"Never Let Schooling Get In The Way of Your Education"

As said by Mark Twain.

Carol and I used that line to justify allowing the girls to miss three days of school. That gave us three extra days in Italy -- which will give them memories to last a lifetime (and if they get hazy on the details, they can always check the blog).

We're back, it's a very cold Easter day. The return was uneventful. I enjoyed "Blood Diamond" on the plane, Torie did homework, watched TV, read and slept next to me. Julia had a woman next to her from Moldova. Since the woman spoke no English, Julia filled out her customs paperwork. Nice of her to help the woman navigate the bureaucracy.

Anyhow, I will be adding a few more pictures to the blog later today or so, but this marks the last entry. Thanks for the emails, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Final stats: Torie saw 82 nuns. Glen had eight conference calls. We went into countless churches.

Torie's highlights -- Venice was her favorite city. Pompeii and the Colosseum was her favorite things to see. Favorite food: Pizza Margherita. Favorite gelatto: Mint Chocolate Chip.

Maddy's highlights -- Favority city: Venice and Rome. Favorite thing to see: Pompeii and the Colosseum. Favorite food: Fettucine Alfredo at Alfredo's. Favorite gelatto flavor: After Eight.

Julia's highlights -- Favorite city: Venice. Favorite thing to see: St. Mark's Square. Favorite food: Pasta. Favorite gelatto flavor: Fragola (strawberry).

Carol's highlights -- Favorite city: Montalpulciano. Favorite thing to see: Sistine Chapel. Favorite food: Colline Emilia dinner. Favorite gelatto flavor: Stracittella.

Glen's highlights -- Favorite city: The Hill Towns of Tuscany. Favorite thing to see: Pompeii. Favorite food: The ravioli in Radda in Chianti. Favority gelatto flavor: Frutti di Bosco.

Ciao

Our Last Full Day

The kids were pretty wiped out, so I let them sleep in a bit. After breakfast, we set out to walk across Venice and take the vaporetto direct to Murano. We could have caught a ride near the hotel, but I wanted to explore Venice on foot a bit.

And, that's a great way to see the city. You wander across bridges over canals, through narrow passageways, and always hoping that you are generally going in the right direction, instead of being pretty seriously off on the wrong track (polling humor there).

The girls kept asking if we were going the right way. I would consult the map, and then say something along the lines of "yes, allegedly," or "it appears that way." They got upset at my uncertainty (I think primarily because they didn't want to walk more than needed). Eventually we got where we were going, and we never technically got lost (I did make one wrong turn, but realized it almost immediately).

we tried a stop at the Miracoli church, but at 8 Euros for admission, we balked at going in. We got the other side of the island and caught the packed vaporetto to Murano. The island became the center of Venice glass-blowing industry in 1219 when the furnaces were moved there to avoid fires on Venice. It's definitely worth going and walking around.

Word of caution -- people will try and give you free rides over to Murano. Do NOT accept. They will take you to their shop, and if you don't buy anything, they get rude and also refuse to take you back. It's much more fun to wander and dip into places you want to go -- and exit easily without the guilt of not having made a purchase.

The girls bought different souvenirs at different shops (nothing big, nothing expensive). Carol and I saw something in one shop that we hemmed and hawed over purchasing, asking numerous questions, leaving and coming back. It arrives in four months. Afterwards, the salesman took us to their furnace area, where a number of glassblowers and craftsmen were doing very interesting work, including making a large glass elephant and a hand in the "okay" sign. Torie did not want to leave.

Eventually we caught the vaporetto back -- except we took the five, which was a non-stop from the island back to the stop closest to our hotel. So, we got to see the entire eastern half of the island, including the industrial and port area (by the way, there is a reason cities don't say "come see our industrial area" when they advertise tourism). So we cruised back at pretty good speed, and Maddy, Torie and I hung out in the open part of the boat, enjoying the feeling of being free upon the Adriatic.

We had lunch at an outdoor cafe fronting the lagoon. It was fine, but nothing special.

After a brief respite at the hotel room, we took the vaporetto back to Rialto. We walked around that area a bit for photos and so Carol could spend time there. Then, we headed toward a couple of sights to see. This time, I was much less certain as to where we were, but I kept making the right choices on turns, and we ended up at the Church of the Frari.

It was just 2.50 Euro for the adults, and the kids were free. Money well spent. It turned out to be our last church stop in Italy, but the art and design were amazing to look at.

We wandered some more, and got to my final stop for the day -- Palazzo Rezonicco, which is on the Grand Canal. It is set up wiht 18th century furniture and design. Well worth the stop, although they were pumping in the the stale air of boring museums (there seems to be a formula). After a bit, we all had to get out.

We caught another vaporetto back from nearby, and then headed to St. Mark's Square for drinks and pigeon chasing by the Maddy and Torie (read earlier post). We wiled away a good ninety minutes there, people-watching and basking in the glow of a fun, eventful trip.

For our final dinner, we got dressed up (I wore shoes to dinner twice in Rome, and now once in Venice). We went to Ristorante Antico Pignole on Calle Specchieri, just a few blocks (alleys?) off of St. Mark's Square. The restaurant was excellent -- although it was the most expensive meal of the trip.

When I got the wine list, I longed for the days of Tuscany and Florence. The low priced wines were at the higher end of those previous wine lists, and most of the wines were three or four digits -- in Euros!

There were also limited choices for Maddy and Torie. They both had the gnocchi, which Maddy was fine with, and Torie didn't care for. Julia had lamb chops, while Carol and split a caprese salad that was quite good. She had the veal shank (osso buco but without bone, essentially), while I had spaghetti with clams and also the veal chop (it's going to be tough to go back to eating just one course, but I need to -- didn't add weight on the trip thanks to all the walking, but can't go on like this forever!).

The clam spaghetti was the finest I've had, and I've had my fair share (including great homemade by my neighbor as a youth -- Mr. Orlando and my dad). The veal chop was the best seasoned I've ever had (even beating out DiMimio's in Baltimore). For wine, we had a 2001 CastelGiocondo Brunello Montalcino. It was quite good as well (but overpriced).

After dinner, the manager took me to the wine cellar (I guess they wait to see what you order). As we went upstairs, he noted that in Venice, all wine cellars are upstairs (makes sense, so they don't flood out). It was impressive seeing the 1,000+ Euro bottles, some from the 1950s, covered in dust. He spent some time on a busy Friday night showing me all three wine rooms -- very gracious of him.

We found gelatto on the way back, which woke the girls up some, and then bedded down for our last night in Italy.

Hearkening Back To My Youth. . .

Mrs. Iron Tourist was pretty wiped out when we got back to the hotel, so after a bit of time, I took the girls out. We bought drinks from a lagoon-side vendor (3 Euros for a huge beer that I could walk around with – no open container laws in Venice, no driving either).

We purchased 24 hour vaporetto tickets, and headed toward the Rialto Bridge. The #1 route is the local route, so it was the slow boat to China (if you got the oblique Marco Polo joke, chuckle NOW – if not, move on because there is nothing to see here. . .). But, after many stops with the maddening crowds getting on/off, we finally made it to the Rialto stop.

Another riff here: There are so many tourists in Venice (I recognize that we were part of the mob) that I believe the bridges are simply made of the calcified remains of tourists who have been trampled to death by other tourists. Think about that next time you walk over a bridge in Venice. The sheer numbers of people were staggering – and they came in wave after wave. And we were there on a Thursday and Friday – apparently Venice attracts many weekend-trippers from Europe. Saturday in Venice was as much of a tourist mob scene as I can imagine – but it was survivable. At least tourists (unlike Italians) shift a little so there are no collusions.

If you really, really hate crowds, skip Venice. Think Disney, but with more garbage and smell. Oh yeah, and a bit more history and architecture. But you get my point. Regardless, I love Venice – as does the whole family. Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

The girls were stunned by the scene at the Rialto Bridge – beautiful bridge teeming with people, shops in the market streets all around, and the jewelry shops lining the bridge. We wandered around, soaking in the scene.

And then the girls wanted to buy souvenirs. So we did. Searching for stall to stall for the right piece of bric a brac reminded me of our family trips to various parts of New England in my youth. I had never been south of mid-Jersey until I was in 8th or 9th grade, west of Eastern Pennsylvania until after college, nor flown domestically until a senior in high school, nor flown internationally until a junior in college. My girls have been to Spain, Ireland, London, now Italy, Mexico, Hawaii, and various parts of the US, but they still want stuff that will gather dust or break soon.

On the bright side, their preference for souvenirs is a step up in class over mine – but not a huge step. I’m always happy to buy t-shirts/sweatshirts, because at least they are worn. We got some stuff (nothing as tacky as the junk my brothers and I bought – although the price of crud has gone up a bit. Years from now, when they go to college, they’ll clean their rooms, find that stuff, and wonder. . .”hmmm, where in the heck did I get that?”

After we took a more express vaporetto back (although it didn’t stop as close to the hotel), and walked to dinner. The directions were simple – out of the hotel, turn left, and cross five bridges . Hang hard left, cross another bridge, and walk down a canal until there. We definitely cross out of the main tourism areas and into an actual neighborhood.

We had early reservations (7:30), which works well because we get served faster than the crowds that start coming at 8, and because the kids do get tired.

Travelers tip: When traveling with your family, use the excuse that “the children are getting tired” as the reason to ask for the bill right away. It speed up the process the last two dinners.

We had asked for a reasonably priced, relaxed restaurant, and the hotel desk clerk (who ought to be a male model with his chiseled Italian looks) suggest Hosteria Da Franz. It had a trattoria feel, and we enjoyed it. We were seated with complementary glasses of Prosecco, as well as a chef’s tasting dish. I had the crab mousse, pasta with prawns/onions and red peppers, and then Swordfish Mediterranean style. All very good. Carol had a excellent seafood salad, followed by the monkfish, while Julia tried her first sea bass, which she liked.

For wine, we had a Sicilian white that the owner recommended to go with the seafood we selected. I’m not a huge white wine drinker, but did enjoy it.

We then hiked back to the hotel rooms. The girls were disappointed there were no gelatto shops open between the neighborhood we were in and the hotel. They’ll live.

The Last Stop On The Grand Tour. . .

In the late 1700s, European nobles used to embark for months on the Grand Tour of Italy – Rome, Florence, and Venice. This may be news to some folks, but we’re not European, and we’re certainly not nobles.

But, we essentially followed their route, although we spent less time getting from place to place, but spent far more for food. While the switch to Euros has made life simpler for simple travelers, the downside appears to be food inflation. We were shocked by the price of food in Ireland, and there are no bargains to be found in Italy either.

Anyhow, the train ride was smooth, easy, and a good way to get from Florence to Venice. There’s no point in flying, and it gave everyone some relaxing downtime.

We took a water taxi from the train station to the hotel. We were met at the station by a person who handled getting us to our taxi. She had a sign that said “Bolger” and “Russell.” We were seasoned travelers with relatively small bags. The Russell family (from Texas) had huge, two ton suitcases. That’s smart way to travel. We had done laundry in Rome and Florence, so by packing for three-four days, we’re able to travel fairly light.

(In Florence, when we asked at the hotel for a place to do laundry, Casper the Unfriendly Desk Clerk was disdainful, but he relented and we got our laundry done. Carol struck up a conversation with a Canadian woman living in Norwich, England, who was there with her husband and two young ‘uns. The husband wasn’t so chatty, but I ended doing two conference calls while the washer and dryer was going. I go to the laundry NOT as a consultant, but as security and aide de camp to Mrs. Iron Tourist, who – shockingly – does not like to hang out at laundromats alone. My record as security guard at these places remains 100% successful.)

Meanwhile, back in Venice. . .

With luggage, water taxi is the way to go to the hotel. There is a vaporetto, but you pay 6 Euros per bag. With many stops. And not directly to the hotel. We took back canals to get to the Grand Canal, and the girls were utterly entranced. Our hotel, the Metropole, is just past St. Mark’s Square and fronts on the lagoon. So we motored right down the Grand Canal, past the classic views of Venice – the Doge’s Palace, the Campanile, and St. Mark’s Basilica, Santa Maria Salute, and one other church whose name escapes me (my money is that it is called Santa somethingorother).

Pulling up the smaller canal right beside the hotel and disembarking from the boat and walking right into the hotel is pretty cool. La Dolce Vita.

Our rooms weren’t ready, but the hotel is clearly well-positioned in Venice, and tries to pay some overdone homage to Marco Polo (which is fine – everything was good, the antiques in the hallways were neat, but the red velvet gave it a Graceland feel.)

We walked through St. Marks, and since it was lunchtime, we walked out of the Square and found a place to eat. Not an auspicious choice. It was easily the worst meal of the trip. Stuff happens.

Doubling back to the Square, we went up the Campanile. It’s not like Florence or San Gimignano – they have a lift. Despite the line looking long, it moved on a regular basis and our wait wasn’t long. You get great views of Venice from up top – but there is not the feeling of satisfaction from climbing up a tower, gasping for air and wanting to throw up over the side on the unsuspecting tourists below (actually, I’m not in that bad of shape, but it is good fun to imagine doing).

We then jumped in a relatively short line for St. Mark’s. The line moved quickly. After some confusion on where to check the backpack (somewhere near Florence, best I can tell), we walked around. Again, chunks of the church were closed because Good Friday services and Easter, so we didn’t get the full brillance of the church). However, the best thing to do is pay the 3 Euros and go up to the upper level – where you get stunning views inside the church, and you can walk out onto a balcony-like front part of the church, basking in the views of St. Mark’s, the Doge’s Palace, and out into the lagoon. It’s clearly a money spot to hit in Venice.

Finally, we paid our money and went into the Doge’s Palace. (The Doge was the executive of Venice, elected by the leading nobles, he served until death) The highlight is hard to figure – maybe it is the personal apartments that are quite grand, the various executive rooms where functions of state went on, or maybe the prison next door. It is neat to walk over the beautiful (from the outside) “Bridge of Sighs,” so named for the sounds the prisoners made while being led from court into prison.

(So, near the enclosed bridge of sighs is another bridge over the same canal that nearly every tourist crosses at some point – and we had to cross it to get to the hotel. Everytime we did, I looked toward the Bridge of Sighs and starting sighing loudly, whining things like, “sigh, I want gelatto, sigh.” Julia turned to me and noted that’s probably not what the prisoners were sighing. “Oh,” I said, and then went back to sighing for gelatto. Mission to get her goat? Successful.)

It was a successful afternoon in St. Mark’s Square, so we headed back to the hotel to regroup and grabbed some gelatto (of course) on the way.

Random Thoughts on Venice. . .

Waiting for the water taxi to take us to the airport. Took a nice scroll through the packed St. Mark's Square (it's the day before Easter, and St. Mark's is like Times Square but with more people and less traffic). We walked through the back streets to the Rialto Bridge (took just five minutes), and then back -- but more leisurely.

Anyhow, I will write the longer posts on our Venice trip from the airport, but since there is some time, a few random thoughts:

The best way to see Venice is to take to the back streets. Some are big shopping streets, others lead to small churches (or large), and others just have a handful of trattorias or nothing at all. But it is fun to pass over the bridges over the many canals, and spot a gondola, water taxi, or private boat.

The second best way is via vaporetto. It's essentially an aboveground subway, but on the water. There are plenty of stops, and the boats on the main routes are packed (so it's not the most comfortable ride). But, it's a great way to see the Grand Canal or go to Murano (more info on that later).

We bought a 24 hour pass (there are multiple different increments) for 15 Euro each (about $22). A one-way, one shot ticket is 6 Euro, so it takes three rides to come out ahead -- and we took six rides in the 24 hours.

Food is fine here, but if you come to Italy to eat, go to Florence, Tuscany, or Rome. We went to two very good restaurants at night, but the drop-in lunch places weren't so good. Gelatto scoops are much smaller for the same price as elsewheres in Italy, and it's not as good. Part of the reason is that it is so hard to provision Venice -- everything comes in by boat, and then is carted by guys through the streets. So you pay more and get less fresh (except the fish, which is quite good).

Time to head to the airport.

Ground-breaking Post! Excited? You Should Be!

This is my first ever post via Blackberry. I think that officially marks me as a total tech geek loser blogger.

Now that I've establised I can do it, I suppose I have to write something.

We're at breakfast -- and I'm drinking warm flat water. The secret to not having cold drinks in Italy is to drink acqua frizzante (San Pellegrino, etc). That should not be w ice anyhow.

The girls would comment on the rare times they got ice for their sodas.

By the way, don't ask for more ice. Just live it. It's a cultural difference.

Also, the American preference for ice is not a sign of our cultural decline. The service of Bob Byrd in the KKK and the Senate is one such sign. Anna Nicole Smith is another. But liking ice in our drinks? Nope.

OK -- history has been made w this blackberry post, so I will sign off now and post again later.

Dances with Wolves? No, Runs With Pigeons

Just got back from a half run in Venice. Ran twice around St. Marks Square -- once at the start and once near the end, and then along the lagoon and back.

I wasn't in best form (after ten days of walking around Italy, my bad ankle feels as stiff as the David's right ankle). However, it was still an inspiring run. Running up and down the bridges gave me some step work (after about the tenth bridge I felt like I should raise my arms in a triumphant Rocky pose), and I got out early enough that the city was nearly empty, with just a few working boats going around, and a handful of other runners, as well as some picture takers and tourists.

(The best line in Rocky Balboa is when Rocky says to Pauly -- "hey, stick around, the special of the day is about to come out." Pauly: "There aint't nothing special about Italian food made by Mexicans." If you are offended by that line, get a life. If you laughed, welcome.)

Carol informed us that St. Mark's Square is the only place in Venice where pigeons are allowed (that's why they flock there). Apparently the city gets a cut of the profit from the pigeon food that is sold there. In the rest of the city, pigeons are hunted and killed.

Traveler's Tip: Don't order chicken in Venice. Why? Um, just a thought.

I also got to see the town clock strike the hour -- 8am. There are two figures at the bell, and one of the figures moves and strikes the bell with his sledgehammer like thingie. It's very nifty to watch.

It's amazing how quickly the city started filling up between 8am and 8:30. Many vaporettos pulled up, disgorging workers and tourists. There was a garbage barge where workers had to toss the bags into the hold one by one, and then the barge operator would flatten the garbage like a regular garbage truck.

As I passed other runners, we winked, nodded, and mumbled buonogiorno to each other. We had learned the secret -- running shoes early in the morning is a great way to another side of Venice.

During my warm-down, I stopped at a garbage can and, ahem, cleared my nose without a tissue, and without any sign of class. The woman outside my hotel glared at me. She was smoking, so you tell me who showed less class.

Time to shower and get breakfast. I'm going to write some posts to cover Venice whilst at the airport. God I love this city!

He Should Be French

It's Friday at 6pm Venice Time (which is the same as Rome and Florence, but hey, we're here).

The Iron Tourist and his family are sitting in St. Mark's Square, WAY OVERPAYING for bierra, prosecco, and sodas.

We sat down, and were ignored for a while. Finally, after the people sat down next to us and immeidately got menus, our waiter deigned to bring us menus. Carol was fuming that we should move to another cafe and overpay there, but I figured we were already here.

The gold on St. Mark's Basilica is shimmering in the sunlight, the clock tower just struck six, and we're just hanging out. How many times in life will I get to blog in St. Mark's Square? (It's a rhetorical question, so don't post comment answers, wiseguys).

I noted to Carol that he is so rude he should be French. Drinks are here.

(The photo is of me live blogging in St. Mark's Square.)

Quick Post. . .

Kids slept in this morning (till 8:15), so we've just finished up breakfast and are heading to explore more of Venice on our last full day on the trip.

I'm only a day behind on the blog -- I wish I could write it in real time, because there are anecdotes that happen that I forget when I write a day or two later.

Thanks for the postive emails, and don't hesitate to leave a comment.

Venice is a fabulous city -- I loved it in 1984, and I love it now too.

I was up early this morning, both working and blogging -- should have gotten up even earlier.

Off to Murano, and then more of Venice. . .

A Day In The Life. . .

As we walked through the lobby to head to the Accademe, an older gentleman quipped, “they look as enthusiastic as my family.” But the day got better.

For me, it started getting better when we approached the Accademe, went past the two long, long lines, and walked right in with our reserved tickets. Looking at the lines, I figured one of the two was the line for people with reservations, but that wasn’t the case.

I’m all for equality and brotherhood, but if I can avoid a damn long line because our travel agent had the foresight to recommend timed tickets, I’m going to take it (and so should you).

Post security, the ticket line was one family deep, so we breezed right in -- both past the long lines and in the ticket area. Pretty sweet.

Before writing about the David, another riff:

The admission policies in Italy are very much hit and miss. Sometimes Torie’s ticket is free. Sometimes all three are free. Sometimes we have to pay full ticket prices for all of us. Some times reduced tickets are only for Europeans, sometimes they are for all. Most churches are free, but some cost money. Buying full price tickets for five isn’t cheap, so the ridotto tickets (reduced price) are a nice perk.

Back to the David. After admiring some unfinished Michelangelo sculptures, we came to the David. Because they limit the number of people entering at any one time, you can walk around it relatively easily. You can stop and admire different vantage points without a problem. No pictures are allowed.

I overheard the following conversation while admiring the David from the back.

Teenage boy: “Mr. Wright, can I take a picture?”
Adult: “No. No pictures at all. Buy a postcard.”
Boy: “But I want a picture from the back.”
Adult: “Buy two postcards.”

We spent some time there, and then walked into other parts of the gallery before going back outside, past the riff-raff standing outside. I spit on them for not having the foresight to get advanced tickets. They were ashamed. (I totally made the last two sentence up, but it would have been pretty cool had it actually happened, all brotherhood aside.)

It was just a few blocks to the Duomo, which is stunning on the outside. Unfortunately, inside a large chunk of it was roped off to get ready for Easter, so we couldn’t get a good look at the inside of the Dome (but could see some of it).

Climbing the 414 steps of the Campanile was worth the effort, as we were afforded excellent views all aroudn Florence. Even the overcast skies couldn’t dampen the views.

We then walked to the outdoor market that sprawls for blocks around Mercato Centrale. The girls bought souvenirs as I toyed with the idea of buying a leather coat (ultimately did not pull the trigger). As we were walking away, however, I spotted a ceramics store with beautiful pieces. We asked about a table that was about double our budget. As we were leaving, the guy helpfully pointed out the reason for the price is that is six different patterns, and a table with one pattern is half price.

We wheeled around and played “let’s make a deal.” In two months or so we’ll have a beautiful hand designed side table for our patio. Perfect for decanting wine (if you know what I mean and our friends will know what that means – many late summer nights relaxing in our backyard while the kids run around).

By the time we got to Piazza della Republica for lunch, it was pouring out. We had been lucky up top of the Campanile – not even a drizzle.

We ate outside (under cover) at the same restaurant (Giubbe Rosi, famous as an artistic hangout) where Carol had lunch with Annette, Marney, and Patty two years ago on their famous trip through Italy. The caprese salad was excellent, and I had pasta with gorgonzola (which was mighty tasty). Carol had the pici pasta.

As it poured down rain, I reflected that I was already enjoying this trip to Florence much more than in 1984 (remember, I was on a much more limited budget then, and there’s only so much art this Iron Tourist can handle).

We walked back to the hotel for our rain gear and a short recharging of the batteries. Frankly, we needed a plan for the afternoon. Carol and I basically came up with the same one – Ponte Vecchio, Palazzo Pitti, Vivoli Gelatto, and Santa Croce. While the Iron Tourist was feeling pretty strong, the Little Irons were a little tired. But we pressed on anyhow.

Ponte Vecchio was fun to walk across with the mobs of people and the stores all open. The sun started coming out as we approached the bridge. So, raincoats came off (too warm), and my sunglasses would have gone on had I not left them in the room.

We bought the limited entrance tickets for Palazzo Pitti, rather than go through the whole thing. Our main interest was to see the gardens. . .and hiking up the hill and walking back down another route was a good boost – we all needed some extended fresh air in the outdoors, rather than shuffling from one church to another museum. The views of Florence and beyond were tremendous, and looked like postcards. The Palazzo itself is huge – probably larger than any residence I’ve ever seen.

After walking around for a while, we headed for the exit. On the way back, we stopped in a boutique so Julia could shop for a confirmation dress. The subplots surrounding this were typical. Anything Carol suggested as we passed by other stores was immediately rejected by Julia. If Carol had said she hated the sackcloth and ashes look, Julia might have wanted to wear it. Meanwhile, Maddy and Torie were wondering when my head would explode – we had already gone shopping earlier in the outdoor market.

I sat down and didn’t do anything but hand over the American Express when a selection was reached. More importantly, Carol did not pass judgement on any dress (we BOTH like what Julia picked out, but we did not tell her that until after the purchase was made).

We pressed on to find Vivoli. It was a bit of a haul on a side street, but worth it. A book of Top Tens (drives, hotels, restaurants, etc.) had listed it as one of the top ten ice creams in the world. I’m sorry, but when you are in the same city as one of the top ten ice creams, you make it a point to find the place. It was very, very good. Top 10? Well, I don’t know about that, but it was the best gelatto we found so far in Italy.

Then we went to Santa Croce, a church where A list Florentines are buried. . .Michelangelo, Machiavelli, Galileo, and Dante (now that’s a Fab Four). That’s worth the trip.

Given that Maddy and Torie were crashing and burning (Julia had slept well last night, and was also excited about her dress purchase experience), we headed back to the hotel – a forced march on the other side of town.

We relaxed a while before going to dinner.

A couple of travelers tips:

At least for traveling in Europe, do NOT use Travelers Checks. We discovered that in 2003 they were just a pain in the arse to cash. We saw some folks having the same frustration on this trip. Simply use your ATM card to get cash. Heck, the exchange rate will be better through your bank/credit union than when purchasing the Travelers checks.

I had searched on-line for top restaurants in Rome. Wish I had done the same in Florence and Venice. Our Florence meals were okay, but nothing spectacular. We went to two great restaurants in Rome (and Alfredo’s was good) and also the one in Radda. The best list for Rome was from Frommer’s site – which listed the best of various types of restaurants, so there was a wide variety to choose from (best for kids, best for wine, best for views, best for traditional, best for novella cuisine, etc.). So, go on line as well as using guide books. Having multiple sources can help you make a more informed choice.

Anyhow, we wanted something not too fancy – Maddy and Torie had fallen sound asleep before going to dinner, so I found Buca Mario, which had room after room of tables. When we got there at 7:30 it was empty, but it filled up quickly. Dating from the 1880s, the restaurant has been in the same family since its founding (kind of like a McDonalds in the States).

I ordered a Cabreo 2001, a Super Tuscan from Greve in Chianti. The waiter was very complimentary of the choice. I listened as nearby tables ordered wine, and they don’t give the same effusive praise for ordering the house wine.

Borrowing an idea from Rick Stark, I asked the girls what they liked the best that day. Torie and Julia both liked the open air market the most, while Maddy preferred the Campanile. Carol liked Santa Croce and the gardens at Pitti Palazzo the most. My favorite was the David.

I had the pesto pasta (there’s a fancier name for it, but that’s pretty descriptive) and Osso buca. Some pesto can be too strong, but this was quite good (when I ordered it, the waiter double checked with me to make sure I knew what it was). Carol had Tuscan meats, followed by fried lamb (some fancy name). Julia had the lamb, while the other two had pasta. The Osso Buca was quite good, but Carol didn’t enjoy her fried lamb. She had just read about it a book, “1,000 days in Tuscany,” but it did not live up to the author’s description.

The table of Americans nearby were funny to listen to. The woman wanted to know what was in the lasagne. The waiter knows English, but not well enough to talk about all ingredients in a dish – so she had no idea what was in it. They also had no interest in trying anything they hadn’t tried before. And ordered the house wine. They wondered why our wine was decanted and theirs was not.

Given how tired everyone was (including Mrs. Iron Tourist), we headed back to the hotel to be ready for our train to Venice.

One full day in Florence is plenty (unless you are really into art, in which case take a lifetime). But, we really enjoyed the day. Despite my concerns in the morning, everyone did pretty well. In fact, in my 1984 college student bum around Europe trip, Florence was my least favorite stop (except for the food). Florence has redeemed herself in my eyes (I'm SURE that makes Florentines feel MUCH better about their city now!).

Into Every Life, A Little Rain Must Fall. . .

So we drove into Florence with the rain coming down. Saw a wrecked motorcycle and its somewhat stunned rider being comforted by some people. Moments later an ambulance came racing up.

In moments, there was a somewhat stunned driver of the Big Blue Monster. Tom Tom was actually working well, but with the excitement of the wrecked motorcycle, I missed the correct turn off the circle (“there were six roads leading off the circle,” he writes in a somewhat defensive manner), so we took narrow streets made for people and horses, not the BBM. At a couple of point, we had to pull in the side view mirrors just to fit through. Good fun.

Eventually made it to the hotel (Hotel de la Ville). I parked Italian style in front (the back was partway onto the street) and we unloaded the bags quickly, and went to check in. (The girls are great at hustling up on this kind of stuff – we unload the car quicker than a NASCAR pit car change).

The disdainful desk clerk (I think he was trained in Paris) checked us in, and showed me how to get to the rental car agency. Carol and the girls headed upstairs, while I braved the streets of Florence once again. Tom Tom wouldn’t take me to the rental car return location (John Madden once said, “irony can be so ironic.”), so I had to follow the map sketch that Casper the Unfriendly Desk Clerk made. (To be fair, he answered every question we asked. . .just not with any interest or positive perspective.)

Anyhow, I had some trouble deciphering some notes, so I pulled a Chevy Chase (the comedian, not the city) and went round a piazza a couple times (there are two ways in, and one way out). Several times on the drive I just stopped to consult the map. Renaissance art is famous for its curves. I believe they were inspired by the fact that NONE of the roads are straight.

Despite my best efforts to get lost, I ended up on the right street and found Europacar. Stepping out of the car, I kissed the ground (actually no, but the thought crossed my mind). The guy came out to check the gas and inspect for damages. He comes back in – “all good.” I didn’t say, “but what about the scratch where I scraped the pole in San Gimignano?” Instead I turned and left. (To be fair to the guy – and me, the list of pre-existing scrapes, dents and scratches was far longer than I’ve ever seen on a rental agreement, rivaling the Bill of Rights in length.)

A stroll back to the hotel through the light rain was refreshing, and soon it was time for dinner. Two restaurants had been recommended to us in Florence. Casper the Unfriendly Desk Clerk (not his real name) dismissed one as being too far, but strongly approved of the other. It was full up though, so he recommended a restaurant a few streets away – Oliviero.

Anyhow, dinner was good, and I once again ordered an excellent bottle of wine (Cerviolo 2000, a Tuscan blend from Castellina in Chianti. The wine presentation was the most elaborate we’ve ever seen. After opening the bottle, he used the foil to smartly tie the cork to the top of the bottle. Then, he poured a bit of the wine into various sized decanters (and our glasses), before pouring it all into one decanter and allowing me a taste (or something like that – it was a very ornate process). The restaurant specialized in novella Tuscan cuisine, with both traditional dishes and new Tuscan dishes.

We both had pumpkin ravioli (which was good, but not as good as in Radda), Carol had the lamb, and I had the loin of veal stuffed with Parma ham. The food was elaborately presented on the plate, and I really enjoyed the loin of veal.

Foodie alert: the lamb in Italy seems okay, but not quite of the caliber of Scottish/English/Irish lamb.

We walked over to the nearby Ponte Vecchio, crossed the river, and got gelatto at the shop at the end of the Ponte Vecchio (the jewelry shops were all closed). We wandered back to the hotel after a relaxing evening.

Then, it was the night to forget. Our hotel rooms were on two separate floors, but connected by a staircase. We started with the girls sleeping down below. It got quite hot in the upper room, so we finally opened a two story window that gave us easy access to the motorcycles, scooters, and drunks making noise below. Maddy and Torie were having trouble sleeping, so there was lots of bustling around (without much rest). Around 3 in the morning, I went down to ask how to turn on the air conditioning in the room. Not possible.

Finally, Carol went downstairs were it was cooler, and Torie slept in our bed.

We were all pretty grumpy the next morning. Breakfast was a glare-fest between parents and kids. Kids and kids. Husband and wife. It promised to be a superfabulous day! After Volterra yesterday, we seemed to be in a slump.

Swing and a Miss. . .

Actually, it wasn’t a fateful decision (see end of previous post). It was a bad decision. Heck, “bad decisions” are when you have information and make the wrong choice. Instead, it was an unlucky decision. Yeah, that makes me feel better. Call it an unlucky decision. I decided we should go to Volterra. It’s about 30 kms west from San Gimignano.

Every so often, on a trip, we are going to hit a dud. Volterra was our dud. In those situations, you gotta do what the pros do – shake it off.

The drive to the town is nice, but Volterra itself, on that day, left much to be desired. It was like walking around a ghost town (speaking of which, they have a museum of torture as well, but the girls declined the opportunity to go in for some reason). We got gelatto, wandered around, but even the piazzas were devoid of life.

We blew town. If you are wandering around Tuscany, don’t feel like you need to make the side trip to Volterra. Although, to be fair, it is possible that it is nicer most days than when we were there. Or maybe not. Of the seven towns we went to, it ranks eighth.

The most interesting part of the trip to Volterra was the parking. Before squeezing into the last available space in the packed lot (at least it was free parking), everyone else got out of the car, and we pulled in the side view mirrors (we did a lot of that whilst on narrow roads in Radda and other tight spots).

I then crossed over to the passenger side, opened the door as far as possible (think not very far), and then contorted my way out the door. I had to do a reverse contortion to get back in. Backing out left no margin for error. Heroically, I managed to back out no problem. If there had been a big crowd, they would have roared approval. As it where, the kids cheered for me.

We shook off Volterra, and then drove uneventfully to Florence, although we were greeted by rain on the outskirts of the city.

Swing and a Hit. . .

After another fine breakfast at Palazzo Leopoldo (the cheeses are great, and today they had figs). Excellent selection of breakfast meats, pastries, etc. Once again, though, I felt like I was in Seattle when I got strange for not ordering coffee.

We said goodbye to our four friends from last night, took some time around town, checked out of the hotel, and drove across winding roads to San Gimignano. Even though – as we drove west – the mountains turned to hills and valleys, the roads were still twisting up and down, so I kept shifting from fourth gear to second, to third, and back down. Unlike Vermont, in Tuscany you can get there from here, but it’s going to take some time.

Still all the driving was neat for Carol and I (except the occasions when she got a little queasy), because we got all over large chunks of the backroads of Central Tuscany, which is the way we both like it (although she prefers asphalt with her roads, I’m fine with dirt).

Up on a hill with its dramatic towers, San Gimignano (pronounced any damn way you please at this point) is striking as we approach the town and parked right outside the city walls. A nearly tragic moment occurred when I managed to scrap a pole pulling into the town parking lot, but all’s well that ends well (as you will see later in the day).

We squeezed into a spot (the lines are drawn to easily accommodate something slightly larger than a racing bike (bicycle, not motorcycle – that’s way too big!) and headed into town. Known by many (okay, probably a handful) as the “Manhattan of Italy” because of its medieval towers, the town is quite picturesque.

Just inside the gates is the Museum of Torture. The Lonely Planet guidebook said “children will enjoy that.” Or not. While it was very interesting to Carol and I (we’ve both worked in politics, mind you), the girls were pretty grossed out. Maybe it should say “boys will enjoy it.” It was filled with torture instruments from the Inquisition, with vivid descriptions of how and why they were used. Boy, those were enlightened times!

The girls bagged out after the first floor, and frankly I couldn’t read every plaque or look at every torture device. The experience will come in handy for the girls when their 10th grade English teacher says, “class, the topic for the paper is ‘man’s inhumanity to man.’ Discuss.”

The ticket also got us in to the Death Penalty Museum up the street. There wasn’t any enthusiasm to go to that museum.

We then walked some side streets to catch panoramic views of the surrounding countryside (San G – as we call it – is perched up high on a hill, like many Tuscan towns) and views up to the various towers. We stopped for lunch and sat in the sun at the Piazza della Cisterna, listening to the various bells chime noon. Julia bought a necklace at a nearby silversmith, and we hung out in the Piazza for a while.

Then, we went up to the Piazza del Duomo, and went into the Duomo. Then it happened. What will be forever known as the “The Minor Shorts Incident of 2007” by some (me) or as the “The Great Shorts Fiasco of 2007” by others (Carol). It was a sunny day. Warm (60s). The last few days had been sunny, and a bit warm walking around in jeans. So I put on shorts. It was warm.

Upon presenting our tickets to go into the Duomo, the ticket lady pointed at me, gestured, and pulled me aside. Then she disappeared briefly into the back, before returning triumphantly carrying a light blue apron-style made out of foamy material for me to put on to cover my legs. I guess Carol thought our impending invitation to dine with the queen of England would be rescinded, because my wife was not happy with my fashion faux pas. And she let me know it. I felt a little odd swishing around in a light blue dress like material, but I really didn’t care what the 30 strangers in the church thought. And, frankly, my dear, I don’t think they give a damn.

However, it is the last day I will be wearing shorts.

Freed from my humiliation (I think they have one of the leg cover-ups in the torture museum), we climbed the Torre Grossa (big tower) to have both a good stairs workout AND great views of the town and surrounding countryside.

We headed back down the tower, and into a beautiful courtyard. Nature called, so we followed the signs for the W.C. (watercloset). Torie was quite surprised when it was one of the old fashioned kind – nothing but a few private holes in the ground. The girls decided to wait. The circumstances of the toilet didn’t bother me any. (As we left Volterra later, there was a guy who thought he was hidden behind a rise in the ground relieving himself. He was hidden – from traffic coming up the hill, but to those of us going down the hill he was in plain sight. Classy.)

We walked out of town, looking in some of the shops along the way, but seeing nothing.

As we left the town, I was flip-flopping between going to Volterra or bagging that and heading north to Florence. I made a fateful decision.

Sitting in a Railway Station

Got a ticket to our destination.

It's Thursday morning and we're hanging at the Florence train station, waiting to head to Venice. I know this blog is jumping around the narrative a bit, but that's life.

This morning at breakfast, I gave the kids the Sound of Music speech. It went something like this:

Me: "Remember the scene in the Sound of Music where they crossover the Alps into Switzerland?"
Maddy/Torie: "Yup."
Julia: Non-verbal eyeroll. Says plenty.
Me: "Well, we're walking to the train station, but this walk will be easier than what they did in the Sound of Music."

(A guy just walked by and threw his cigarette on the marble floor, then stepped on it. I bet the Von Trapp family didn't have THAT happen to them.)

The walk from the hotel was non-eventful. Except that Italians who are walking on your part of the sidewalk, right at you, will not move. So we have to jump off the sidewalk and then back on. When we arrived at the station, I sent Carol to get the tickets.

She can understand some Italian because of her Spanish abilities. She hates to ask for information -- especially when we were driving. When in a foreign country, I'm NOT the stereotypical male. I will ask for help getting some place (it's better than going the wrong way).

I find the Glen method works well. Say the destination or point to it on a map, and look helpless AND bemused (the right attitude is important -- simply helpless and they don't like you, bemused and they laugh). People always go out of their way to help.

Carol is the opposite. She must think that asking for directions in broken Engtalian is a sign to the locals that we are to be grabbed, robbed, and killed. That hasn't happened yet though.

I've downloaded some more photos on the previous posts, for those who are huge fans of the blog (and I do appreciate the myriad emails).

Other observations:

In Rome, the drivers were friendly and would stop when people stepped into the street. In Florence the drivers are angry and wouldn't stop. Torie and I (in separate instances) nearly got run over by motorcyclists.

We finally met an Italian we didn't like -- the desk clerk at the Hotel de la Ville in Florence was very officious and snooty. He helped when asked, but didn't seem particularly interested in doing so. Heck, while I didn't like Stefano's driving, he was a nice enough fellow.

There are only so many pre-Renaissance works of art that a 9 year old, a 12 year old, a 14 year old, and a 44 year old (yes, Jennifer, I may look 54, but I'm 44) can handle. We never got tired of Michelangelo's work.

Eating out every night in Italy is expensive. Of course, a bottle of wine with dinner isn't cheap. I've developed a simple trick -- order a mid-range Tuscan (or Brunello) from 2001, and the waiter will compliment your choice. And it is good. In case you wonder, I do listen in at the other tables, and their wine choices are automatically complimented.

La Dolce Vita (The Sweet Life). . .

We got back to the hotel from Siena around 5:30 or so, and the girls wanted to use the indoor pool. The pool is outside, down the steps, and back in another door. It’s a cool old room, but the pool is quite small. When we got there, a guy was doing laps. Given the size of the pool, it is the equivalent of using a small track to run endless loops to reach a marathon.

We gave the girls a stern talking to about not interfering with his “laps,” but I accurately predicted that he would lose interest pretty quickly. Apparently he left after five-ten minutes. Kids accounted for, Carol and I wandered around Radda in Chianti. It’s a small town, and not every shop is open, but we found a couple of neat shops, including one with handcrafted tables and decorations done in a certain style that is very beautiful.

(Outside of Rome, the shopkeepers don’t implore potential customers to come in and browse. In Rome, that’s a modestly annoying custom.)

The last place we stopped was a store selling organic wine grown just three kms away. The small shop was empty, so we wandered around for a few moments when the guy came running in an apologizing. Turns out the owner of the vineyard also runs the store, so we had a tasting. I bought a bottle of the 2003 Caparsino Chianti Classico riserva. I had a plan – one that ultimately worked very well.

One funny moment was when I asked the owner (Paolo Cianferoni) what makes his wine organic. “The government” was his answer. It was a short, sweet answer that is true. I was hoping for a brief lesson in organic wine making, but he so directly answered the question I chuckled and was thrown for a loop.

When we got back to the hotel, we asked Daniel for two glasses and a corkscrew. They have a nice patio overlooking the valley, and we were going to relax there. I saw one of the guys from breakfast this morning, so I invited him to join us for a drink. So Daniel got a third glass. His name is Gary Lelli and he and his wife, Nancy, live in Doylestown. She joined us and we chatted away like old friends, enjoying the wine.

My only mistake was not getting some cheese and bread to go with it, but we were all good. Eventually the couple they were traveling with (Bob is Nancy’s brother). It turns out Bob’s wife (Diane) is a high end travel agent, so she was checking out some villas nearby to recommend. Not a bad way to do research.

At breakfast, I had told Gary we were going to Terrabianca. Turns out they went as well, and got an impromptu tour and tasting. Bob and Carol were talking, it turns out his last name is Colaizzi. We have neighbors on swim team with the same last name. Small world – they are cousins with our neighbor Roger.

We sat for a long time, drinking, talking, and watching the bright red moon rise over the Tuscan countryside. The girls finished swimming around 7:30, and we headed downstairs to dinner at 8pm.

Bruno greeted us, and we enjoyed a bottle of 1999 Casanova di Neri Brunello with the meal that was the best of the trip in my estimation. Our four new friends took our recommendation and at La Perla di Palazzo as well.

I had the ravioli (best pasta of the trip so far) and the boar’s stew – which was delicious. Carol enjoyed the ravioli on my recommendation, with lamb chops for her second course. The girls enjoyed the pappadelle (sp?), and Julia also had lamp chops. We all had salads too.

Before the other two couples got up to leave, I bought Gary a shot of grappa, which Bruno delivered. Bob’s family is Abruzzo, which is also Bruno’s hometown, so they chatted a bit.

The desserts were amazing – Torie loved the chocolate souffle, while the other two had raspberry souffles. After the girls went up to bed, Bruno joined us for a complimentary shot of grappa, so we talked some more.

All in all, a memorable night.

Technically speaking, technical difficulties. . .

Quick note -- faithful readers, don't despair -- I hope things will get better soon.

We had no wireless in Radda in Chianti (still a great place), and things are hit and miss in Florence. I have been resorting to blogging from a gas station in Siena and with the hotel computer in Florence. I spend each morning writing on WordPerfect on the laptop, and then figure out eventually how to load it.

I'm going to try blogging from outside the hotel tomorrow in case service is better. Very hit and miss here in Florence -- which is a pain after nothing in Radda.

Photos are ready to go, but I need more time and better connectivity.

Cliche Alert: Under The Tuscan Sun. . .

After the winery tour, we headed to Siena, which is just a short drive away. After being in the middle of nowhere, it was strange get so quickly into a town. Tom Tom actually had the route right for once. Blind squirrel, meet acorn.

We drove around for a bit, searching for parking. We felt triumphant when we found a tiny pay lot right by the Fortezza (Fortress). Well, as we headed into the town and turned the corner, it turned out the parking lot is huge. . .but darn it, it still counts as a good parking find.

We followed signs along the twisty, narrow streets packed with tourists like us (although we were wearing short sleeves while everyone else was bundled up like January). Plus, the other tourists’ children are not as bright as our kids. So, maybe they aren’t tourists like us.

Okay, I’m back now from wherever I drifted off to in that last paragraph.

We plopped down for lunch in the huge – and packed – Plaza del Campo. But, once again, it was a good packed, not an overpacked packed. It gave the place life. . .there’s a fountain and the famous clock tower (look, Lonely Planet guidebook says it is famous, it’s famous – trust me). The antipasto plate of Tuscan meats and cheeses was enough for lunch – and Carol and I split that. Huge plate of the best stuff. The pasta was fine.

We toured the Palazzo across the way, then hiked up the windy hill to the Duomo. We were shocked (twice). There was a line to get in (it moved fine), and we had to pay to get in. First Catholic Church in Italy we had to pay to enter. The facade is amazing, and it was pretty inside. After wandering for a while, we headed out for gelatto.

(Look, I could write more in-depth about the different frescos, paintings, etc., but I’m not an expert and you’re here to be entertained, not bored.)

We headed for Nannini’s just off the Plaza del Campo, because it was promised by the Lonely Planet book to be the best gelatto in town. Except the shop didn’t sell gelatto. Bakery, candy, coffee, yes. Gelatto, no. We then set off in search of the car AND gelatto. Since the gelateria in Radda en Chianti is closed on Monday, we needed our fix in Siena.

Well, we came upon another Nannini’s - which has gelatto – but the place was ringed two deep by Italians who don’t queue up. Clearly it’s good gelatto, but we had less than zero chance of getting anyone’s attention to get served. Maddy asked – "is it worth it." Nope – so we moved on. We stopped for water/soda at McDonald’s (we won’t get food).

Then, it was time to head back. We stopped for diesel. . .and the fellow at the gas station was very helpful. . .for example, pointing out that the diesel actually goes in the front after I had pulled too far forward. Because of technical difficulties, I posted some blog entries to the site while parked at the station.

If the Road to Hell is Paved With Good Intentions. . .

The road to wine heaven isn’t paved at all.

On Monday we went to our favorite Italian winery, Terrabianca. Before leaving, we had a sumptuous breakfast, including many different cheeses, pastries, meat, and fruit. The girls had their first kiwi – and liked it (they’ve had opportunities before, but always passed on the honor). We’ve been urging them to try new foods – Maddy is the most adventurous, while Torie is the least. Maddy has generally enjoyed most of the different foods she has tried.

We spent some time chatting with two nice couples – and they’ll come back into the story later.

The front desk person said that we would not want to take the direct route to the winery – because it was a dirt road that was not in good shape. So she sent us to Castellina en Chianti, and from there we’d find a road to take us to the winery.

Well, there is no clearly marked direct road. I asked directions, and the woman (an American who clearly knows the town) told us about the dirt road that goes there, but then suggested we drive much further out of our way to take black top. The more she talked, the more she counseled us against the dirt road. The more she counseled against, the more likely I was to take it.

I’ll Take the Dirt Road. . .
Well, Carol and I had a disagreement over strategy. I preferred the more direct route, while she preferred the safer route. Occasionally I win. She wasn’t happy, but I was. We took the dirt road, and it wound us through some very stark and beautiful countryside. In the far distance we could see the snow capped peaks of the Appenines mountains. There were times I felt we were just sliding down steep slopes, but the car was under control the whole time. Stefano would have wet his pants.

There were huge country estates, some with wine, but many without. Despite the "Deliverance" vibe to the road, there were no cars on blocks.

We came to the occasional crossroads and had to guess which way to go (Tom Tom was not much help help). At one point, we drove up this hill from a crossroads. Nothing there. I hopped out and asked the two Italian road workers (only people we saw for the last 10 miles) where Terrebianca is. They discussed the situation gravely, and then pointed south, and said "una kilometer." Well, it was a little more than a km, but not much, and we pulled in.

The girls were not looking forward to the "wine factory" as Torie called it, but Maddy and Torie later said it was their favorite part of the dinner (besides swimming and dinner). We got a private tour and tasting. The owner and many workers are away at an exhibition in Verona, so things were quiet. On the other hand, we got the full tour with much time and attention. It was neat to see the oak casks, the bottling process (Laverne and Shirley-esque – "we’re gonna make our dreams, cause we’ll do it our way, yes our way, make all dreams come true. . .for me and you."), the labels, the cork machine.

A Random Walk Down Via Cavour. . .

When I don’t order coffee with breakfast, I get strange looks from the waiters/waitresses.

Italy is Florida for smokers. It can be 67 degrees out, and people are wearing heavy winter coats walking around town. We’re all in short sleeves, wishing we had shorts on, and they are strolling around in furs!

Of course, the restaurants don’t open for dinner till 7:30, so there are no early bird specials.

The best way to see Tuscany is to get sent on the back country roads by the GPS (which undermines its hatred for us).

It may be touristy to sit at an outdoor table for lunch at the biggest piazza in town, but it’s still a great deal of fun.

Eating breakfast in a 14th century kitchen is good fun.

Everyone we have contact with – including at the gas station, is quite nice.

I’ve had to do four conference calls thus far with the States. . .wonder what my cell phone bill will look like.

Tom Tom Means Dumb Dumb

We also had a portable GPS that came with the rental car. It took us right to our first stop – Orvieto in Northern Umbria no problem. After that, Tom Tom became an adventure adventure. But I’m getting ahead of my story.

We parked on the lower end of town, and then hiked up to the Duomo/Piazza via a street along the cliffs, so we had excellent views of the surrounding countryside. The huge Duomo is beautiful, and then we strolled around some side streets, where Carol bought some copper utensils for further decoration of our kitchen (we have a few). Refreshingly, prices are cheaper here than in Rome.

There are several advantages to the Hill towns – city centro is off limits to tourist vehicles, so everyone must park on the outskirts of town and walk. The locals who are allowed to drive are not many, and they generally know what they are doing. Some of the streets are too narrow to allow cars, with low archways and pathways worth exploring all over. We checked out a few other buildings, and headed back to the car after 90 minutes or so.

On the way out of town, we stopped to see the Etruscan necropolis – incredible pre-Roman gravesites.

Driving north to Tuscany, I had charted an ambitious course of Montepulciano, Pienza, and Montalcino. As it turns out, we had time to hit the first two hill towns, but skipped Montalcino in the interests of time. Montelpulciano was easily our favorite of the three stops. But it wasn’t easy getting there. For some reason, Tom Tom took us the long way to town, and, as we neared it, wanted to send us in the other direction. It was the first time – but not the last – I decided to ignore her (female British voice – really quite pleasantly insistent when I don’t do as she commands).

We parked just outside the city walls, and stopped for lunch at a restaurant just inside the walls on a side street. The food was good, but again the game of “make the customers wait for the check” got old. At least I paid before the Brit at the nearby table did, and he was waiting longer to pay. The difference? I flagged some random busboy down and asked for the bill, while the Brit simply sat there, clutching his Euros as though his unsubtle move would get someone’s attention. Amateur.

Then, we climbed up the streets of the town (not sure if it is harder to type or to pronounce) and wandered into random churches, piazzas, and past the clock tower with the Pulcinella figure who strikes the clock (I do love to listen to the bells in Italy – nearly as refreshing as looking at the fountains.)

On the way back out of town, we stopped in an entoteca (wine shop) and purchased some Vino Nobile wine (that they are shipping) after a tasting. (By the way, we have done very limited tasting on this trip, because the idea of driving after having several tastes at several different wine shops or wineries is NOT a good idea.)

We then stopped in the town of Pienza, a small medieval town worth wandering. Much smaller than Montelpulciano or Orvietto, it has around 2,000 residents. We got some gelatto, saw some churches, and enjoyed the wildly laid out streets.

It was getting late in the day, so we headed north to the small town of Radda en Chianti and the hotel. Tom Tom took us on a circuitous route through the countryside – winding, pretty backroads, then dumped us on a highway. From there, things got weird. Somehow, we ended up in Siena, where it sent us on a dead end route. Several other mis-starts later, we found a road that would take us there. I lost all faith in Tom Tom, and we eventually found the long way there, relying on the map, our judgement, and not so well-marked roads.

There were a few tense moments, as we at some points had no clue where we were, or how to get where we were going. The girls wisely did not say a thing in the back. I know this is shocking news to people who know me, but I prefer to be in control of a situation. Life just works better when I am.

Welcome to the Palazzo Leopoldo, such a lovely place. . .

As we came to town, we had to call the hotel (the Palazzo Leopoldo) so they could meet us at the barrier and let us into the central part of town. It’s a very small town (1,000 people) in the heart of Chianti country. Daniel came out and showed us where to go – even parked the car for us. It is neat driving the lumbering Ducato through the small streets.

The hotel rooms in Rome are reminiscent of Manhattan – except even smaller. Each room we have in Radda is large enough to play half court indoor basketball. Our room has a fireplace that Maddy can walk into (and she’s not short). Oddly enough, the bathroom is quite small, with Clark Kent having had more room to change in phone booths than we have in the shower.

The dinner was the subject of an earlier post. . .with Bruno as our host.

The BBM -- The Big Blue Monster

Sunday morning, we were up early to get to the rental car location at the airport (much easier than renting in Rome). It was strange to leaving Rome. . .we had never spent four nights in one hotel on our foreign trips before.

Our driver, Pietro, was a short older man who spoke limited English, but had a big heart. As we walked together to the rental car counter (no easy feat to find), we communicated in a mix of broken English and Italian about the upcoming part of our trip. He heartily approved of our itinerary – clapping me on the back and saying “bravura.” He especially liked that we were going to Tuscany – “Vino!” was his exclamation.

The scene at the rental car counter was pretty funny. The young guy helping me awoke from his nap and spoke excellent English. He and I chatted, and then Pietro would talk to him in Italian to make sure everything was going fine – and then Pietro would communicate to me in gestures and broken English/Italian (Engtalian) exactly what the rental agent had just told me moments ago. I could tell Pietro was also filling them on about my family and where we were going. The rental car agent was flipping rapidly back and forth between English and Italian.

It took a while for the paperwork and all to be filled out, and when time is added when everything is explained three times – once in English, once in Italian, and once in gestured Engtalian. The agent noted that they did not have any seven seat minivans, so he would give us a nine seat Fiat Ducato at the same price.

Whoa, just what you need to drive the country roads of Umbria and Tuscany – the European equivalent of a Ford Expedition (although a different look). Julia has named it the Big Blue Monster.

Pietro drove it back to his van for me – he knew how to get there, and also how to drive it. He gave me a quick lesson on where everything is (how to get into reverse – neat trick they have to make it easier now), the rules of the road (there aren’t many), and how to get to the Autostrade (interstate).

I bid a fond farewell to Pietro – and then he had us follow him till he knew we were safely on the ring road (beltway) heading in the direction of Florence.

So far, every single Italian we’ve come into contact with has been extraordinarily friendly, patient, and nice. In America, a person in Pietro’s position would have been annoyed that he had to do so much to help, whereas Pietro went above and beyond the call. He complimented me on my family, and proudly told me he is a grandfather. Grazie.

As we drove North to our first stop, I blazed along at speeds between 75-85 mph. In a high profile vehicle. No problem. Take that Stefano. The Ducato is any smaller than what we went to Pompeii in, but I managed to drive the speed limit. Cars were still zipping past, but they were probably only going 90-100 mph.

One funny scene was when we stopped at a service area to hit the toilettes and get a drink – 15-20 people had to be crowded around the coffee bar drinking espresso or cappuccino. So, they had been driving as fast as possible, and then taking a leisurely break to drink service area coffee.
As we drove north, I felt like Chevy Chase in Vacation – “hey kids, look at that”– tended to elicit grunted replies from the back. (To be fair, when they actually did look up from their Game Boys they were impressed by the towns perched high on the hills.

The Big Blue Monster is a diesel, and it handles like a truck. It’s good in the straightaways, but I’ve got to rein her in on the curves. . .which is all there is in Tuscany!

When the Moon Hits Your Eye. . .

Our last night in Rome (Saturday), we hailed a cab (no easy feat) and headed to Alfredo’s for dinner. I needed a helmet cam again – racing through Rome at night, our taxi driver took us into the area around and below the Spanish Steps. The piazza and nearby streets were choked with people. The cabby wove in and out of the masses of people. I’m sure there are other ways to get from Point A to Point B, but he took us this way either to entertain us, entertain himself, or both.

A friend had recommended Alfredo’s. It’s a bit on the campy side, but the point of going is that it is the restaurant that invented Fettuccine Alfredo. So we had to try that – and it was delicious – best ever. The wine list was nondescript, but the second course was fine too. They bring out the Alfredo and finish putting it together at an empty table next to you, so that is fun to watch.

There was a musical duo strolling to different tables. . .one with an accordion and one with a guitar. When they came over, I tipped them to play a song for Julia, who being 14 years old, was squirming in horror that they would sing to her and people may actually be looking. Some of the most effect torture is mental, not physical.

After dinner, we walked to Trevi Fountain, which is a most excellent place to be at night. Packed with people hanging out, but not so bad that you couldn’t move. A sizable crowd, but one that made the place lively, not overcrowded. After a bit, we caught a cab, got some gelatto, and called it a night.

Grazie Roma

In 1984, I was in Rome during the European Cup final between Liverpool and Roma. The Roma fans sang “Grazie Roma” constantly during the lead-up to the game, which Liverpool won on penalty kicks. In the days before the game, I saw Liverpool and Roma fans toasting each other in bars and singing songs to one another. The day after the game, people were cursing at me as they went past. Thinking quickly, I would shout “Americano” and point at myself. They would mumble an apology. Normally I’m proud to be an American, but then I was simply relieved to be an American.

(By the way, I think they like the song “Grazie Roma” because the lyrics are easy to remember when they are drunk. It goes, “Grazie Roma. Grazie Roma, Grazie Roma, Grazie Roma” – over and over again. It could be worse – could be Hail to the Redskins.)

By the way, I watched the game down at Circus Maximos, where a bank had set up a huge TV screen (stadium size) for 5,000 or so people to watch. After the game ended, we all marched silently up to the Colosseo in the dark – whoa, that was a goosebump feeling.

Back to the present day. . .we did laundry at a nearby laundromat, got gelatto, and generally slowed down the Iron Tourist pace. After a bit, Carol was taking a nap, the kids were chilling, and I was bored. So I went into the girls room and asked who wanted to take a walk. Only Maddy was willing (which I expected). We then walked for 90 minutes, over to a park, down shopping streets, into a church, and through some narrow alleys before coming out by the Forum. At one point I noted that “if you find a narrow street – take it. We don’t have streets like this in America.” Later, Maddy opted for the narrow street over the main road. I have began the training of the next generation of Iron Tourist.

We wandered around the Forum, past the Colosseum, and found a different way back to the hotel. It was a nice, easy paced stroll throughout much of ancient, and current, Rome. In the park, people were playing basketball, sitting on benches talking, walking (but not curbing) their dogs (watch where you step).

Then, since it’s all uphill back to the hotel, we stopped for a Fanta and Peroni (Maddy had the soda, I had the beer in case you were wondering and I hope you trust me enough not to wonder) at the patisserie/gelatto/bar/sandwich place on the corner and grabbed a table. After a while Maddy was ready to go, but I wasn’t – so she went into the hotel, up and got Carol down. The waiter brought another beer, some cappuccino for Carol, and some olives. It was a pleasant way to wind down the first fully sunny day we had in Rome.

If It Ain't Baroque, Don't Fix It. . .

When I last left you at the Vatican, we had just finished walking through the crypt, where we had walked reverently past John Paul II’s grave. We also saw the shrine above Peter’s grave. Don’t worry, I did crack some irreverent dead pope jokes while walking past overdone tombs of ancient dead popes.

We went upstairs and outside to the front of St. Peter’s basilica. After spending some time with Grazia explaining about the history and meaning of the doors, we went in, along with half of the tourists in Europe at that given time. The vastness of scale is nearly too much. Because of the throngs, we couldn’t get very close to the Michelangelo sculpture of Jesus and Mary, but could see from afar. Grazia gave us a good, brief tour, weaving art history, papal history, and political history.

At one point, she showed us two contrasting styles of monuments to popes – one in classical style, and one (by Bernini) in Baroque. The latter is way overdone – so I leaned over and said, “wow, he really went for Baroque with that one.” Carol and Grazia both laughed, while Julia shook her head and punched my arm in that loving way she has of saying “I’ve embarrassed her yet again and thank god there are no other teenagers around to hear me or she would be totally humiliated.” I do enjoy torturing her that way.

We then went back outside, where the chairs were already filling up the square for next week’s Easter service. We walked around a bit (large parts are closed off), taking in the brilliant design and the vastness of the place, with additional good info from Grazia. It was nearly noon, and I was picking up that “I’m tired of walking and I’m hungry to boot, so there’s going to be problems if we don’t rest/eat soon!” vibe from the girls. (The main reason I picked up on that vibe is that is what they were saying, not because I’m some genius at reading subtle signals!).

Leaving the Vatican, we all said grazie to Grazia and found a simple outdoor café for lunch. The food was fine, not overly expensive, and even there they had perfected the Italian style of restaurants – where you can’t find the waiter/waitress when you want your bill. . .and once you do ask for it, they take forever to get it to you. I want to sit in on that course in restaurant school here, just to see what it is like. I imagine a Bob Newhart-esque instructor training them on how to avoid going into their customer’s area after serving the food: “No, no, no! You made two classic mistakes – you walked near the table AND you made eye contact. One can happen by mistake, but the other must NEVER happen. Now try again.”

(If you’ve never heard Bob Newhart’s bus driver school skit, it’s probably available on the internet – one of the funniest clean comedy skits ever).

We walked to the nearby Castle San Angelo, where we studiously avoided the museum and simple climbed to the top and all around for the views of Rome. We could pick out many of the sights, and of course there are great straight on views of the Vatican. We then walked across the pedestrian Bridge of Angels, wandered a few blocks, and caught a cab back to the hotel.

The authorities (that’s such a European way to describe it) are planning to build a third subway line – one that might actually go near some sights to see, but first they have to do a massive study on the impact of the building on historic buildings. Romans joke that they will be dead before the next line is open. Cabs are the best way to get around town (other than foot), but only if you can find one.

A Man's Got To Know His Limitations. . .

And I do. One of those limitations is that I try and stay away from hard alcohol (other than the occasional margarita or daiquiri – not sure those exactly count). But when the restaurant owner offers us a complimentary shot of Grappa as a thank you, it’s bad form to say “no thanks.”

The trip narrative is jumping around a bit right now – last night we stayed in Radda en Chianti at the Palazzo Leopoldo Hotel, and went to the hotel restaurant (which is just below the hotel and not part of the hotel). So, we ordered at the Perla della Pallazo restaurant, and the nice woman taking our order messed it up. For example, the Tuscan meats on bruscheta didn’t come, and Torie’s T-bone steak was much larger than we anticipated (they charge by weight). We all shared the T-bone and had our first courses.

I had the ravioli stuffed with spinach and ricotta, topped with truffles. Maddy had braised beef, Julia had pasta done Tuscan style. I just realized it – Carol didn’t get any of the food she actually ordered. The owner came by and suggested we cancel the second course and was apologetic – which was fine. We’d had enough to eat by then. I ordered a bottle of 1999 Buriano Toscana – a nice blend of cab and sangiovese.

Torie wasn’t feeling good – she had a headache, so she went back to the room. Maddy and Julia went shortly thereafter. Carol and I were pretty mellow at this point – especially after the drive (more on that later!), so we stayed and drank our wine. I went into the wine room, and called the owner in. We talked for a while about the wine, and he recommended a Chianti reserva that is grown just outside of the small town (1,000 people – so it is very, very small). I took his advice, ordered a bottle, and Carol and I had some nice time together as a couple.

At a point, the owner came by to see how we were enjoying the wine. I invited him to sit and have a glass with us (after all, it’s his favorite Chianti). We probably spent nearly an hour talking (at one point the kids came down – they were feeling better and wanted dessert – we gave them money and told them to find a place selling gelatto. It’s good for them in a town this size to wander around on their own.) Bruno (the owner) grow up in Abruzzo, lived for a time London and Germany, and speaks four languages. He wants to go into the hotel business next. He’s been here for five years, owning the restaurant. He loves Florence – and closes the restaurant for five months during the winter because the town is too quiet.

A note on languages: Another limitation I have is no foreign language ability. Zero. Zilch. Nicht. Carol is good with Spanish and can understand a chunk of Italian, but I never really had any skills. I took German for three years or so, but found it progressively harder. Heck, I have a hard enough time communicating in English (ask my three children what I just said, and they would often give you a blank stare. In theory they’ll grow out of that habit.).

Anyhow, we were the last ones left in the restaurant (going on three hours now), and Bruno offered us Grappa. Carol had been introduced to it on her last trip to Italy two years ago. Consider it moonshine in a bottle – it’s made from the leftover mash from making wine. It’s 40% alcohol, and smells like a Molotov cocktail. This is strong stuff – a Brunello grappa (and is a top quality grappa).

Despite the order confusion, it was a great dinner, and we had a fun time talking and drinking with our new friend Bruno. (By the way, for those of you concerned we let our kids wander around a strange town in a strange land, all three were in the room talking at 11:30pm when we came back in.)