14 February Tue– Goodbye and Hello

The plan was to get the parentals to the airport around 8:30 for their 11:30 flight to New York, check them in and then I would head downstairs to the Arrivals hall to meet my folks when their plane came in at 9:30. My folks would go to JFK on that very plane the clients came off of. Pretty slick.

The staff at the airport were very kind in getting my parents squared away and wheeling Dad through Security. Mom got a little weepy when we had to part. She was now used to seeing me all day every day and she was leaving me in a foreign country. I reassured her that I was okay by myself, I've done this many times, and I'm safe. I may be fully grown but I am still her baby. I guess I always will be. I watched them go through the security hurdles and dropped downstairs to get my new peeps.

They were two couples from Chicago, so cold weather and icy winds definitely will not phase them. I collected them and we took a cab (a car cab, not a boat taxi) overland to Piazzale Roma, then transferred to the vaporetto. I am so happy when private clients don't put on airs and are agreeable to taking the public transportation. Live semi-normally, okay? They were in an apartment in a palazzo so we offloaded at Ca'Rezzonico and I took them to meet their apartment manager to show them their digs. They are in the same apartment the drunks last fall from New Orleans were in so it was very easy. Veronica the agent was waiting for us and as they were putting their luggage in their rooms she and I briefly chatted. She told me she remembered me from those clients and apparently they were a horror show for her to work with as well. They broke a lot of things and lost their $1500 damage deposit. I told her they “forgot” to save any euros at the end and wrote me a check for a tip. Yay. Keep your drinking in check or stay home, people. Lesson learned?

Veronica and I bid them adieu – but for me I would be back in two hours to collect them. I needed to give them some time to freshen up after their flight and get settled in. I went and grabbed a coffee and checked email in the mean time. Came back and rounded them up for a walk to the sites in Piazza San Marco. We toured the Basilica San Marco, Palazzo Ducale, went up the Campanile to view the crowds down below in the Piazza. They did some shopping while I stood around and watched and I whisked them off to their dinner appointment at Hostaria da Franz. I had clearly marked a map for them so they could get back by themselves and they didn't seem particularly inept so I was sure they would be okay. They deserved their Valentine's Day dinner with their significant others and didn't need to have me hanging about as a fifth wheel.

I took myself to my friend Francesco's restaurant in Campo San Aponal. It was a lively night there as per usual. Afterward I stopped in at The Consulate to have a glass of wine with Aldo before toddling off to bed. I don't need Valentine's Day to remind me that I love my hub-unit. Hearing his voice that morning on the phone was the best gift I could have received anyway.

9 February through 13 February – Our Girl in Venice

We had a much easier time getting out of Florence. Bologna was snowed under completely as we saw when we passed through. On the vaporetto on arrival in Venice there were chunks of icy slush bobbing in the water. We stayed in the Rialto area, two doors down from the little converted garage I rent from Signora Fieri. I had met the owners when I was there in October and November. This was also a converted ground level garage space, but it was much larger, double the size of mine. They had given a good price and were letting me stay extra days at no cost, to get myself sorted out next door after my folks departed. I steered my parents into the nearby Chinese restaurant while I took the bags in and settled the rent, and then joined them. We just had soup and drinks and when the bill came we were told Carlo & Laurie had taken care of it. So nice.

Dad's tolerance had certainly built up in a week and a half. By the end of the stay he was walking for a few hours at a time. I kept the amount of bridges to a minimum, but it's pretty unavoidable to to encounter steps and bridges in Venice. But no rolling pushchair or cane for him.

It was the first weekend of Carnivale, so the influx of people into the city was pronounced. And the idiot level had corresponded exponentially, as expected. Gaping, standing still in the street, completely clueless. Step to the side people. Don't gape in front of the stores and block the flow of traffic, go inside. They won't shoot you for looking inside, I promise.

I took the parentals to a few of my favorite restaurants, and they got to meet my bartender friends Giorgio, Aldo and Roberta. Serena, it turns out, was in hospital. Had an emergency appendectomy. Ouch. They also got to briefly meet Marco, in the flesh. He was working of course, so they only got to exchange pleasantries, but I can prove he exists now. Mom remarked at how handsome he is. I remarked that he totally tries to use it to his advantage – he works that dimpled cherubic cheek.

We had snowflakes on Sunday morning. It was a dusting of snow but it was mostly just wet collecting on the ground. Some of the streets got salted down to dissipate it, so you heard the crunching underfoot as people tromped about.

Monday it was nice out and since it was their last day we got some boat trips in as a way of seeing a better overview of other parts of the city. We took the #4.1 vaporetto circumnavigating the city and out to Murano. At Arsenale a group of about 15 schoolkids got on board and we sitting with us. The boy sitting beside me had face full of dried snot so I didn't mind when he left my side, and another boy slipped in.

He was very friendly. We chatted about where they were from - Mogliano on the mainland (and where Marco's niece and sister had lived – oh, my heart panged at hearing that.) I kept turning around and translating for the parentals. The boy was at that excitable age where he was full of energy and giving long answers in a rapid-fire cadence that was too fast for me. I told him I don't understand everything when he talks so fast so could you slow it down a little. He giggled and told his friends. A few came over and crowded around, asking me questions about where I was from, how could I speak Italian. I told them I speak Spanish and English too. Wow! Was the bug-eyed response from a little girl named Aja. I asked my little man what his name was. “Marco Eugenio Baldassare, e' io sono otto anni!” He's eight. One of the little girls asked me my name and how old I am. The faces they made when I said quarantuno (41) you'd have thought I said 127... but Marco told me I was still pretty. Awww.

I am not accustomed to little kids being so unguarded and open. In the US kids wouldn't tell you their full name and where they live to a complete stranger and if they did, some mother or nanny would have you turned into the authorities pronto. I do love that kids can actually have childhoods here and not be filled with fear constantly. Not saying you can't in the US, mind you, but it's been a long time since I've seen little kids not living such overscheduled lives by the age of 4. Playdates? What happened to just running around in the park and spinning until you fell down? Childhood shouldn't be calendared is all that I'm saying.

So, I briefly had a new favorite Marco in my life. He was a doll. They got off in Murano one stop ahead of us. I hope the teacher made it out okay when the day was over. Fifteen rambunctious 7-8 year old kids with just her and another adult. Sounds like a bottle of wine would be waiting for her when the field trip was over.

I had tried to be mindful of the amount of walking during the whole trip. We were in ice, we were in snow, leading to treacherous footing. I tried to have my hand or arm out for stability everywhere we went. We'd all done so well, and then on the last afternoon, Mom fell the steps up a bridge. Ouch! The step was the tiniest bit higher than others and she went down. I felt horrible. She bruises if you blow on her, always has, so that would leave a nasty mark. Sorry Mom!

In the end, while I didn't get to show them everything I wanted to, my parents definitely got a taste of why I have grown to love this country so much. They experienced the types of kindnesses from strangers that I encounter here regularly and I think they have an idea why I am so comfortable in making this place, especially Venice, a favorite environment for working and my second home.

Crabs!

San Giorgio Maggiore as seen from Piazza San Marco.

South side of the basilica.

Yes, she's holding a fish as a prop and no, I don't know why.

Snow topped gondole

Scala Bovolo

One more shot of my favorite snowmen

My new boyfriend is the one in the grey cap.

5 February through 8 February – Highlights from Florence

But first we had to get out of Rome. The snow from the previous two days was still taking its toll on the streets of the city. Rome isn't used to snow, so the ice hadn't been salted down, or had street-keeping machines plowing and scraping like you see in places that are regularly affected. When visiting my best friend in Utah, you see snowplows hovering every few hours, but Rome? Nope. The news was showing snow banks two feet high in cities to the south which NEVER get hit with snow and ice. I tried calling every single dingle cab company in the phone book. Twice. No cabs available was what I got for the three that answered. Most just rang off the hook. Awful.

Niccolo arrived to take the keys back and make sure we hadn't burned the place down (kidding) and he tried calling people he knows with car services or even large vehicles for the luggage. Nothing. And so Niccolo became a saint in all of our eyes by helping us to the metro station. It was three city blocks away, but with luggage, Dad's precarious walking situation with a rolling walker and not wanting anyone to slip, we took it slow. As in S-L-O-W. Niccolo and I managed the luggage while Mom & Dad managed themselves very carefully. Not only did he get us to the station, he walked us and the luggage down into the bowels of the place and made sure we got on a train okay. Such a sweetheart. Kisses and hugs all around. What a nice guy. I can't say enough good things about that man. Truly.

But we were arriving at the train station from the metro down below and after making our way up the many levels to the Termini train station we were getting there unfortunately just as the train would be leaving. Oy. I checked the board and didn't see our train was up there. It must have gone. I dropped the parentals in a cafe and headed off to go change the ticket for the next available. To my happy surprise, out train was just late, we hadn't missed it at all. Whew! Happy dance.

After that, getting to Florence was a breeze, aside from the asshat in our seats that refused to move. Dude needed a kidney shanking or a fork in his eye. Seriously. Prissy bastard. But we found seats together in another grouping that nobody tried to kick us from, plus the added bonus of me giving the asshat dirty looks the whole way. Why can't people sit where they are supposed to? It's not difficult. We are supposed to be in a polite society. Do the right thing. Come on now.

There was snow everywhere in the surrounding towns along way to Florence but it felt colder that Rome because of the icy winds. Serious cold winds. We all looked like snowmen when trying to go out and about. I had a hat & cowl that I had made for my friend Giorgio in Venice that ended up saving the day for Dad. He looked like the Michelin Man but it kept him from freezing his face off.

The second day there we had snow mists, just a light dusting of flakes in the air, but nothing really stuck to the ground. I walked the block over to Cafe Oibo, near the language school I attended in October. I found one of my teachers, Caterina, and completely surprised her. Hugs, kisses, coffee and pastries. Doesn't get a whole lot better in the morning. The baristas remembered me. Kristina! Caffe doppio e sfogliata con crema... that's me.

Yes Florence has amazing art and beautiful churches. But I also got to introduce my mother to the “Tutti Per 99e/c” store. That means “Everything For 99 Eurocents.” Yep, the Italian dollar store exists. She actually made a really great buy in finding a nice thick scarf for extra warmth on her chest and neck under her winter coat. And cookies and juice to snack on. But the scarf was the best.

We had another great apartment, even if it was up one flight of stairs, but it was fully heated and in a 14^th century building for only 60E per night. Not bad, eh? You can write me for details. I'm keeping this one close to the vest.

I received distressing news on two topics while in Florence. One, Mamma would definitely be staying in Bologna and I was seriously bummed that my parents would not get to meet her. I had tried to cajole Marco into letting her come back sooner than anticipated. I understand the reasoning – the family had already planned for her to stay with her nephew and family during Carnivale time to help Marco be able to work the crazy hours he always ends up working, but I felt that I could have helped out if she was back in Venice while I was there, with or without my parents present. Plus the weather was many times worse in Bologna than in Venice. She was literally snowed in there and Venice had no snow at all. Oy.

The second piece of news was that my friend Davide was in the hospital in Senegal. He had gone home away from Venice for the winter months and wouldn't be coming back for his seasonal start in February as expected. He had his brother write me with the news, but I still haven't been able to get more info from Dakar since then. And I am still sincerely worried about him at the ti e of this writing.

We got into a cab after visiting the Museo dell'Opera dei Duomo (where my statues of Mary Magdalene and another Michelangelo Pieta live) and had the most hilarious cab driver. He had on a camouflage jacket. Big ole redneck looking guy, Italian style. Rustic looking and ruddy. Unshaven. Plus a wool coat over the camo. I saw he had a hunter's cap on the dashboard, ear flaps and all. Looked like the foreign embodiment of Ignatius J. Reilly of “A Confederacy of Dunces” but in a taxi instead of behind a hotdog cart in New Orleans. Truly a slovenly sight to behold.

I asked him if he was a hunter “Sei un cacciatore?” because of his gear. “Si.” I indicated to Dad in the back and said “Mio Babbo e' un cacciatore di troppo.” - my father is a hunter too. “E' un uomo realita.” He's a real man.

All right then. There you have it. Only real men are hunters apparently. In a city of some of the most beautiful art, historical culture and architecture in the world, it all really boils down to shooting your guns off. Go figure.

Snow on the way to Florence.

Don't give me that look young lady. I said "excuse me."

 Looking out the window of the Uffizi over the Arno and Ponte Vecchio.

The parentals when they aren't quite freezing (for once!)

Il Porcellino in the marketplace.

The fountains all had ice built up in them.

The neighborhood - Trattoria across the street. Good pizza!

1 February through 4 February – Notes on Rome

The Flying Giacobazzi Brothers failed me. Their car service was a complete no show. It took a few days to sort out in the aftermath, but suffice to say, they were both out of the office and a majority of their airport service reservations for a few days were fouled up by one idiot in the office, who no longer has a job, I understand.

But at the time, with nobody answering the phones at Gladiator I had to do something I loathe and talk to the sharks in the Arrivals hall trolling for customers for their shuttles and limousines. I settled with a shared shuttle for 50E for the three of us and our bags, and was promised “two minutes” which turned out to be 25 minutes, but in the mean time we met a nice college kid from Argentina. I got to give him some tips on Rome and Venice as we (finally) sped along the road into the city.

We stayed in a place the Giacobazzi Bros had referred me to and it was perfect. I want to stay there again and again. And while I want to shout it from the rooftops and recommend it to everyone on earth, I am afraid if I promote it too much it'll become too popular and I'll never get it again. You know, the usual.

But seriously, it was excellent! A completely comfy and affordable apartment around the corner from the Vatican for only 70E a night. Full kitchen and a washer. The most beautiful bathroom I have had. Much cheaper than staying in a hotel and more creature comforts for me. On the 6^th floor with an elevator. Another huge plus was having a grocery store right next door for all of our kitchen fixings, plus Nutella for Dad. The manager, Niccolo, was easy to communicate with in setting it up and he met us there. Holler at me if you want the info. I'll give it to *you*, but not the masses. Wink wink.

Our third day there the snow started while we were in the Borghese Gallery. The flakes were blowing back upward in the wind. It was so pretty. It stopped after about an hour. Later in the afternoon, Dad and I went foraging for lunch to bring back, some “pizza a taglio” where you purchase it by weight. It's usually more of a focaccia dough than the flat wood-fired oven places have. We were in luck that there was a “caffe/ gelateria/ pasticceria/ pizzeria” just around the corner. Dad was tickled by their method of cutting the pizza – with scissors. Elementary – why don't we always do this? It had started snowing again, in earnest. Giant fat fluffy flakes falling hard and with purpose. It didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon.

It didn't. Snowed all night long. The next morning the courtyard below showed about six inches had accumulated on the cars and pavings. Winter wonderland! After going to the Vatican and the St. Peter's I tried to snag a cab so Dad & I wouldn't have to carry his walker back to the house. It was a short trip, about 1/3 of a mile from St. Peter's Square but the streets were very icy and treacherous, and the sidewalk snow had been tramped down by hundred of people, making it difficult for him to navigate the wheels on the walker. I left them on a corner and tried to flag down a cab at the cabstand in the square nearby. The only cab there (who was actually hired and waiting on his people inside the church) was haggling with me and another couple. He wanted to go “off meter” because he was already collecting a fare from the people he was waiting on and he wanted 50E minimum to leave his post. I wasn't going far enough to satisfy him (and I wasn't paying 50E to go the equivalent of 6 blocks) so he told me to call someone else. I walked back to the cabstand and as one car came in I grabbed at it, tapping at the windshield before his people had even got out. Another couple were actually waiting in line at the cabstand too, but I pulled out the “Disability Card” and prevailed upon them that while I understood they were actually in from of me in line, I needed to get my disabled father out of the cold ASAP. They relented. I told the cab driver I would pay him double whatever the normal fare would be, plus tip, I just needed to get my parents back home safely. Ok! Giuseppe was a great time, even for a short trip. He informed us that it hadn't snowed in Rome for 27 years, so nobody knows what they are doing. That was obvious! Except for the cabbies. Those few brave souls... who were all off-meter and making BANK.

The highlights of our days in Rome were simply the faces of my parents.

1: Seeing my father's face while in the presence of Michelangelo's Pieta. I know he would have stayed there all day. Like me, it wasn't about the religious nature of the piece that affects him, but the pain of loss of a loved one that is depicted. I get teary every time I am in the presence, and seeing Dad finally see it was a lovely thing.

2: Also, my mother's face watching me explain something in Italian to Vatican personnel. She had inadvertently walked out of the bookstore area without a rosary she had purchased, among some other souvenirs, and when we came back I was explaining to the woman that she had left it there. The woman's face brightened and she exclaimed that she had the rosary and had hoped she would come back. Mom is the one who was raised Catholic, so just in general seeing her take in everything there was great, in honor of her father (the “real” Catholic one in the family.) I always feel honored to be a representative of my grandfather while in the Vatican or St. Peter's and I feel my mom got that feeling too. The look of pride on her face in “The Church” as I explained what I could was wonderful.

At the Colosseum

View through an arch of the Colosseum

Snow flurries on the first day of the storm. Lookinginto the courtyard below the apartment.

The next morning in the courtyard below.

One of the neighbors in the courtyard had theor clothes on the line the entire time we were there.

Pretty frozen trees on the street nearby.

Our street on Day 2 of the storm. Romans don't know how to deal.

The little lion in winter. Yes, I crack myself up...

The walls of Vatican City around the corner from us. These walkways were the only ones salted. 

View of Saint Peter's dome from inside the Vatican Museum.

Stained glass window in the V. Museum.

Frozen Pope Trees - in the Vatican Gardens

The parentals looking on Michelangelo's Pieta. He could have stayed there all day and been happy.

The object of our affection.

Neighbor kitty says '"Ciao!"

31 January – Gale Warnings

I am three weeks late in writing these posts. My computer has become unstable and likes to shut itself down at will but there wasn't enough time before leaving to get it sorted out properly. The idea of blogging took a backseat. I expected to only be checking for mail online with the computer to keep it from going completely belly up on me. So much was going on in “home world” that I had to think seriously about chucking it all and staying home.

But the biggest pro-travel reason was that my parents were finally going to be joining me for a couple of weeks before I began working. My first group was slated for February 14, and my folks would head home at the same time the group arrived, with me even having to leave the airport in between departure and arrival.

I have to admit to being nervous about the trip. While I adore my parents, I haven't spent that much time together “just US” kind of time together in a couple of decades. While my group tours are two weeks long, the same as this would be, I am not with my groups 24 hours a day. Add family dynamics and it could be a giant powder keg. I do get along great with my folks, but I am still their child.

SPOILER ALERT: All worry for naught in the long run. We enjoyed ourselves immensely.

In transit we took advantage of wheelchair service with the airlines and airports for Dad. He broke his back some years back and also had miniscus surgery on his knee since then so walking long distances or with any speed has been ruled out. The plan for traveling is to go as slow as we need to for him, and let him build up the length of any walks as we go along. Their coming with me only became a finalized idea about four weeks before we left, so he hasn't had much of a chance to get ready, walking wise. Steps were expected to be a problem so facing that, I tried to mitigate the obstacle as much as possible. When we got to Venice, we would just have to take it slow and not expect any trips over the Rialto or Accademia bridges for him. Also brought along a folding rolling walker with a seat so he could cop a squat whenever necessary, as well as a collapsible cane for when we were out. Both turned out to be invaluable additions to the luggage.

The transport people at JFK and in Rome were extremely nice. Mom & Dad got to ride in a van on arrival in Rome, I had to take the shuttle bus from way out on the tarmac to the terminal. They didn't have to press in with a hundred people cheek to cheek after seven hours on a plane. Lucky.