My time here has come to an end. It was a great adventure. I hope I will be able to continue doing the tour leading, but that remains to be seen. On the whole it was fantastic, but the downside is the lonely times I had in missing my family.
Thank goodness for internet, and the Magic Jack. I would not have been able to do this without being able to communicate regularly with friends and family, and especially the hub-unit who has been incredibly supportive.
More pictures will be posted when I get home; I just need to get these last few notations in so I can close the book on the trip (so to speak) and meet my personal goal of blogging the daily events.
I spent the morning packing and wishing I could just throw out all my clothes rather than haul them home. Cleaned up the house and threw out the garbage.
I went over to say goodbye to Mamma. It was very difficult to do. She is definitely in better spirits than when I arrived, and I hope she's able to continue going forward and away from her grief.
I stopped in at the Consulate to say goodbye to Serena, Roberto, Aldo, Paulo and Davide. He took me aside and apologized profusely for his actions a few nights before. He said he won't do that ever again; he understands now. I think he had a talking to by Marco and came to see the light.
Finally I had to say goodbye to my friend and "brother" Marco. We had dinner; he brought over a pizza before he had to go to work. I feel rather melancholy this evening, but know that I will get over it the second I get onto the plane in the morning.
I'm coming home.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Mon 11 Oct - Siamo Spini!!
I came back to the hotel early in the morning to do my final goodbyes and help with the check out for those departing. It was my last task. Frank and I said goodbye as well. He told me it was the most fun he's had with an contingency contractor so I'm taking that as very hopeful.
I hadn't really slept but was feeling pretty pumped up. I've got a shindig tonight to host.
I have been part of an online community for travel in Italy for about seven years. It is a group of people who prefer to travel as I do, i.e. "slowly" - meaning renting an apartment and staying put in one place rather than doing a tour and unpacking every day in another city. Kind of the opposite of what I've been doing the past month but that's okay.
It's a repository of information where you can search on restaurant recommendations, apartment rentals, itinerary questions of all shapes and sizes. There are people from all over the world asking questions and people from all over responding to their queries. While they have sections for destinations all over the world, I participate on the Italy board. I'm a Venice expert, of course. The website has a travel calendar where people can post where they are traveling to and the dates so that people can contact one another for a meet-up they are in the same place at the same time, if so inclined.
Every so often there will be a call out for a GTG - a Get Together lunch or dinner in a city, whether overseas or for the people living in a certain area (and those who may be visiting that area as well.) I have gone to Bay Area GTGs every summer for the past five years. It's fun to meet these people you interact with. In Florence in 2005 the hub-unit and I met up with a large crowd for lunch, which is how I found out about Boccadama, a now-favorite restaurant of mine.
For the past two years a huge GTG has been shaping up. It's actually more than a GTG, it's a destination trip. People are coming to spend a week in Venice and a week in Florence. Most of these people have met before at other GTGs in the US, but there are some folks coming from Canada, England, Spain and Sweden. Pretty cool. I had thought I would be able to participate last year, but things changed for me, obviously. Thankfully, when this contract came up I realized I would be in Venice for two days at the start of the trip so I could at least go and have a meal with them. They have tours planned that people are opting to join in on certain days and activities here and there, but it's pretty ad-hoc.
I was going to be able to join them on Monday night for a winetasting and welcome mixer and we had been corresponding fast and furiously as people were starting to arrive in Venice over the previous couple of days. I have been theweathergirl for the past month, giving them details when I'm in Venice of what it's like. Reading the temperature online is one thing, having someone who is there and complaining about the gorram mosquitoes nipping at you is much better info to have.
The person in charge of the winetasting had some bad news late in the evening on Sunday for us - the cantina we were supposed to have the winetasting in had to cancel on us, so we were trying to figure out either another bar to hold it in, or someone's apartment. I offered my place, since I knew it could hold at least a dozen people in the living room and kitchen downstairs. Piece of cake. We had plenty of room to spread out in on the upstairs floors as well. I offered to start us off with appetizers and antipasti if everyone else could help me out. Bring a dish (even if it's store bought, just contribute) and bring your own dishes, silverware and glasses. Yeah, I could have easily gone out and bought plasticware but this made it an adventure. A moveable feast, so to speak. Plus, since we were winetasting varietals handpicked by a professional sommollier it was probably better to taste it in an actual glass rather than a plastic cup.
This was Saturday that this all came out. People agreed and we kept the meeting time of 5pm. Appetizers, then the winetasting and lesson from Nan, then dinner. So on Monday morning I struck out for the grocery store 3 minutes away and loaded up on bread,coldcuts and cheeses, and planned to make a marinates antipasti of olives, peppers, mozzarella balls and mushrooms. I also was doing a roasted artichoke salad and veggie crudite tray. Oh, and a frittata of potatoes, shallots, herbs and pancetta. Piece of cake.
I have only met one of the people coming over; she was one of the folks at the GTG in Florence years earlier but I didn't really remember her. But everyone else was definitely known to me through their posts on the boards.
I got things tucked away and set up in a timely fashion. People started arriving at five. Glorious food crowded the table, more bottles of wine than we knew what to do with, on top of the selections we were going to learn about.
We had an absolute blast. There were eighteen of us and we fit into my house just fine. There were six from CA, three from MA, two from NY, one from London, one from Galicia Spain, one from Sweden, one from MS, two from MO, one from New Orleans LA.
One group of people had been in Italy for a few days already, having gone to Sondrio near the Swiss border north of Como in order to look up his family. This is a tiny town and the family had no idea they were being sought after. Chris just knew the name of the town and that there are people there with his last name. He knows his great grandfather's name that had come over to the US in the early 1900s and it was a whim to go see his family's homeland. It turns out they were able to find family in the town. There are a couple of businesses run by his distant cousins and when he saw the proprietors' names on the shops outside he used the only Italian he knows to go in and say "Sono Spini! Siamo famiglia!" I am Spini! We are family!"
And they were welcomed with open arms., So cool. He got to meet his family and seeing the pictures it was kind of scary. His cousin looks dead on like Chris. Same hairline, same nose, same build. SO all night long we all kept shouting out "Siamo Spini!" We're all Spini! We are now a family after this adventure together.
After we cleaned our plates up and packed everything away, we struck out to the vaporetto together en mass. People wanted to see where other people were staying, so we all went to the farthest point in Cannaregio where Shannon and Kim were staying and we walked them home, then on to the n
ext closest place and walked them home. We stopped for a while at a bar for some drinks (why? we only have another 5 bottles to kill off at my place, but we were being festive...) and so on until Anne and I were the last kids standing. She is staying at the place I usually get down the street in Campo San Barnaba.
The best part was coming back on the vaporetto at midnight. We still had eight people and it was the last boat before it turned into the Night boat line. The water was smooth as glass, there weren't a million boats on the Grand Canal and just glided from stop to stop, with the occasional outburst of Siamo Spini to be heard by the passers by on the fondamente.
I hadn't really slept but was feeling pretty pumped up. I've got a shindig tonight to host.
I have been part of an online community for travel in Italy for about seven years. It is a group of people who prefer to travel as I do, i.e. "slowly" - meaning renting an apartment and staying put in one place rather than doing a tour and unpacking every day in another city. Kind of the opposite of what I've been doing the past month but that's okay.
It's a repository of information where you can search on restaurant recommendations, apartment rentals, itinerary questions of all shapes and sizes. There are people from all over the world asking questions and people from all over responding to their queries. While they have sections for destinations all over the world, I participate on the Italy board. I'm a Venice expert, of course. The website has a travel calendar where people can post where they are traveling to and the dates so that people can contact one another for a meet-up they are in the same place at the same time, if so inclined.
Every so often there will be a call out for a GTG - a Get Together lunch or dinner in a city, whether overseas or for the people living in a certain area (and those who may be visiting that area as well.) I have gone to Bay Area GTGs every summer for the past five years. It's fun to meet these people you interact with. In Florence in 2005 the hub-unit and I met up with a large crowd for lunch, which is how I found out about Boccadama, a now-favorite restaurant of mine.
For the past two years a huge GTG has been shaping up. It's actually more than a GTG, it's a destination trip. People are coming to spend a week in Venice and a week in Florence. Most of these people have met before at other GTGs in the US, but there are some folks coming from Canada, England, Spain and Sweden. Pretty cool. I had thought I would be able to participate last year, but things changed for me, obviously. Thankfully, when this contract came up I realized I would be in Venice for two days at the start of the trip so I could at least go and have a meal with them. They have tours planned that people are opting to join in on certain days and activities here and there, but it's pretty ad-hoc.
I was going to be able to join them on Monday night for a winetasting and welcome mixer and we had been corresponding fast and furiously as people were starting to arrive in Venice over the previous couple of days. I have been theweathergirl for the past month, giving them details when I'm in Venice of what it's like. Reading the temperature online is one thing, having someone who is there and complaining about the gorram mosquitoes nipping at you is much better info to have.
The person in charge of the winetasting had some bad news late in the evening on Sunday for us - the cantina we were supposed to have the winetasting in had to cancel on us, so we were trying to figure out either another bar to hold it in, or someone's apartment. I offered my place, since I knew it could hold at least a dozen people in the living room and kitchen downstairs. Piece of cake. We had plenty of room to spread out in on the upstairs floors as well. I offered to start us off with appetizers and antipasti if everyone else could help me out. Bring a dish (even if it's store bought, just contribute) and bring your own dishes, silverware and glasses. Yeah, I could have easily gone out and bought plasticware but this made it an adventure. A moveable feast, so to speak. Plus, since we were winetasting varietals handpicked by a professional sommollier it was probably better to taste it in an actual glass rather than a plastic cup.
This was Saturday that this all came out. People agreed and we kept the meeting time of 5pm. Appetizers, then the winetasting and lesson from Nan, then dinner. So on Monday morning I struck out for the grocery store 3 minutes away and loaded up on bread,coldcuts and cheeses, and planned to make a marinates antipasti of olives, peppers, mozzarella balls and mushrooms. I also was doing a roasted artichoke salad and veggie crudite tray. Oh, and a frittata of potatoes, shallots, herbs and pancetta. Piece of cake.
I have only met one of the people coming over; she was one of the folks at the GTG in Florence years earlier but I didn't really remember her. But everyone else was definitely known to me through their posts on the boards.
I got things tucked away and set up in a timely fashion. People started arriving at five. Glorious food crowded the table, more bottles of wine than we knew what to do with, on top of the selections we were going to learn about.
We had an absolute blast. There were eighteen of us and we fit into my house just fine. There were six from CA, three from MA, two from NY, one from London, one from Galicia Spain, one from Sweden, one from MS, two from MO, one from New Orleans LA.
One group of people had been in Italy for a few days already, having gone to Sondrio near the Swiss border north of Como in order to look up his family. This is a tiny town and the family had no idea they were being sought after. Chris just knew the name of the town and that there are people there with his last name. He knows his great grandfather's name that had come over to the US in the early 1900s and it was a whim to go see his family's homeland. It turns out they were able to find family in the town. There are a couple of businesses run by his distant cousins and when he saw the proprietors' names on the shops outside he used the only Italian he knows to go in and say "Sono Spini! Siamo famiglia!" I am Spini! We are family!"
And they were welcomed with open arms., So cool. He got to meet his family and seeing the pictures it was kind of scary. His cousin looks dead on like Chris. Same hairline, same nose, same build. SO all night long we all kept shouting out "Siamo Spini!" We're all Spini! We are now a family after this adventure together.
After we cleaned our plates up and packed everything away, we struck out to the vaporetto together en mass. People wanted to see where other people were staying, so we all went to the farthest point in Cannaregio where Shannon and Kim were staying and we walked them home, then on to the n
ext closest place and walked them home. We stopped for a while at a bar for some drinks (why? we only have another 5 bottles to kill off at my place, but we were being festive...) and so on until Anne and I were the last kids standing. She is staying at the place I usually get down the street in Campo San Barnaba.
The best part was coming back on the vaporetto at midnight. We still had eight people and it was the last boat before it turned into the Night boat line. The water was smooth as glass, there weren't a million boats on the Grand Canal and just glided from stop to stop, with the occasional outburst of Siamo Spini to be heard by the passers by on the fondamente.
Sun 10 Oct - Like A Good Neighbor, I'm Always There
Spent the night tossing and turning about my encounter the previous night. What a potential mess. Do I need to stop being friendly? What is the secret to maintaining a distance but still being friendly? Guh. I'm chalking it up to the status of "Not My Problem." So there.
I gave the Venetian oil painting talk at breakfast. We set out for the Rialto area and Scuola San Rocco. As we were walking near Campo San Polo I heard my name being called from behind us - "Kreex! Kreex!" - it's one of the Venetian versions of my name, so I knew it wasn't one of the clients. I turned and found Safwat coming up to me. He's the restaurant owner of the nearby Dona Onesta, and a friend.
In Italian he asked me if this was my tour group - yes - and he told me I need to come see him for lunch today. He has special menu just for me. Okay, I'll be there in a couple of hours.
I turned back to the group and one of the ladies said "It must be fabulous for you to have all these men falling all over themselves to cook for you. How lucky!"
Yeah, I'm a lucky gal. Whoop de doop.
So a while later I stopped in a the Dona, and found I really was in for a treat. Safwat knows I like the Venetian traditional dish of "sarde in saor" but I'm not really a huge fan of the sardines, just the "saor" - the marinading process using onions, raisins, vinegar, oil, and pine nuts. It is so sweet and delicate, you honestly don't know they are onions and they don't taste like it.Safwat put a spin on it for me to try - he used scampi and oh my goodness, it was a revelation. Ah-mazing!!!!
He also made me a shrimp and mushroom risotto that would make you slap your mama, it is so good. And an asparagus tapenade that he took me into the kitchen to show me how he did it. What's up with the new dishes, Safwat?
He made the scampi in saor especially for me but he will be doing the asparagus from now on when it's in season as a contorni (the vegetable dish served after the meat course.) He already does a shrimp risotto and a mushroom risotto but is thinking of putting the combination on the menu as well.Mmm, so good. He could put the scampi in saor on as well, and it would entice the people who are afraid of the whole sardine thing. Sooooo, good.
I walked back to the apartment to change my blouse before going to the hotel. I had spilled some risotto on it. My little neighborhood block had a few businesses on it: a vintage clothing store, a smallsalumeria (mini delicatessen & bakery), a vini sfusi (homemade wineshop where you get your water bottle filled up with table wine for about a $1.50 - gotta love Italy) and a restaurant.
The owner of the vini sfusi and the owner of the salumeria were standing outside their shops having cigarettes and they stopped their conversation to greet me. "Ciao ciao, signora. Come vai?" I responded fine thanks, how are you, in kind. The vini lady asked me how long I am in the neighborhood and I told her only a few more days for right now. I told her that when I come I usually am on vacation and stay down the street atCampo San Barnaba. This time I am working so I haven't been there every day. Then she hollered over to the Salumeria man in Venetian dialect, an he ducked inside the shop. She chatted with me about the weather and how I often I come here. Salumeria man came back out with a package that he presented me. Coldcuts and bread - how nice! She came out of the shop with a bottle full of sfusi red wine. She spoke in Italian rather than the local dialect, thankfully. "For you Signora. It is nice to see you in the campiello. I see you hang the laundry out the window. You always smile."
How cool!
I brought my packages into the house, changed up and left again for the hotel. Tonight is the farewell dinner and the farewell for me of this contract. I am hoping that Frank offers me the job before I come home, but I think that any offer will come from the corporate folks. The waiting game...
We had a lovely time at dinner. More little envelopes, more great memories and toasts to one another. It was a rocky start after that first night but it smoothed out nicely. A lot of clients asked whyMamma wasn't at the dinner and I told them that honestly in all the years I have known her, I have never seen her out at night except for this trip. Unless it's going to church, of course.
We made our way back to the hotel and I hung out a bit with Roberto and Paulo in the Tiepolo Bar. As I left the hotel I passed the gondolier station which was closed since it was just past midnight now. There was a group of teenagers outside the Bauer hotel on the other side of the small canal, milling about and taking pictures. In the gondola closest to theboatmen's kiosk there was a girl taking a picture of a boy who had peeled the cover off the gondola and was inside of it. They were giggling and must have thought they were pretty slick.
Not cool, people. That is like breaking into someone's office, someone's business. Those boats are more expensive than most people's cars and you can't just go screwing around in them all willy-nilly. I called out to them to GET OUT, now. They were shocked that someone was butting into their fun and as I stood there with my mobile phone in my hand I told them I was dialing the police. "This is a crime." I don't know where they were from I don't know if they spoke English or not, but they definitely got my gist. I told them I was taking a picture of them to show the police when they got there. (I didn't actually take a picture.)
"Why do you care?" the girl asked.
Because it isn't your to touch or get into. They scampered away and over to the Bauer hotel and went inside, along with the rest of the kids. I waited around a few minutes then went back into the hotel and wrote a note to for the gondolier office letting them know what happened. I gave it to Marco to hand off to them when he left in the morning.
Why can't people just leave other peoples' stuff alone?
I gave the Venetian oil painting talk at breakfast. We set out for the Rialto area and Scuola San Rocco. As we were walking near Campo San Polo I heard my name being called from behind us - "Kreex! Kreex!" - it's one of the Venetian versions of my name, so I knew it wasn't one of the clients. I turned and found Safwat coming up to me. He's the restaurant owner of the nearby Dona Onesta, and a friend.
In Italian he asked me if this was my tour group - yes - and he told me I need to come see him for lunch today. He has special menu just for me. Okay, I'll be there in a couple of hours.
I turned back to the group and one of the ladies said "It must be fabulous for you to have all these men falling all over themselves to cook for you. How lucky!"
Yeah, I'm a lucky gal. Whoop de doop.
So a while later I stopped in a the Dona, and found I really was in for a treat. Safwat knows I like the Venetian traditional dish of "sarde in saor" but I'm not really a huge fan of the sardines, just the "saor" - the marinading process using onions, raisins, vinegar, oil, and pine nuts. It is so sweet and delicate, you honestly don't know they are onions and they don't taste like it.Safwat put a spin on it for me to try - he used scampi and oh my goodness, it was a revelation. Ah-mazing!!!!
He also made me a shrimp and mushroom risotto that would make you slap your mama, it is so good. And an asparagus tapenade that he took me into the kitchen to show me how he did it. What's up with the new dishes, Safwat?
He made the scampi in saor especially for me but he will be doing the asparagus from now on when it's in season as a contorni (the vegetable dish served after the meat course.) He already does a shrimp risotto and a mushroom risotto but is thinking of putting the combination on the menu as well.Mmm, so good. He could put the scampi in saor on as well, and it would entice the people who are afraid of the whole sardine thing. Sooooo, good.
I walked back to the apartment to change my blouse before going to the hotel. I had spilled some risotto on it. My little neighborhood block had a few businesses on it: a vintage clothing store, a smallsalumeria (mini delicatessen & bakery), a vini sfusi (homemade wineshop where you get your water bottle filled up with table wine for about a $1.50 - gotta love Italy) and a restaurant.
The owner of the vini sfusi and the owner of the salumeria were standing outside their shops having cigarettes and they stopped their conversation to greet me. "Ciao ciao, signora. Come vai?" I responded fine thanks, how are you, in kind. The vini lady asked me how long I am in the neighborhood and I told her only a few more days for right now. I told her that when I come I usually am on vacation and stay down the street atCampo San Barnaba. This time I am working so I haven't been there every day. Then she hollered over to the Salumeria man in Venetian dialect, an he ducked inside the shop. She chatted with me about the weather and how I often I come here. Salumeria man came back out with a package that he presented me. Coldcuts and bread - how nice! She came out of the shop with a bottle full of sfusi red wine. She spoke in Italian rather than the local dialect, thankfully. "For you Signora. It is nice to see you in the campiello. I see you hang the laundry out the window. You always smile."
How cool!
I brought my packages into the house, changed up and left again for the hotel. Tonight is the farewell dinner and the farewell for me of this contract. I am hoping that Frank offers me the job before I come home, but I think that any offer will come from the corporate folks. The waiting game...
We had a lovely time at dinner. More little envelopes, more great memories and toasts to one another. It was a rocky start after that first night but it smoothed out nicely. A lot of clients asked whyMamma wasn't at the dinner and I told them that honestly in all the years I have known her, I have never seen her out at night except for this trip. Unless it's going to church, of course.
We made our way back to the hotel and I hung out a bit with Roberto and Paulo in the Tiepolo Bar. As I left the hotel I passed the gondolier station which was closed since it was just past midnight now. There was a group of teenagers outside the Bauer hotel on the other side of the small canal, milling about and taking pictures. In the gondola closest to theboatmen's kiosk there was a girl taking a picture of a boy who had peeled the cover off the gondola and was inside of it. They were giggling and must have thought they were pretty slick.
Not cool, people. That is like breaking into someone's office, someone's business. Those boats are more expensive than most people's cars and you can't just go screwing around in them all willy-nilly. I called out to them to GET OUT, now. They were shocked that someone was butting into their fun and as I stood there with my mobile phone in my hand I told them I was dialing the police. "This is a crime." I don't know where they were from I don't know if they spoke English or not, but they definitely got my gist. I told them I was taking a picture of them to show the police when they got there. (I didn't actually take a picture.)
"Why do you care?" the girl asked.
Because it isn't your to touch or get into. They scampered away and over to the Bauer hotel and went inside, along with the rest of the kids. I waited around a few minutes then went back into the hotel and wrote a note to for the gondolier office letting them know what happened. I gave it to Marco to hand off to them when he left in the morning.
Why can't people just leave other peoples' stuff alone?
Sat 9 Oct - Seriously? Seriously...
I gave the talk at breakfast about the making and use of gondolas throughout Venetian history.
The origin of the name "gondola" is uncertain: it may come from the Latin "cymbula" (little boat) or "cuncula", diminutive of "concha" (shell). It made its first appearance in paintings in the late 15th and early 16th Centuries in works by Gentile Bellini, Vittore Carpaccio, and Giovanni Mansueti. According to documents of the Serenissima Republic (the ancient state of Venice), the gondola was born in the early 1000s. With time, the gondola acquired characteristics that distinguished it as a boat designed for the private transport of persons of a certain rank.
Regulations these days call for the gondola to be 11 meters in length, 600 kilos in weight, and made with eight different kinds of wood in 280 pieces. The only elements in metal are the "iron" of the head and the "risso" of the stern. The gondola is asymmetric: the left side is larger than the right by 2.5 inches. The asymmetry makes it inclined on one side, allowing the gondolier steering from the back end of the boat to be the counterbalance. The bottom is flat, so that the gondola can navigate in shallow water, only a few inches deep.
The iron of the gondola head, used to gain stability by counter-balancing the gondolier's weight, is a mini-map of Venice. There are six strips called "pettini" (meaning "comb") to represent the six "sestieri" or quarters of Venice: Santa Croce, Dorsoduro, San Polo, Cannaregio, San Marco and Castello . An additional long strip represents Giudecca Island, the double "S" bending represents the Grand Canal, on top is a stylized Doge's horn and, under that, a lunette representing the Rialto bridge. How do you like that?
The origin of the name "gondola" is uncertain: it may come from the Latin "cymbula" (little boat) or "cuncula", diminutive of "concha" (shell). It made its first appearance in paintings in the late 15th and early 16th Centuries in works by Gentile Bellini, Vittore Carpaccio, and Giovanni Mansueti. According to documents of the Serenissima Republic (the ancient state of Venice), the gondola was born in the early 1000s. With time, the gondola acquired characteristics that distinguished it as a boat designed for the private transport of persons of a certain rank.
The gondola was not only a means of transportation. A closed cabin called a "felze" placed in its center (not in use nowadays) offered both a shelter from bad weather and privacy for the passengers, who could enjoy reading, food, drink, conversation, or romance without being seen. The dark side is that escaped criminals and kidnappers favored the felze and were able to avoid detection. With open cabins, Venetians cooled off on hot summer nights ("al fresco") while showing off their finery on the waterways.
These days a gondola needs to be overhauled completely every 2 to 3 years at great cost to refurbish and replace wood, as well as re-varnish everything from tip to stern. To build one is a minimum of 30K - so it's no wonder they charge so much for a ride.
We made our way to Piazza San Marco to view the sights there and I took off for Giudecca island for a few hours to visit Mamma.
I came back in the early afternoon and did my office hours. While I was there Davide came up to me and asked me if I wanted to go for a drink after we were through working in the evening. Davide is a porter who has been working at the hotel for about five years. I thought he was Kenyan, but I was wrong. He's Mali by heritage but born and raised in Senegal.
Wanting to make sure he understood this was NOT a date, I told him exactly that. "This is just friendly, a drink and nothing more. There is nothing romantic that is going to happen. You know this."
"Yes, yes. Of course." Then I felt kind of bad - like I am such a hot babe I need to go around announcing ground rules. But you do. I've run into this problem a few times in my years here. A wedding ring doesn't mean much to people here.
I felt it was safe to go somewhere with him. I know where he works; he works with Marco, he knows all my friends in the bar. I've talked with him here and there over the years, albeit briefly. I agreed to meet him in the courtyard outside the hotel at eleven for one drink nearby.
I turned and looked at Aldo behind the bar. Smirky McSmirkerson over there. He said, "You must know that he likes you. He has asked me for weeks about how to come and talk to you about going for a drink."
Thanks, Pal. A little "heads up" would have been graciously accepted beforehand. I went back out into the lobby to find Davide and make sure (again) that he knows this is only a drink. "Yes of course. We will talk. I want to know more about you Kristina. Everyone is friends with you and I would like that as well." Okay. I felt a little better about it after that.
I went back to the apartment because I was making dinner for Marco and myself before I went back to the hotel for my evening office hours and he was working the graveyard shift. After dinner I was clearing the table and from around the corner I hear:
BOOM
*thud*
CRACK
"Ayyyy yiyi. Ow."
Marco hit his head on the doorway threshold to the downstairs restroom, spun and crashed into the wall, fell back and broke the plaster on the bottom step of the landing. And "Ow." He wasn't bleeding, but did need some ice, pronto. We left the icepack on his head for 30 minutes and left for work at the hotel at eight.
I hung out at the bar as per Frank's request, and read from my Kindle. The Belgians came in a actually steered clear of me. Don't touch my stuff. That is all. Aldo had apparently told Giorgio about Davide's "proposal" to me because he kept trying to tease me about it. I wasn't giving in to thinking it was a date, no matter what he was trying to purport.
At eleven I went out to meet up. We went to Caffe Torino, about ten minutes away, near the Rialto bridge. They were playing reggae music. Maybe Marco needs to come here for some dance lessons...
He doesn't drink alcohol. That was a tiny bit of a relief that wouldn't have to deal with language barriers, cultural barriers and comprehension barriers from drunkenness. He told me about how he came to live in Venice - he came illegally and was one of the sellers on the street for the fake designer handbags. They are locally known as "Vuoi Comprai" (phonetically, voo-com-pry) because most of the African immigrants speak French and use that phrase meaning, "Do you want to buy it?" as they are calling out the the passers by.
I have been fascinated by the street sellers for years and have tried to interview them on occasion in hopes of putting together a short filmed piece on them. I am not a journalist - just a fan of the 3 Minute Film Festival. Every time I have made a meeting with one of them, they get spooked and don't show up. And here I had a success story - someone who had worked his way out of the drudgery and had found a job in the legal circle and was now in possession of sponsored legal immigration status, with work papers and an actual visa.
Davide told me about how where the bags are made and how they get distributed (and yes, the Naples mafia is involved), what the sellers' cut of the sales to the tourists are, what it's like getting pinched by the police, being deported and making his way back here, the whole shebang. After getting deported the one time he managed to get a job washing dishes in a restaurant, which started him on the road to sponsored work papers.
I appreciated his candor and honesty with all my questions. I also asked him what his life was like back in Senegal, and in Mali where the rest of his family is. He has 23 brothers and sisters, as his father had four wives. He has siblings living throughout Italy (all are legal now) and in Paris, Marseilles and Geneva. Before coming to Europe he had played on the Senegal national Handball team and traveled the African continent playing tournaments.
It really was an eye-opener to put a face to the immigration "problem" in Italy. He did tell me that everyone he knows in the trade have always been honorable. They make enough money to eat, live in crowded apartments, and send the rest of the money home to their families. He sends his to his mother (who actually called during our conversation - so he took a ten minute call from her.) They aren't drug addicts and don't steal from the locals or the tourists. They are simply trying to get by. I believe that. Every Vuoi Comprai I have met has been honest, even though they are just trying to make money off you by selling knockoff handbags.
I told him it was time for me to get going - I needed to get to bed. We walked to the vaporetto stop and he dropped the bomb.
"I have been watching you for seven years Kristina. I have wanted to know you for that long. I would watch you when I was selling the bags on Calle Marzo XXII and you would go to the hotel."
Wait. What? Before he started working at the hotel? He could pick me out on my two trips a year at random, on the street... I don't believe this.
"You purchased a small black Prada bag from me. You were wearing a red scarf and long silver earrings shaped like a leaf." The ONLY time I purchased from a Vuoi Comprai it was on the street in front of the hotel (Calle Marzo XXIII) and it was a small black Prada bag for my sister-in-law. Oh hell. He does remember me. I still have those earrings and that scarf.
"I would see you walking late at night from the hotel. When I started working there I see you in the Tiepolo and know that you are friends with everyone. I know that you call and talk to Marco when you are home in America. I work nights with him sometimes. I tell him that he is lucky to have a sister like you."
I got a little uneasy at this point and reiterated that we can only be friends Davide, nothing more. I am a good person to have for a friend, but nothing else. "Of course Kristina." And then he leaned in to plant one on me.
Gotta go, dude. Goodnight.
I went back to the hotel and straight to the Concierge desk. "Um...say, Marco, Davide just told me he has wanted to get to know me since before he started working here. Do you know anything about it?"
"Yes. He talks about you a lot every time you visit." You think you could have mentioned something to me?
"No, it didn't concern me." Yes it kind of does - did you do anything to dissuade him from thinking he would have a chance with me?
"I did not think he would ever get the courage to talk to you outside of the hotel." Ugh. Argh. I felt like pushing him into another doorframe to whack him in the head again.
I tried this time. I have been semi-naive in the past in thinking that a man in Italy wasn't on the make because I don't consider myself especially attractive. I know my personality is my shining quality, not my looks. But there are a lot of men here who do find my looks attractive (I think they've got kind of a fetish going, but that's just me...) so I have learned to make sure to spell it out that I am only going for coffee or a drink, make the ulterior motives known please. It's not going to happen, pal. And what does it get me this time out?I find out I kind of had a stalker. No, not really, but yeah.
Seriously? Why can't a woman just be friends with a man over here? It took a while, but I have managed to work that out with Marco, and now he's just my goofy older brother, and I spend more time with his mother than I do with him.
This is craziness. Seriously.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Friday 8 Oct - Back to Mia Bel Venezia, and the Belgians Therein
We got ourselves checked out of the hotel, everyone's bags were carted off to the train ahead of our arrival to Santa Maria Novella and we found our seats on the Freccia Argento superfast speedy super duper train to Venice. It feels like a homecoming to me!
I gave my talk on the train about the history of feuding societies of city-states before Italy's unification as a country. Frank had a smirk over in the back that only I understood. I'm sure he was picturing the scene the night before.
We arrived in Venice to gorgeous sunny weather and stepped into the taxis awaiting us. We made it to the hotel and there was our friend the concierge to hand out the room keys. There was a lot of laughing from the clients in recognition of our former companion.
"But where's Maria-Teresa?" and "Where's your Mamma?" was asked more than once.
"She's bringing the luggage to your room." Oh snap! Marco made a funny!
The hotel is insanely busy and a conversation with the manager was had. He apologized to Frank and I that they were going to have to put us in staff quarters because they were overbooked due to a conference meeting with the European Economic Union. They had more people show up than had originally booked. I didn't care one way or the other, but think it's not a good idea business-wise to overbook. I recognize that the hotel throws the guides' rooms in with the group booking, but we are contracted as such. If even more delegates had shown up would one of our clients get bumped out of their room, or some other paying guest not involved with us? Do you show up in Venice and expect your room and find out they "misplaced" your reservation or something? Makes me cringe. However, I know that the new software Marco was training on in Padova is going to eliminate this possibility entirely; no double booking in the future. Whew!
I told Frank I was fine with not staying at the hotel at all if he was cool with it - I have an apartment to stay in. He said these scheduling snafus happen occasionally and we are to just roll with it. That it was fine if I went to the apartment but to be (1) be at the hotel before breakfast as per usual (2) make certain the concierge desk knows I am to be called for anything and would be a 15 minute walk away (3) after a reasonable "dinner hour" on the town, I should stay in the hotel until later in the evening before going home. Oh gosh, I think I can handle that, considering I usually am in the bar in the evening with my friends anyway. I would spend the night in a closet-sized room and then move my things over to the apartment in the morning after breakfast.
And with that I spent the afternoon on the terrace talking with my friends who were working. Davide the porter came in to greet me as well, giving me the customary buss on both cheeks. Met up with the clients in the courtyard to get them on their gondola ride.
I had two hours set as a "reasonable dinner hour" which is a normal amount of time in a restaurant in Italy and I struck out to go see Mamma at seven. She had a pile of pasta waiting for me. She was feeding both her "kids" in shifts today, as her son wouldn't be home until ten. She was still so excited over her trip and kept chirping about it while I ate. She had told all of her friends, so I'm sure the next time they see me on the street in their neighborhood I'll be asked about "la vacanza." I kissed her goodnight and headed back to the hotel for a few more hours.
The bar was quiet until the EEU conference meeting let out at eleven. Suddenly there were 45 people in the place, all wanting either beer, cuba libres or grappa. Serena and Aldo kept up with the drink orders flying at them fast and furiously. They were all staying at the bar to drink, four deep, crowding in on each other (and me) even though there were plenty seats - in the room, out on the terrace or in the corridor. It's not just any corridor - it was in "The Talented Mr. Ripley" you know. A beautiful corridor with big comfy couches and chaises. Get out of my face and go drink your drink out there, will ya?
I stepped out to use the bathroom, leaving my sweater and scarf on the back of my chair, my purse on my chair, my glasses and wineglass in front of my chair. When I returned four minutes later my things were pushed to the end of bar and a Belgian woman was sitting in my seat eating pistachios.
Oh. Hell. No.
I walked up to the chair and said "Excuse me."
She asked me if I wanted my purse.
"No, I want my seat back."
"You left. I didn't know when you would be back and I wanted to sit."
"Lady, you need to get out of that chair. Thank you." I guess the look in my eyes convinced her of her wrongdoing because she stood up and moved to the other side of the room.
Aldo was stifling a laugh when I looked over at him. I asked him if he had seen her move my things. He said he had, and had told her that I was returning in a moment to that chair. She sat down anyway. He and Serena were wondering how I would react.
I then told him the story of the French woman in Florence from the night before. Aldo said "These Belgians, have been absolutely rude people since they arrived. Che Brutta!"
So it's not just me having problems with non-Italian Europeans. Good.
I gave my talk on the train about the history of feuding societies of city-states before Italy's unification as a country. Frank had a smirk over in the back that only I understood. I'm sure he was picturing the scene the night before.
We arrived in Venice to gorgeous sunny weather and stepped into the taxis awaiting us. We made it to the hotel and there was our friend the concierge to hand out the room keys. There was a lot of laughing from the clients in recognition of our former companion.
"But where's Maria-Teresa?" and "Where's your Mamma?" was asked more than once.
"She's bringing the luggage to your room." Oh snap! Marco made a funny!
The hotel is insanely busy and a conversation with the manager was had. He apologized to Frank and I that they were going to have to put us in staff quarters because they were overbooked due to a conference meeting with the European Economic Union. They had more people show up than had originally booked. I didn't care one way or the other, but think it's not a good idea business-wise to overbook. I recognize that the hotel throws the guides' rooms in with the group booking, but we are contracted as such. If even more delegates had shown up would one of our clients get bumped out of their room, or some other paying guest not involved with us? Do you show up in Venice and expect your room and find out they "misplaced" your reservation or something? Makes me cringe. However, I know that the new software Marco was training on in Padova is going to eliminate this possibility entirely; no double booking in the future. Whew!
I told Frank I was fine with not staying at the hotel at all if he was cool with it - I have an apartment to stay in. He said these scheduling snafus happen occasionally and we are to just roll with it. That it was fine if I went to the apartment but to be (1) be at the hotel before breakfast as per usual (2) make certain the concierge desk knows I am to be called for anything and would be a 15 minute walk away (3) after a reasonable "dinner hour" on the town, I should stay in the hotel until later in the evening before going home. Oh gosh, I think I can handle that, considering I usually am in the bar in the evening with my friends anyway. I would spend the night in a closet-sized room and then move my things over to the apartment in the morning after breakfast.
And with that I spent the afternoon on the terrace talking with my friends who were working. Davide the porter came in to greet me as well, giving me the customary buss on both cheeks. Met up with the clients in the courtyard to get them on their gondola ride.
I had two hours set as a "reasonable dinner hour" which is a normal amount of time in a restaurant in Italy and I struck out to go see Mamma at seven. She had a pile of pasta waiting for me. She was feeding both her "kids" in shifts today, as her son wouldn't be home until ten. She was still so excited over her trip and kept chirping about it while I ate. She had told all of her friends, so I'm sure the next time they see me on the street in their neighborhood I'll be asked about "la vacanza." I kissed her goodnight and headed back to the hotel for a few more hours.
The bar was quiet until the EEU conference meeting let out at eleven. Suddenly there were 45 people in the place, all wanting either beer, cuba libres or grappa. Serena and Aldo kept up with the drink orders flying at them fast and furiously. They were all staying at the bar to drink, four deep, crowding in on each other (and me) even though there were plenty seats - in the room, out on the terrace or in the corridor. It's not just any corridor - it was in "The Talented Mr. Ripley" you know. A beautiful corridor with big comfy couches and chaises. Get out of my face and go drink your drink out there, will ya?
I stepped out to use the bathroom, leaving my sweater and scarf on the back of my chair, my purse on my chair, my glasses and wineglass in front of my chair. When I returned four minutes later my things were pushed to the end of bar and a Belgian woman was sitting in my seat eating pistachios.
Oh. Hell. No.
I walked up to the chair and said "Excuse me."
She asked me if I wanted my purse.
"No, I want my seat back."
"You left. I didn't know when you would be back and I wanted to sit."
"Lady, you need to get out of that chair. Thank you." I guess the look in my eyes convinced her of her wrongdoing because she stood up and moved to the other side of the room.
Aldo was stifling a laugh when I looked over at him. I asked him if he had seen her move my things. He said he had, and had told her that I was returning in a moment to that chair. She sat down anyway. He and Serena were wondering how I would react.
I then told him the story of the French woman in Florence from the night before. Aldo said "These Belgians, have been absolutely rude people since they arrived. Che Brutta!"
So it's not just me having problems with non-Italian Europeans. Good.
Thursday 7 October - Don't Make Me Get All Up In Your Business, Frenchy
Today was the explanation about the Bonfire of the Vanities. I was challenged by a member of the group about Savonarola's reasoning for the strict code of ethics. I told him that honestly I was giving them what I had read, which came from not only historical city records, but from the writings of Savonarola himself, in addition to those who wrote about it that were first hand witnesses. What the monk wrote and what he thought could have been absolutely different things, for certain. Who knows what goes on in anyone's mid, really? People can be duplicitous in writing one thing and wanting or doing something else. I mean, how can I definitively state anything? It was hundreds of years ago...I am not omniscient after all. I didn't put it exactly that way, but you get the gist. He did too. Are we cool now?
We made our way to the Uffizi for Kris' Art Tour 101 for a few hours and then the group broke up for the rest of the day on their own. Again with the office hours in the afternoon, and I checked in with baggage transport company in Venice about our intended arrival tomorrow. I counted off the number of bags they would be expecting to transport from the station to the hotel. I also called the taxi company we use to verify the boat names and registration numbers to look for. We don't want a poacher sweeping us off the dock when we step out of the train station. This is all going well, I must say.
Frank and I went to dinner at Antico Paoli, a great institution in the Florence restaurant community. Love it, but other patrons were being a bugger. The next table kept knocking into us, moving their chairs further and further out from the table and jostling us. They were French, and I don't want to say I don't like the French, but I've not had a lot of great experience with the ones I've encountered in Italy. I always get an air of entitlement from them. Maybe I'm mistaken, but it's just the vibe I feel a lot of the time.
She had stepped on my foot three times. She had bumped me when going to the restroom and back - apparently no sense of space exists in her world. Maybe she needed glasses, I don't know. The lady was telling a story and gesticulating and in waving her arms emphatically, two of her fingers caught my hair and pulled my head in her direction. Um, OW!?! And she didn't feel, didn't stop, didn't notice. Didn't care, most likely.
I grabbed her wrist by reaching back and yanked on her to stop the pain and get the slack to disentangle us. I hoped I dislocated her shoulder in doing it, but no. She's kind of ripping a hunk of my hair out, you know? I thought swift action was necessary.
She yelps. The room goes silent. Ah crap. SHE'S the one who is going to cause a scene because I touched her? She still has my hair in her claw.
I continued holding onto her and very clearly told her to let go of my hair or I would break her goddamned wrist. Her dining companion took stock of the fact she had my hair in her hand and said something to her. She unclenched and relaxed her grip. I let go of her wrist and turned to face her. THEN she started to bitch at me. I don't understand French, but she clearly wasn't happy with me touching her person.
I stood up from the table and leaned into her face and told her to keep her scarecrow claws off of me or I would stab her hand with my dessert fork and furthermore put my size 11 foot in her ass. I don't care if she understood a word of English, you have to get the picture. Turns out she is a rather petite woman who got a bit intimidated with my nearly 6-foot, plus-sized self nose-to-nose with her.
And with that, we paid up and got out of there. Frank cracked up when we got outside. I apologized for my behavior and told him I would never dream of doing that in front of clients. He told me he believed me and not to worry about it one bit. She had it coming. We laughed all the way back to the hotel, with Frank saying he thought when I stood up I was going to bust out the vaseline for my face and start removing my earrings and jewelry before shivving her with a sharpened rattail comb like I was in some women's prison movie. I told him I don't usually announce before I put on a beatdown, so she was given a courtesy.
He doesn't know my history of altercations, so he doesn't know the half of it! We'll just have to keep it that way.
Maybe Florence's public art gets me rage-y. There's a lot of violence on display, after all. See?
(Rape of the Sabine Women)
(Perseus & Medusa)
We made our way to the Uffizi for Kris' Art Tour 101 for a few hours and then the group broke up for the rest of the day on their own. Again with the office hours in the afternoon, and I checked in with baggage transport company in Venice about our intended arrival tomorrow. I counted off the number of bags they would be expecting to transport from the station to the hotel. I also called the taxi company we use to verify the boat names and registration numbers to look for. We don't want a poacher sweeping us off the dock when we step out of the train station. This is all going well, I must say.
Frank and I went to dinner at Antico Paoli, a great institution in the Florence restaurant community. Love it, but other patrons were being a bugger. The next table kept knocking into us, moving their chairs further and further out from the table and jostling us. They were French, and I don't want to say I don't like the French, but I've not had a lot of great experience with the ones I've encountered in Italy. I always get an air of entitlement from them. Maybe I'm mistaken, but it's just the vibe I feel a lot of the time.
She had stepped on my foot three times. She had bumped me when going to the restroom and back - apparently no sense of space exists in her world. Maybe she needed glasses, I don't know. The lady was telling a story and gesticulating and in waving her arms emphatically, two of her fingers caught my hair and pulled my head in her direction. Um, OW!?! And she didn't feel, didn't stop, didn't notice. Didn't care, most likely.
I grabbed her wrist by reaching back and yanked on her to stop the pain and get the slack to disentangle us. I hoped I dislocated her shoulder in doing it, but no. She's kind of ripping a hunk of my hair out, you know? I thought swift action was necessary.
She yelps. The room goes silent. Ah crap. SHE'S the one who is going to cause a scene because I touched her? She still has my hair in her claw.
I continued holding onto her and very clearly told her to let go of my hair or I would break her goddamned wrist. Her dining companion took stock of the fact she had my hair in her hand and said something to her. She unclenched and relaxed her grip. I let go of her wrist and turned to face her. THEN she started to bitch at me. I don't understand French, but she clearly wasn't happy with me touching her person.
I stood up from the table and leaned into her face and told her to keep her scarecrow claws off of me or I would stab her hand with my dessert fork and furthermore put my size 11 foot in her ass. I don't care if she understood a word of English, you have to get the picture. Turns out she is a rather petite woman who got a bit intimidated with my nearly 6-foot, plus-sized self nose-to-nose with her.
And with that, we paid up and got out of there. Frank cracked up when we got outside. I apologized for my behavior and told him I would never dream of doing that in front of clients. He told me he believed me and not to worry about it one bit. She had it coming. We laughed all the way back to the hotel, with Frank saying he thought when I stood up I was going to bust out the vaseline for my face and start removing my earrings and jewelry before shivving her with a sharpened rattail comb like I was in some women's prison movie. I told him I don't usually announce before I put on a beatdown, so she was given a courtesy.
He doesn't know my history of altercations, so he doesn't know the half of it! We'll just have to keep it that way.
Maybe Florence's public art gets me rage-y. There's a lot of violence on display, after all. See?
(Rape of the Sabine Women)
(Perseus & Medusa)
Wednesday 6 October - Di Nuova Sola, Naturalmente
The breakfast talk was my plague talk, always a crowd pleaser while ingesting eggs and juice. Just kidding. I don't get graphic about the plague itself, although I could go into great detail if you want me to. It's more about the changes that come about after a huge percentage of the population suddenly dies out. Population control by nature is sometimes a good thing, if it weren't so damned tragic.
We said goodbye to "mia famiglia" so they could get to the train station. The clients were sorry to see Mamma go, and she got a lot of hugs and kisses as they departed. They don't know yet that they'll see Marco in Venice on arrival to the hotel on Friday. We'll see who is the first to realize it. He does look different in street clothes and ever-present ballcap than in his formal gear (not to mention an entirely different demeanor) with the tails, vest and cravat. Yeah, he wears that to work. It kills me. I always want to call him Jeeves or Hossenfeffer or something stuffy.
The group was on their own for the day after a short walk to the Santa Croce church and sightseeing there. I got confirmation from Venice that they reached home okay and then Marco was on to work that afternoon. I had office hours in the afternoon and then crashed out in my room for the day. Later I went out for a pizza and beer by my self relatively early and chilled in front of the tv, watching the Italian-dubbed version of "Presumed Innocent" with Harrison Ford from years back.
Bedtime for me. A nice quiet day.
We said goodbye to "mia famiglia" so they could get to the train station. The clients were sorry to see Mamma go, and she got a lot of hugs and kisses as they departed. They don't know yet that they'll see Marco in Venice on arrival to the hotel on Friday. We'll see who is the first to realize it. He does look different in street clothes and ever-present ballcap than in his formal gear (not to mention an entirely different demeanor) with the tails, vest and cravat. Yeah, he wears that to work. It kills me. I always want to call him Jeeves or Hossenfeffer or something stuffy.
The group was on their own for the day after a short walk to the Santa Croce church and sightseeing there. I got confirmation from Venice that they reached home okay and then Marco was on to work that afternoon. I had office hours in the afternoon and then crashed out in my room for the day. Later I went out for a pizza and beer by my self relatively early and chilled in front of the tv, watching the Italian-dubbed version of "Presumed Innocent" with Harrison Ford from years back.
Bedtime for me. A nice quiet day.
Tuesday 5 October - Oh No, It's Da Fuzz & I Think They Should Be Taking My Friend Away for Atrocious Dancing In Public
I gave the breakfast talk about the World of the Medici. I think I should trademark the phrase Mediciworld, seriously. It's kinda catchy and certainly descriptive and definitive. We set out for the Accademia on the northside of the City Central. Have I told you how much I hate walking in Florence? It's a twenty minute walk, but the cobblestones of Florence are brutal on me; they always have been. Every time I start thinking about my feet and ankles crying out in protest I stifle it - if an 83 year old woman can do it I need to shut the hell up.
Mamma was more mesmerized by the Prisoner series of statues by Michelangelo than by the David. Afterward the group broke up and we made a quick pass through the San Lorenzo market for souvenir shopping (like I need another scarf - but these are different, I swear!) and then to the Duomo with Mamma. It's really cool to see her so excited by seeing these things in person for the first time. Of course we stayed for the noon Mass. Can't pass up a church service, this woman.
We walked to Piazza Santa Croce and had lunch at a favorite restaurant, Boccadama. I was in need of a giant salad and some ribollita soup. This place doesn't disappoint.
Got back the hotel to change before a little office hour session. I'm on the second floor and had the window open. I could hear dispatch squawking radio squelching. Too many years in dispatching makes me know this. I looked out the window and down to the street below to see police down there. Lots of police. Seventeen of them, in their riot helmets, shields and bulletproof vests. It made me a little nervous. I called down to the concierge and didn't get an answer as to what was happening or expected to be happening out there. I pointed my camera out there and received a whistle in return to get my attention, then finger wagging and "No nononono" motioning. I didn't want to end up getting my room bumrushed by the riot squad so I opted not to take the photo.
I made my way downstairs to the lobby, and asked Marco to help me out with finding out what was going on out there. Mr. Venice Concierge talked to his colleague, Mr. Florence Concierge and got me the scoop: there was a planned protest by the university students on the Ponte Vecchio, only a half block from the hotel, but that took only a few minutes. Not much of a protest if you ask me... However the Police wanted to keep a presence at the bridge since there are travel advisory warnings for terrorists at all major sites in Europe right now. Ugh. Of course I had a few questions from clients about what it all was about. I did respond with the truth and was met with "Oh my God, we're going to be attacked." Considering this was from a New Yorker, I tried to deflect a panic attack by telling her there wasn't any word that Florence was expected to get an attack any more than any other city in Europe. It is just chatter at this point. I think it's more likely to be in Paris or London, actually, but didn't share this feeling with the client. Why would they target Florence? Thanks for stirring things up, France. Let women wear their damned burqas. It will make my clients less panicky. Because it's all about me, you know.
(pretty yummy things displayed in windows)
Went with the Marsons and Frank for dinner at a little trattoria near the hotel. Mamma wanted a quick dinner and to go to sleep. We all thought that was a good idea. It's been a big couple of days for her and she's going home tomorrow.
With Mamma safely tucked in for the night, Marco and I headed over to that pub I had been to the last time I was in Florence, when I made friends with the Brits and Aussies. Well on Tuesdays it's apparently reggae night at the pub. We drank too much and I got to witness my BIF (Best Italian Friend) try his hand at dancing to it. It was kind of ugly and uncomfortable to watch, but certainly entertaining as all getout. I should have filmed it and was really sorry I didn't have my Flip camera with me.
Remember that 80s movie "Can't Buy Me Love" with Patrick Dempsey? He is getting ready to go to a school dance and he thinks he's studying American Bandstand for dance moves de rigeur but instead he learns from a National Geographic type show on the African Anteater Ritual.
Here's the dance scene from the movie to give you an idea of what horror I was witness to. Arms akimbo, flailing and spastic. That's my boy...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxIrQPffSIg
He had a good time, at least, so I won't knock him. Much.
(stupid Guido hairdo's - they're not just in Jersey...)
Mamma was more mesmerized by the Prisoner series of statues by Michelangelo than by the David. Afterward the group broke up and we made a quick pass through the San Lorenzo market for souvenir shopping (like I need another scarf - but these are different, I swear!) and then to the Duomo with Mamma. It's really cool to see her so excited by seeing these things in person for the first time. Of course we stayed for the noon Mass. Can't pass up a church service, this woman.
We walked to Piazza Santa Croce and had lunch at a favorite restaurant, Boccadama. I was in need of a giant salad and some ribollita soup. This place doesn't disappoint.
Got back the hotel to change before a little office hour session. I'm on the second floor and had the window open. I could hear dispatch squawking radio squelching. Too many years in dispatching makes me know this. I looked out the window and down to the street below to see police down there. Lots of police. Seventeen of them, in their riot helmets, shields and bulletproof vests. It made me a little nervous. I called down to the concierge and didn't get an answer as to what was happening or expected to be happening out there. I pointed my camera out there and received a whistle in return to get my attention, then finger wagging and "No nononono" motioning. I didn't want to end up getting my room bumrushed by the riot squad so I opted not to take the photo.
I made my way downstairs to the lobby, and asked Marco to help me out with finding out what was going on out there. Mr. Venice Concierge talked to his colleague, Mr. Florence Concierge and got me the scoop: there was a planned protest by the university students on the Ponte Vecchio, only a half block from the hotel, but that took only a few minutes. Not much of a protest if you ask me... However the Police wanted to keep a presence at the bridge since there are travel advisory warnings for terrorists at all major sites in Europe right now. Ugh. Of course I had a few questions from clients about what it all was about. I did respond with the truth and was met with "Oh my God, we're going to be attacked." Considering this was from a New Yorker, I tried to deflect a panic attack by telling her there wasn't any word that Florence was expected to get an attack any more than any other city in Europe. It is just chatter at this point. I think it's more likely to be in Paris or London, actually, but didn't share this feeling with the client. Why would they target Florence? Thanks for stirring things up, France. Let women wear their damned burqas. It will make my clients less panicky. Because it's all about me, you know.
(pretty yummy things displayed in windows)
Went with the Marsons and Frank for dinner at a little trattoria near the hotel. Mamma wanted a quick dinner and to go to sleep. We all thought that was a good idea. It's been a big couple of days for her and she's going home tomorrow.
With Mamma safely tucked in for the night, Marco and I headed over to that pub I had been to the last time I was in Florence, when I made friends with the Brits and Aussies. Well on Tuesdays it's apparently reggae night at the pub. We drank too much and I got to witness my BIF (Best Italian Friend) try his hand at dancing to it. It was kind of ugly and uncomfortable to watch, but certainly entertaining as all getout. I should have filmed it and was really sorry I didn't have my Flip camera with me.
Remember that 80s movie "Can't Buy Me Love" with Patrick Dempsey? He is getting ready to go to a school dance and he thinks he's studying American Bandstand for dance moves de rigeur but instead he learns from a National Geographic type show on the African Anteater Ritual.
Here's the dance scene from the movie to give you an idea of what horror I was witness to. Arms akimbo, flailing and spastic. That's my boy...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxIrQPffSIg
He had a good time, at least, so I won't knock him. Much.
(stupid Guido hairdo's - they're not just in Jersey...)
Monday 4 October - Togetherness
I have been remiss again in writing and have to catch myself up. At this writing I am a week behind in blogging and I am bound and determined to finish writing and pack up to go home within 24 hours. Will she do it folks??? Stay tuned.
============
We joined up for one last breakfast at our hotel in Rome before boarding the coach bus and heading north to Orvieto and Siena, en route to Florence. I got everyone checked out of the hotel with no issues. The fighting brothers in law seemed to have made up, judging by the enjoyable time they had at dinner the night before. I think they'll be fine, and the wives seem to have dealt with the situation without threatening to call the divorce lawyers in, so that's a plus.
I gave a talk on the bus on the way to Orvieto about the importance of hilltowns in the centuries past. Basically they were fortresses with the vantage point of being able to see for many mils around if thundering hordes were approaching. Walls were built to cut off access and protect the citizens. Many of these fortified towns were pre-Roman empire, as Etruscan villages, and were absorbed into the empire after losing battles. After the empire fell in medieval times, city-states cropped up and this is where the real feuding began. Whether Siena was battling Pisa, Pisa fighting Siena, Florence battling everyone, many city-states feuding with the Papal States of the Vatican, there was also feuding between powerful families - hence the tower-building craze within the walls. Can't we all just get along? Apparently not.
The bus drops us at the top of town and we tour the amazing cathedral, then wind our way down the hill and meet up with the bus a couple of hours in the parking area mid-way down the hill. The patchwork of farmlands below us is a crazy quilt of the color green and it's beautiful.
Boarding the bus we make our way to Siena and have lunch and a few more hours of sightseeing. I gave a talk on the bus about the history of the rivalry between Siena and Florence.
The entire time I am up in the front of the bus speaking into the microphone system I can't help but notice Marco and Mamma in the back. While he's translating for her what I'm yammering on about this and that, she is simply beaming at me. It's nice to have someone being proud of you and what you're doing to spur you on. She had never been to Orvieto and Siena before. The group was amazed to find this out, and even more amazed to know that she had lived her entire life in Venice and knew only her little corner of Italy. We spend a lot of money to come to her world, and she has all this so close to her and has never been. What can you do?
During a quiet period (meaning while I wasn't speechifying) I went back to see how she was doing and she clapped her hands and gave me a "Brava, Kricka!" not only because she had no idea I knew so many mundane historical details, but that I pronounced things so perfectly. That cracked me up. Who cares what I'm talking about, I can sound out the names correctly. Ha!
We made it into Florence in the late afternoon and I got everyone checked in to the hotel and took a nap for an hour. After dinner at the hotel restaurant we took Mamma out for a short night walk to see the buildings lit up and looking ghostly. She is really having the time of her life and I am thankful that I helped in getting her to this point. Marco took me aside at one point and gave me a big squeeze on the shoulder and told me, "Thank you so much for this. She loves you very much and is very happy at this moment." He was rather emotional, and then I got a bit teary too. Guh.
We walked back to the hotel, her holding both of our hands and talking very excitedly about getting to see the inside of the Duomo the next day, and to see that guy named Il Davide.
After a long day of togetherness with my Venetian family "on holiday" I was really missing my own family. I didn't think it was possible to be so happy and unhappy at the same time. Why can't my worlds be together at the same time and not 7,000 miles apart?
============
We joined up for one last breakfast at our hotel in Rome before boarding the coach bus and heading north to Orvieto and Siena, en route to Florence. I got everyone checked out of the hotel with no issues. The fighting brothers in law seemed to have made up, judging by the enjoyable time they had at dinner the night before. I think they'll be fine, and the wives seem to have dealt with the situation without threatening to call the divorce lawyers in, so that's a plus.
I gave a talk on the bus on the way to Orvieto about the importance of hilltowns in the centuries past. Basically they were fortresses with the vantage point of being able to see for many mils around if thundering hordes were approaching. Walls were built to cut off access and protect the citizens. Many of these fortified towns were pre-Roman empire, as Etruscan villages, and were absorbed into the empire after losing battles. After the empire fell in medieval times, city-states cropped up and this is where the real feuding began. Whether Siena was battling Pisa, Pisa fighting Siena, Florence battling everyone, many city-states feuding with the Papal States of the Vatican, there was also feuding between powerful families - hence the tower-building craze within the walls. Can't we all just get along? Apparently not.
The bus drops us at the top of town and we tour the amazing cathedral, then wind our way down the hill and meet up with the bus a couple of hours in the parking area mid-way down the hill. The patchwork of farmlands below us is a crazy quilt of the color green and it's beautiful.
Boarding the bus we make our way to Siena and have lunch and a few more hours of sightseeing. I gave a talk on the bus about the history of the rivalry between Siena and Florence.
The entire time I am up in the front of the bus speaking into the microphone system I can't help but notice Marco and Mamma in the back. While he's translating for her what I'm yammering on about this and that, she is simply beaming at me. It's nice to have someone being proud of you and what you're doing to spur you on. She had never been to Orvieto and Siena before. The group was amazed to find this out, and even more amazed to know that she had lived her entire life in Venice and knew only her little corner of Italy. We spend a lot of money to come to her world, and she has all this so close to her and has never been. What can you do?
During a quiet period (meaning while I wasn't speechifying) I went back to see how she was doing and she clapped her hands and gave me a "Brava, Kricka!" not only because she had no idea I knew so many mundane historical details, but that I pronounced things so perfectly. That cracked me up. Who cares what I'm talking about, I can sound out the names correctly. Ha!
We made it into Florence in the late afternoon and I got everyone checked in to the hotel and took a nap for an hour. After dinner at the hotel restaurant we took Mamma out for a short night walk to see the buildings lit up and looking ghostly. She is really having the time of her life and I am thankful that I helped in getting her to this point. Marco took me aside at one point and gave me a big squeeze on the shoulder and told me, "Thank you so much for this. She loves you very much and is very happy at this moment." He was rather emotional, and then I got a bit teary too. Guh.
We walked back to the hotel, her holding both of our hands and talking very excitedly about getting to see the inside of the Duomo the next day, and to see that guy named Il Davide.
After a long day of togetherness with my Venetian family "on holiday" I was really missing my own family. I didn't think it was possible to be so happy and unhappy at the same time. Why can't my worlds be together at the same time and not 7,000 miles apart?
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Sunday 3 October - The Best Day
Frank introduced our special guests at breakfast, telling everyone that Marco was an integral part of the tour in a capacity they would soon find out, and were joining us for a few days. He introduced Mamma: Signora Maria-Terese Francesca Bolle Marson, who has lived her entire life in Italy and has never seen most of the sights we were visiting on the trip. She doesn't speak much English, so her son or one of us (me or Frank) would be translating for her. Mamma beamed and waved at everyone. Then she remarked on how much food there was. We translated that she was saying she had never seen a breakfast like this, are we sure it's not a dinner? (What did I tell you? This country doesn't eat breakfast...) People cracked up. Mamma's going to end up with a fan club.
I gave my breakfast talk - the one about the Roman Empire's religious tolerance. Ironic since were in the Jewish Quarter last night. The clients were free for the day to do as they wished, just be back to get on the bus by 5:30 for our private Vatican tour. I spend two hours "at the office" in the lobby, with Mamma and Marco with me, deciding which church we were going to Sunday Mass at (imperative for Mamma) and me making reservations for us to go to the Borghese Gallery. Yes, I had been there on the last tour, but they hadn't ever seen it.
We hopped in a cab to head over to Santa Maria Vittoria for Mass. It's a beautiful little jewelbox of a church, with an amazing Bernini piece in it. St. Teresa in Ecstasy, check it out online, I can't take a decent picture of it. Mamma was having trouble paying attention to the priest, she was gaping the whole time around her at the church. Afterward we proceeded to Villa Borghese and once inside the park we stopped at the lunchwagon for sandwiches and chips and picnicked on a bench.
They thoroughly enjoyed the Borghese. I got so excited in my explanations of the statues and paintings that I couldn't even try to speak Italian in doing it, just leaving Marco to translate for me. At one point he put his hands up and said "Aspetta. Aspetta. Non riesco a tenere il passo con quello che stai dicendo a dire a Mamma." Wait. Wait. I can't keep up with what you're saying to tell my mother. "Piano," slow.
We got back around 2PM so that she could have a rest before we went to the Vatican. This was the whole reason she was here and I didn't want her falling down in the middle of traipsing through the expansive Vatican. This has been more activity than she's had in quite a few years.
She's a trouper, that lady. She made it through the museum and I only wish I could have had a camera on her face (don't even think about holding a camera in the Sistine - they will take it away from you even if you point it at the floor) when she walked in to the Sistine Chapel. My mouth hangs open when I see it, but this is a woman who has waited 83 years to see this. It's a miracle to her and a testament to her faith as far as she's concerned. This is where the leader of her Church, of her world, is elected and consecrated. Forget the paintings on the ceiling and the walls, this is where "her" leader comes from. It's the point of power for her.
We piled on to our coach for a short trip to the Trastevere neighborhood for our group dinner. An excellent time was had by all. Mamma had three glasses of wine (just like the rest of us, a lot was imbibed during the festivities) and then the musicians came in and to play old traditional songs and she got up and sang with them! You know the wedding scene in the Godfather where Mrs Corleone is encouraged to get up and sing at Connie's wedding and she and that old man are singing what is obviously a dirty old ditty? Yeah, so that happened. Marco was having a ball watching her having a ball. When everyone got up from the tables and danced, she made her son dance with her. Some of the men in our group were dancing with her as well. It was very sweet. A joyous evening.
"Who is this woman?" Marco said at one point. He hasn't seen her this festive since his sister's wedding in 1991. I'm just happy to see them happy. Frank said he wants to bring her along on every tour. She's a hit.
At Marco's prodding they got me to sing on the bus on the way back to the hotel. "She sings at the piano bar in the hotels with the musicians. She hasn't made the singing for you yet? Oh, you must have her sing to you..." I'm going to kick the crap out of my friend when the clients aren't around, but I'm a hit too.
I gave my breakfast talk - the one about the Roman Empire's religious tolerance. Ironic since were in the Jewish Quarter last night. The clients were free for the day to do as they wished, just be back to get on the bus by 5:30 for our private Vatican tour. I spend two hours "at the office" in the lobby, with Mamma and Marco with me, deciding which church we were going to Sunday Mass at (imperative for Mamma) and me making reservations for us to go to the Borghese Gallery. Yes, I had been there on the last tour, but they hadn't ever seen it.
We hopped in a cab to head over to Santa Maria Vittoria for Mass. It's a beautiful little jewelbox of a church, with an amazing Bernini piece in it. St. Teresa in Ecstasy, check it out online, I can't take a decent picture of it. Mamma was having trouble paying attention to the priest, she was gaping the whole time around her at the church. Afterward we proceeded to Villa Borghese and once inside the park we stopped at the lunchwagon for sandwiches and chips and picnicked on a bench.
They thoroughly enjoyed the Borghese. I got so excited in my explanations of the statues and paintings that I couldn't even try to speak Italian in doing it, just leaving Marco to translate for me. At one point he put his hands up and said "Aspetta. Aspetta. Non riesco a tenere il passo con quello che stai dicendo a dire a Mamma." Wait. Wait. I can't keep up with what you're saying to tell my mother. "Piano," slow.
We got back around 2PM so that she could have a rest before we went to the Vatican. This was the whole reason she was here and I didn't want her falling down in the middle of traipsing through the expansive Vatican. This has been more activity than she's had in quite a few years.
She's a trouper, that lady. She made it through the museum and I only wish I could have had a camera on her face (don't even think about holding a camera in the Sistine - they will take it away from you even if you point it at the floor) when she walked in to the Sistine Chapel. My mouth hangs open when I see it, but this is a woman who has waited 83 years to see this. It's a miracle to her and a testament to her faith as far as she's concerned. This is where the leader of her Church, of her world, is elected and consecrated. Forget the paintings on the ceiling and the walls, this is where "her" leader comes from. It's the point of power for her.
We piled on to our coach for a short trip to the Trastevere neighborhood for our group dinner. An excellent time was had by all. Mamma had three glasses of wine (just like the rest of us, a lot was imbibed during the festivities) and then the musicians came in and to play old traditional songs and she got up and sang with them! You know the wedding scene in the Godfather where Mrs Corleone is encouraged to get up and sing at Connie's wedding and she and that old man are singing what is obviously a dirty old ditty? Yeah, so that happened. Marco was having a ball watching her having a ball. When everyone got up from the tables and danced, she made her son dance with her. Some of the men in our group were dancing with her as well. It was very sweet. A joyous evening.
"Who is this woman?" Marco said at one point. He hasn't seen her this festive since his sister's wedding in 1991. I'm just happy to see them happy. Frank said he wants to bring her along on every tour. She's a hit.
At Marco's prodding they got me to sing on the bus on the way back to the hotel. "She sings at the piano bar in the hotels with the musicians. She hasn't made the singing for you yet? Oh, you must have her sing to you..." I'm going to kick the crap out of my friend when the clients aren't around, but I'm a hit too.
Saturday 2 October - The Evil that Men Do (and the Stupid Things too)
Got a call at 5:35AM from the front desk that Frank and I needed to have a meeting with the hotel manager upon his arrival at 7AM. We have a guest problem. Fan-freaking-tastic.
I called Frank to ask if he knew what was going on, because I hadn't received any calls in the night about a problem. He said we'd find out soon enough.
So... imagine you've spent a buttload of money to take your wife on the vacation of her dreams and her sister and her husband are along with you. What do you do the very first night of said dream trip? Get in an argument about politics and war with an Australian in the hotel bar. But wait... when your brother in law tries to get you to walk away from the escalating encounter, you clock him in the face. And he proceeds to clock you right back, and soon you two are rolling on the floor in the bar of a 5-star hotel in Rome.
Idiots
This is what Frank and I were presented with. Hotel security had pulled them apart, as did the off-duty Carabinieri (Italian State Police) officer who was drinking in the bar with his friends.
After the debriefing, the manager shook his head and threw up his hands and stated he didn't know what they were going to decide to do about the situation. I'm just glad the punch-up was between the brothers-in-law and not the other hotel guest, but stupid stupid stupid all around. The manager said he would have a decision by later in the day of the "gentlemen" were going to be allowed to stay in the hotel for the remaining two nights but they definitely were not welcome in the bar any longer. He said he would call for us later with his decision.
On the way to the restaurant for breakfast Frank told me it was highly unlikely they would be thrown out, but the manager needed to appear in charge of the incident and save face. I get it - I would have thrown them out, no reservation. I have been kicked out of a hotel before - and I didn't even do anything to cause it. (Quick aside, I was at a convention twenty years ago with my Rocky Horror troupe and two brilliant friends of mine decided to scale down the balconies to the pool, and decided to hide in my room when security caught wind. So there I am with my roommate, not knowing why we're getting the boot and these idiot friends of mine weren't kicked out. Just those of us who unknowingly and unwittingly harbored the "fugitives" because they crawled into though our open balcony door. Asshats.)
Getting to breakfast, we didn't mention the fallout of the night before to the entire group, but there were four people who did not look happy to be in the room when we announced that we were delayed by the hotel manager wanting to discuss room arrangements with us. Two annoyed looking women and two guys looking a little rough. Quick breakfast talk and off to the ancient sites. Hey maybe these guys need to just battle it out gladiator style...
There were some folks who just have to sidle up and try to get the dish on the situation, but etiquette precludes me from divulging anything. If these yahoos and the wives want to bust out with the embarrassing tale, they can go for it. My lips are sealed. If they do end up getting kicked out of the hotel and have to get other accommodations for a couple of nights, it will definitely be noticed by the other clients.
We got back to the hotel after lunch. I had received a text message from Marco that he and Mamma checked in and she was across the hall from me. I knocked on her door after my office hour and received the smothering of kisses and hugs from her.
"Che meraviglia. Quanto meraviglioso. Questo è così bella. Grazie Kricka!" How wonderful. How marvelous. This is so beautiful. Thank you Kricka! I told her it was her son that got her the beautiful room, it was Frank that invited them to come. Make sure you have some kisses for Frank!
In the mean time, we can make the afternoon Mass at St. Peter's if we left right then. You have to go through metal detectors to get into the Basilica now as an added safety measure, so you can't just waltz up to the doors any longer. We grabbed a cab out front of the hotel and sped off to Vatican City. I was going to St. Peter's for the 2nd time that day, 3rd time that week, and 4th time in a fortnight. My grandfather would be so proud. Too bad I'm not Catholic, huh?
Watching Mamma take it all in was a beautiful thing. She has only been to St. Peter's once before in her life and hadn't been to Mass when she was there. She gripped my hand with her left and her son's with her right the entire time. We walked around for quite a while - she would have stayed all night if she could have, I believe. She prayed in all the side chapels for long periods. She wiped away tears in front of the Pieta, just like I was doing. Marco looked at me quizzically and when we were outside he asked me why I was upset. I told him I always cry at the Pieta, it's so symbolic of losing someone you love. He agreed. But he was definitely more happy at seeing his mother transformed for the moment. She was talking nonstop and very excited about everything she was seeing around her. Mamma in the big city.
Frank called and asked for us to meet him at a favorite restaurant of his in the Jewish Quarter of Rome. He figured correctly that we would want to eat early - Mamma is going to poop out early I hope. This is a lot today for a woman in her early 80s - the farthest she's traveled in decades plus sensory overload of being in "The Church." We had reservations at 7, so we had just over an hour to be there. No sense in going back to the hotel. We opted to take the cab to the Quarter and look around nearby at Teatro di Marcello. Maybe we'd see Sophia Loren, who lives in a luxury condo built around the ruins. Sophia apparently didn't receive my psychic communique because she didn't step out on the street to greet us. Damn her.
Met up with Frank at Da Giggetto, and he got about 14 cheek kisses from Mamma. Frank told me the manager agreed to let the pugilistic brothers-in-law stay, but again, no going to the bar.
So while Venice had the first Jewish ghetto, Rome has always had the largest Jewish population on the Italian peninsula. It is also the oldest settlement, and those living there today have the distinction of being a community that is not made up of Spanish Sephardic Jews or postwar Russian immigrants, like so much of Israel today is - these people trace their roots back to Jews who came from Palestine before Christ, while the Roman Empire was in full effect.
(edited to add: I meant to include Ashkenazi Jews from Europe as well...)
The first Jews in Rome came directly from the homeland in 160 BC, traveling as ambassadors of Judah Maccabee to ask for protection from the Romans against the Syrian King Antiochus who had been giving the Jews in Palestine a hard time. (When have they NOT had a hard time?)
This small group of Jews settled and created the first community in Rome. In 70 AD the Roman Emperor Titus destroyed the Temple of Jerusalem. He brought many Jews to Rome as slaves, as well as the Menorah stolen from the Temple. The "free" Jews living in Rome paid a ransom to liberate their brothers, but not before their enslaved brethren helped build the Colosseum.
There are still about 12,000 Jews in Rome, but they aren't confined within 4 gates anymore, the Quarter set up in 1555 by Pope Paul IV. Prior to WWII there were over 50,000 living in the city.
For over 200 years the confined area of the Quarter made managing on meager and limited ingredients a must in every household. There was a fish market in the center of confined area, so a lot of the dishes are based around fish and methods used in preserving them to last as long as possible. And the food is fantastic - lots of yummy things fried in oils.
We had a variety of dishes to share: deep-fried artichokes, deep-fried zucchini flowers stuffed with ricotta cheese and a hint of anchovy, dried cod with vegetables and pine nuts baked into a fish stew, zucchini marinated in herbed vinegar, homemade pasta stuffed with porcini mushrooms and tossed with chickpeas and roasted red peppers. Oh my, my stomach was so full.
Got back to the hotel and settled in to Mamma's room for a bit before going to bed. As it happened, "Schindler's List" was showing on the tv. They had never seen it before. Mamma had her hand to her mouth the whole time, gaping. We watched it for the first hour and the commercial break came on. In Venetian dialect, which I don't really understand fully, Mamma asked Marco to tell me about what Lorenzo did during WWII.
Lorenzo was Marco's father and I knew him for the last four years of his life before he passed away at Christmas in 2008. He was a very sweet man who liked me to sit with him and watch the evening gameshows. We were a good team at the gameshows. "Brava, Kricka!" he would say to me when I answered questions on the Italian "Millionario" show. And of course we laughed and hooted at the cheesy scantily dressed dancing girl bits they put on at every opportunity on Italian tv. Because they can.
When Marco's father was 20 and (forced) in the military under Mussolini, he was sent with others from his army regiment in the Northeast of Italy to be stationed at Auschwitz-Birkenau. They weren't guarding the camps, that was for the Germans to do. They made the Italians clean up. He brought bodies out of the showers, dug pits for them to be placed in, or brought them to the incinerators, picked them off the ground when they shot them straight off the arriving trains. For 3 years.
I had no idea. I just cannot imagine the horrors that man saw.
His father had said when the Soviets liberated the deathcamp; all the Italians were afraid they too would now be shot because of their part in the atrocities. They were placed in an American-run POW camp shortly but they were treated very well and he held no grudges toward the soldiers. They were very kind to them all actually. They ate better in the POW camp than when they were all hooked up with the Germans when the camp was going at full speed.
We didn't finish the film. I went back to my room, called my family to tell them I love them and then had awful dreams about the early life of Lorenzo Marson.
I called Frank to ask if he knew what was going on, because I hadn't received any calls in the night about a problem. He said we'd find out soon enough.
So... imagine you've spent a buttload of money to take your wife on the vacation of her dreams and her sister and her husband are along with you. What do you do the very first night of said dream trip? Get in an argument about politics and war with an Australian in the hotel bar. But wait... when your brother in law tries to get you to walk away from the escalating encounter, you clock him in the face. And he proceeds to clock you right back, and soon you two are rolling on the floor in the bar of a 5-star hotel in Rome.
Idiots
This is what Frank and I were presented with. Hotel security had pulled them apart, as did the off-duty Carabinieri (Italian State Police) officer who was drinking in the bar with his friends.
After the debriefing, the manager shook his head and threw up his hands and stated he didn't know what they were going to decide to do about the situation. I'm just glad the punch-up was between the brothers-in-law and not the other hotel guest, but stupid stupid stupid all around. The manager said he would have a decision by later in the day of the "gentlemen" were going to be allowed to stay in the hotel for the remaining two nights but they definitely were not welcome in the bar any longer. He said he would call for us later with his decision.
On the way to the restaurant for breakfast Frank told me it was highly unlikely they would be thrown out, but the manager needed to appear in charge of the incident and save face. I get it - I would have thrown them out, no reservation. I have been kicked out of a hotel before - and I didn't even do anything to cause it. (Quick aside, I was at a convention twenty years ago with my Rocky Horror troupe and two brilliant friends of mine decided to scale down the balconies to the pool, and decided to hide in my room when security caught wind. So there I am with my roommate, not knowing why we're getting the boot and these idiot friends of mine weren't kicked out. Just those of us who unknowingly and unwittingly harbored the "fugitives" because they crawled into though our open balcony door. Asshats.)
Getting to breakfast, we didn't mention the fallout of the night before to the entire group, but there were four people who did not look happy to be in the room when we announced that we were delayed by the hotel manager wanting to discuss room arrangements with us. Two annoyed looking women and two guys looking a little rough. Quick breakfast talk and off to the ancient sites. Hey maybe these guys need to just battle it out gladiator style...
There were some folks who just have to sidle up and try to get the dish on the situation, but etiquette precludes me from divulging anything. If these yahoos and the wives want to bust out with the embarrassing tale, they can go for it. My lips are sealed. If they do end up getting kicked out of the hotel and have to get other accommodations for a couple of nights, it will definitely be noticed by the other clients.
We got back to the hotel after lunch. I had received a text message from Marco that he and Mamma checked in and she was across the hall from me. I knocked on her door after my office hour and received the smothering of kisses and hugs from her.
"Che meraviglia. Quanto meraviglioso. Questo è così bella. Grazie Kricka!" How wonderful. How marvelous. This is so beautiful. Thank you Kricka! I told her it was her son that got her the beautiful room, it was Frank that invited them to come. Make sure you have some kisses for Frank!
In the mean time, we can make the afternoon Mass at St. Peter's if we left right then. You have to go through metal detectors to get into the Basilica now as an added safety measure, so you can't just waltz up to the doors any longer. We grabbed a cab out front of the hotel and sped off to Vatican City. I was going to St. Peter's for the 2nd time that day, 3rd time that week, and 4th time in a fortnight. My grandfather would be so proud. Too bad I'm not Catholic, huh?
Watching Mamma take it all in was a beautiful thing. She has only been to St. Peter's once before in her life and hadn't been to Mass when she was there. She gripped my hand with her left and her son's with her right the entire time. We walked around for quite a while - she would have stayed all night if she could have, I believe. She prayed in all the side chapels for long periods. She wiped away tears in front of the Pieta, just like I was doing. Marco looked at me quizzically and when we were outside he asked me why I was upset. I told him I always cry at the Pieta, it's so symbolic of losing someone you love. He agreed. But he was definitely more happy at seeing his mother transformed for the moment. She was talking nonstop and very excited about everything she was seeing around her. Mamma in the big city.
Frank called and asked for us to meet him at a favorite restaurant of his in the Jewish Quarter of Rome. He figured correctly that we would want to eat early - Mamma is going to poop out early I hope. This is a lot today for a woman in her early 80s - the farthest she's traveled in decades plus sensory overload of being in "The Church." We had reservations at 7, so we had just over an hour to be there. No sense in going back to the hotel. We opted to take the cab to the Quarter and look around nearby at Teatro di Marcello. Maybe we'd see Sophia Loren, who lives in a luxury condo built around the ruins. Sophia apparently didn't receive my psychic communique because she didn't step out on the street to greet us. Damn her.
Met up with Frank at Da Giggetto, and he got about 14 cheek kisses from Mamma. Frank told me the manager agreed to let the pugilistic brothers-in-law stay, but again, no going to the bar.
So while Venice had the first Jewish ghetto, Rome has always had the largest Jewish population on the Italian peninsula. It is also the oldest settlement, and those living there today have the distinction of being a community that is not made up of Spanish Sephardic Jews or postwar Russian immigrants, like so much of Israel today is - these people trace their roots back to Jews who came from Palestine before Christ, while the Roman Empire was in full effect.
(edited to add: I meant to include Ashkenazi Jews from Europe as well...)
The first Jews in Rome came directly from the homeland in 160 BC, traveling as ambassadors of Judah Maccabee to ask for protection from the Romans against the Syrian King Antiochus who had been giving the Jews in Palestine a hard time. (When have they NOT had a hard time?)
This small group of Jews settled and created the first community in Rome. In 70 AD the Roman Emperor Titus destroyed the Temple of Jerusalem. He brought many Jews to Rome as slaves, as well as the Menorah stolen from the Temple. The "free" Jews living in Rome paid a ransom to liberate their brothers, but not before their enslaved brethren helped build the Colosseum.
There are still about 12,000 Jews in Rome, but they aren't confined within 4 gates anymore, the Quarter set up in 1555 by Pope Paul IV. Prior to WWII there were over 50,000 living in the city.
For over 200 years the confined area of the Quarter made managing on meager and limited ingredients a must in every household. There was a fish market in the center of confined area, so a lot of the dishes are based around fish and methods used in preserving them to last as long as possible. And the food is fantastic - lots of yummy things fried in oils.
We had a variety of dishes to share: deep-fried artichokes, deep-fried zucchini flowers stuffed with ricotta cheese and a hint of anchovy, dried cod with vegetables and pine nuts baked into a fish stew, zucchini marinated in herbed vinegar, homemade pasta stuffed with porcini mushrooms and tossed with chickpeas and roasted red peppers. Oh my, my stomach was so full.
Got back to the hotel and settled in to Mamma's room for a bit before going to bed. As it happened, "Schindler's List" was showing on the tv. They had never seen it before. Mamma had her hand to her mouth the whole time, gaping. We watched it for the first hour and the commercial break came on. In Venetian dialect, which I don't really understand fully, Mamma asked Marco to tell me about what Lorenzo did during WWII.
Lorenzo was Marco's father and I knew him for the last four years of his life before he passed away at Christmas in 2008. He was a very sweet man who liked me to sit with him and watch the evening gameshows. We were a good team at the gameshows. "Brava, Kricka!" he would say to me when I answered questions on the Italian "Millionario" show. And of course we laughed and hooted at the cheesy scantily dressed dancing girl bits they put on at every opportunity on Italian tv. Because they can.
When Marco's father was 20 and (forced) in the military under Mussolini, he was sent with others from his army regiment in the Northeast of Italy to be stationed at Auschwitz-Birkenau. They weren't guarding the camps, that was for the Germans to do. They made the Italians clean up. He brought bodies out of the showers, dug pits for them to be placed in, or brought them to the incinerators, picked them off the ground when they shot them straight off the arriving trains. For 3 years.
I had no idea. I just cannot imagine the horrors that man saw.
His father had said when the Soviets liberated the deathcamp; all the Italians were afraid they too would now be shot because of their part in the atrocities. They were placed in an American-run POW camp shortly but they were treated very well and he held no grudges toward the soldiers. They were very kind to them all actually. They ate better in the POW camp than when they were all hooked up with the Germans when the camp was going at full speed.
We didn't finish the film. I went back to my room, called my family to tell them I love them and then had awful dreams about the early life of Lorenzo Marson.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Friday 1 October - Tour Number Two: Electric Boogaloo
I'm in a land where the native population has no idea what breakfast is. Unless it's a bland pastry with espresso, or a huge spread at a hotel similar to a full English breakfast, it just doesn't exist. I want something in between. I would really like my hub-unit to be here fixing me a bowl of Malt-O-Meal right about now. I left the Pensione at 7AM and walked three blocks to a McDonalds (I know, try to maintain your horror at my actions) because they have something I'm looking for in comfort food, warm sausages, hash browns and flaky biscuits. Hopefully.
Score! Best of all, the breakfast sausage sandwich as made of chicken so it's not as greasy or heavy and it had a fresh basil condiment on it similar to pesto but not full of oil. Damn, McDonalds Italia, way to convert someone who is usually disgusted by your food! Is that a ringing endorsement or what? You can use that, Italian ad agency dudes, free of charge.
I went back to the Pensione, collected my belongings and checked out. I made my way back to the Excelsior hotel by way of a cab. I knew it was going to be too early to check in so I figured I would just store my luggage there and walk up to Villa Borghese to read up on some facts and make notes for later. To my surprise, they had my room ready for me then. I asked the concierge if was going to be possible to have my room near Mamma & Marco's when they arrive tomorrow. At least on the same floor? It's worth a shot to ask, the worst they can do is tell me no. The concierge smiled and said it had already been requested. Aw, that Marco, he thinks of everything. It's like he's in the hospitality business or something...
So the differences I'm facing as the actual leader of this tour are many, but nothing so great to make me feel it's a daunting task. It's all about checking off the list and the details involved. Dot the "i" and cross the "t" on everything involved, so to speak. I'm a listmaker so I am definitely game.
The hotel has my name and phone number as the contact for any guests checking in today before the tour starts. Some don't come in on the day of the tour, but maybe come over a couple of days ahead of time, like that couple I met in Venice on the bus. I have a folder (let's call it a dossier, because I am so European now) listing all the clients on the tour, their contact information for back home in case of emergencies, flight information, any divulged medical issues and allergies where applicable, and copies of passports if they were able to send the home office a copy before leaving the U.S.
We have 22 on this tour, all couples or family members or friends that will be 2 to a room. No singletons. Like Noah's Ark, marching 2 by 2 wherever we go. I am collecting 16 at the airport, 6 are already here, and 4 of them already checked into the Excelsior. I will call the coach company to verify our meeting time at Termini train station and meet Frank there, en route to FCO airport to meet everyone there at 3PM.
It's all about telephone calls pretty much after that. I call the hotel when we are on the way back from the airport with everyone and their luggage, to ready the check-in process. I stand by during the check in process to make sure there everyone has their room and that their bags are portered up to the appropriate rooms.
I contact the restaurant manager to verify we have our space set up with refreshments for our "welcome mixer" at 7PM on the back terrace and our banquet room with the pre-fixe menu for 8PM in the hotel's restaurant.
I contact the various licensed guides we use at sites like the Colosseum, the private Vatican tour and at the Uffizi in Florence and maintain our appointed times and the number of people coming, We have standing reservations with the guides and the museums/venues. It's all handled by accounting procedures and I don't need to hand over any money. They haven't given me a credit card since I'm not a fully fledged employee, but one is available when you are, for emergencies and unexpected issues.
All the restaurants we eat out outside of the hotels for group meals are reserved as a standing appointment. I simply need to call when we are 30 minutes out to make sure they know to fill the water glasses and get ready for us to show up.
The train tickets from Florence to Venice are already purchased, a standing reservation for 28 seats, just in case, and to keep us altogether on the same train car. I have to call the day before we go to Venice to make sure the baggage transfer boat is set up - they porter it off the train and boat it to the hotel. Saves space on the private taxis we use to make our rockstar entrance. Another call I make, I also verify they know how many boats they are sending to the train station as well.
I also have phone calls to make at the end of the tour to ensure all departing guests have their boats set up to go to the airport, depending on when their flight leaves. I don't have to be around, to see them off (if they are actually leaving and not staying on, as a lot of folks option to do) I just have to make sure it's set up with the concierge desk and that the guests know what time they have to be ready.
Whew. Not rocket science or neurosurgery, but there are a lot of items on the lists to check off. And all the while as long as I maintain my fabulous and happy composure and am there to impart knowledge and jocularity, everything will go along just swimmingly.
We'll just have to see about that.
Met up with Frank and on the way to the airport I gave him the rundown of everything that had gone on up to that point (the last couple checked into the hotel, allowing me to mark off that item - clients checking in on their own are all accounted for.) There's no change in any plane arrival scheduling so far, so we're good.
We collected our folks and their baggage and made our way to the coach and into Rome. I'm pretty sure more than a few of these folks partook of the adult beverages on the flight, I can smell it, but nobody's blotto or anything. On the bus Frank and I gave welcome talks and gave them the overview of how our mornings would be. We would be having breakfast together daily before heading out (or not) but that informational talks would be a part of orienting them all, factoids and history about what we would be seeing, or what we saw the day before. Breakfast starts at 6AM, talks at 7AM and usually we would be out the door between 7:30 and 8:00. For periods where they are on their own, Frank and I have office hours to help them determine what activity or sight (if any) they may want to see. Restaurant recommendations, calling for taxis, etc. We're here to facilitate for them and make this the trip they want, how they want. (Within reason, I hope?)
Check in went smoothly and without hitches. Went on to my room to change my clothes into a dress for our welcome mixer and to be out in the lobby to direct people. There are also always the folks who have to stop and ask you every little thing about the itinerary. That's okay if you can't just go with the flow, but I'm here to ease you into your vacation. Say it with me... vacation. Leave the details and the worries to me... you're paying the big bucks for this. I'm not just here to take your photo at the Colosseum and open your water bottles. Well, I kind of am here just to do that too.
The welcome mixer and dinner were fun. I spent a little bit of time with each guest and got to put faces with names and learn a little about where they are from, what they do, how many kids and grandkids they have. Mental note taking... but people skills are my best skills.
After it was over Frank and I went to the bar to unwind with a nightcap. He toasted me on my first day. Success! I asked him if he'd ever seen anyone just completely blow it on their first day "in charge."
The answer is yes - and it sounded pretty spectacular. About 9 years ago he had this absolute egghead whose resume showed he knew just everything there was to know about everything that had ever happened. He was fine during the first tour, where he was assisting, just as I had done on this last tour, but put in charge, he got gun-shy about speaking and threw up on a client's shoes on the bus from the airport just explaining the itinerary. The next day he passed out during the breakfast talk. He got a little tipsy at lunch the third day and told a lady she had no idea what she was talking about and to stop being such a blowhard. Oops.
People skills... are good.
Score! Best of all, the breakfast sausage sandwich as made of chicken so it's not as greasy or heavy and it had a fresh basil condiment on it similar to pesto but not full of oil. Damn, McDonalds Italia, way to convert someone who is usually disgusted by your food! Is that a ringing endorsement or what? You can use that, Italian ad agency dudes, free of charge.
I went back to the Pensione, collected my belongings and checked out. I made my way back to the Excelsior hotel by way of a cab. I knew it was going to be too early to check in so I figured I would just store my luggage there and walk up to Villa Borghese to read up on some facts and make notes for later. To my surprise, they had my room ready for me then. I asked the concierge if was going to be possible to have my room near Mamma & Marco's when they arrive tomorrow. At least on the same floor? It's worth a shot to ask, the worst they can do is tell me no. The concierge smiled and said it had already been requested. Aw, that Marco, he thinks of everything. It's like he's in the hospitality business or something...
So the differences I'm facing as the actual leader of this tour are many, but nothing so great to make me feel it's a daunting task. It's all about checking off the list and the details involved. Dot the "i" and cross the "t" on everything involved, so to speak. I'm a listmaker so I am definitely game.
The hotel has my name and phone number as the contact for any guests checking in today before the tour starts. Some don't come in on the day of the tour, but maybe come over a couple of days ahead of time, like that couple I met in Venice on the bus. I have a folder (let's call it a dossier, because I am so European now) listing all the clients on the tour, their contact information for back home in case of emergencies, flight information, any divulged medical issues and allergies where applicable, and copies of passports if they were able to send the home office a copy before leaving the U.S.
We have 22 on this tour, all couples or family members or friends that will be 2 to a room. No singletons. Like Noah's Ark, marching 2 by 2 wherever we go. I am collecting 16 at the airport, 6 are already here, and 4 of them already checked into the Excelsior. I will call the coach company to verify our meeting time at Termini train station and meet Frank there, en route to FCO airport to meet everyone there at 3PM.
It's all about telephone calls pretty much after that. I call the hotel when we are on the way back from the airport with everyone and their luggage, to ready the check-in process. I stand by during the check in process to make sure there everyone has their room and that their bags are portered up to the appropriate rooms.
I contact the restaurant manager to verify we have our space set up with refreshments for our "welcome mixer" at 7PM on the back terrace and our banquet room with the pre-fixe menu for 8PM in the hotel's restaurant.
I contact the various licensed guides we use at sites like the Colosseum, the private Vatican tour and at the Uffizi in Florence and maintain our appointed times and the number of people coming, We have standing reservations with the guides and the museums/venues. It's all handled by accounting procedures and I don't need to hand over any money. They haven't given me a credit card since I'm not a fully fledged employee, but one is available when you are, for emergencies and unexpected issues.
All the restaurants we eat out outside of the hotels for group meals are reserved as a standing appointment. I simply need to call when we are 30 minutes out to make sure they know to fill the water glasses and get ready for us to show up.
The train tickets from Florence to Venice are already purchased, a standing reservation for 28 seats, just in case, and to keep us altogether on the same train car. I have to call the day before we go to Venice to make sure the baggage transfer boat is set up - they porter it off the train and boat it to the hotel. Saves space on the private taxis we use to make our rockstar entrance. Another call I make, I also verify they know how many boats they are sending to the train station as well.
I also have phone calls to make at the end of the tour to ensure all departing guests have their boats set up to go to the airport, depending on when their flight leaves. I don't have to be around, to see them off (if they are actually leaving and not staying on, as a lot of folks option to do) I just have to make sure it's set up with the concierge desk and that the guests know what time they have to be ready.
Whew. Not rocket science or neurosurgery, but there are a lot of items on the lists to check off. And all the while as long as I maintain my fabulous and happy composure and am there to impart knowledge and jocularity, everything will go along just swimmingly.
We'll just have to see about that.
Met up with Frank and on the way to the airport I gave him the rundown of everything that had gone on up to that point (the last couple checked into the hotel, allowing me to mark off that item - clients checking in on their own are all accounted for.) There's no change in any plane arrival scheduling so far, so we're good.
We collected our folks and their baggage and made our way to the coach and into Rome. I'm pretty sure more than a few of these folks partook of the adult beverages on the flight, I can smell it, but nobody's blotto or anything. On the bus Frank and I gave welcome talks and gave them the overview of how our mornings would be. We would be having breakfast together daily before heading out (or not) but that informational talks would be a part of orienting them all, factoids and history about what we would be seeing, or what we saw the day before. Breakfast starts at 6AM, talks at 7AM and usually we would be out the door between 7:30 and 8:00. For periods where they are on their own, Frank and I have office hours to help them determine what activity or sight (if any) they may want to see. Restaurant recommendations, calling for taxis, etc. We're here to facilitate for them and make this the trip they want, how they want. (Within reason, I hope?)
Check in went smoothly and without hitches. Went on to my room to change my clothes into a dress for our welcome mixer and to be out in the lobby to direct people. There are also always the folks who have to stop and ask you every little thing about the itinerary. That's okay if you can't just go with the flow, but I'm here to ease you into your vacation. Say it with me... vacation. Leave the details and the worries to me... you're paying the big bucks for this. I'm not just here to take your photo at the Colosseum and open your water bottles. Well, I kind of am here just to do that too.
The welcome mixer and dinner were fun. I spent a little bit of time with each guest and got to put faces with names and learn a little about where they are from, what they do, how many kids and grandkids they have. Mental note taking... but people skills are my best skills.
After it was over Frank and I went to the bar to unwind with a nightcap. He toasted me on my first day. Success! I asked him if he'd ever seen anyone just completely blow it on their first day "in charge."
The answer is yes - and it sounded pretty spectacular. About 9 years ago he had this absolute egghead whose resume showed he knew just everything there was to know about everything that had ever happened. He was fine during the first tour, where he was assisting, just as I had done on this last tour, but put in charge, he got gun-shy about speaking and threw up on a client's shoes on the bus from the airport just explaining the itinerary. The next day he passed out during the breakfast talk. He got a little tipsy at lunch the third day and told a lady she had no idea what she was talking about and to stop being such a blowhard. Oops.
People skills... are good.
Thursday 30 Sept - When In Rome
Oh man, I woke up feeling seriously beat up from the feet up. The walking yesterday on cobblestone streets took its toll on my hip sockets. I want to make it 50 before I find out I need replacements. My grandma had 5 hip replacements in her lifetime, so it's something I just expect will happen in a matter of time.
The Pensione is very nice considering I am paying only 30Euro a night. It's basic - a bed, a table and chair, armoire, and a wash basin in the room. The mattress is extremely comfortable and the sheets don't scratch. Bonus! Although... I was dead tired the night before and would have slept like a stone on the bare floor with a yoga mat and burlap blankets. The only problem with the room is that it is right next to the bathroom & shower, and other guests don't seem to care if they are making noise in a place that really echoes. It echoes in the hallway, it echoes in the rooms, why wouldn't you think it would echo in the bathroom. I don't want to hear your straining to perform your bodily functions, people. That is all.
Got myself ready to go and headed out to meet up with Trixy and Allan at Termini station. It's a huge place so I had told them to meet me in front of the McDonalds. There's only one in the station so it shouldn't be a problem to find me. I kept an eye on the board for their train arrival notice and kept seeing the time push back, five minutes, then fifteen, then a half hour. The Italian word for delay is "ritard" which reminds me of Galifiniakis in "The Hangover" which makes me giggle. Because I'm mentally twelve some days, okay?
Their train from Civitavecchia finally arrived and they found me. What was up with the train "ritard?" Allan said they were an hour into their journey (the trip takes 75 minutes) and an announcement came through the PA asking if there were any doctors aboard to please make their way to car number 5. Allan isn't a doc but he is an E/R nurse and teaches lifesaving certification skills courses to doctors and all E/R personnel so he went to check it out in the next car. He ended up giving chest compressions to an older gentleman. Why they stopped the train fifteen minutes away from Rome I don't know, but when they arrived at Termini an ambulance team boarded and used a defibrillator machine on the guy before they took him away on the gurney. Go Allan! Way to start the day.
Outside the station there was a noisy demonstration going on due to the fact that it was Berlusconi's birthday. Unhappy people protesting against politicians. It's like I never left the Bay Area.
We caught a cab and took it over to the Trevi fountain. The time schedule in my head was off and I didn't want to waste a moment waiting for the metro. I engaged the lady cabdriver to take us to the fountain and wait for us, then take us on to the Colosseum. We had 11:30 reservations for entrance.
Trevi is always gorgeous and a showstopper, even with hundreds of people crowding around it. I took full advantage of my height to put the camera above my head and hope that I could get a shot without half the world in the frame. It worked!
Across the street and away from the throngs of people is a gelato shop, and I popped in to find out if they have a Nutella flavor. This is the flavor Allan and Trixy wanted to try. They did and we feasted quickly before returning to the cab. Yum! I don't have enough gelato in my life om a daily basis. I need to remedy that.
We made our reservation time and got our tickets, avoiding the approximate 90 minute wait (Yay for online reservation systems. Seriously, why DON'T people look this stuff up in advance and handle it???) Behold, the Anfiteatro Flaviana, AKA the Colosseo.
We made our way past the Arch of Constantine and up the hill toward the Roman Forum. And this is where Kris learned the difference between going to sites with a tour group and going it alone.
Mind you, dear readers, I had been at the Foro Romano about a week before. We just walked right up that hill and waltzed in under the the Arch of Titus. Not when you're not with a licensed guide as part of a tour, you don't. Turned away and made to walk over a half mile away to an entrance I hadn't seen before. Oh well. Along the way I yammered on about dates, details and historical overviews on Roman life for them.
We spent a considerable amount of time there, and I almost took a tumble with misplaced footing. Careful! It was 1:30 and we were hungry... time to leave ancient Rome and get some grub. I had the place picked out. On to L'Orso 80 for copious amounts of food please!
(Monument to Vittorio Emmanuele II and The Unknown Soldier, also known as the Wedding Cake, the Dentures, the Typewriter, and any other derogatory terms in Italian.)
We walked in to "l'Orso 80" and I told the waiter we wanted the antipasti misti, mixed appetizers, some red wine and water please. Then sat back and watched Trixy & Allan's faces as plate after plate arrived with the small mounds of goodness arrived. Eighteen dishes of veggies, meats, and cheeses. Nothing heavy and pretty healthy, all things considered. This picture is only half of the table. I love this place.
After rolling ourselves away from the restaurant we struck out for Saint Peter's Basilica; the highlight of their day in Rome. Trixy & Allan take their Catholicism seriously and this was the main reason they wanted to be here in the city. To see it in person for once in their lives. I'm happy to oblige.
There is not really any way to describe the monumental scale of the church. It is just massive. Everything is grand - picture the highest ceiling in any church you've been in, or an atrium in a skyscraper, something on that order - this is taller than that. The columns are huge, the cherubini decorating the basin of holy water are four feet tall. Big fat cherubs, indeed!
I went see Michelangelo's Pieta while they went to a side chapel to pray for a while. This is his first Pieta, the best one. It is behind a bulletproof wall, thanks to a crazyman attacking Mary's knee with a hammer a couple of decades ago. But, it is exquisite.
I've said it before, how statues tend to give me the most visceral emotional reactions in art, and this one is the motherlode for me. Forget about religious beliefs, this is a mother's sorrow at the loss of her child. The fact the Michelangelo did this at the age of 25 is beyond my comprehension and that he was able to convey the emotions on her face, let alone the artistry of the billowing folds in Mary's dress. I get goosebumps, then the tears well up in my eyes. Every single time.
I only wish my photos could do it justice, and that my flash was better for these pictures.
After finally tearing ourselves away from the Basilica we made our way across the Piazza to the cabstand. There was a Japanese couple marching along beside us, arguing the whole way. And it's a big Piazza. He would holler at her, she would yell back at him. Stop walking - wildly gesticulate - emphatic harsh sounding words. He grabbed her by the elbow. YELLING. At one point things really escalated to where it sounded and looked like he was going to strike her and I jumped in on them.
"HEY -STOP! ENOUGH! KNOCK IT OFF!"
This broke the spell and he started yelling at me. I don't care if they spoke a word of English or not. This is not the place to be screaming at anyone. Anywhere in public is not the place, actually. I don't care if you lost your tourguide, had your money stolen, a Vespa ran over your dog, whatever, stop being an idiot in public - in front of a church no less.
I started waving for a policeman across the street. Dude got the drift and shut up. The Carabinieri came over and I told him in Italian these people needed assistance of some kind and they are very upset. He started attempting to sort things out for them. Maybe he took her back to the hotel and beat her up, I don't know, but I didn't need to see it happen in broad daylight in front of me.
Trixy said it looked like I was going to swing on the guy. That wouldn't have happened, I don't need to land myself in jail, but I would have stood toe to toe with him in a staredown, that's for sure. Angry man = 0, Kris = 1. No fists this time around... my Dad will be so proud.
We got into a cab and got them to Termini where we hugged our goodbyes. They were moving on to Naples and the Amalfi Coast next but I won't be joining them. I have my next tour starting tomorrow afternoon. Squeeeeeeeee!
Another early evening and sleeping like the dead, this time with toilet paper stuffed in my ears to ward off the auditory assaults from the bathroom. Goodnight!
The Pensione is very nice considering I am paying only 30Euro a night. It's basic - a bed, a table and chair, armoire, and a wash basin in the room. The mattress is extremely comfortable and the sheets don't scratch. Bonus! Although... I was dead tired the night before and would have slept like a stone on the bare floor with a yoga mat and burlap blankets. The only problem with the room is that it is right next to the bathroom & shower, and other guests don't seem to care if they are making noise in a place that really echoes. It echoes in the hallway, it echoes in the rooms, why wouldn't you think it would echo in the bathroom. I don't want to hear your straining to perform your bodily functions, people. That is all.
Got myself ready to go and headed out to meet up with Trixy and Allan at Termini station. It's a huge place so I had told them to meet me in front of the McDonalds. There's only one in the station so it shouldn't be a problem to find me. I kept an eye on the board for their train arrival notice and kept seeing the time push back, five minutes, then fifteen, then a half hour. The Italian word for delay is "ritard" which reminds me of Galifiniakis in "The Hangover" which makes me giggle. Because I'm mentally twelve some days, okay?
Their train from Civitavecchia finally arrived and they found me. What was up with the train "ritard?" Allan said they were an hour into their journey (the trip takes 75 minutes) and an announcement came through the PA asking if there were any doctors aboard to please make their way to car number 5. Allan isn't a doc but he is an E/R nurse and teaches lifesaving certification skills courses to doctors and all E/R personnel so he went to check it out in the next car. He ended up giving chest compressions to an older gentleman. Why they stopped the train fifteen minutes away from Rome I don't know, but when they arrived at Termini an ambulance team boarded and used a defibrillator machine on the guy before they took him away on the gurney. Go Allan! Way to start the day.
Outside the station there was a noisy demonstration going on due to the fact that it was Berlusconi's birthday. Unhappy people protesting against politicians. It's like I never left the Bay Area.
We caught a cab and took it over to the Trevi fountain. The time schedule in my head was off and I didn't want to waste a moment waiting for the metro. I engaged the lady cabdriver to take us to the fountain and wait for us, then take us on to the Colosseum. We had 11:30 reservations for entrance.
Trevi is always gorgeous and a showstopper, even with hundreds of people crowding around it. I took full advantage of my height to put the camera above my head and hope that I could get a shot without half the world in the frame. It worked!
Across the street and away from the throngs of people is a gelato shop, and I popped in to find out if they have a Nutella flavor. This is the flavor Allan and Trixy wanted to try. They did and we feasted quickly before returning to the cab. Yum! I don't have enough gelato in my life om a daily basis. I need to remedy that.
We made our reservation time and got our tickets, avoiding the approximate 90 minute wait (Yay for online reservation systems. Seriously, why DON'T people look this stuff up in advance and handle it???) Behold, the Anfiteatro Flaviana, AKA the Colosseo.
We made our way past the Arch of Constantine and up the hill toward the Roman Forum. And this is where Kris learned the difference between going to sites with a tour group and going it alone.
Mind you, dear readers, I had been at the Foro Romano about a week before. We just walked right up that hill and waltzed in under the the Arch of Titus. Not when you're not with a licensed guide as part of a tour, you don't. Turned away and made to walk over a half mile away to an entrance I hadn't seen before. Oh well. Along the way I yammered on about dates, details and historical overviews on Roman life for them.
We spent a considerable amount of time there, and I almost took a tumble with misplaced footing. Careful! It was 1:30 and we were hungry... time to leave ancient Rome and get some grub. I had the place picked out. On to L'Orso 80 for copious amounts of food please!
(Monument to Vittorio Emmanuele II and The Unknown Soldier, also known as the Wedding Cake, the Dentures, the Typewriter, and any other derogatory terms in Italian.)
We walked in to "l'Orso 80" and I told the waiter we wanted the antipasti misti, mixed appetizers, some red wine and water please. Then sat back and watched Trixy & Allan's faces as plate after plate arrived with the small mounds of goodness arrived. Eighteen dishes of veggies, meats, and cheeses. Nothing heavy and pretty healthy, all things considered. This picture is only half of the table. I love this place.
After rolling ourselves away from the restaurant we struck out for Saint Peter's Basilica; the highlight of their day in Rome. Trixy & Allan take their Catholicism seriously and this was the main reason they wanted to be here in the city. To see it in person for once in their lives. I'm happy to oblige.
There is not really any way to describe the monumental scale of the church. It is just massive. Everything is grand - picture the highest ceiling in any church you've been in, or an atrium in a skyscraper, something on that order - this is taller than that. The columns are huge, the cherubini decorating the basin of holy water are four feet tall. Big fat cherubs, indeed!
I went see Michelangelo's Pieta while they went to a side chapel to pray for a while. This is his first Pieta, the best one. It is behind a bulletproof wall, thanks to a crazyman attacking Mary's knee with a hammer a couple of decades ago. But, it is exquisite.
I've said it before, how statues tend to give me the most visceral emotional reactions in art, and this one is the motherlode for me. Forget about religious beliefs, this is a mother's sorrow at the loss of her child. The fact the Michelangelo did this at the age of 25 is beyond my comprehension and that he was able to convey the emotions on her face, let alone the artistry of the billowing folds in Mary's dress. I get goosebumps, then the tears well up in my eyes. Every single time.
I only wish my photos could do it justice, and that my flash was better for these pictures.
After finally tearing ourselves away from the Basilica we made our way across the Piazza to the cabstand. There was a Japanese couple marching along beside us, arguing the whole way. And it's a big Piazza. He would holler at her, she would yell back at him. Stop walking - wildly gesticulate - emphatic harsh sounding words. He grabbed her by the elbow. YELLING. At one point things really escalated to where it sounded and looked like he was going to strike her and I jumped in on them.
"HEY -STOP! ENOUGH! KNOCK IT OFF!"
This broke the spell and he started yelling at me. I don't care if they spoke a word of English or not. This is not the place to be screaming at anyone. Anywhere in public is not the place, actually. I don't care if you lost your tourguide, had your money stolen, a Vespa ran over your dog, whatever, stop being an idiot in public - in front of a church no less.
I started waving for a policeman across the street. Dude got the drift and shut up. The Carabinieri came over and I told him in Italian these people needed assistance of some kind and they are very upset. He started attempting to sort things out for them. Maybe he took her back to the hotel and beat her up, I don't know, but I didn't need to see it happen in broad daylight in front of me.
Trixy said it looked like I was going to swing on the guy. That wouldn't have happened, I don't need to land myself in jail, but I would have stood toe to toe with him in a staredown, that's for sure. Angry man = 0, Kris = 1. No fists this time around... my Dad will be so proud.
We got into a cab and got them to Termini where we hugged our goodbyes. They were moving on to Naples and the Amalfi Coast next but I won't be joining them. I have my next tour starting tomorrow afternoon. Squeeeeeeeee!
Another early evening and sleeping like the dead, this time with toilet paper stuffed in my ears to ward off the auditory assaults from the bathroom. Goodnight!