and visitors alike wading from one end of the square to the other through water regurgitated from the city’s woefully inadequate sewer system. I half expected to hear “O Sole Mio!” from a Gondolier as he pushed his flat-bottom boat through the courtyard of Venice’s most famous landmark.

So I know it will come as a huge surprise to many of you, but the CC and I spent most of our first day in Italy doing what we do best while on vacation – eating and shopping! We window-shopped up and down dozens of Venice’s narrow pedestrian-only streets, looking at incredible Merano glass designs (I actually had a bracelet made of green and gold beads!) and masks (we purchased ours here in 2007, but it’s still fun to browse the latest and greatest styles for this, Venice’s trademark art form) and other trinkets and dodads. We were naturally drawn to the area around the Rialto Bridge, one of Venice’s most famous causeways and shopping areas, only to be “forced” to take refuge in a side street cafe after the onset of a torrential rainstorm (boy, we thought the flooding was bad before. In the words of a shopkeeper we met, “Mamma Mia!”) The CC and I waited out the storm over white wine and a delicious plate of bruschetta before heading out again to continue our perusal in between light rain showers.

We ended our day slightly early by Italian standards with a drink in a nearby piazza and dinner under the Italian sky at a family-run trattoria. We split a caparase salad and a huge order of the house risotto, washed down with more house wine and a scoop of scracciatella gelato. It was all, as you can imagine, delicious!

In my opinion, it’s simply impossible not to love Italy. The people here are friendly and helpful. The cities are living museums with a thousand old and new stories to tell. And everyone seems to be content with a glass of wine and a good meal. I’m sure I’m forgetting some things from our day, and I promise to share more details after a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, we’re headed out-of-town for the day to visit Verona and see The Last Supper in Milan. Excited is an understatement 🙂

Ciao for now!
The Calf

#throwbackthursday: Cruise Edition (Part II)

Five days and a wake up. We are SOOOO close – I can almost taste the gelato into which I plan on diving face first in less than a week. YUM!

Anyway, for this #TBT post, I thought it might be fun to take a cruise (hee hee!) down memory lane and revisit our cruises of years past as the CC and I prepare to head out on yet another exciting adventure by sea.  Enjoy!

Keep calm and take carry-ons,

The Calf 🙂

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First Cruise Formal Night

1. The Baltic Sea, Summer of 1997

The first trip to Europe for the Little Calf and me, and our very first cruise. After three amazing days in London, we boarded the MS Maasdam in Dover, England and proceeded to visit Norway, Denmark, Russia, Germany, Finland, and Sweden. In Oslo, we visited with my grandparents’ Norwegian friends. In Copenhagen, we saw The Little Mermaid, Tivoli Gardens, and took a day trip to the original Legoland. We flew Aeroflot into Moscow to see Red Square and St. Basil’s Cathedral, and ate borscht for lunch in The Kremlin. The next day, we toured Peterhof Palace and The Peter and Paul Fortress (before the Romanov family was buried there) in St. Petersburg. In Berlin, we saw the Brandenburg Gate and visited the Checkpoint Charlie Museum. In Helsinki, I felt reindeer fur for the first time, and in Stockholm, we learned that when you loose track of time in a charming city, you can get back to a cruise ship before it departs by running at record speed AND manage take pictures at the same time. On board, I wore my first evening gown and my first pair of high heels, tried my first escargot and my first caviar, and attended my first Dutch High Tea. And thus, three monsters were created. We would never be the same again.

 

Panoramic View of the St. Lawrence

2. New England & Canada, Summer of 1998

Our next cruise took us from Boston, Massachusetts to Montreal, Canada with stops in Rhode Island, Maine, Nova Scotia, and Quebec. In Boston, we toured the Old North Church, and I ate my first Boston Cream Pie (it’s still one of my favorite desserts!) In Newport, I lamented the fact that I was not born a Wetmore during a visit to Chateau-sur-Mer, and in Bar Harbor, I ate my first Lobster Roll. In Halifax, we visited the Fairview Lawn Cemetery, where 121 victims of the Titanic disaster are buried, including J.Dawson, the namesake of the Titanic character. In Sydney, we got a dose of Gaelic culture in a city that exemplifies “New Scotland”. And in Quebec City, life and learning intersected when I came face-to-face with the Bonhomme de Neige, the Winter Carnival mascot who was prominently featured in my French II textbook.

 

3. The Panama Canal, Spring Break of 2000

Headed into the Panama Canal!

Traveling is our family’s favorite way of learning about the world, and in keeping with Bapa’s request that all of our trips together be educational, our cruising quintet next found itself on a journey from sea to shining sea through the Panama Canal with preceding stops in Columbia and Costa Rica. In Cartagena, we walked around the Old Walled City, toured an emerald factory, and encountered the worst poverty we have ever seen. In Limon, we toured the city and visited a country farm to learn about the country’s famous panted ox carts. We then spent an entire day traversing the 48 miles between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans via The Panama Canal. Deck space was at a premium as the ship was lifted in and out of Gatun Lake through three humongous locks. I vividly remember looking down from the promenade railing to see how narrow the locks were, with just a few feet separating our steel sides from the steel sides of the lock – what a feat of human engineering! I also remember jumping into the ship’s pool with the Little Calf so that we could say that we swam in the Panama Canal 🙂

 

Dog sledding on an Alaskan Glacier!

4. Alaska, Summer of 2000

After spending a few days in Seattle (would you believe that it didn’t rain a drop??), we boarded the ship in Vancouver for a seven-day Alaskan Adventure. In Ketchican, Alaska’s rainiest city, we wandered around the gold mining town, saw salmon swimming upstream, and watched a lumberjack show. In Sitka, a former Russian fishing village, we saw real totem poles left by the native Inuit people. And we cruised the Inside Passage, Glacier Bay, and the College Fjord (I still remember how the ice smelled!) But the highlight of the cruise had to be traveling by helicopter from Juneau to the top of a glacier to partake in the Official State Sport of Alaska – dog sledding! To this day, It is still one of the greatest travel experiences I’ve ever had. It also further proves that Grandmommy and Bapa were the coolest grandparents in the world!

 

 

5. Eastern Caribbean, New Year’s Eve of 2002

Mash-up of Pic from the NYE Cruise!

2002 was a rough year for our family as sadly, Bapa passed away that July. It was, simply put, devastating. But as last year’s journey to India proved, the best way to honor the memory of a loved one is to continue doing what he/she loved to do. And my Bapa loved being at sea! By December, we were ready to cruise again, and we – just four of us now – decided to ring in the new year in the Eastern Caribbean. We stopped at Half Moon Key, Holland America’s private island in the Bahamas, and went para-sailing for the first time. We also got our hammock on on the gorgeous, white sand beaches. And during stops in St. Thomas and St. John, we enjoyed leisurely shopping and city tours, happily basking in the warm weather. And on board the ship, we ran into a familiar face – Gildus, our beloved Maitre d’ from our very first cruise!

 

6. Western Caribbean, Spring Break of 2004

Enjoying the local fare in Costa Maya!

This cruise holds the honor of being the very first Cash Cow and Calf adventure! Ironically perhaps, this is also the only cruise that neither of us really remembers taking! I realize how that sounds (please feel free to judge both of us) but in pulling pictures for this blog post, I discovered that the CC and I had, in fact, taken three back-to-back spring break cruises together instead of just two. Oops! Anyway, this trip took us to Florida, Guatemala, Belize, and Mexico. In Key West, the CC and I shopped for brightly colored dresses at Key West Fabrics (mine still fit!). In Santo Tomas, we perused local market stalls and bought black jade necklaces. In Belize City, I spent an amazing day scuba diving at Turneffe Atoll. And in Costa Maya, we did something that we almost never do while traveling – we sported! Yep, we went glass-bottom boat kayaking. And for two girls with 0 upper body strength, it was, simply put, traumatic. Perhaps that’s why we don’t remember the trip. Or perhaps it’s because this was also the cruise where we packed an entire suitcase full of nothing but…wait for it…shoes and purses. Proof that we’ve since evolved as world travelers 🙂

 

7. Capitals of Europe, Summer of 2004

I love this lady!

Here’s to three generations of chicks cruising together! The Little Calf opted out of this one (perhaps we should start calling him Crazy Calf?), so it was just Grandmommy, the CC, and me on this 14-Day adventure which took us along the coast of mainland Europe from Copenhagen to Athens. As far as fabulous itineraries go, this cruise is second only to the one we would take in 2007 – Denmark, Norway, England, France, Spain, Portugal, Gibraltar, Monaco, Italy, Croatia, and Greece. Whoa, we covered a lot of ground! In Oslo, we strolled around the Old Town, recovering from some nominal jet lag. In London and Paris, the CC and I ventured out on our own (more details here!) In Vigo, the CC and I ate mussels and drank local white wine in a tiny, seaside cafe where no one spoke English. In Lisbon, we took a city tour and saw the Portuguese White House, which is pink! In Gibraltar, we cavorted with the Barbary Apes at the top of the rock. In Barcelona, I visited Gaudi’s Garden City while Grandmommy and the CC spent the day downtown. In Monaco, we met up with my Uncle Cousin Bob and explored the tiny principality on our own (but alas! We didn’t win a Euro at the Casino!) In Rome, we visited the Colosseum and Vatican City, and I was bitten by the Italian love bug. And in Dubrovnik, the CC and I climbed the City Wall for a panoramic view of the iconic, orange-tiled roofs and did some shopping in the Old Town. We then headed back to the USA (exhausted!) right before the Olympic Opening Ceremonies. This trip changed traveling for us, as we learned to do things on our own rather than through a ship-sponsored tour. It was also the final trip that the three of us would take together. So this trip holds a very special place in my heart.

 

8. Western Caribbean, Spring Break of 2005

Cash Cow and Calf in Mexico!

For my senior year spring break trip, the CC and I decided that, because we’d had so much fun in the Western Caribbean the year before, we’d cruise there again (yep, so much fun that we don’t remember it!) The itinerary was identical, taking us back to Florida, Guatemala, Belize, and Mexico. Again, we shopped in Key West and I ate my first real Key Lime Pie. But my plans to scuba dive again in Belize City were derailed by a rather untimely (and rather horrible) bout of Norovirus, which kept not only me but the CC quarantined in our stateroom for 24-hours. For this, as well as for so many other things, the CC wins Best Mom Award. Luckily, I was back to my old bottomless pit self in time to enjoy eight helpings of escargot on our second formal night. You can’t keep this stomach down for long! I was well enough to do some more shopping when we docked in Santo Tomas. And finally in Cozumel, the CC, 100 of our not-so-closest friends, and I faced the harrowing experience of getting back to the ship via tender (otherwise known as a lifeboat) in 550-foot waves! Ok, so the swell size grows every time we tell the story, but the situation was legitimately terrifying. And by situation, I mean the realization we came to while observing our fellow passengers – Americans will buy anything!

 

9. Eastern Caribbean, Spring of 2006

Dancing it out in Jamaica, Mon!

Our first cruise together as working women! In 2005, the CC and I both went to work for the same company and decided to treat ourselves to another Caribbean adventure by sea in April to celebrate my 23rd birthday! This time, we changed things up a bit and headed to the Eastern Caribbean – Jamaica, Grand Cayman, and Mexico. In Ocho Rios on my birthday, we trekked (and by that I obviously mean we traveled by air conditioned motor coach) into the island mountains to zip-line over the Jamaican rain forest. In Georgetown, we swam with the friendly stingrays in the warm, shallow water. And in Costa Maya, we spent the day doing what we should have done in Costa Maya two years earlier – eating fish tacos and drinking frozen tropical adult beverages by the saltwater pool in the center of town. Olé!

 

10. Ancient Mysteries, Summer of 2007

Three cows and a Sphinx!

This cruise holds the distinction of being the first time that the CC, the Little Calf, and I traveled internationally together as a trio. When the three of us talk about this trip, we refer to it as The Trip of a Lifetime and for good reason – we were gone for nearly a month, visited cities in Greece, Israel, Egypt, Turkey, Malta, and Italy, saw some of the world’s most incredible and iconic landmarks, and shared experiences that were affirming, affecting, and just plain cool. We climbed the Acropolis, saw the Great Pyramids and the Sphinx, visited holy sites in Jerusalem, ate St. Peter’s fish on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, heard the Call to Prayer for the first time, shopped till we dropped in Rhodes, baked in the heat at St. Paul’s amphitheater in Ephesus, rode donkeys up the mountain AND down the mountain in Santorini, visited the site of the first Olympics, and searched for a golden falcon in Valetta. Oh, and then, we traveled through Italy on our own for eight days. Over the course of 24 days, we saw 5 of the 7 Ancient Wonders while hauling 11 suitcases, and when it was all said and done, we were still speaking to each other! To say that it was sensory overload would be an understatement, as it would also be to say that it was an amazing trip!

 

11. The Black Sea, Summer of 2009

Headed into Santorini!

When people asked about our 2009 travel plans, and we said The Black Sea, the response most commonly heard was,  “Really…so how did you decide to go there?” We quickly determined that this was code for, “Why can’t you just go to Ocean City like most people?” Then again, if you know us, you know to expect the unusual! For this trip, we decided to try an Oceania cruise, which was a big deal for a family that doesn’t always openly embrace change (and after 10 cruises on Holland America, it was a pretty big change!) But we wanted a ship that was a little more relaxed, a ship that was a little smaller, and, of course, a ship going where we wanted to go. And so after spending a few wonderful days in Istanbul (not Constantinople), we boarded the MS Nautica bound for Bulgaria, Romania, The Ukraine, Russia, and Greece. In Nessebar, Constanta, Odessa, and Sevestapol, our days consisted of walking through Old Towns, wandering in and out of shops, and marveling at all of the signs of communism still displayed (often prominently) in the cities. In Sochi, we visited Stalin’s summer home and discussed the preparations already underway in advance of the 2014 Winter Olympics. And in Yalta, we toured Livadia Palace, which had been built by Tsar Nicholas II and was the site of the 1945 Yalta Conference, during which Roosevelt, Stalin, and Churchill met to discuss post-WWII reorganization. We also made return visits to Santorini (we took the funicular up the hill this time!) and Kusadasi, both family favorites. At the time, it seemed as though we enjoyed our time aboard the ship more than we did our time in the ports of call. But lately, I find myself more and more thankful that I visited the Black Sea when we did. Due to the political unrest in that region, those lines still offering Black Sea cruises have altered the itineraries to avoid Russia and The Ukraine, just as they now no longer pull into Cairo for similar reasons.  It’s at times like these when I am the most grateful for the experiences we’ve had, particularly in those countries that are no longer accessible to leisure travelers. All the more reason to go where you can when you can. You never know when the door will close.

 

12. Adriatic Serenade, Summer of 2014

Our Upcoming Itinerary!

STAY TUNED!! 🙂

#throwbackthursday: Cruise Edition (Part I)

Rugs in the elevators on the cruise ship helped us keep track of what day it was!

 

Good Thursday greetings to everyone!

We’ve got 12 days to go, which is both wonderful and worrisome.  I was gripped by a tinge of anxiety this afternoon when I started thinking about everything that I have to do between now and our day of departure. Most of it is admittedly aesthetic (for some reason, the idea that I might not get my toe nails painted resulted in a mini panic attack) but I should probably start jotting some to-do lists down.  I’d hate to get all the way to Italy and discover that I’d forgotten to bring something essential, like our Last Supper tickets or the electric converters that make our hairdryers work, or failed to do something important like call Capital One and tell them that I’m going to be out of the country for two weeks. Nothing says fun times in a foreign country like going to purchase something expensive and having your credit card denied (I love the French, but you should have seen the judgy face of that store clerk. Zut alors! )  Time management will be key over the next week and change, but as the CC reminded me, it all always comes together.

Anyway, as the title of this blog post suggests, I’d like to talk a little bit about one of my favorite travel pastimes – cruising! Our upcoming adventure will be a hybrid trip consisting of a seven-day cruise down the Dalmatian Coast and six days of Italian escapades on our own. The CC and I could not be more excited about the itinerary, but as I’ve shared the details with friends and co-workers, I’ve been somewhat surprised at the reactions I’ve received to the cruising element of our trip.

We sailed away…three spring breaks in a row!!

When the topic of cruising comes up, I find that most of the people I know are adamantly opposed to the idea. Some have suggested that cruises are the lazy way to travel or the safe way to travel or the way to travel when you don’t know how else to travel because you’ve never traveled. I’ve heard people say – with unwavering confidence, mind you – that cruise ships are nothing more than floating petri dishes (“Oh I’d never cruise because everyone always gets sick!”) or floating death traps (“Oh I’d never cruise because people are always falling over their balconies and dying!”) or my personal favorite, floating natural disaster targets (“Oh I’d never cruise. I saw Titanic!”) Now, it’s true that the media has made all of these scenarios seem like the cruising status quo (thank you, Dateline) and if you’ve never cruised, it’s easy to imagine the experience to be something resembling either Black Friday or prison – 9,000 people of questionable hygiene trapped together in a small space, scrambling over each other to reach the all-you-can-eat seafood buffet to make sure that they eat their money’s worth of institutional chow (which is undoubtedly laced with the Cruise Ship Virus. Yum.) When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound that good to me either.

Shipwreck Survival or Sumo? Either way, I’ve got this covered. And my heart will go on 🙂

But here’s the thing – over the past seventeen years, I have been fortunate enough to take eleven different cruises, all with the CC (she’s been on twelve cruises, but we don’t talk about the one she and the Little Calf took together in 2007 WITHOUT TELLING ME. I’m over it now because I’m a big girl, but at the time, I think the CC and I went a total of six minutes without speaking to each other. It was brutal.) And I’m pleased to tell you that neither I nor any of the members of my cruising parties have ever fallen victim to a homicidal veranda (because really, who can afford a veranda?) or a wayward iceberg in the North Atlantic. I have admittedly enjoyed two awesome bouts of the cruise ship virus (and it’s pretty gnarly, let me tell you), but neither case was actually contracted on a cruise ship! Crazy times.

I think I speak for the CC and the Little Calf when I say that our family’s favorite way to travel is by sea. For three people who are ravenous to see as much of the world as possible, cruising allows us the opportunity to cover a large geographic area in a short amount of time. By popping in and out of several different countries over the course of a week, we get to sample a wide variety of locales and are then able to decide whether we’d like to return one day or if it’s a one-and-done (coughcoughromaniacoughcough). True, this method of traveling doesn’t allow for as much cultural immersion as a boots-on-the-ground approach does, and it’s slightly unfair to make judgement calls about a country after spending just six hours in one of its seaside (and most likely very touristy) towns. But sometimes, I don’t want to order just one entree. Sometimes, I like the sampler platter! And I know that cruising has introduced us to countries that we probably would not  have visited otherwise (like Bulgaria.) They have also taken us to countries that might not have been safe to visit otherwise (think Russia, Egypt, and Columbia.)

Cruising also automatically takes care of all of your rooming and boarding requirements. When you are on a cruise ship, you always know where you are going to eat dinner and where you’re going to be sleeping each night, leaving more time and energy to spend exploring the port cities and finding that cafe where you can stop, enjoy a glass of the local wine, and watch people. But perhaps my favorite part of cruising is the sleep.  The sleep you get on a cruise is unparalleled. The gentle, hammock-like sway of the ship combines with the relaxing vibration of the engines and the soothing sound of waves lapping against your stateroom, and you’re out like a light in seconds. I really cannot wait to sink into my berth on that first night. It’s going to be Heaven!

Formal Night Fun!

Since our very first cruise in 1997, the leisure cruising industry has changed considerably, for better and for worse in my opinion. Cruising is far more accessible now, allowing more families and young people the opportunity to take advantage of an experience that used to be reserved for retired jet-setters and grandparents. Ships are a bit more crowded and a bit louder now. The on-board experience varies from cruise line to cruise line, but even Holland America and Oceania have adopted a more casual atmosphere, eliminating the luxury and formality that always appealed to me. Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad that I don’t have to pack a gown for formal dinners, but sometimes, it seems as though cruise lines have sacrificed too much to appeal to the population-at-large.

Nevertheless, when it comes to cruising, I say there is no better way to go!

ICEBERG!! RIGHT AHEAD!!

Hee hee, just kidding 🙂