The adventure has come to an end but my story is far from complete. I left Paris AND...Here's the next chapter...Sept 27th....
Fresh off a five hour train ride, my warm welcome in Cannes was delayed. I found our little apartment empty with no sign of my jet lagged traveler anywhere. "It's a mystery" the woman at the front desk told me, "We know he asked for a change in rooms this morning but we haven't seen him since. Perhaps he's gone in town with the others to find the grocery store."
I attempted to contain my disappointment and returned to the "apartment," to unpack and settle into what would be our "home" for the next month. To say it was tiny would be an understatement. I've had bigger rooms on cruise ships! Anger fueled my intermittent rant with many expletives thrown in for effect. I kept saying, " Calm down, don't complain, give it a couple days, so what if we don't have a view of anything but pine trees, the patio is large, and we'll be close to the lobby, restaurant, and pool area. Maybe it will be quiet, quiet is good!."
To calm my bitchy nerves I put on my bathing suit and headed to the pool. Having just Come from the chill of Paris, the sun and mild humidity felt wonderful. It was the first time in several days I was warm. Little did I realize it would be the last time I'd put on my bathing suit and sit by any pool the rest of the trip! As for the pool, it was very large and pretty with an infinity edge that appeared to flow into the sparkling Cote Azure waters in the distance. There were a couple cruise ships and yachts hanging out near the distant harbor which set a very ritzy kind of atmosphere. I smiled for the first time in hours and tried to relax.
As the sun warmed my skin I tried to justify the minute size of our room with the thought that I'd spend a lot of time outside enjoying this view, swimming in the pool, or on tours. Then I stuck my toe into the water and wondered where the icebergs were hiding. More disappointment, more trepidation, and more longing for the 85+ waters of our community pool at home. Eventually I wandered back to the tiny home away from home and found my wayward partner curled up on the little sofa soaking up the sun that radiated into the room. He was nearly in tears. "I want to go home he whispered." Not quite the welcome I'd expected after being separated for nearly a month!
As the story unfolded, it seems he'd arrived from his long overseas trip sometime after midnight to a very deserted hotel that had only a French speaking night watchman on duty. Expecting no other guests, he had no idea where to put this weary traveler. After a few calls and a lot of wandering the expansive but dimly lit grounds, up and down stairs, and with baggage in tow, Rich was led to a dingy, damp room that smelled of mold. This was offered up as the best option for the night. No amount of pleading from Rich could convince the guy that this was unacceptable. To make matters worse, in the morning, he was told that though another room was available, for now he'd have to wait in the dungeon until someone could be found to help him with his bags. No wonder I found a very tired, unhappy, overwrought partner with one foot out the door. I figured that with sleep, food, and time he'd be singing a different tune. After all he had brought his guitar!
Then the rain began. It started with just a light, chilly shower that sprang forth from heavy grey clouds. Unfortunately, the drizzle continued for the next few days. To be fair, there were a couple of hours break from the rain to walk the two miles of hills into town for groceries, but independent sight seeing was definitely not possible unless you favored mud and puddles. We did have a break in the clouds each evening to gather on a private patio for our cocktail hour where we met the other 40 or so guests from Canada that would be our pals for the next three weeks. Knowing that they'd left their chilly cities behind to come to this place, we would get no sympathy for what we'd left behind. San Marcos was enjoying unseasonably warm temperatures and Rich couldn't believe that he'd left all that for this! Things will improve I cajoled. "We're here in Cannes, we get to see so many cool parts of this area. Think of all the fun we will have!" No amount of trying to brighten his sour outlook would work. He had bad weather, steep hills he couldn't navigate with a bum knee, and fatigue holding him prisoner. I thought things would soon improve, but I was wrong.
Three days into our trip the sun appeared and we all loaded onto a bus for a tour of Nice, the Rothchild Villa, and Kerylos Villa. It was lovely to be off the hill and out exploring the area. Nice is a neighboring city about 45 freeway minutes away from Cannes. It is a very congested seaside town that must be impossible to navigate in the high season. For lunch we had free time to wander away from the group to see the market and old part of town. We found a delightful outdoor restaurant where we had our first special meal and I celebrated with a glass of wine. "Our vacation together has begun" I declared with a smile. I toasted to our first time together in a foreign city, to the wonderful food, and new experiences yet to come!
Then Friday we had to cancel our second excursion due to the rain. Saturday night started out with more of the same, continuous light chilly rain. Then by 10 pm a major storm arrived like a freight train with no destination. The heavens wept and roared with thunder for a couple hours. Buckets of rain poured from the sky and then abruptly stopped. But the quiet interlude was short lived when another even harder storm filled with rain, hail, and thunder claps arrived and stayed. Water filled our patio and began to creep under the sliding glass doors into our tiny living room. I utilized all our available towels to contain the deluge that seemed to have no promise of ending. But within an hour or so the rain abruptly stopped and I was finally able to settle in for a bit of sleep....at midnight.
The morning sun was triumphant and made the walkways sparkle like glass. Noting that the Internet was down I ventured forth from our cubby to the reception area for an explanation. "Cannes, Nice, La Bocca and a few more towns have flooded exclaimed our flustered hostess!" "Thousands are without power and phones and with that so goes the Internet." The news on the TV told the story. Pictures of cars stacked on top of each other like dominoes, homes and businesses ruined by water and mud, lives lost and many missing was the story that repeated as we watched in astonishment.
It was a beautiful day so it was difficult to grasp the severity of the situation. The sun was like Mother Nature's "Mea Culpa" for the fit she'd thrown. With little else to do, a few of us, with good knees, put on our walking shoes and began the mile walk to the beach. No words are appropriate to describe what we found. A strange quiet was broken by sounds of rushing water and intermittent sirens. Heavy manhole covers torn from the road were found tossed like poker chips down the hillside. Garbage cans poked out of the open hole to alert drivers to slow down and avoid damage to their car. Rushing water sped along the sides of the road, like a rivers, to the ocean. Mud claimed walkways, filled underpasses, covered cars and flowed out of low lying buildings.
Streets were blocked by several cars and motorcycles mixed together and stacked in a twisted pileup that seemed impossible. However, the mess we saw spoke to the power of rushing water and debris. The sand along the ocean was littered with a mixture of garbage extracted from the sea and twisted pieces of furniture, pieces of cars, and other unrecognizable things. Yet, what surprised me most was that many of the locals carried on about their day as if nothing had happened. Joggers dodged puddles, sunbathers found patches of sand to lie on, and a few ventured into the sea to surf little waves. I hoped they'd give up and get out to avoid things that floated in the wakes. Nearby, I could see one car that had been pushed into the sea and was nearly fully submerged. Little did anyone know then that it contained two of the missing to be recovered a couple days later. I marveled at the resilient, yet risky behavior of the locals. Kids ran barefoot over debris that held who knows what and the bacteria count of the water must have been unusually high and climbing. One surfer walked by with a one inch gash under his eye that he'd just gotten. I stopped him, offered him a clean tissue, and suggested he seek medical attention for stitches and antibiotics!
What happens after the rain and devastation? Train travel ceased, buses took twice as long, and Internet was gone for weeks. Sadly, thirty people lost their lives. We were one week into our month "visit" and other than our local shopping area, with local towns cleaning up from the mess, there was no place to go anyway. What happens after a storm? Mosquitoes hatch and I became their favorite place to dine!
Friday, November 27, 2015
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Traveling Under A Black Cloud
The rain in France, Spain and Portugal stays mainly... where ever we go! To say we've been traveling under a spell would be putting it mildly! When last I wrote I was in Paris having spent a delightful, yet painful day walking the streets and wondering how I might continue seeing this marvelous city with my unpredictable feet. Much has happened since that day that would put me just short of bargaining with the weather Gods for the return of that foot pain for a Sunny day! Floods, power outages, total Internet collapse, and being stranded only begins to describe the story that unfolded once I left Paris behind....But, back to happier times, relief from foot pain, and the exploration of Paris!
Even with the promise of fall and chilly overcast skies greeting us on the second day in Paris, nothing could keep us from another day of exploration. First stop, The Conciergerie. Sounds so pretty doesn't it but this is where, between the years of 1793-1795, over three thousand Parisians were put on trial, given their last meal, (if they were lucky) and in a matter of hours or days, and without any recourse, were beheaded for crimes that were mostly unfounded. In those years, called "The reign of terror," rumors, jealously, and spite, could condemn intellectuals, successful businessmen, and even a princess. Marie Antoinette made the list of famous people who had an untimely final appointment with the guillotine. It is rumored that she met a particularly gruesome death with a dull blade in the hands of a spiteful executioner.
From that most sobering,"delightful" place we visited Notre Dame, a very impressive gargoyle adorned church made even more famous by Victor Hugo's story. It took no stretch of the imagination to conjure up scenes from 1492 due to the very impressive Gothic exterior and the current foreboding darkness of the afternoon sky. Apparently Hugo wrote the story in an attempt to showcase the beautiful Gothic buildings of Paris that were often torn down in favor of more modern ones.
Feeling quite chilled, and seeking shelter from the sunless brisk windy day, we found a Trip Advised restaurant where for about 12€ one could have a delicious three course lunch that included a glass of wine. This delightful cafe had all the trappings of what any yank would imagine a Parisian cafe would look like. Warmed by the charm of our waitress, the tea, white wine, and delicious meal, we listened to conversations in French, observed the local fashions, and talked about our prospects for the afternoon sight seeing adventures.
Fully sated, we skirted around the wind blown leaves and a bit of trash to hop on the metro for the Palais Garnier Opera house. As luck would have it, due to the opening of La Traviata, the place was closed to tourist. But noting the upscale area, we decided to do just a bit of window shopping. It is hard not to drool over windows adorned with Cartier jewels or Versace clothes, both places very heavily guarded from within. Nothing says "pedestrians" are not welcome like a couple of well dressed unsmiling thugs.
However, we were drawn into the Benetton shop to try on the warm, feather weight, down infused coats on sale. Unable to pass up a bargain and the promise of warmth, we wore our new purchases into the street and jumped on the metro in search of Montemarte and the Sacre Coeur. But, of course, no sooner did we begin the 100+ stair climb to reach the hilltop than the clouds parted and the heat of the sun returned making us laugh in light of our recent purchase. Montemarte was worth the trek with lovely views, beautiful church, and interesting characters mingling around the steps. I tried to imagine the steps and lawns being frequented by the likes of Dali, Monet, Picasso, or Van Gogh. Unfortunately, we couldn't linger long with the return of clouds and promise of rain. It was time to put our coats back on, find another meal, and make our way back to the warmth of our apartment.
Our third full day in Paris involved the two biggest tourist sights. The warm sun improved our spirits and made for a delightful tour that included having lunch at the Eiffel Tower, tour of the city by bus, where we finally toured the opera house, and a late afternoon, sunset cruise of the Seine which ended with a beautiful light show from the Eiffel set off by the purple-pink cloud painted backdrop. It was a fresh canvas inspiration that would have delighted any of the great masters of Monet's time.
Our Fourth and final day began with a visit to Versailles, a place I have longed to see for many years. It did not disappoint with the magnificent gardens that go on for miles. One could not miss the sound of gun fire in the nearby wooded area where dove hunters are allowed to bag their limit. Then there's the enormous palace ornately adorned with gold leaf. In every room there were numerous larger than life painted scenes. The "piece de resistance" was one enourmous room with floor to ceiling mirrors and numerous gigantic, sparkely chandeliers. This is where king Louis the 14th and 15th could greet their guests and where the elite could see and be seen, from every angle! This one time weekend palatial hunting retreat would have even made Donald Trump blush due the overly appointed opulence.
After a few hours we broke free from the crowds, that jostled and pushed their way through the rooms of the Palace. We walked into the tiny town for lunch at a quiet Indian restaurant. Then ended the day with one last attempt to visit Muse d' Orange only to be disappointed by the long lines and quickly approaching closing time.
All good things do come to an end. It was time to pack and head off in different directions, Carol to the sanity of home in San Marcos with the promise of her own very comfortable bed, and me to a fast train that would take me to the Cote Azur in the south of France. I was excited to explore Cannes, Monaco, and other fancy towns I'd always heard about or viewed in the movies. I was also anxious to step into the welcoming arms of my gentleman friend that was joining me for the next two months of adventures. Little did I expect, from the amazing comfort of my first class train car, the difficulties that would greet us and challenge our resolve to remain on European soil.
Even with the promise of fall and chilly overcast skies greeting us on the second day in Paris, nothing could keep us from another day of exploration. First stop, The Conciergerie. Sounds so pretty doesn't it but this is where, between the years of 1793-1795, over three thousand Parisians were put on trial, given their last meal, (if they were lucky) and in a matter of hours or days, and without any recourse, were beheaded for crimes that were mostly unfounded. In those years, called "The reign of terror," rumors, jealously, and spite, could condemn intellectuals, successful businessmen, and even a princess. Marie Antoinette made the list of famous people who had an untimely final appointment with the guillotine. It is rumored that she met a particularly gruesome death with a dull blade in the hands of a spiteful executioner.
From that most sobering,"delightful" place we visited Notre Dame, a very impressive gargoyle adorned church made even more famous by Victor Hugo's story. It took no stretch of the imagination to conjure up scenes from 1492 due to the very impressive Gothic exterior and the current foreboding darkness of the afternoon sky. Apparently Hugo wrote the story in an attempt to showcase the beautiful Gothic buildings of Paris that were often torn down in favor of more modern ones.
Feeling quite chilled, and seeking shelter from the sunless brisk windy day, we found a Trip Advised restaurant where for about 12€ one could have a delicious three course lunch that included a glass of wine. This delightful cafe had all the trappings of what any yank would imagine a Parisian cafe would look like. Warmed by the charm of our waitress, the tea, white wine, and delicious meal, we listened to conversations in French, observed the local fashions, and talked about our prospects for the afternoon sight seeing adventures.
Fully sated, we skirted around the wind blown leaves and a bit of trash to hop on the metro for the Palais Garnier Opera house. As luck would have it, due to the opening of La Traviata, the place was closed to tourist. But noting the upscale area, we decided to do just a bit of window shopping. It is hard not to drool over windows adorned with Cartier jewels or Versace clothes, both places very heavily guarded from within. Nothing says "pedestrians" are not welcome like a couple of well dressed unsmiling thugs.
However, we were drawn into the Benetton shop to try on the warm, feather weight, down infused coats on sale. Unable to pass up a bargain and the promise of warmth, we wore our new purchases into the street and jumped on the metro in search of Montemarte and the Sacre Coeur. But, of course, no sooner did we begin the 100+ stair climb to reach the hilltop than the clouds parted and the heat of the sun returned making us laugh in light of our recent purchase. Montemarte was worth the trek with lovely views, beautiful church, and interesting characters mingling around the steps. I tried to imagine the steps and lawns being frequented by the likes of Dali, Monet, Picasso, or Van Gogh. Unfortunately, we couldn't linger long with the return of clouds and promise of rain. It was time to put our coats back on, find another meal, and make our way back to the warmth of our apartment.
Our third full day in Paris involved the two biggest tourist sights. The warm sun improved our spirits and made for a delightful tour that included having lunch at the Eiffel Tower, tour of the city by bus, where we finally toured the opera house, and a late afternoon, sunset cruise of the Seine which ended with a beautiful light show from the Eiffel set off by the purple-pink cloud painted backdrop. It was a fresh canvas inspiration that would have delighted any of the great masters of Monet's time.
Our Fourth and final day began with a visit to Versailles, a place I have longed to see for many years. It did not disappoint with the magnificent gardens that go on for miles. One could not miss the sound of gun fire in the nearby wooded area where dove hunters are allowed to bag their limit. Then there's the enormous palace ornately adorned with gold leaf. In every room there were numerous larger than life painted scenes. The "piece de resistance" was one enourmous room with floor to ceiling mirrors and numerous gigantic, sparkely chandeliers. This is where king Louis the 14th and 15th could greet their guests and where the elite could see and be seen, from every angle! This one time weekend palatial hunting retreat would have even made Donald Trump blush due the overly appointed opulence.
After a few hours we broke free from the crowds, that jostled and pushed their way through the rooms of the Palace. We walked into the tiny town for lunch at a quiet Indian restaurant. Then ended the day with one last attempt to visit Muse d' Orange only to be disappointed by the long lines and quickly approaching closing time.
All good things do come to an end. It was time to pack and head off in different directions, Carol to the sanity of home in San Marcos with the promise of her own very comfortable bed, and me to a fast train that would take me to the Cote Azur in the south of France. I was excited to explore Cannes, Monaco, and other fancy towns I'd always heard about or viewed in the movies. I was also anxious to step into the welcoming arms of my gentleman friend that was joining me for the next two months of adventures. Little did I expect, from the amazing comfort of my first class train car, the difficulties that would greet us and challenge our resolve to remain on European soil.
Friday, October 2, 2015
Racing Through Paris
On September 23rd I found that it is indeed possible to book a reservation on an airline that is in a foreign country and have it work out well. It is always my fear that something will happen to mess up my plans if I leap feet first into territory I am unfamiliar like a company called "Easyjet." I don't know, but with a name like Easyjet it seems like it might not be so easy or even safe. But I rationalized that if Rick Steves gives this airline a thumbs up it must be legit! So, prior to leaving home, I booked it as transportation from Venice to Paris.
Since Carol and I only had three and a half days in Paris to make the most of it we needed to get there fast. Flying was our best option. I worried that my suit cases, one 26 inch and one rolling backpack, would be overweight and I'd get extra charges at the time of checking in so I mailed about 4.2 kg of non essentials home from Venice. Well, Easyjet does live up to it's name. It is nice, has generous overhead bins to fit carry on bags, and the crew communicated in several languages. Other than an hour flight delay, we got to our destination in plenty of time to began exploring Paris. Then strangely, in the cab ride to our abode in the Bastille district, the little French I know began to surface and the song, from South Pacific, "Dites-Moi Pourquoi" began to play in my head. How wonderful to have that part of the brain triggered as the sights of Paris were coming into view.
Oh Paris, what can I say, it IS grand, beautiful and there is just too much to see in one short visit. In three days we navigated the metro quite easily, took two excursions, saw a few of the top ten things that all guide books say is necessary to see and I fell into bed each night with painful feet and exhaustion. I don't recommend seeing a city of this grandeur and size the way we did. However, with each of us bringing a wish list, it seemed important we at least try!
Our first plan was to hit Musee d' Orsay to see Paris through the eyes of Manet and Monet. Then we hoped to pop over to the Louvre to just get a feel for the enormity of it's collection which, according to a guide, could house some ridiculous number of Olympic size swimming pools it is so large. We quickly settled into our second floor walk up, yes NO Elevator, dragging our 18 kg suitcases up 4 flights of stairs, threw on our tennis shoes, grabbed a yummy quiche at the corner boulangere, and found the nearest metro. I had no reservation that traveling by subway would be our quickest and most efficient mode of transportation, Carol was not so easily convinced. But, armed with a three day pass, a map, and a wish and a prayer, I forged ahead and between the two of us, we found our way through the bowels of Paris. The trains to our delight are clean, fast, and frequent. It is a very good way to get around the city.
Well, our plan to knock out two museums in an afternoon was thwarted by a labor strike which had closed both institutions. We bought the two day Paris pass anyway because it seemed to offer so much for one fair price, or so we hoped, and the Louvre and Orsay "could reopen any day" we were told. So we tearfully passed the closed Museums and headed across the Seine to walk the Tuileries and waited in a "skip the line" (armed with our passes) entry into the Orangerie art museum. After waiting in the chill of the fading afternoon sun for 45 minutes, (not so skip the line I thought) the quiet and warmth of the museum lulled me nearly to sleep. Exhaustion from days of travel in Italy and rising today at 5 am was taking it's toll. Then I realized that I was traveling with someone who had a whole city on her agenda and she was already upset about her favorite museums being closed. I couldn't cave so early in the trip. So I gathered what strength I had left and we forged ahead down the famous Champs Elysees and discovered beautiful buildings and trees filled with autumn colored leaves fluttering in the partly sunny afternoon. This cast a magical light against the glass cupolas of the Grand Palais and the gilded entry of the Petit Palais both built for the 1889 Exposition Universelle or Worlds Fair.
Since we had these "expensive passes" we scurried across the street to find that they were no good at the Grand Palais so we opted for the free museum housed in the Petite Palais across the street where there were where no lines. Both the building and the exhibits were beautiful and overwhelming in size and proportion. It wasn't long before the music from Les Miz played in my head as I observed the larger than life paintings of the French Revolution, "Do you hear the people sing" seemed to echo from the walls. These must have been the inspiration for Victor Hugo's book and subsequent play. All the characters in the musical were depicted in this moving painting.
Due to the announcement that museum would soon be closing, Sore feet be damned, we forged forged onward to at least get to the top of the Arc de Triomphe that we could see looming somewhat close ahead calling our names...."Come, I am not far away!" The Arc is so large it would look close from Italy! Yet, it wasn't close at all! But, after several bench breaks for my screaming feet, we finally made it and caught the elevator to the top! Yes, it really was worth the agony it took to get there. The city was all laid out below and seemed even larger from that vantage point. All awe and inspiration aside, all I could think was how in the hell am I going to see what this city has to offer in just three days and do it with feet that were not prepared to carry me along. But mostly I was wondering how I would make it back to our rented apartment without screaming the whole way!
Since Carol and I only had three and a half days in Paris to make the most of it we needed to get there fast. Flying was our best option. I worried that my suit cases, one 26 inch and one rolling backpack, would be overweight and I'd get extra charges at the time of checking in so I mailed about 4.2 kg of non essentials home from Venice. Well, Easyjet does live up to it's name. It is nice, has generous overhead bins to fit carry on bags, and the crew communicated in several languages. Other than an hour flight delay, we got to our destination in plenty of time to began exploring Paris. Then strangely, in the cab ride to our abode in the Bastille district, the little French I know began to surface and the song, from South Pacific, "Dites-Moi Pourquoi" began to play in my head. How wonderful to have that part of the brain triggered as the sights of Paris were coming into view.
Oh Paris, what can I say, it IS grand, beautiful and there is just too much to see in one short visit. In three days we navigated the metro quite easily, took two excursions, saw a few of the top ten things that all guide books say is necessary to see and I fell into bed each night with painful feet and exhaustion. I don't recommend seeing a city of this grandeur and size the way we did. However, with each of us bringing a wish list, it seemed important we at least try!
Our first plan was to hit Musee d' Orsay to see Paris through the eyes of Manet and Monet. Then we hoped to pop over to the Louvre to just get a feel for the enormity of it's collection which, according to a guide, could house some ridiculous number of Olympic size swimming pools it is so large. We quickly settled into our second floor walk up, yes NO Elevator, dragging our 18 kg suitcases up 4 flights of stairs, threw on our tennis shoes, grabbed a yummy quiche at the corner boulangere, and found the nearest metro. I had no reservation that traveling by subway would be our quickest and most efficient mode of transportation, Carol was not so easily convinced. But, armed with a three day pass, a map, and a wish and a prayer, I forged ahead and between the two of us, we found our way through the bowels of Paris. The trains to our delight are clean, fast, and frequent. It is a very good way to get around the city.
Well, our plan to knock out two museums in an afternoon was thwarted by a labor strike which had closed both institutions. We bought the two day Paris pass anyway because it seemed to offer so much for one fair price, or so we hoped, and the Louvre and Orsay "could reopen any day" we were told. So we tearfully passed the closed Museums and headed across the Seine to walk the Tuileries and waited in a "skip the line" (armed with our passes) entry into the Orangerie art museum. After waiting in the chill of the fading afternoon sun for 45 minutes, (not so skip the line I thought) the quiet and warmth of the museum lulled me nearly to sleep. Exhaustion from days of travel in Italy and rising today at 5 am was taking it's toll. Then I realized that I was traveling with someone who had a whole city on her agenda and she was already upset about her favorite museums being closed. I couldn't cave so early in the trip. So I gathered what strength I had left and we forged ahead down the famous Champs Elysees and discovered beautiful buildings and trees filled with autumn colored leaves fluttering in the partly sunny afternoon. This cast a magical light against the glass cupolas of the Grand Palais and the gilded entry of the Petit Palais both built for the 1889 Exposition Universelle or Worlds Fair.
Since we had these "expensive passes" we scurried across the street to find that they were no good at the Grand Palais so we opted for the free museum housed in the Petite Palais across the street where there were where no lines. Both the building and the exhibits were beautiful and overwhelming in size and proportion. It wasn't long before the music from Les Miz played in my head as I observed the larger than life paintings of the French Revolution, "Do you hear the people sing" seemed to echo from the walls. These must have been the inspiration for Victor Hugo's book and subsequent play. All the characters in the musical were depicted in this moving painting.
Due to the announcement that museum would soon be closing, Sore feet be damned, we forged forged onward to at least get to the top of the Arc de Triomphe that we could see looming somewhat close ahead calling our names...."Come, I am not far away!" The Arc is so large it would look close from Italy! Yet, it wasn't close at all! But, after several bench breaks for my screaming feet, we finally made it and caught the elevator to the top! Yes, it really was worth the agony it took to get there. The city was all laid out below and seemed even larger from that vantage point. All awe and inspiration aside, all I could think was how in the hell am I going to see what this city has to offer in just three days and do it with feet that were not prepared to carry me along. But mostly I was wondering how I would make it back to our rented apartment without screaming the whole way!
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Forenzia and Venizia: One Big Latin Mass
Having previously traveled to Florence and Venice I looked forward to experiencing these two cities again (11 years later) and showing them to my daughter and her family. Sometimes it really is good to set memories of a place aside and try to see what new things can be discovered when you return. Sometimes it is better not to return and just enjoy the memories!
On September 16th we left Casperia by taxi van and headed to Florence where we would stay for four nights. We opted to stay in in a charming village 20 minutes above Florence called Fiesole. It was an easy 20 minute bus ride into the madness of the big city but seemed like we'd stepped back into another time and space when we were there. Much of Fiesole's history predates Florence as this was where, in the 900's people settled and a government was established. There are still remnants of a coliseum, Roman baths, and a museum full of antiquities found buried here. The town is small, hilly and full of charm. It is easy to get to know the friendly inhabitants and everything travelers like us needed was within a few steps of our lodging. Five adults and one energetic three year old boy stayed comfortably in a three bedroom, two bath, Air BnB home, owned by a charming woman of Casa Sofia who made every effort to see that we were happy and comfortable. When we couldn't find a taxi to get to the train station for Venice, our host drove us there and refused any renumeration!
In this quaint village there is a laundromat and fruit and veggie stand two steps from our front door. There is also a grocery store one block away. Within a couple of blocks we could find gelato, yummy pizza, delicious dinners, and a sumptuous, hard to resist bakery. Every Saturday there is a group of people who put up stands to sell their wares in the town square. Fresh fish, being cleaned while you wait, whole chickens, cheese, and fruits can be purchased there along with antique bells, door knockers, clothing, and lamps to name just a few items. It was very pleasant to return from several hours in the big city to this much cooler less crowded town.
We were only there for four nights and on the third night Page got Sebastian's hair professionally cut for the first time. The fact that his long blond curls were gone did not go unnoticed by several of the locals and shopkeepers who came out to lament over the loss of his sweet curls as he charged by each open door. Many thought He was a girl until the until the curls were gone. I must admit both looks suit Sebastian well. I am sure it won't be long after he returns to Nosara that the curls will reappear. Once a surfer dude, always a surfer dude!
As for Florence, well let me just say that my memories of the fair city are far grander than I found it the second time around. The Duomo is still gigantic and overwhelming in size but it's beauty is covered with years of a black soot like substance that mars the vivid colors of the green and pink marble. In an effort to clean the outside, large portions are covered in scaffolding and cloth. The Pontevecchio was not nearly as picturesque as I'd remembered and in the heat of the day, with crowds so thick you couldn't move, it was difficult to find much I wanted to do except wander away and find the #7 bus back to Fiesole. One day Page treated us to a carriage ride through the town where sights were pointed out. Then we had a wonderful lunch and afterward Page and Seb. headed back for a nap while I wandered the back streets until I found a very enjoyable Di Vinci exhibit that had only a handful of people wandering through.
Then, to return to the bus stop, I made my way down the streets that have all the high end shops. Because they were nearly empty and free of crowds, it was easy to navigate freely. Florence is the home of too many to name fancy Italian fashion labels that are lovely to look at but, ridiculously expensive and beyond my tastes indulge. When I was in Florence 11 yrs ago, I don't remember seeing as many leather stands, kitchy souvenir shops, and stores that we have at home. Back then, to me at least, Florence was a city packed with history, delightful statues, fountains, and grand churches with beautiful facades. Now, as you push past crowds, and everything leather, and locals on cell phones, with the musical sound of their voices, it seemed so reminiscent of Latin masses I heard as a teen visiting catholic churches, just grander and with the smell of leather instead of inscents.
Venice is a city worth visiting twice but, now that I have, I find it is unnecessary to return ever again. The canals are still grand, getting lost on winding narrow streets was fun again, and seeing Page and her family enjoy it was wonderful. But again, like Florence, it is all about tourism, selling goods, filling blocks and streets with shops filled with things ranging from touristy junk to high end fancy stuff with the same pushing crush of crowds. St. Marks church in San Marcos square was massive and grand as all the churches in Italy seem to be. It is amazing to see the undulating marble floors that seem to endure yearly floods and yet still feel solid and strong. We did a lot of hopping on and off the water taxi's and Page treated her honey and son to a gondola ride that they loved. Carol and I visited The Gugganheim museum where Peggy lived for many years, courted gondoliers and artists, and buried all her much loved little dogs. Arrivederci Venice, Gratzie for NEW memories!
It has been lovely exploring Italy again. I have visited places I've never been, fallen in love with Rome all over again, and discovered that sometimes it is best to just enjoy fond memories and skip places I have already been!
On September 16th we left Casperia by taxi van and headed to Florence where we would stay for four nights. We opted to stay in in a charming village 20 minutes above Florence called Fiesole. It was an easy 20 minute bus ride into the madness of the big city but seemed like we'd stepped back into another time and space when we were there. Much of Fiesole's history predates Florence as this was where, in the 900's people settled and a government was established. There are still remnants of a coliseum, Roman baths, and a museum full of antiquities found buried here. The town is small, hilly and full of charm. It is easy to get to know the friendly inhabitants and everything travelers like us needed was within a few steps of our lodging. Five adults and one energetic three year old boy stayed comfortably in a three bedroom, two bath, Air BnB home, owned by a charming woman of Casa Sofia who made every effort to see that we were happy and comfortable. When we couldn't find a taxi to get to the train station for Venice, our host drove us there and refused any renumeration!
In this quaint village there is a laundromat and fruit and veggie stand two steps from our front door. There is also a grocery store one block away. Within a couple of blocks we could find gelato, yummy pizza, delicious dinners, and a sumptuous, hard to resist bakery. Every Saturday there is a group of people who put up stands to sell their wares in the town square. Fresh fish, being cleaned while you wait, whole chickens, cheese, and fruits can be purchased there along with antique bells, door knockers, clothing, and lamps to name just a few items. It was very pleasant to return from several hours in the big city to this much cooler less crowded town.
We were only there for four nights and on the third night Page got Sebastian's hair professionally cut for the first time. The fact that his long blond curls were gone did not go unnoticed by several of the locals and shopkeepers who came out to lament over the loss of his sweet curls as he charged by each open door. Many thought He was a girl until the until the curls were gone. I must admit both looks suit Sebastian well. I am sure it won't be long after he returns to Nosara that the curls will reappear. Once a surfer dude, always a surfer dude!
As for Florence, well let me just say that my memories of the fair city are far grander than I found it the second time around. The Duomo is still gigantic and overwhelming in size but it's beauty is covered with years of a black soot like substance that mars the vivid colors of the green and pink marble. In an effort to clean the outside, large portions are covered in scaffolding and cloth. The Pontevecchio was not nearly as picturesque as I'd remembered and in the heat of the day, with crowds so thick you couldn't move, it was difficult to find much I wanted to do except wander away and find the #7 bus back to Fiesole. One day Page treated us to a carriage ride through the town where sights were pointed out. Then we had a wonderful lunch and afterward Page and Seb. headed back for a nap while I wandered the back streets until I found a very enjoyable Di Vinci exhibit that had only a handful of people wandering through.
Then, to return to the bus stop, I made my way down the streets that have all the high end shops. Because they were nearly empty and free of crowds, it was easy to navigate freely. Florence is the home of too many to name fancy Italian fashion labels that are lovely to look at but, ridiculously expensive and beyond my tastes indulge. When I was in Florence 11 yrs ago, I don't remember seeing as many leather stands, kitchy souvenir shops, and stores that we have at home. Back then, to me at least, Florence was a city packed with history, delightful statues, fountains, and grand churches with beautiful facades. Now, as you push past crowds, and everything leather, and locals on cell phones, with the musical sound of their voices, it seemed so reminiscent of Latin masses I heard as a teen visiting catholic churches, just grander and with the smell of leather instead of inscents.
Venice is a city worth visiting twice but, now that I have, I find it is unnecessary to return ever again. The canals are still grand, getting lost on winding narrow streets was fun again, and seeing Page and her family enjoy it was wonderful. But again, like Florence, it is all about tourism, selling goods, filling blocks and streets with shops filled with things ranging from touristy junk to high end fancy stuff with the same pushing crush of crowds. St. Marks church in San Marcos square was massive and grand as all the churches in Italy seem to be. It is amazing to see the undulating marble floors that seem to endure yearly floods and yet still feel solid and strong. We did a lot of hopping on and off the water taxi's and Page treated her honey and son to a gondola ride that they loved. Carol and I visited The Gugganheim museum where Peggy lived for many years, courted gondoliers and artists, and buried all her much loved little dogs. Arrivederci Venice, Gratzie for NEW memories!
It has been lovely exploring Italy again. I have visited places I've never been, fallen in love with Rome all over again, and discovered that sometimes it is best to just enjoy fond memories and skip places I have already been!
Monday, September 21, 2015
The Last Horse Ride and Other Pleasures
During our stay in Casperia we were encouraged to sign up for other activities in addition to the Pilates classes that Page taught. We could go to the massage-spa, take a cooking class, a couple of hikes, a horse back ride of an hour or two, go to a hot springs, and go to an olive oil tasting and lecture. In addition to the massage of course, I chose the cooking class, hot springs, and the horse ride. Since most of our gang, including Page, chose the two hour ride I opted to follow along. Call me crazy!
My experience with horses dates back to my high school years when my father bought a farm, moved us from Seattle to Kentucky, and used the fact that the farm came with two horses as an enticement. Since I was new, had no friends, didn't understand the language, I had no choice but learn to ride Midnight. An experienced Tennessee walker, Midnight never needed to strut his fancy footwork because I was a novice and scared to death he would deposit me easily within a few gallops. I quickly discovered that riding bare back was far superior to the English or Western saddle that hung in our barn. Without a saddle I could always feel one with the horse and knew what he was thinking. Midnight and I became close buddies. In the evening I'd call to him and he'd run from the field to be petted and lay his head in my lap.
While I have ridden a horse occasionally since those days it was never for as long and never with a western saddle. Unfortunately, this activity really did not live up to any one's expectations. We had no idea we'd travel a third of the time on steep, slippery paved roads with motor cycles and cars whizzing past, another third up and down slippery red clay paths, and the rest of the time on unsteady gravel roads. Nor did any of us know that along the eay there would be thorny vines and tree limbs smacking us in the faces, arms, and necks!
Worst of all my horse, Luna, a real sweetheart of a horse, had a right back foot that she dragged lazily at times and she slipped several times nearly loosing her footing and falling. All that was bad enough, but the worst part by far was the rock hard saddle that bumped and ground my sit bones into my flesh. I would have opted for labor pain over this experience. After one hour I was practicing Lamaze breathing! My knees ached from the short stirrups, my sit bones screamed, and if a morphine drip had been available I'd have taken it.
Everyone was complaining about the pain, the terrain, brambles tearing at our skin, and wanting to shorten the ride! We all longed for open pastures to run the horses so at least half the time our butts would be in midair. Page just wanted to run her horse. But no, we had to get back the same way we came, loping along two by two at an agonizingly slow pace. My horse and I slipped and slid through much of it. When we came to the last steep paved road going straight down, I could not risk falling nor could I manage the pain any longer. So hopped off my gentle beast and carefully led her the rest of the way home. Luna seemed grateful and my legs and butt stopped screaming at me! I realized that there's a market for gel-foam or memory -foam saddles.
Page's Pilates classes were wonderful. The massages were good, the hot springs were not so hot, and the cooking class taught me how to make pasta that I'll probably never make. But over all we had a lovely time here in the tiny city of Casperia. Florence awaits!
My experience with horses dates back to my high school years when my father bought a farm, moved us from Seattle to Kentucky, and used the fact that the farm came with two horses as an enticement. Since I was new, had no friends, didn't understand the language, I had no choice but learn to ride Midnight. An experienced Tennessee walker, Midnight never needed to strut his fancy footwork because I was a novice and scared to death he would deposit me easily within a few gallops. I quickly discovered that riding bare back was far superior to the English or Western saddle that hung in our barn. Without a saddle I could always feel one with the horse and knew what he was thinking. Midnight and I became close buddies. In the evening I'd call to him and he'd run from the field to be petted and lay his head in my lap.
While I have ridden a horse occasionally since those days it was never for as long and never with a western saddle. Unfortunately, this activity really did not live up to any one's expectations. We had no idea we'd travel a third of the time on steep, slippery paved roads with motor cycles and cars whizzing past, another third up and down slippery red clay paths, and the rest of the time on unsteady gravel roads. Nor did any of us know that along the eay there would be thorny vines and tree limbs smacking us in the faces, arms, and necks!
Worst of all my horse, Luna, a real sweetheart of a horse, had a right back foot that she dragged lazily at times and she slipped several times nearly loosing her footing and falling. All that was bad enough, but the worst part by far was the rock hard saddle that bumped and ground my sit bones into my flesh. I would have opted for labor pain over this experience. After one hour I was practicing Lamaze breathing! My knees ached from the short stirrups, my sit bones screamed, and if a morphine drip had been available I'd have taken it.
Everyone was complaining about the pain, the terrain, brambles tearing at our skin, and wanting to shorten the ride! We all longed for open pastures to run the horses so at least half the time our butts would be in midair. Page just wanted to run her horse. But no, we had to get back the same way we came, loping along two by two at an agonizingly slow pace. My horse and I slipped and slid through much of it. When we came to the last steep paved road going straight down, I could not risk falling nor could I manage the pain any longer. So hopped off my gentle beast and carefully led her the rest of the way home. Luna seemed grateful and my legs and butt stopped screaming at me! I realized that there's a market for gel-foam or memory -foam saddles.
Page's Pilates classes were wonderful. The massages were good, the hot springs were not so hot, and the cooking class taught me how to make pasta that I'll probably never make. But over all we had a lovely time here in the tiny city of Casperia. Florence awaits!
Friday, September 18, 2015
Pilates Retreat Casperia, Italy: Guests of Countess Julianna Forani
On September 10, 2015 we traveled from the beauty of the Sorrento coast to a quaint village one and a half hours N.E. of Rome, once known as Umbria until the borders were moved. Casperia is tucked neatly up against the undulating hillsides that surround this area. Casperia is safely contained behind mid evil walls to protect from barbarian invaders. This town was originally known as Aspra meaning bitter. The philosophy of this name was to discourage anyone from coming to destroy or take over the village. Like all mid evil villages of it's time, Casperia had a noble family the Forani's . It is believed that countess Julianna lived to be 100 years old and never had any children. Upon her death the castle went to remaining Forani ancestors. Just walking the twisty cobblestone streets that are narrow, with up and down stairways, beautiful wooden doors, and flowered balconies, it is easy to feel that you have stepped back into a different time and space.
As I wandered the deserted streets I half expected people in period appropriate clothes to appear or come out of the homes. I did find a prince, but alas, he was only three, and with long golden curls, and big brown eyes, he looked deceptively like my grandson! Prince Sebastian was in his glory running wild up and down the ancient paths, slaying stray cats, chasing the fair maidens of the Pilates group, and just enjoying all the attention of his papa who was in charge for the week.
Preservation of homes and buildings is constant and necessary to maintain the beauty of these ancient 1000 A. D. structures. The section most of stayed in was part of the original royal castle. Many of the rooms had enormous, heavy, dark wood and velvet tapestry covered furniture. The massive armoire in our room was at least 10 feet tall and six feet long of intricately carved dark wood. A lovely wood floor studio and modern baths, with bidets of course, were the only really modern enhancements. Every effort is made to retain Casperia's original beauty.
Not much historical information about the town was available to me except from Alan, the owner of Sunflower Retreats. He grew up here. He told me that over his childhood he was scuttled about from this area back and forth to Rome and London to get an education. Alan has been running this retreat center with his wife for 18 years and seems to love what he does. Another interesting character was Johnny who is half owner of the Vigna restaurant in the village. Johnny told us that his real love is giving talks on the good vs bad olive oil. One evening, while we dinned there, he gave us a very brief introduction to his much more formal and longer lecture on virgin olive oils. One humorous detail of note is that the other co owner of the restaurant could really care less about the restaurant business. His true love are Lego's, Leonard Nimoy, and the Starship Enterprise. There are framed copies of the specs for the Enterprise and a life size cardboard cutout of Spock in the bar area near the bathroom. It is easy to get startled by Spock staring at you when you walk out of the bathroom. This guy also has a well stocked Lego store with all the latest Star Wars Lego packages. Sebastian spent a lot of time there.
It was only fitting that Page would have a Pilates retreat here where the possibility of mid evil torture seemed very likely. The retreat was Page's first attempt at hosting a retreat far from her Costa Rica home and it was wildly successful with all the available spots filled with a uniquely international mix of students. I met many beautiful women. One from Lisbon, Portugal, one from Nice, France, (ironically, both places I will visit this trip) Manhattan Beach, Ca., Chicago, LA, and Costa Rica.
Page's classes were challenging and difficult at times but not too far above my ability. However, it wasn't her classes that caused me the most pain. I was humbled by another instrument of mid evil times, a horse!
As I wandered the deserted streets I half expected people in period appropriate clothes to appear or come out of the homes. I did find a prince, but alas, he was only three, and with long golden curls, and big brown eyes, he looked deceptively like my grandson! Prince Sebastian was in his glory running wild up and down the ancient paths, slaying stray cats, chasing the fair maidens of the Pilates group, and just enjoying all the attention of his papa who was in charge for the week.
Preservation of homes and buildings is constant and necessary to maintain the beauty of these ancient 1000 A. D. structures. The section most of stayed in was part of the original royal castle. Many of the rooms had enormous, heavy, dark wood and velvet tapestry covered furniture. The massive armoire in our room was at least 10 feet tall and six feet long of intricately carved dark wood. A lovely wood floor studio and modern baths, with bidets of course, were the only really modern enhancements. Every effort is made to retain Casperia's original beauty.
Not much historical information about the town was available to me except from Alan, the owner of Sunflower Retreats. He grew up here. He told me that over his childhood he was scuttled about from this area back and forth to Rome and London to get an education. Alan has been running this retreat center with his wife for 18 years and seems to love what he does. Another interesting character was Johnny who is half owner of the Vigna restaurant in the village. Johnny told us that his real love is giving talks on the good vs bad olive oil. One evening, while we dinned there, he gave us a very brief introduction to his much more formal and longer lecture on virgin olive oils. One humorous detail of note is that the other co owner of the restaurant could really care less about the restaurant business. His true love are Lego's, Leonard Nimoy, and the Starship Enterprise. There are framed copies of the specs for the Enterprise and a life size cardboard cutout of Spock in the bar area near the bathroom. It is easy to get startled by Spock staring at you when you walk out of the bathroom. This guy also has a well stocked Lego store with all the latest Star Wars Lego packages. Sebastian spent a lot of time there.
It was only fitting that Page would have a Pilates retreat here where the possibility of mid evil torture seemed very likely. The retreat was Page's first attempt at hosting a retreat far from her Costa Rica home and it was wildly successful with all the available spots filled with a uniquely international mix of students. I met many beautiful women. One from Lisbon, Portugal, one from Nice, France, (ironically, both places I will visit this trip) Manhattan Beach, Ca., Chicago, LA, and Costa Rica.
Page's classes were challenging and difficult at times but not too far above my ability. However, it wasn't her classes that caused me the most pain. I was humbled by another instrument of mid evil times, a horse!
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
The Amalfi Coast: It's Magic "Dahling"
If you travel to Italy, touring the Amalfi coast is a must. I highly recommend you take a tour rather than going on your own as the roads are narrow, twisty, horns honk, Vespas whiz by and there are very few guard rails. Besides, if you had Giovanni as your guide as we did, you would definitely be entertained!
Giovanni was wonderful, the views spectacular, and he loaded us down with historical information! We saw homes that once belonged to Sofia Lauren, Sting, Roger Moore, Gore Vidal, Greta Garbo, Bill Gates, and George Clooney to mention only a few. We toured by bus, took a boat ride of the coast, took walks around Rafaello, the town of Amalfi, and had a lovely lunch in a charming restaurant overlooking hills and the sea. Giovanni entertained us by singing all the familiar Italian songs, "That's Amore," "Valaree," "Oh Solo Mio," and others that were songs he grew up with as a child. Giovanni would tell us things then end with "It's Magic Dahling! It is difficult to describe the energy and beauty of this tour. And it was definitely the highlight of the trip so far.
Sorrento was beautiful but is definitely a touristy town with lots of hotels built over kitchy shops that line the narrow roads. Balconies are filled with flowering plants that droop decoratively into mid air. The best flower we found there however, was in a restaurant that we ended up going to two nights in a row. It was the flower of the zucchini filled with a creamy concoction of ricotta cheese, parmigiano, and herbs. Then it is dipped in batter and deep fried to perfection. We loved it so much that we ordered it the second night in double the portions. I hope to find a recipe for this back home.
After two lovely nights in Sorrento it was time to head back to Rome and on to Casperia where our Pilates retreat would take place. To accomplish this we avoided the trolley train and opted for the lovely hydrofoil to Naples. Then a taxi through the crush of Naples traffic, a train to Rome, and a small commuter train to Casperia. Then we hopped a bus to the village and got a car to take us the rest of the way. The anticipation grew when we viewed the 12th century walled city built into the mountain. It was a scene right out of mid evil times. Somewhat reminicent of the town from "Pillars of the Earth." The castle awaits and perhaps even a handsome prince!
Giovanni was wonderful, the views spectacular, and he loaded us down with historical information! We saw homes that once belonged to Sofia Lauren, Sting, Roger Moore, Gore Vidal, Greta Garbo, Bill Gates, and George Clooney to mention only a few. We toured by bus, took a boat ride of the coast, took walks around Rafaello, the town of Amalfi, and had a lovely lunch in a charming restaurant overlooking hills and the sea. Giovanni entertained us by singing all the familiar Italian songs, "That's Amore," "Valaree," "Oh Solo Mio," and others that were songs he grew up with as a child. Giovanni would tell us things then end with "It's Magic Dahling! It is difficult to describe the energy and beauty of this tour. And it was definitely the highlight of the trip so far.
Sorrento was beautiful but is definitely a touristy town with lots of hotels built over kitchy shops that line the narrow roads. Balconies are filled with flowering plants that droop decoratively into mid air. The best flower we found there however, was in a restaurant that we ended up going to two nights in a row. It was the flower of the zucchini filled with a creamy concoction of ricotta cheese, parmigiano, and herbs. Then it is dipped in batter and deep fried to perfection. We loved it so much that we ordered it the second night in double the portions. I hope to find a recipe for this back home.
After two lovely nights in Sorrento it was time to head back to Rome and on to Casperia where our Pilates retreat would take place. To accomplish this we avoided the trolley train and opted for the lovely hydrofoil to Naples. Then a taxi through the crush of Naples traffic, a train to Rome, and a small commuter train to Casperia. Then we hopped a bus to the village and got a car to take us the rest of the way. The anticipation grew when we viewed the 12th century walled city built into the mountain. It was a scene right out of mid evil times. Somewhat reminicent of the town from "Pillars of the Earth." The castle awaits and perhaps even a handsome prince!
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