A Week Later...

i'm not sure anyone is reading this anymore, but for the record...

here i am, back at home in vancouver, where it is grey and raining. i've been home for a week now, and it feels like a lifetime ago that i was in italy and france.

wondering now if it were all a dream.

how so much and so little can change in a week, three weeks, a day. the slow passage of a rainy hour, the blink of a week. the time capsules that i've stashed away in the wetworks of my brain. the archaeology of my experiences.

my breath. my feet walking on cobblestones older than i am. my hand resting on a wall erected at the beginning of history, built by other hands. my gaze rising to painted ceilings whose beauty deliver me from the groundings of the earth.

some have told me that this trip will have changed my life, that it was a life-changing experience. but what i've learned is that life changes every day, every hour, if i let it. or won't if i don't. my life is really not all that different now than when i left. but my perception of it has changed a great deal.

my breath. my feet walking on concrete sidewalks. my hand clutching an umbrella to keep me dry as i walk through the city.

here are the moments that make life precious. "what i hold in my hand..." creeley knew this. i had to travel across the planet to finally find a glimpse of what this meant. what this means.

"What
has happened
makes

the world.
Live
on the edge,

looking."

--Robert Creeley

Peter Mansbridge, Oh I Missed You So.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007.

Some good things about being sick while in Montreal:

1. can catch up on blog entries (see updates below)
2. can catch up on my sleep (trying to sleep on the plane is like trying to shovel the sidewalk while it’s still snowing—you’re going to have to do it again later anyway)
3. can watch Peter Mansbridge on the CBC News while writing from my bed

Did 2 and 3 last night, and have mostly finished 1 this morning. Looks a bit grey outside today, but I’m going to try walking out to the waterfront of Old Montreal, and see Notre Dame Cathedral as well.

Some bad things about being sick in Montreal:

1. only have energy to do 2 and 3 listed above. ugh.
2. i'm sick. isn't that bad enough?

Have finished my in-room breakfast (the hotel delivered fresh hot croissants and hot coffee to my room this morning). Have now mostly finished updating my blog and online album. Ok, time to head out, I guess. Will pop a few pills and wander around outside...

Flight from Paris to Montreal

Tuesday, October 9, 2007.

Long flight. Long day. What else is there to say? Head cold didn’t help, either.

Scheduled Mellow Day in Paris

Monday, October 08, 2007.

Yah, ok, so the bliss couldn’t possibly last, could it?

I woke this morning with a bit of a head cold. Runny nose first, but as the day wore on, a little headache grew in my left temple (right above the stuffed left nostril, funnily enough). Sinus cold, I think. No wonder I was feeling a bit tired yesterday (maybe I caught pigeon-type bird-flu from Venice??) Hope it doesn’t mess me up too much during my plane ride tomorrow… have bought cold meds from a local pharmacy, just in case.

Didn’t really have the energy or motivation to do much when I woke this morning. Felt tired and wanted to sleep all day. But I knew I would never forgive myself if I did that, so hauled my ass out of bed, and got showered and dressed, and tried to figure out what I’d do today.

So, quick synopsis, before I get some rest & try to fight off this cold:
- morning, did a bit of computer work in the hotel room
- walked out, and at the last minute decided to head up the street to the Pantheon to take photos
- walked to the Metro station and went to Cimetiere du Montparnasse
- visited the cemetery and took a bunch of photos—this visit was much more quick and civilized, since the cemetery is organized much more geometrically; of course, this makes it far less interesting photo-wise, but it was still lovely to visit (Mitch, i saw Julio Cortazar's gravestone! Hopscotch, Hopscotch!!)
- took the Metro back to the Seine, and thought I’d try the Notre Dame towers again
- boo… three strikes and yer out! there was a HUGE line up, and given my pending head cold, I was in no mood to wait in line (besides, the change in altitude would have messed with my sinuses, right? Right?), so gave up
- walked back to the hotel, had a quick lunch, then did more computer work while I rested
- decided to head out one last time to find the Shakespeare and Co. bookstore
- found it, and spent over two hours in there, browsing and reading (and snapping a photo or two); ended up buying three books (eek)
- bought some juice to re-hydrate, and slunk back to my hotel
- have been writing in bed ever since… trying to fight off this cold

Ok, bedtime for me. Hope I get better by morning. It’s going to be a looooong day with the flight back to Canada....

Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise, and Musee d'Orsay to boot.

Sunday, October 7, 2007.

While I was at the Louvre on Saturday, and was wandering through the bookstore (how could I resist), noticed a book on the Musee d’Orsay. So I picked it up and leafed through it. Agh!! It only made me want to visit that museum, too, and I was determined to do so before I left Paris, even though I’d just spent over six hours in the Louvre and could barely walk anymore. Even if it meant hobbling the entire time I was there. Even if it meant I would cripple myself for life. I simply had to go: Monet, Manet, Van Gogh, Renoir—how could I not go??? Mother would disown me for sure.

Morning, breakfast in my hotel room of brie, bread (still good from yesterday!), and orange juice. Then a bit of last minute plan-changing. I’d decided to forego Notre Dame and go straight to the cemetery this morning, to get there before the crowds. Also, to give myself a bit of time to walk to Gare du Nord, and figure out the Metro system.

That would also give me the afternoon to check out the Musee d’Orsay. Woop!

It was a beautiful walk to the station, along the Seine. Brisk and crisp, a beautiful Paris fall day. Some traffic, but not overwhelming, so still fairly peaceful. Crunchy dry brown and yellow leaves underfoot. A bright, clear sky above.

A perfect day to visit a cemetery.

Managed to negotiate the Metro system just fine. It’s simple, straightforward, and easy to navigate, once you figure out exactly where you want to go, and which lines you need to take and connect to. Even the automated ticket dispenser came with English instructions, which was a speeder-upper for sure. Bought my one-way ticket, then snaked through the underground labyrinthine corridors to the correct platform. Hopped on the train, got off at Nation station (heh, that rhymes), connected to my other train, and got off at the Pere Lachaise station just fine, thank you very much.

Heh, after Rome and now Paris, I’m a Metro pro now.

I climbed the steps to open air, and took a moment to get my bearings. Saw a long, large cement wall lining one side of the street, and immediately guessed that that was the cemetery. But I was at a loss. I knew how big it was, and knew I needed a map, but wasn't sure where to get one. Most of the shops were still closed that early in the morning (I arrived around 945am). But I did find a sidewalk newsstand open, so I thought I’d try there.

As I tentatively approached, an elderly man approached me, and grabbed my elbow, asking me in French whether I needed a map to the cemetery (at least, I think that’s what he was asking me). My grasp of French is still sadly rudimentary at best (despite all those years of French language classes at school), but my comprehension was even more challenged by the fact that this poor man was missing several of his teeth. But the man repeated what he’d said (I’m guessing he spied me staring helplessly at the cemetery wall earlier), and gestured toward the vendor, pointing and reassuring me in his missing teeth French.

When the fellow who was in line in front of me finished buying his newspaper and walked off with his young son, the elderly man pushed me forward, urging me to ask the vendor for a map. “Pour la cimetiere, pour la cimetiere,” he kept repeating. The vendor seemed to know what he meant, and reached behind the counter and rummaged around for a bit (knocking down a postcard stand in the process, oh dear, those are tight spaces to work in!). Dug out a map of the cemetery, and said in rough English, “two fifty.” I dug some change out of my pocket and paid for the map.

As I left with my prize, I thanked the elderly man profusely, thanked him over and over, “merci monsieur, merci beaucoup, merci, merci!” He laughed at me with his partly-toothed grin, and patted my arm, then wandered away down the street.

I smiled after him, and trotted across the street to the cemetery entrance, eager to start exploring.

It was a beautiful cemetery. The map was frighteningly convoluted, and it took me several minutes to get my bearings. In fact, the entire time I was there, I shamefully admit that I had to keep shifting the map around to reflect the direction I was walking in. It was the only way I could keep the winding paths and streets straight in my head. And trying to locate single graves amongst all of those tombs and tombstones… but I was determined. First stop: Marcel Proust. His grave seemed to be closest to where I was. Then, Maria Callas in the columbarium, then Oscar Wilde, then Gertrude Stein. Then I would have to hike to the other end of the cemetery to find Jim Morrison’s grave. But first things first.

As I walked along, I got disoriented—was this the right way? I had to consult the map again. As I studied more closely, I realized that the entrance I thought I had entered was in fact not marked as an entrance at all on the map—I had entered by the Pere Lachaise metro stop, which was at the bottom of the map, not the top, where I thought I was! After a bit of re-orienting, I figured things out, and with a renewed sense of direction (if only all things in my life were as simple!), headed off to find Proust.

Stumbled around for a bit, and just as I was about to give up, looked down and saw the tombstone. Yes, cheesy as it sounds, it was just like that. I literally just looked down, and there it was. Dark grey slab of marble. “Marcel Proust” engraved on the front side. Snapped a couple of photos, paid my respects, then wandered off to find the next one.

In turn, found Maria Callas (under the Columbarium, number 16258, took a picture for mum), Oscar Wilde (yes, it is covered in kisses, and yes, the monument’s wee-wee is missing), Gertrude Stein (I left a white stone on her grave and paid my respects), and took various other photos as they presented themselves. Really, though, it was such a lovely morning, it was difficult to take a bad photo of anything, I think.

Then, the last one on my list: Jim Morrison’s grave. I needn’t have worried about finding it in the maze; all I needed to do was follow the others who were looking for it, too. And yes, there is a guard posted there, to ensure nothing untoward happens to the gravestone. Took a couple of photos (including one of the mildly amused guard), then wandered off to find my way out of the cemetery. During my wanderings, found the tomb of Rossini as well, and another grave of some artist I didn’t recognize—but his gravestone was so beautiful, I had to take a photo. So I did.

I left the cemetery feeling calm but somewhat solemn. Couldn’t help but think about my own impending end, as we all do at some point. (By the time I left, all the tour groups were filtering in—thank goodness I missed those crowds; I imagine they might have interfered with my calm, peaceful morning.)

Went back to the metro. Got on my train, was marveling again at how efficient and wonderful the Paris Metro system was, and was only one station away from my transfer point… when the train ground to a halt, and the lights went out.

Oops.

I sniffed something faintly chemical or burning electrical… but perhaps it was just my imagination. In any case, sat in a darkened train full of other disgruntled passengers for almost ten minutes while attendants walked up and down the tunnels trying to figure out what went wrong. Finally got on our way (a little girl on the train yelled, yippee! when we started moving again), transferred successfully, then got off the train at Cite station, to try my hand at Notre Dame again.

Nope. Foiled again. There was a sign posted outside the tower entrance, stating that the tower tours were closed for a special mass at noon. What time was it? 12:10pm. Ahh.

I walked to the Musee d’Orsay instead.

The museum was lovely—took a bunch of photos, even got a couple of good ones of paintings, as “proof” that I’d actually seen them myself, with my own eyes. I stood transfixed for a few minutes in front of my favourite Monet (the train station), which caused a crowd to form around me. So, I tested my theory: if I stand transfixed in front of a random painting, will others crowd around me to see what it was that I was fascinated by? Sure enough, it seemed to happen more often than not, quite to my amusement.

Ah well, at least people are looking at art, or pretending to be interested, right?

After yet another long day, trekked back to my hotel, grabbed a panini on the way, had a quick dinner, then fell asleep reading in bed.

A Day at the Louvre

Saturday, October 6, 2007.

I honestly didn’t think it would be possible, but I managed to spend most of the entire day at the Louvre Museum, and survived with most of my limbs still intact. There was so much to see, so much to see, sooo much to see….!!

Slept in a bit this morning—just couldn’t get moving. I guess all of this travel has been catching up to me lately. But after I got up, did a bit of email work, then hustled out and headed to the Louvre Museum. I figured it would take about an hour to walk there.

And what a walk. Oh, I think I love Paris in the morning. Before the streets get too full of traffic. Before the sidewalks get too full of pedestrians, workers and tourists alike. Before the air gets too full of noise.

(In fact, I think I love all cities first thing in the morning. Rome, Florence, Venice, Nice, Paris—they were all so different, but all so beautiful and peaceful in the morning.)

It ended up taking less than 45 minutes. Cool. Got there just after 9:30 am, and there was no line up to get in. Even more cool. Wandered in, trying to get oriented. Grabbed a museum map and tried to figure out what to see first, where to go, what to do. Overwhelmed, I quickly realized that I should probably hit the highlights first, before the crowds and tour groups got there.

Good plan. Beelined for the Mona Lisa—and there was already a huge crowd. Yikes. But at least I got a look at it, and took a couple of fuzzy photos, too (look, mom, I really saw the Mona Lisa!!). Then took a bit of time winding back down through the large format French paintings (WOW, they weren't kidding, they’re huge!!), and the sixteenth and seventeenth century Italian paintings (should have spent more time in there—but I knew there was still so much too see!). Wandered into the Apollo Gallery as well, right behind a tour group—ugh. But at least the tour group masked my ability to sneak a few shots of the ceiling (everyone else seemed to be taking snapshots, so I did too, even though pictures were supposedly restricted in there).

Saw a few of the highlights that are listed on the on museum map. Ticked them off one by one. (There is something so satisfying about ticking things off a list. Yes, I'm still a list person--and those who've worked with me know this!!) Then wound my way down to the lower floors of the Denon building, including the sculptures (my personal favourite in museums—much more photo-friendly). Saw the Venus de Milo and a couple of sculptures by Michelangelo, among dozens and dozens of others.

So after spending over two hours in the Denon building, I was doing pretty good: it was noon, so I took a short lunch break in the central Napoleon Hall, where the cafes are located (had brought my own lunch that day: some figs, a plum, a banette with cheese and prosciutto, and some water—didn’t risk vino, since I wasn’t sure what kind of security they would have).

After my lunch, I skipped across the hall to the Richelieu building, to check out more highlights. I spent the most amount of time with the sculptures—I will never tire of looking at sculptures. The energy, the weight, the lightness, the gravity, the movement, the stillness—it’s all there. And the best sculptures include elements of all of those things, transfixing the viewer and transporting her to an otherworldly place…

Right. Back to the museum. Had taken so many photos, that I maxed out my memory card. So had to spend a few minutes deleting photos of Rome and Florence so I could clear up some space. Sat amongst the eighteenth and nineteenth century French sculptures in the Cour Puget courtyard, and merrily clicked away on my camera…

After the sculptures, did manage to make it to the top floor of the Richelieu, and viewed some Flemish, German, and other paintings, including a Durer self-portrait. Also saw some objets d’art, as well as Napoleon’s apartments—yow, talk about extravagance! Everything was glittery gold and red velvet and crystal.

By this time I was getting pretty tired out, so I took another short break, then decided I’d try to attack the last building, the Sully, where the medieval Louvre exhibition was, as well as some Egyptian goodies. So I hobbled my way through, snapped a few shots, and hobbled my way back out. Have to say that I honestly didn’t spend as much time in there as I would have liked, but after more than six hours in there, my legs were killing me, I was dehydrated (again), and quite frankly, I was getting museumed out. ("Museumed out" - temporary condition in which every painting begins to look like every other painting, other art lovers begin to look like vultures flapping over bloody carcasses or bargain shoppers crowding around sale bins at Wal-Mart, and any sort of flash photography begins to trigger fits of compulsive twitching.)

So after taking a few parting shots of the main information hall and buying a couple of museum books to flip through later, I took the escalator back up to ground level, and exited the glass pyramid. Sat on the edge of one of the fountains, ate another fig, and relaxed in the sun for a few minutes.

Then hobbled out to the Seine. The sun invigorated me, so as I walked back east along the river, I came up with the silly idea of trying to hit Notre Dame before it closed. It was after 430pm by this point, and I knew it closed at 530pm. Hmm, well, I still had a chance if I hoofed it.

And I made it. Got into a queue, filed in with a ton of other tourists, took a couple of icky blurry photos, and filed back out… and missed the towers. Access was outside around the corner… Damn! Closed for the day! Missed it by going into the church. Ah well, I guess I’ll have to squeeze that in either tomorrow or Monday before I go…

On my way back to the hotel, found a row of perfect stores: café on the corner, followed by bakery, wine store, cheese shop, deli, meat store, veggie market. I eagerly stocked up for the next several days.

Travel Day: On the Train from Nice to Paris.

Friday, October 05, 2007.

This train ride was definitely better than my last. Bigger train, first of all. And more quiet train mates. More comfortable seats, and more space. And a nice big tray for my laptop to sit on (unlike the smaller Italian train from Venice).

And I have to say, I love the French countryside. It is so serene, peaceful. All the vineyards, the grapes growing on the vine. Ok, maybe not growing right now, since they’ve already harvested, but you know what I mean.

Arrived at Gare du Nord in Paris in one piece. Ok, now to figure out where to go. I’d studied my map earlier, but still wasn’t sure if it was feasible for me to walk the entire way to my hotel. Ah well, I figured I’d start going, and if it seemed too far…

The walk was surprisingly invigorating, despite my heavy packs. I guess after sitting for over five hours on the train, my body needed to move.

Finding the hotel was relatively easy, and it took me only about 45 minutes to walk there with my packs (I’m sure it would have been much less had I had less to carry with me). Passed an amazing building along the way as well (l'Institut du Monde Arab)... After I checked in, I cleaned up, then went out for a walk to orient myself to my neighbourhood.

The One Day Nice Marathon. Kinda.

Thursday, October 04, 2007.

Was a pretty full day today, I think. After waking and showering, did a bit of computer work and photo updates, then got ready to do some walking around town.

After studying the map I’d bought at the train station, I decided I would spend the morning exploring old Nice, and the park and cemetery there, as well as the Marches des Fleurs. Turned out the flower market was more than just flowers, and I ended up going up and down the aisles, buying fruit, cheese, and bread for lunch. Found some amazing figs, too, that were the biggest and sweetest I’ve ever tasted.

It was so quiet and peaceful first thing in the morning. The few people I did see wandering the streets were vendors setting up their shops and people walking their dogs.

In the afternoon, I decided to go to the Musee des Beaux Arts. It was small, but I did discover a new painter there that I really like. His name is Mossa, and his paintings seem normal on the surface, or from far away, but upon closer inspection, the horrifying details come to light… fascinating stuff!

After the museum, I went back to the Promenade des Anglais and watched the ocean for a while. So beautiful, so blue, so relaxing. Made my way back to the hotel, and had a simple dinner of bread, cheese, wine.

After a bit of writing in my hotel room, I decided to move down to the lobby and get hooked up to the hotel’s wi-fi. Settled in the lobby and started typing away. In the corner behind me, a fellow seemed to be setting up a sound system and a synthesizer of some sort. Hmm, live music, perhaps? As I worked, he warmed up. Shortly after seven p.m., several elderly folks wandered into the lounge as well, and settled in for some cocktails. A few minutes later, he got started…

… with cheesy muzak. Ack. (Is that Burt Bacharach…???)

Ok, not so bad, I can work with this. I can ignore the muzak… then the dancing started. Ok, 70 year old women dancing the cha-cha in front of me while I try to type and write? Not so much. I was able to last another 15 minutes or so, then finally gave up and escaped back to the silence and sanity of my own room.

When I’m 70 years old, will I end up in Nice, France, dancing the cha-cha to bad muzak?

Yipes.

Leaving Venice. Going Solo to Nice. Arrived in One Piece.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007.

Just a day of travel today. Early morning, hopped on the train to Milan, where I changed trains for Nice, France. Was trapped in a car with five others, and the crankiest woman ended up sitting next to me. Sigh. Did my best to ignore her yapping, and did some writing on the train.

Arrived in Nice in one piece late in the afternoon, and bought a map at the train station, so I could find my hotel and get oriented to the city. Found the hotel with no problems, checked in and cleaned up, then went for an early evening walk along the Promenade des Anglais.

It felt good to see the sea.

The Birds. Or, Tippy Hedren, Eat Your Heart Out.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007.

Tuesday was another full day. Grand Canal, San Marco, Waterfront Lunch, Rialto Wandering, Internet Bar, Night Time Gondola Ride. See my online album for some photo highlights. http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/lfukushima/ItalyFranceTrip2007?authkey=VzZeHaMyZIQ

But one of the key events of the day for me was getting swarmed by a million pigeons. Ick ick ick... Feathers, claws... Yow...!!! Need I say more???

(Ok, I probably should say more, but honestly, I was just too busy having fun in Venice! All the sights, the sounds, the smells, even the throngs of tourists were strangely welcome and comforting. And yah, ok, the pigeons were horrifying but it was kinda fun in a giggly-YouTube, macabre-Hitchcockian sort of way. And really, there was no blood shed... Anyhoo, there is something exhilarating about wandering those streets, and walking up and down the canals... not having to worry about traffic, not having to worry about getting lost, not even really worrying about my personal safety. And the art and architecture were equally amazing. Two days, full though they were, were not enough. I must go back and spend longer there, and explore the dozens of other art galleries (including some fascinating contemporary art galleries that I walked past and didn't have time to investigate!), and churches, and canals... and take a million more photographs...)

Venetian Glassy-Eyed Wanderings

Monday, October 1, 2007.

By now, you’ll have read some of the details on Adam & Jen’s blog, re Venice http://jenadamadventures.blogspot.com/. And hopefully were amused by a vid clip or two. Here’s a quick bullet list of impressions and events for my first day in Venice:

- lots of winding streets in Venice, but as Adam and Jen will attest, just follow the signs and you’ll eventually find your way (note, this doesn’t really apply in some parts of the Dorsoduro district, which has more schools and centres of higher learning and artist studios. I guess they expect arty- and student-types to be able to find their way. Unfortunately, I haven’t been a student for years, and have questionable artistic skills, so got lost quite easily.)
- but getting lost in Venice is fun
- the canals are beautiful, which goes without saying
- the Rialto Market is like a Venetian street version of Granville Island—lots of fruit and veggie vendors, and booths and stalls filled with souvenirs and art for sale
- Santa Maria del Glorioso is amazing
- Peggy Guggenheim museum was also amazing—saw my first Jackson Pollock up close and was almost overcome (or maybe I just got dizzy from staring at all the paint splatters). Discovered another painter, Carlo Carra (an Italian futurist painter, 1881-1966), whose painting, “The Galleria in Milan,” was absolutely amazing and totally blew me away, wish I could find an image of it (Carlo Carrà, The Galleria in Milan (La Galleria di Milano), 1912, Oil on canvas, 91 x 51.5 cm, Gianni Mattioli Collection (on long-term loan to the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, Venice))
- missed the Gallerie dell’Accademia, rats. Ah well, will visit next time I’m in Venice...
- lots of gift shops everywhere selling masks
- more gift shops selling jewelry made with Venetian glass
- Jen even spotted Venetian blinds in windows once or twice! Honest!
- drinking wine on the canal at night and calling out to passing gondolas is a fun activity
- drinking good wine and eating truffle cheese is an even funner activity!!
- (not finding that yummy truffle cheese again anywhere in Venice was not so fun…)

Nadda to Radda, then Long Drive to Venice So We Can... Wait? Whaaat?...

Sunday, September, 30, 2007.

Damn, but that tiny apartment in Radda was an icebox overnight. Had to layer on clothes to keep warm. No icicles formed on my face overnight, thankfully. Nadda to Radda, I say.

That morning, we revised our original plan of driving to Venice. Having stocked up on wine and food, we thought it would be nice to just drive to Florence and relax on the train to Venice. Our revised plan, however, got nixed—because the rental office in Florence was closed. Ack. Had to drive all the way to Venice Airport…

Jen took over driving for a while. We practiced a bit of rudimentary Italian. Watched the landscape go by. I dozed in the back seat.

At one point, a bit of mis-communication meant we missed our exit and ended up driving to Modena instead. Wasn’t a complete loss, since we got to stretch our legs, see a bit of Modena on Sunday (there’s not much to see on Sunday in the smaller towns in Italy, since everything is closed, and Modena is no exception), and we got to check out some lovely aged balsamic vinegar. Alas, the balsamic vinegar festival (yes, there’s a festival, and yes, it lasts for over a week!) wasn’t until the beginning of October…

Oh yeah, and Adam bought a chocolate Lindt ball the size of his head. Ah, Modena, the land of balsamic vinegar and skull-sized balls of chocolate.

Finally got to Venice airport, dropped off the car, and took the bus to the edge of Venice (no vehicular traffic of any kind is allowed on the Venetian islands), and disembarked at the Piazzale Roma.

We were to meet our contact for the apartment rental around 5pm at the vaporetto station #82. Since it was only just after 2pm, we decided to have a nice break at a canal-side café and relax. Jen and I each had a glass of prosecco, Adam had a beer, and the children sat around looking disgruntled (Adam christened my backpack “Samson,” after the Samsonite luggage tag I had secured to the front of it. Good enough, I say. Better than “beast” or “thing”).

After our nice little break, we wandered back to the vaporetto station and waited for the woman to arrive.

And waited.

And waited some more.

And waited even longer. Hmm. 5:45pm and my feet are killing me.

Then spotted what I thought was the right woman, wandering through the crowd of tourists. She held a folder of papers in one arm, and seemed to be approaching every single male standing around nearby… except Adam. I pointed her out to Adam and Jen, and we finally tracked her down.

After introductions, we walked the short distance to our apartment, which would be home for the next few days and nights. Turns out that this spot was ideal—central, easy to navigate to and from, and right on the waterfront, kinda. The short street our apartment was on ended by one of the canals (Rio Malconton). More on the canal story later…

After cleaning up and settling in, we decided to step out for a walk to get oriented, and grab some dinner at one of the places the apartment rep recommended. A bit of circling around, and we finally ended up in the Campo Santa Margherita, a square where a lot of students would hang out during the day, and tourists would feed at night. Settled on a restaurant with outdoor seating under some pretty white awnings, and tables decorated with kitschy table lamps. Our waiter, an elderly gentleman with vim and vigor, insisted that we order by menu number (rather than put up with our lousy Italian, I guess). He merrily punched numbers into his PDA and trotted away.

To start, each of us had a bellini (Jen and Adam informed me that Venice was the place where the bellini was invented! Jason Dubya, wish you coulda been here, man… wanted to order a fishbowl for you…). Also had a bottle of valpolicella. Oh yeah, and I guess we had some food, too. Heh.

After dinner, we wandered back to the apartment and settled in, each to do a bit of writing and reflection before bed.

More on Venice later. Much more...

Leaving Castellina, Finding Some Place Else...

Saturday, September 29, 2007.

Woke with the sun this morning. Had left one of the window shades open, to let the morning light in. Quickly showered, dressed, then went outside to witness dawn in Tuscany. Was not disappointed. Sat by the pool. Wrote in journal. Meditated. Breathed.

Left Fattoria Tregole. Did some driving around the countryside but couldn’t find any wineries that were open. Arrived in Gaiole—tourist info office was closed (wanted to check there for places to stay tonight), so had lunch in the town centre. Had very creamy, very cheesy, very yummy lasagna—prefer not to think about how many calories were ingested.

Finally found winery that was open, on way through to Radda. The Geographico. Sampled wines while the attendant ran back and forth to service the drive-in wine garage—just drive up with your 50 litre jug and fill ‘er up with the hose. Bought some lovely Chianti Vin Santo—a perfect blend of wine and sweetness: kinda like a late harvest, kinda like an ice wine—but not as sweet. Kinda have to experience it to appreciate it. Proceeded to experience as much of it as I could handle.

Drove the rest of the way to Radda, and found a tourist office, only to be told that everything was booked up. Ouch. Attendant called around to a couple of places, then found one that had room. Grabbed it without hesitation, preferring not to sleep in the tiny rental car.

Had picnic dinner on patio of apartment, watched the sunset. Ate fresh fruit, veggies, capicollo, bread, drank wine, finished with cantucci and vin santo. Told ghost stories as the tea lights burned and the light faded from the sky.

Heaven on Earth, in Tuscany

Friday, September 28, 2007. 9:13pm Tuscan time (12:13 pm Vancouver time). Fattoria Tregole, outside of Castellina in Chianti.

What an extraordinary day. How quickly things can change. A day full of beautiful scenery, wonderful wine, and a perfectly gorgeous surprise at the end of the day.

After meeting up at 9:30 am at Adam and Jen’s hotel (Hotel Desiree near the train station), we hiked over with our heavy packs to the car rental agency, which was about a 10 minute walk away. Boris and Brunhilda were weighty, but seemed well behaved. I have yet to name my beastly pack.

At the car rental office, we waited patiently while a pair of elderly couples (from Canada, no less—I spotted the tags on their luggage right away) secured their vehicle and got directions out of town.

After they got their car, we were next. Adam finished the paperwork, and we set off to find the garage. Once there, we waited while the elderly group finished packing up their car with the attendant, and figured out how to drive the thing. (I hope they made it to where they were going.) At one point, Adam mentioned that he thought the back end of the car looked much closer to the ground than the front end—and sure enough, their luggage was probably weighing it down quite a lot.

We loaded up into our car, and headed out of town. After a few close calls and tight traffic situations, we managed to escape the city limits (Adam didn’t get honked at once!), and headed south toward wine country. Tuscany bound!

Our first stop was Greve in Chianti. Before I’d gotten to Florence, Adam and Jen had earlier taken a day bus trip out to Greve to do a bit of wine tasting. They discovered a great little wine shop/tasting salon/cantina/wine museum. So of course, they had to share the experience with me, too.

Thank god they did. I was in heaven. But, despite how elated I was, it wouldn’t be the last time that I would feel that way today.

Le Cantina di Greve in Chianti. The place was amazing. Adam and Jen recorded and posted a video of their experience there—they ended up spending all afternoon when they first visited. It sort of works like, well, there is no real equivalent that I know of, I guess. You can purchase electronic cards for 5, 10, 15, 20, or 25 euro amounts, and use those cards at each of the wine tasting stations. Each station had about 16 or so different wines, and there were stations for the really expensive wines, the Chianti Classico wines, the Annata region wines, some white wines, among others (more on the others below). There was even a station for olive oils, believe it or not! (they didn’t charge for the olive oil station—that was free, you just needed to insert your card.) Each of the wine tastings ranged in price from as low as 0.60 euro per taste, up to 9 or 10 euro per taste (for the high end wines).

Needless to say, I was like a kid in a candy shop. Where to start? What to taste? What to do? It was like spending my allowance, Adam mentioned. I had to be selective and careful about where I was going to spend it all.

While I frolicked and played and rejoiced amongst the wines, Adam and Jen went off to do some research on places to eat, and a place to stay this evening. In all, I must have spent at least two hours cavorting among the wines, tasting everything that seemed interesting (and within my price range). I even got to try some Super Tuscans (oh yes Tom D., it’s true, eat your heart out!!), and ended up buying one, too. The second most expensive Super Tuscan there—but more developments regarding that later. I also picked up a corkscrew with the cantina’s logo and label engraved on the handle. A lovely keepsake that I’m sure I’ll use over and over again.

After Adam and Jen came back to fetch me, we found an open grocery store (most oft he shops in Greve were closed for siesta, and wouldn’t be opening again until after 4pm, yikes!) and picked up some supplies for lunch: bread, cheese, grapes, pears, olives, proscuitto, and pretzels. Then, we took off to go hunting the countryside for wineries and vineyards.

We back-tracked a bit north, and headed to a winery called, Castello di Verrazzano. It seemed very busy, and well-visited. We stood at one of the tasting bars, and got free tastings of their selections. Chianti Classico, Chianti Classico Riserva, their Super Tuscan, and even a bit of their grappa, too. I could definitely feel the wine going straight to my head by this point.

After we finished our tasting, Adam and Jen decided to buy a bottle of the Riserva, and then we headed outside to have lunch. We had the food, and the wine… and then realized we didn’t have glasses to drink from. Ack. So while Jen went back to the tasting room to try to get something for us to drink from, Adam hacked up the bread and started making sandwiches. Jen was back in a few minutes, successful on the plastic glasses front, so we drank wine and ate our sandwiches, while overlooking the vineyard, and the Tuscan countryside.

After lunch, we piled back into the car and headed to the next winery. We found the Villa Cafaggio (I had bought a bottle of their San Martino earlier in the day at the cantina, for 40 euro), and Adam and Jen did some tastings. I had pretty much done all my wine tasting for the day earlier at the cantina, and didn’t have the tastebuds to distinguish anything more (oh, did I mention I was pretty drunk, too?), so I declined. They ended up buying a bottle of the Riserva Classico. The attendant there was also kind enough to take us on an abbreviated tour of their facilities as well. If I recall correctly, their volume was somewhere around 200,000 bottles of wine per year.

Yowsers. Ok, even I couldn’t drink my way through that.

Then we set off to Castellina in Chianti, to find our B&B: Fattoria Tregole.

When we found it, it was like something out of a movie. A lovely surprise, and absolutely perfect. On a hilltop, overlooking two valleys of vineyards and olive groves. Absolutely perfect. Perfect rooms, perfect apartment, perfect views. Our dinner that evening consisted of cheese, bread, some prosciutto, some fruit, and of course wine. A perfect evening to end a perfect day.

Fleeing Florence and the Freaking Rain

Friday, September 28, 2007. Breakfast room, Hotel Azzi.

Florence has become depressing and dreary.

The rest of yesterday was pretty much a wet soggy write-off. I tried going for a couple of walks, one in the morning, and one in the afternoon, but the rain kept coming down, and the thunder was a bit disconcerting, too. Frankly, I find Florence a depressing city when it’s raining. The cold, the wet, the grey. The tourists flock to the museums and churches to escape the rain; finding solace in even the smallest, nondescript church becomes an exercise in crowd control. The cobblestones get slippery and even more difficult to walk on. The dampness gets everywhere, settles in the bones and seeps into the brain.

To keep myself in high spirits, and to shake off the rainy day blues, I’ve been reading Adam and Jen’s blog: http://jenadamadventures.blogspot.com/ If you haven’t read it lately, check it out for some recent updates of their travels in Croatia and Italy. And if you haven’t read it yet, where the heck have you been? Read through & enjoy! Leave a comment or three! (Oh yah, and for you die-hard Lisa fans, there’s a picture of me in there, too. Heh.)

Today, will be fleeing the rain in Florence for more rain in the Tuscan countryside. Tagging along with Adam and Jen, and hoping to visit some wineries for some wine tastings. So if you don’t hear from me in the next few days… you'll know why...

Breakfast and Rain Storms

Thursday, September 27, 2007.

Wow. Huge breakfast spread here. Well, at least huge comparatively speaking. There’s bread for toast, and rolls, and sweet croissants. Strong black coffee and tea. Juice, milk, water. Cereal and sweet cookies. Butter, cream cheese, jam. Ham, cheese, even brie! I wish I could sneak Adam and Jen in here for breakfast (their hotel doesn’t supply it)—but it looks like they’ve got a tracking system here; all of the guests’ names are listed on a chalk board and as new people come down for breakfast, the attendant crosses off their names. Well, we could always pretend they’re the Figueroa couple or something, heh.

Last night was a quiet evening. After a simple meal of pizza and wine/beer, we headed back to our hotels for an early night. On the way back to the hotel, it started raining (it had been raining earlier in the evening, before dinner, and I thought, ugh, I guess I’ll have to find a street vendor and buy an umbrella so I don’t get soaked). And as I’d predicted a bunch of street vendors showed up on various street corners selling umbrellas. Bought one for 5 euro—probably a rip off but it was better than the alternative of getting soaking wet. And it’s nice and small and compact, so easy to pack in my backpack, too. I’m sure I’ll need it once I get to Paris.

After dinner, came back to the hotel and did some photo updates, commentary, and writing. Got super sleepy around 930pm or so, so I closed my eyes for a bit… and promptly dozed off (that’s the problem with doing all my writing from bed). I woke around midnight (I think?), and noticed the rain coming down in buckets—then the thunder and lightning started. I can’t remember the last time I witnessed a thunder and lightning storm. Waaaaay cool. Too bad I was too sleepy to get up and enjoy it properly (which means running around outside naked in the rain hoping to get struck by lightning. kidding. no, really.).

I’ve finished breakfast and am writing in my hotel room. Wow. It’s really coming down now. It rains in Vancouver, but it’s usually a pissy, drizzly kinda rain that sorta lasts all day without really giving up. Here, in Florence, the rain comes down in sheets for short bursts, then stops. Then starts up again with no warning. Just a few minutes ago, there was also the boom of thunder, seemingly right above my head. What’s odd is that it’s also sunny, and I can see outside my window that the clouds are moving quite quickly eastward. I wonder if there’s a rainbow somewhere. Oh, I just saw some lightning… and there’s more thunder. Yowsers. And it’s only 930am! (if i've uploaded this video correctly, you should be able to hear the rain that was falling in the courtyard outside my room, and a boom of thunder, too...)

David Gawking, Dome Walking, and Market Shopping

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Morning, met Adam and Jen, and after breakfast we headed over to the Galleria Accademia to see the statue of David by Michelangelo. M’s unfinished statues were fascinating as well—many appeared contorted, tense, and writhing, and seemed to be slowly extracting themselves from the marble. If I looked away slightly, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I could see them twisting and slowly emerging… But really, the highlight of the gallery was David. Big hands, big feet, big head (no comments please, heh). I sat and stared for at least 10 minutes, and watched various tour groups float in, peer at the statue, listen to commentary from their guides, then float away. Oh yeah, there were other works of art there, too, musical instrument exhibition, yadda yadda, some plaster castings of other statues, blah blah, some paintings, yadda yadda… (Am I getting museumed out? Well, if you’d seen a half dozen museums in as many days, wouldn’t you?) No pictures, unfortunately. But we’ve all seen David anyway, right?

Next stop was the Dome of the Duomo. We’d intended (I think?) to head to the line up for the church, but passed by another entrance, which lead to the dome and had a non-existent lineup. Without hesitation, Adam steered us inside, and before I could protest my fear of heights… too late. We were in. *gulp*
Dome climb highlights:
- Lots of steps. Yeesh, a heck of a lotta steps.
- Dark corridors. Lots of steps in dark corridors.
- And spiral staircases too. Getting dizzy, and winded.
- More steps.
- Small windows cut into the walls, so we could peer outside and get fresh air. (breathe!)
- More steps.
- More spiral steps.
- Dodging a few down-climbers who’d gotten their fill.
- Legs aching. But no hip displacements thank goodness.
- A few more steps, then…
- At the top, bright light, and oh, the view.
- After shaking off the shakes (and not looking too far down—look to the horizon, look to the horizon! Don’t look down!), managed to snap a few photos.
- Adam took one of me gripping the railing, as proof I’d made it.
- Must admit, the view was breathtaking. Or maybe I was just winded from the long climb.

We then hunted down the sandwich shop we had passed yesterday afternoon during our walk—The Oil Shoppe—and we had lunch there. I had the proscuitto and tomato sandwich on wheat, which was very tasty.

The afternoon was free time. Adam was going to do some research, Jen was going to get her hair cut, and “Lisa is going to do whatever Lisa is going to do.” So we all split up and went our separate ways.

I went shopping. After a brief rest at the hotel, and a bit of writing, I headed out around 2pm to do some shopping and some wandering around. Bought a bunch of stuff for the family unit—but of course, now, I have a bunch more stuff to pack and lug around with me for the rest of my trip. Ah well, at least I wont be lugging it around too much (I hope).

I wonder if Florence turns everyone into a shopping fiend (or, in my case, more of a shopping fiend).

After shopping in the market, I wandered down to the Ponte Vecchio, with the intention of buying a gelato and standing in the sun on the bridge, taking in the view while eating my ice cream. Got a tiramisu cone. Perfetto; YUM. But it was brutal windy out, and I had to turn away from the wind a few times, to protect myself.

Then did a bit of walking around on the south side of the river—not much there at first blush (but I hadn’t really ventured out that far) except more shopping, so I turned around and came back over the bridge. Wandered around a bit more, and decided to head back home. Managed to find a couple of streets that looked familiar, and walked back in the general direction of my hotel. Took my time, and stepped into some shops along the way, as things caught my fancy.

Now it’s started to rain. And I don’t have an umbrella...

Photos at Uffizi, Tombs at Santa Maria Croce, and Confusion at Coquinarius

Tuesday, September 25, 2007.

We met for breakfast at quarter after 7 in the morning, at a corner café near our hotels. After cappuccino and pastries, we headed off to line up for the Uffizi.

Seemed we got there at a good time. Not too far back in line. By the time they let us in at 915am (we’d been there since about 730am or so), the line up had stretched way behind us. But we got in after not too long a wait, thankfully. I tried to take some photos, without realizing that photos weren’t permitted (oops). At one point, I was about to snap a photo of a diptych, when a security dude threw his hand in front of my camera, and said, “Non!” Yikes. I thought he was going to slap me in the face. I sheepishly put my camera away.

After the gallery (we spent over two hours wandering around in there), we took a break for some lunch. Found a street café and ordered sandwiches and beverages. After finding a stable wi-fi connection, Adam and Jen did some blog updates, and I did some reading of my Uffizi Gallery book (17 euro and it weighs a TON, but worth it I think). After that, we decided to wander to the Santa Maria Croce, to view the tombs of various famous people, like Galileo, Machiavelli, Leonardo da Vinci, and Michelangelo. And a memorial to Dante (not actually buried there since he’d been exiled years before). Many of my photos, unfortunately, were blurry and unfocused, since I couldn’t use a flash inside the church and I was suffering from shaking hands syndrome again. Ah well.

After all that walking, we took a short break at our hotel rooms, then met for dinner. We ended up going to a restaurant called Coquinarius, an enoteca that also served fantastic food. I ordered the spinach tortelloni (which showed up in a ravioli casing instead?) and Jen ordered the ricotta and pear ravioli (which showed up in a tortelloni casing instead?). And Adam ordered something called, “the Volcano.” At least there was no confusing Adam’s dish—it looked like a volcano. We also shared two bottles of fantastic red wine, upon the recommendation of our waiter. And there was certainly no confusion regarding the wine.

Travel to Florence to Meet Adam and Jen

Monday, September 24, 2007.

Monday morning, woke early to have breakfast and check email. Unfortunately, the signal from the breakfast room was pretty weak so I didn’t check much. Went back to my room to clean up, then went for a short walk around the neighbourhood, to take a few last photos of Rome.

When I got back to the hotel, finished packing the rest of my stuff, did a final check of the room, then checked out of the hotel. I then made the long, heavy trek to the train station. Long and heavy, because of the weight of my packs. It seemed to take twice as long to walk anywhere.

Once at the train station, I checked the electronic boards to see where my train would be boarding. Track 4, according to the printed schedule, but the electronic schedule didn’t have the train listed yet—I was too early. So I leaned patiently against one of the railings and waited.

At one point, I thought I should probably ask someone if I should be validating my train ticket. I hunkered down to spy on others at the validation machines, to see if anyone else were doing so. Yes, indeed, there were, so I decided I would too. What would it hurt if I did, and didn’t have to? However, it would hurt 50 euro or so if I didn’t and got caught. So I validated it, then waited some more.

Train ride was uneventful--an elderly couple sitting in front of me dozed most of the way, and the fellow sitting in the seat next to me looked like a businessman intent on reading his newspaper, so I contented myself with staring out the window at the countryside. The trip took about an hour and a half, and I arrived at Santa Maria Novella station in Florence just after 11am. Time to meet Adam and Jennifer!!

Except, when I got off the train, I didn’t see them. So I started walking toward the exit, all the time scanning the crowd for a familiar face. Still nothing. I ended up walking right out to the taxi stand in front of the station, and waited there, thinking they might be a bit late. Nope. Nothing. Nada.

Finally, after about 20 minutes had gone by, I decided to give Adam’s cell phone a call. He answered, and I let him know where I was. He said, don’t move, we’ll meet you there.

And then there they were! Yay!

After greetings and hugs, we made our way to my hotel, checked in, and checked out my room. Bigger than the others I’d had in Rome, but with fewer niceties—no tv, for instance, and no shower stall—only a showerhead and faucets in the wall next to the sink, and a drain in the floor! But at least the room was clean, and the view from my window was lovely, too. Home sweet home.

Cleaned up, then met them for lunch. On the way, we wandered through the extensive street market, where vendors sold everything from leather purses to leather jackets, postcards and stationery to jewelry and sunglasses. And almost every other stall sold pashimas and scarves. Ahh, shopping!

For lunch, we went to the Mercato Centrale, sort of a Florentine version of Granville Island market. Vendors for wine, cheese, wine, fruits & veggies, meats and delis, wine, and small cafes and restaurants, too, with wine. We sat at one of the restaurants (“Porks” was the name, believe it or not—no funny comments, Chris and Stephen!), and ordered a bottle of Chianti, a bottle of water, and I had gnocchi al ragu (meat sauce and garlic). It was the best tasting Chianti and gnocchi I’d had in a very long time.


After lunch, we went for a short walk, and as we approached an intersection, we had to stop for traffic. Over my left shoulder, I suddenly saw the Duomo, and gasped. Adam and Jen laughed out loud at my reaction. They commented that that reaction was quite common among tourists, and that many have distractedly wandered into oncoming traffic because they have been so overwhelmed by the sight.


I took a ton of photos, needless to say.

After that, we split for a couple of hours, so Jen could go shoe shopping, Adam could go wi-fi hunting, and I could just go wander around. So I did. I wandered around snapping a hundred photos of everything I could see. I visited the Loggia della Signoria, in the Piazza della Signoria, in front of the Palazzo Vecchio. The beautiful statues were breathtaking; I snapped a bunch of photos. I wandered to the Ponte Vecchio, and snapped more photos there.

When we met up an hour later, I suggested that we tour the Palazzo Vecchio together, so we did. I took more photos in there.

Then we went for a coffee break/siesta. Adam had his gelato, Jen had her cappuccino, and I had my Orvieto wine. Yum.

After a short break of a couple of hours back at our respective hotel rooms, I met Adam and Jen back at their hotel room, to do some trip planning for Venice and some wine drinking before dinner. Both accomplished successfully, I think, after Adam had a panicked attack of… well, I’ll let Adam and Jen share that story, I think.

Then we went for dinner. Wandered around looking for a specific restaurant that Adam and Jen had wanted to visit, but found that it was closed. So, we wandered around a bit more, and found another “ristorante” and settled in there. We ordered a bottle of pinot grigio, and good food—we were all stuffed. It was quite late by the time we made our way home. I stumbled into bed and was asleep in a few minutes.

Sometimes You Get What You Want Without Trying

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Another full day—mellow, but full. Started off needing to do something, not really expecting anything, and getting a pleasant surprise in the afternoon.

After finishing breakfast, took my laptop back to my room and headed out to the train station to reserve my train ticket to Florence for tomorrow. Got through relatively painlessly (the reservation cost an additional 15 euro), confirmed I got the right ticket, and wandered back outside. It was still only quarter to nine. What to do.

I wandered around aimlessly a bit, just enjoying the relative quiet of the morning, and the cool air. Decided to step into the Chiesa Santa Maria degli Angeli again. Took a few shots inside, sat for a bit. Gave a coin to the woman sitting outside, nursing her daughter and begging for change.
Then went for a walk. Wandered around up & down streets, not really looking for anything, and not really finding anything, either. But it felt good to walk.

Wandered down via Nazionale, with no real destination in mind.

Circled around and back, and went to the National Museum. Used my RomaPass to get in free, checked through security quickly, and started off exploring. Took a bunch of photos of statues, heads, torsos. A sarcophagus or two. Some mosaics and frescoes. (I’m getting museumed out, I think.) Then left.

After lunch, wasn’t sure what to do, but headed out again anyway. Had vague idea that I wanted to buy a bottle of regional wine that I could share with Adam and Jen when I got to Florence. I’d read that the frascati wine, a white, was from the Lazio region around Rome, and was a good, reasonably priced wine. Had wanted to buy a bottle last night, but my nighttime wanderings did not yield any fruit, and I was frustrated. So I didn’t hold out much hope of finding anything today, either.

Wandered down via delle Quattro Fontane, with the intention of heading to the Spanish Steps again, to just hang out with the crowds of tourists in the sunshine. As I passed the cafes and stores and shops—most of which were closed, because it was Sunday—I stumbled across one that was open, and lo! And behold! I saw bottles on wine on the shelf. Right in front of my face.

The shopkeeper was sweeping up outside. I stepped inside, and started examining the wine bottles. I automatically grabbed a random red—the shopkeeper promptly recommended it to me, saying it was a very good wine. I thanked him, and asked him in Italian how much it cost ("quanto costa?"). He told me, by pointing to the price label on the bottle. Ah, grazie. And then I spotted a frascati. Bingo.

After a bit of conversing and small talk—most of it by him, in Italian and some broken English—I bought the wine. I thanked him profusely, and said goodbye. He said, ciao, and “a domani.” I laughed, and repeated my thanks.

Ah, success! Finally! I had a grin on my face all the way down the street.

When I finished loafing around the Spanish Steps and the Trinita dei Monti, I finally wandered back down the street (I had the idea that I would buy another bottle from the same shop), and noticed that the store was closed. A bit of disappointment, but I was glad for the lucky break, for stumbling into it in the first place.

The awning, I noticed, read, “Bar San Carlino”—I made note, so I could visit next time I was in Rome.

St Peter's, and Pantheon Redux

yesterday was pretty mellow. after breakfast, headed back via metro to Ottaviano station, and St Peter's Basilica. got there just after 8am--no line up, yay! got through security and headed in.

no words to describe the beauty, the weight of the place. how tiny i felt. even the photos i took do not do it justice.

as i wandered through St Peter's, i noticed my right hip starting to get sore. the more i walked, the more sore i got. so i favoured it--which made my left hip sore, too. so by the time i exited the basilica, i was a hobbling mess. ah, my weary aging bones. aint a spring chicken anymore, i guess.

i spent just over an hour and a half in the basilica. by the time i left (skipped the dome because i'm still afraid of heights--sorry tony, i couldnt do it!), there was a line growing, reaching almost to the far end of the square.

went back to the hotel & downloaded my pics. then headed out again--this time, to re-visit the Pantheon, which, so far, has been the most profoundly affecting place in Rome for me. i was also determined to find the Piazza Navona, come hell or high water. sore hips and sore feet be damned.

i carefully mapped out my route beforehand in my hotel room. as i headed out, it was just after 1230pm. as i neared the Pantheon, i noticed growing hoards of people. ah tourists--gotta love 'em. i followed the herd, and sure enough, quickly came up to the Pantheon (from a different street this time--i got the full frontal view, rather than approaching from behind and seeing a huge wall of stone).

wow. talk about standing room only. such a difference from the first time i was there. the other day, i was one of only 6 or so people in the church. it was dark, quiet, profound. dare i say, holy? this time--wall to wall people, chatter, flashbulbs from cameras, and a crying baby. as i dodged people and tried to take a few more photos, some fellow standing in the centre started singing. i wasn't sure whether to be pleased or cross. well, the acoustics in that place are pretty amazing, i must grant you.

wandered out, and followed the herd again. found Piazza Navona in no time. and quickly realized that i'd been here already! duh.

the other day, i had been there so early in the morning, that i didn't recognize the place. silly me, i had a picture in my head of a square filled with people sitting in cafes, and vendors selling purses, and artists selling art, and and and... and here it was, yes, just like that. but the other morning, i had blissfully wandered right through the then still-empty square. silly wabbit. and i suppose (to give myself the benefit of the doubt--yah right), i was also expecting to see the famous four rivers fountain--but the bottom half was covered in scaffolding, as much of Rome seems to be nowadays (i have several examples of famous monuments and statues undergoing facelifts, including the Spanish Steps, the VE Monument, etc.). ah well. at least i found it. success, albeit a bit sideways.

later in the afternoon, i visited several churches, including the Santa Maria Maggiore. i also stumbled across a street market, and bought some fruit from one of the vendors. the woman thanked me in japanese ("arigato")--i laughed and said, "bene", and thanked her in italian.

today: more churches. and taking photos of street scenes and piazzas. and visiting the national museum of rome.

Finally in Rome... and finally with internet access!

have finished my third day in Rome. three days of intensive sightseeing, and my feet are killing me, my brain hurts, my eyes are sore, my skin is sunburnt... and i'm in love with this place.

i've been keeping daily notes of my activities. will copy & paste them below, so this entry will be a bit long. sorry for all the scrolling... i'll also try to paste some select photos into the blog. (and at some point, i'll get the rest of my photos posted on some online album somewhere...) so if you've got a moment, please let me know what you think! :)


Tuesday, September 18, 2007. 7:04 am. Vancouver International Airport, Gate C39.

Have successfully negotiated my way through check-in and security. Have just over an hour to kill before scheduled boarding begins (at 8:15 am). All boards so far have the flight “on time.” We’ll see.

The cab ride to the airport was quick & painless as well. Took just about twenty minutes to get here, given how light traffic was so early in the morning. Not complaining, however. I’d rather this, than have to deal with the stress of lateness or delays.

It’s still hard to believe I’m finally on my way. Weeks and weeks of planning are finally coming together. The strangeness is all.

I think once I’ve gotten on the plane to Rome, I’ll relax a bit more. But can picture myself ramping up again, simply with nerves and excitement. Am I really going to Rome? Am I really going to spend the next two weeks in Italy, and one week in France? Is this really happening to me?

Here I am. Go figure.

The sky is finally getting lighter. But the sky is still grey and overcast. I guess they’ll be getting rain and showers today. It was fairly cool this morning, too, when I left my apartment. I’m sure it’ll be pretty cold by the time I get back…

Is this really me?

Wednesday, September 19, 2007. 9:45 pm Rome time (1:26 pm Vancouver time). Yes Hotel, Room 607.

Yes, I think I can safely say that I’ve finally arrived in Rome. Even if parts of my brain still can’t believe it.

Finished my first full day here. Conclusions and impressions so far: hot, damn hot. And humid, to make it feel even hotter. And lots of tourists. And lots of traffic. And lots of mopeds. I’ve revised my earlier theory of who the potential survivors of a nuclear holocaust would be. I’ve decided now that cockroaches, bike couriers, AND moped drivers from Rome would survive the fallout to create a new race of armoured, reckless drivers negotiating the rubble of the post-apocalyptic world. You need to made of some kind of I don’t know what, in order to survive the traffic chaos of downtown Rome. Yow.

Ok, quick rundown of the day’s activities:

- Landed on time in Montreal. Managed to de-plane fairly quickly, and, following the gate signs, trotted over to my connecting flight in less than 10 minutes. (Dorval Airport is small, eh?) Good thing, too, since they had already started boarding at quarter to the top of the hour (the flight wasn’t scheduled to leave until half past). Trotted on board and settled in and finally breathed again.
- Eat. Doze. Eat more. Doze more. Stretch legs, bend legs. Repeat. Ugh. But at least I had two seats to stretch out on. The flight was only about three quarters full. Short boarding, short de-planing. Eight hour flight was mercifully cut short by a half hour. We landed early in Rome Fiumicino airport. Yay! Got through customs, grabbed my backpack right away.
- Followed the signs to the train station. Bought myself a one way ticket for the Leonardo Express at one of the self-serve kiosks (rather than wait in a twelve person deep line, ugh), took a picture of the train platform (see photo). Trained in to Termini Station.

- Wandered around aimlessly in the train station for a bit, before finally deciding to find my first hotel. Found it fairly easily (it was as if my instinct just took over—or maybe it was just the result of all those hours of studying my maps). Asked if my room was ready yet (no). Left my backpack in the luggage room, and took my daypack and decided to wander around.
- Went back to the train station, to see if I could find a hop-on/hop-off bus tour for a few hours. Bought the Ciao Roma pass for a day (19 euro), and a Roma Pass (20 euro). Ran to the first stop for the bus tour, at Chiese Maria Santa Maggiore. Paid the balance of the ticket, and hopped on. Climbed to top of bus & settled in.
- Bus tour around the city. Lasted about two hours. Took a few bad photos, took a couple of good ones. Decided that a lot of the sites are within easy walking distance, and decided to walk to some of them (e.g. Colosseum) on the days I’ve decided to visit them. Except for the Vatican. That’s a bit far.
- Got back to the starting point, then walked back to hotel. Room still not ready. Ok.
- Left hotel & decided to wander around the neighbourhood to orient myself. Found the Chiesa Maria degli Angeli. Wandered around and took a bunch of photos. Cool from the heat.
- Wandered around the business and government district. Saw lots of handsome Italian men in business suits, looking cool, calm, collected. How do they stay so cool looking in this sweltering heat?
- Found a cheap pizzeria around the corner from my hotel, across the street from the Termini Station. The man behind the counter spoke English. I guess a lot of them do in tourist-dense Rome. I almost laughed out loud. I haven’t had to speak any Italian yet. Just “si” and “grazie.”
- Sat under a tree on Via Cavour, across from Termini, and ate my pizza. An elderly Italian gentleman next to me greeted me warmly with a “ciao” and toasted my Coke with his beer. I laughed and toasted him back.
- Got back to hotel. Yes, room is ready. Finally!

More tomorrow.

Thursday, September 20, 2007. 8:30 pm Rome time (11:33 am Vancouver time). Yes Hotel, Room 607.

Wow. Pretty full day. Spent most of it standing and walking. But it was worth it I think. Because of one thing:

I visited the Vatican Museum. Wow.

Left the hotel early this morning. Had breakfast at the hotel—not bad. Had a good, strong coffee, a croissant with some ham and cheese, orange juice.

Went to the Termini Station. First major task of the day: ride the Metro for the first time. Eek. Actually, it wasn’t all that bad, once I finally figured out where the hell to go. Apparently, the first set of stairs I found (on the east side of the Cinquecentro Square in front of the station) wasn’t the best flight to take. Smelled bad, looked worse—a couple of scary looking fellows hunched in the corner. Couldn’t find the entrance to the Metro. So I wandered into the train station lower level proper, followed the crowds, and found the Metro lines A and B entrances that way. Whew. After figuring out the ticketing system (similar to the one they have in Japan, except you claim your punched ticket before entering the open clear plastic doors—in Japan, you would go through and claim the ticket once you’ve gone through. Kirk, take note, when you ride the trains in Japan! The machine will eat your ticket, but spit it back out on the other side. Well, at least the trains I rode in Sapporo worked that way…), I sorted out which track to take (lineA, to Battistini), and waited for the train. Easy peasy.

Got to Ottaviano Station and got off the train. Followed the crowds up and out. (“Uscita” is one of the first Italian words I’d learned today, along with the phrase, “Uscito lato destro,” which, I’m guessing, means, “Exit to the right side.” And, the matching phrase, “Uscito lato sinistro,” which means, “Exit to the left side.” If everyone in Rome spoke as slowly as the fellow who does the announcements on the train, and repeated their words as often, then I’d be able to learn Italian in no time.)

Walked down Ottaviano street to the road where the Vatican wall rose into the sky. Hooked a right and hoofed it up the hill. There was already a significant line when I arrived, just past 8am. And the line quickly grew behind me, too. So I waited. And waited, and waited. And got cold in the wind, and waited some more. And waited even more. Feet got sore, legs got sore. Still waited. Got word from some people around me that they weren’t letting the “regular” line in until after 10am. (Apparently, tour groups got to go in first.) Ugh.

But sure enough, shortly after 10am, the line started to move. Yay! Was through security and well on my way into the museum by 10:30am. Let the adventure begin…

- Took photos. No, wait, let me clarify that. Took LOTS of photos. Took so many photos that my batteries ran out. My last shot of the museum was the spiral staircase I took to exit. Whew.
- Wandered through hall after hall of endless statues, sculptures, and art. I was irritated equally by those who insisted on reading every single sign and listening to the recorded audio guides at every single piece of art, as well as those who simply drifted indifferently past these extraordinary pieces collected from antiquity through the Renaissance, as if they were nothing much to sniff at.
- I gawked with appropriate frequency, I think.
- The hall of statues was amazing. As was the hall with all the Greek and Roman figures and pieces of sculpture. But I kept thinking, how many examples of “a noble’s head” or “a warrior’s head” or “some random piece of siding” can you have, anyway? Apparently, hundreds aren’t enough. Need to get them all, huh. Ah those crazy popes.
- The Sistine Chapel was simply breathtaking. (Note, the photo I’ve attached is NOT the Sistine Chapel—no photos allowed in there. Despite all the signs, and the harsh whispered “shhhh”es from the guards, and the occasional loudspeaker announcements in Italian and English asking people not to take photos and to keep their voices down—the loudspeaker was supposed to drown them all out I guess?—some people still insisted on taking photos, and flash photos, too, which aren’t even discrete!) I sat there for a few minutes, just taking it all in. It’s hard to believe that Michelangelo spent all those years hanging upside down painting the ceiling. Just craning my neck to see all the frescos gave me a headache (not to mention neck ache and back ache). Yow.

- Missed (forgot, is more like it) the Pinacoteca, with paintings by da Vinci, Carravagio, et al. Damn. I guess there really won’t be a “next time,” so I’ll have to settle for picture books from the library later.
- In all, spent over three hours in the Vatican Museum (not including the two hours I spent waiting in line just to get in). Not bad, I think.

Then, because my feet were killing me, I took the Metro back to Termini, and hobbled back to the hotel. Washed my feet, cleaned up a bit, downloaded my pictures, changed the batteries in my camera, and decided to head back out to St. Peter’s to see if I could get in with a smaller afternoon crowd. Huh. Stupid thinking, I know. But what do I know?

Got to St. Peter’s, and yes, the line to get in was huge. Decided against it, given how late it was (after 3:30pm by the time I got back down there), so just snapped a bunch of pictures of the piazza. Then hobbled back to the metro on my still sore feet.

Got off at Spagna station, to see the Spanish Steps. The steps and fountain were a bit of a disappointment, to tell the truth, but seeing all the people there made up for it. It was wonderful seeing all the tourists and locals alike, just sitting and mingling and chatting and relaxing and sitting in the sun and sitting in the shade and just hanging out in the piazza. Cool. North America needs cool hang out places like that, where people are actually civilized, and no one acts like a drunken hooligan.

Climbed to the top of the steps and entered the church, Trinita dei Monti. Beautiful church—too bad my camera had to act up and be a party poop. Some of the pictures were blurry, because I couldn’t use flash, and my hands were shaking. Blah.

Walked next to the Trevi Fountain, to see it during the day. I was amazed by my sense of direction, and my memory from the night before. I recognized the streets and the landmarks on the way (for instance, Bernini’s fountain). Wandered through some of the lovely side streets along the way. The shops, the gelato vendors, the sidewalk cafes. Took a bunch of photos at the fountain, and sat my butt down to rest my sore feet for a few minutes.

Made the long trek back to the hotel. Along the way, walked along the via XX Settembre, and remembered that the church of Santa Maria della Vittoria was along here. Found the church, and snapped a bunch of photos (again, some of them were pretty lame because of the no flash, shaking hands syndrome). Done with frustrating myself with poor photos, I finally stumbled back to my room at the hotel. (here's one that actually turned out...)


Has it really been only two days? Feels like I’ve been here for much longer already.

Friday, September 21, 2007. 4:25 pm Rome time (7:25 am Vancouver time). Hotel Patria, Room 305.

Another busy day, but also a day full of mis-directions and running around in circles.

Had breakfast at the Yes Hotel at 7:30am, then dashed over to the Hotel Patria to find out what time their check-in was. Not til 2pm, but the front desk clerk promised me that if something came free in the next hour or two, I could have it. I thanked him and went on my way.

Wandered out to the street, not really knowing where I was heading. Next thing I know, I’m heading toward the general direction of the Pantheon, thinking I had lots of time to try to find it. And my feet were feeling good, and it was a fairly cool morning still, and I had a spring in my step. Ah, how quickly all that good feeling would dissipate…

Through sheer luck, and yes perhaps a bit of intuition and a pretty good general sense of direction, I managed to find the Pantheon. Almost stumbled upon it, to tell the truth. One moment, I was wandering through winding, narrow streets and alleys lined with cafes, shops, restaurants, back doors, and apartments—then suddenly, the Pantheon was there. Boom. Just like that. Big stone, man, big stone.

I was a bit early, so wandered around some of the streets in the neighbourhood, before heading back to the Pantheon for its 8:30 am opening. Went inside and took several photos (some of which actually turned out for a change!), and took a few photos from outside as well.

Feeling smug and content, I thought my next task would be to find the Piazza Navona. I thought I could find it fairly easily; after all, it was about due west of the Pantheon. How difficult could that be?

Hah. More difficult than I thought. I ended up turned around and upside down and inside out, and somehow managed to get lost—emerged onto a main street facing the Castel Sant’Angelo, on the Tiber River! Yikes. Overshot the piazza by a looong shot. Had to turn around and backtrack. By this time, my feet were starting to hurt again, and I was getting cranky. Feeling completely disoriented, I decided that I would head back to Termini Station and my hotel, so I could check out of Yes Hotel and check into Hotel Patria.

Managed to finally walk all the way back by just after 10am. Finished packing the rest of my stuff, and checked out. Hoofed it with all my heavy gear to the Hotel Patria and checked in. (Thank goodness my room was ready. See the shot of the view from my hotel room. Too bad the photo can’t relay sound effects—this is definitely a much louder location than my previous hotel; I’m a short block away from a busy street, the via Nazionale, and there is constant sound of traffic, mopeds, sirens, honking horns.)

Cleaned up, then headed out again. Next stop: Colosseum. Walked to Termini metro station, and hopped on the metro out to Colosseo stop. Found a HUGE line up at the Colosseum, and decided against it. So I wandered up to the Palatine Hill (having read in several guide books that the line ups tend to be shorter there), bought my ticket after cueing up in a short line, and got inside the gates. Wandered around looking at all the ruins.

(Quick note on the metro out to Colosseo. I had to take the B line today (up til now, I’d been happily hopping on and off the A line between Termini and Ottaviano station, where I could easily access St. Peter’s and the Vatican Museum, as well as Spagna station for the Spanish Steps. The A line is fast, clean, comfortable, and easy to use.). I guess I know why they call it the B line. It’s definitely seen better days. The train cars are covered in spray painted graffiti. The windows are dirty and barred. The seats inside are hard, and the interior looks generally more exhausted. Some of the electronic signs work, some don’t. I think even the people on the train looked more tired than the ones I saw on the A line trains. Huh. Well, at least it got me where I needed to go.)

After wandering the grounds of the Palatine (and taking a bunch of photos), decided to wander through the Forum grounds. That was pretty cool—but pretty damn hot, too. Forgot to put on sunscreen this morning (duh), and have a bit of sunburn on my face and my upper chest, as well as my arms and the tops of my feet.

Finished wandering through the Forum, and decided I would try my luck at finding the Piazza Bocca de Verita (the Mouth of Truth). And truthfully—my luck had run out. By the time I finally found the place, I had backtracked twice, gotten stuck in a dead end street that ended with a wall (I could see the damn church from where I was standing, I just couldn’t find a quick way to get out there, short of jumping 12 or so feet and probably crushing my legs, if not worse, so I had to circle all the way around), and then overshot the right street, twice! (I blame it on sunstroke.)

Then I stupidly stood in line for almost 15 minutes to see this thing (for whatever reason, exhaustion, probably, I’ve fallen into dumb tourist mode—I see a line up, and I line up along with everyone else, not even questioning why I’m lining up, only following the dumb tourist flocking instinct of: “if everyone else is lining up, then it must be worth seeing, right?”), only to end up taking a rushed, blurry photo of it. Duh. And no, I won't post that one.

Feeling really stupid by this point, and tired, not to mention cranky, dehydrated, and sore-footed, I decided to walk to the closest metro station (Circo Massimo) and headed back to the hotel.

More tomorrow, pending recovery from dumb tourist syndrome.