4 Ottobre- Costeria Amalfitana

This is the only day I dread on this tour. The scenery is absolutely stunning – the Amalfi Coast is amazing, but the ride is a little on the awful side. It's pretty much the only place in the world I get carsick. I get to sit in the front window of the giant coach bus as we make 320-degree hairpin turns on the switchbacks while clinging to a narrow road on the side of the mountainous coast and while it is exhilarating it mostly just makes me anxious. Bravo (!!!) to the bus drivers who keep the bus from plunging over into the sea hundreds of feet below. All I know is that every time I look out and see nothing but water in front of me, I am crossing my fingers that there's still road beneath us.

(this is how narrow the road is, now imagine being only 2 feet away from the side of a cliff, sitting high up on a bus where you can see the Tyrrhenian Sea hundreds of feet below you)

I let everyone know I was well fortified with stomach-relieving aids for the first part of the trip. I brought TravelGum, sweet ginger candy drops and chunks of crystallized dried ginger in case anyone was feeling poorly immediately. TravelGum has ginger in it too, and in general you want to chew it before you set out, to get the stomach juices flowing. Any gum will assist in this, but the ginger helps for much longer than a gum without it. I advised once we arrived in our first stop in Positano, those folks who needed the ginger should stop in to a farmacia to grab some more – they will have it front and center at the counter. More people than not find themselves asking for it at the farmacia in these towns. Remember the ginger any time you have the stomach queasies, folks.

(this is why there are posted hours for directional driving)

Our stops today were in Positano, Amalfi and Ravello. All lovely little towns hugging the sides of the hills and making their way down to the sea. All are positively charming and each sets itself apart from the next. Positano's church of Santa Maria della Assunta has the blue-green ceramic tiled caps on top. Amalfi has Sant'Andrea with the marble in stripes of black and white. Ravello's San Giovanni is pretty plain in comparison outwardly, but inside you find an absolute treasure. Small little jewels on the coast.

We had lunch in Ravello at Cumpa Cosimo, with Mamma Netta coming out of the kitchen to pinch our cheeks and remind us to eat everything on the plates. Not difficult, since we were having fresh grilled seafood, homemade sausages, a smorgasbord of veggies and a personal favorite of mine: ricotta stuffed zucchini blossoms. She is a boisterous little thing and she likes to meet everyone who comes to her place. She presented me with a fig for good luck – and mock-prayed to the angels that I continue returning to her. “Mia Kristina! Siamo gemelli... hai ricevuto tutta l'altezza, ho ricevuto il talento!” My Kristina, we are twins. You received the height and I received the talent!” She's a hoot. The fact that she remembers my name is pretty fantastic, since this woman has cooked for every celebrity that has every trucked through town for seventy years (the trattoria has been in her family for four generations), as evidenced on the walls of the foyer. I'll let her put my picture up if she wants.

(shrimp so fresh you wanna smack 'em across the mouth... and roasted zucchini flowers stuffed with ricotta. Yum!)

We took the back way overland through the mountains on the return to Sorrento. No more scary coastal driving today; we wouldn't want to whoops up our fantastic lunch. Ettore the driver is my hero. How these guys manage to squeeze around in these giant buses and not kill everyone on board on a daily basis is beyond my comprehension.

Back at the hotel I had a long conversation back home with both my husband and my mother. I love technology for keeping me in contact. I will shout it from the rooftops daily if I have to. I grabbed a late dinner at a tiny trattoria where I got them to give me a huge bowl of seafood broth and half a loaf of bread. So delicious and so simple, but so filling.

Tomorrow we head out of Sorrento, tour Pompeii and make our way back into “civilization” - Rome!

3 Ottobre - Do I Have Weirdo Magnet Written Somewhere I Can't See?

Was up and out of the studio with my suitcase and off to the train station to catch the 7,30 train. The vaporetto was a little slower than expected – I thought it would be a little quicker since I am going in reverse commute, so to speak. I arrived at the station as the train was pulling out. No problem. I built additional time in. I could take the 8,30 train and still have plenty of time. I just like getting there ultra early when it comes to working so I get the lay of the land in advance.

I settled in to my seat on a half-full car and within a few minutes I had someone joining me in my seat grouping. And just my luck, he was a talker. Yay. He introduced himself as Giuseppe, and I nodded hello. He then introduced himself as Jimmy. “Qualche e? Jimmy o Giuseppe? Due nomi diferenti?” Which one is it? Those are two different names.

“Mi nome Jimmy, mi cognome e Giuseppe.” Alrighty then, it's James Joseph.

Jimmy then proceeded to ignore the fact that I was not imparting any information to him and returning to my book after each exchange as he continued to pepper me with conversation.

“Ti piace una sigareta?” No, I don't want a cigarette and you can't smoke on the train.
“Ti sposata?” Yep, married. Showed him the wedding band.
“Dimme gli numeri di telefonata?” No, I will not give you my phone number.
“Mi piace la figura.” Thanks, I'm so happy that you like my shape.
“Dimme gli numeri di telefonata?” No, I will not give you my phone number.
“Ti incinta?” No, I'm not pregnant.
“Dimme gli numeri di telefonata?” No, I will not give you my phone number.
“Di dove sei?” I'm from San Francisco.
“Ah San Francisco. Piace San Francisco perche e la citta dalla Shawn Michaels!”

Um... dude. I don't follow wrestling and I don't care about wrestling. The only reason I even know that guy is a professional wrestler is because of the commercials that come on before my television shows. It is not wise to attempt to hit on women by flattering them with your knowledge of where WWE guys hail from. I smiled and told him I was going back to my book. Thank you for the conversation.

Arrived in Rome just after noon and hopped onto the Leonardo Express, the train to the airport. I would meet up with our busdriver Ettore and meet the clients at arrival. My whole tour is arriving on the same day on two planes, timed pretty close to together. One from JFK and the other from Atlanta. I should have everyone by 2,30 and we can be on our way south.

When meeting the groups I stand with my laminated sign and a name badge. Yay, name badges! It's the only time I need to wear one. After we meet the first time it isn't necessary. I check everyone off on my list, make sure they all have their luggage, which they should, since they just left a secure area from customs.

I have a group of twenty-four. Twelve rooms of two. Mostly couples, but 3 twosomes are female friends. The youngest people are in their late 20s, the oldest in their 70s. I started my one woman show on the bus, explaining that I would need at least 24 hours to memorize names to faces so please bear with me. There is no assigned seating on the bus, only that we designate a rotation each day for one couple to sit in the “passenger seat” - the first seat on the right side of the bus, across the aisle from the driver. I am in a small jumpseat the pops out from the steps onto the bus, so my view is always unobstructed. The left side of the bus (the driver's side) is a little impeded by the driver. The best seat in the house for the passengers is the coveted “passenger seat” and nobody gets to monopolize it.

I also explain that we do not use headsets anywhere like some tour groups do with their “whisper technology headsets” and I do not use a microphone ever. They do not ever wear matching stickers or wristbands to show they are part of my group. They will never see me waving an umbrella to lead them along or with an antenna topped with a scarf or a stuffed animal so they can find me. Against our company philosophy. We design tours to never be so large that we employ those tactics to make ourselves known or seen by our clients.

“I am just under six feet tall, and as you can see, I am no little slip of a thing. My hair shines brightly in the sun or in the rain in red and burgundy tones and I usually have one piece of clothing on that is black, whether it is a skirt of a sweater. You WILL find me in a crowd.”

Smiles everyone, smiles. This will go just fine. One roadside bathroom pitstop and almost three hours later we pulled up to our hotel in Sorrento. I got everyone checked in, and was presented with a small bottle of limoncello from the manager, who shared a small tipple with me. He told me Frank told him to welcome me this way... Che bellissima!

The group gathered on the terrace at 7,30 where we had a prosecco toast to welcome everyone, and they were on their own to grab dinner nearby. I wouldn't see them until 7AM for breakfast and a short lecture about the day's events and history of the sights we'll be seeing.

Went to bed feeling relieved at the news that Amanda Knox had her murder conviction overturned and will be free to come home. Italy is many things beautiful, but their legal system is corrupt and convoluted. Justice is finally serviced for her, unfortunately the Kercher family is still left unsatisfied. It is a terrible thing that happened to Meredith, but Amanda was not responsible.

Rest well, friends. I will.

2 Ottobre - Sunday Chores (That Are No Chore At All)

I woke up to the telefonino (cellphone) ringing. The ringtone tells me it's Mamma without even looking at it. A version of “Ave Maria” for the house landline. It was 0630 and she wanted to know if I was going to come to the 7AM mass with her. I told her I was just waking up and if she wanted to go to the 8AM at Redentore I could make that. Oy. Heaven forbid she doesn't get to the first Mass of the day. “No problema, cara. Alle otto.” No problem, dear, at 8. Whew.

I gathered myself up and made a coffee, checked email to see if my tour file was emailed and it was. Profile of all the names, arrival flights and room reservation combinations for the couples, triples,singles, etc. for everyone involved. There was also a message from Frank, my mentor. He's three days ahead on his tour, so while we won't see each other, he was alerting me to the fact that the water pressure at the hotel in Sorrento was a little lax. They are working on it, but to be able to tell the group to be aware of it. Whew. Advance intel. It's like we're secret agents. Ha!

Made it to Giudecca and escorted Mamma. Marco had gone to work and would be back around 1PM. He was working a split shift on Sunday of 7AM to 12,30 and then back from 4 to 9PM. We slipped in to her regular pew and nodded at the other other ladies arriving. They smiled at me and waved. My new landlord of sorts, Signora Ferri came over to sit with us and asked how I like the studio apartment. I told her it was perfect for my needs. It is her son's apartment and his family had moved to a larger place when their baby came last year. Wow, I can't imagine two people living there without stepping all over each other, but they apparently had made it work since they were married four years ago. I asked her to let me know how much to give her for the utilities and she waved her handat me to hush. “Niente. Ti dici a dopo. A tempo.” I will tell you later. In time.

After services Mamma and I and two neighbor ladies from the building across from her walked back. It's less than five minutes, and we managed to stretch that into fifteen, since we go at a snail's pace with these old bones. And they are talking and gesticulating the whole way. Could be talking about the clouds in the sky and each one has to stop completely to make their point known. So it's take a step, talk, take a step, another talks, stop, talk a bit, take a step. It's not like I have anything to do, but I haven't switched off the “in a rush mode” from Florence yet.

I made Mamma and myself each a small fruit salad with yogurt and coffee Marco has given me her new schedule for medications and I needed to see her eat before reminding her to take her morning pills. As is the old school Italian way, she won't eat anything before going to church, so the pills have to wait. He says then she comes home and fusses about with her household tasks and soon she's off her schedule. He says he ends up calling her at noon to see about her schedule and finds she hasn't taken the morning ones yet. It's no that she's forgetful, she's just not wanting to take them. Oy.

She doesn't fight me though, when I ask her about the medication. I tell her we bother her because we want her to be here a lot longer. Take the pills and get used to being on a schedule, then there is no problem. “Okay cara.”

We spent the rest of the morning watching the Vatican services on a loop on the tv, as is custom on Sundays. I made us lunch and Marco came back to join us. I told him I needed to go do some laundry and I would be back in a few hours. Mamma told me to come back and do it at their house, but I don't want to be hanging my underwear to dry at their house. That's a little too much information for everyone to have, and while we're close, I'm not parading my unmentionables at their place. I told her I needed to go to where the dryers are to make sure it was finished before packing for the next ten days.

Laundry done. Undies protected from view and everything I need re-packed for the tour. Came back, fixed a quick dinner for us, left a portion available for Mister Man when he came back from the second part of his shift. He arrived after we finished and ate. Mamma and I watched a movie, a silly comedy. I bid her goodnight and told her I will call her every morning to make sure she's taken her pills and to tell her hello, and that I will see her in ten days. Si, cara!

Marco walked me to the vaporetto stop and asked me if I was going to the hotel to see Giorgio and Aldo. They had asked him if I was stopping in. Indeed I was – I needed to print off the information for the touring group. Cheek kisses goodnight, see you later.

Arriving at the hotel, or The Consulate as it is known in my house, I was greeted by the Administrative manager Andreas. I asked to use the computer in the business office. He let me use his own office and told me not to worry about it. Usually I use the one the rest of the guests use, but now I am even more special. He told me to tell anyone from now on that I have his permission if he isn't there. Whoo hoo – privileges! I printed my info out and headed back to the bar to see my friends who were working.

Giorgio and Aldo greeted me with the customary hugs and kisses and poured me a glass of wine. We chatted and caught up with what they haven't deduced already from Facebook. Aldo's grandson is coming up on his first birthday and he presented me with about half a million pictures on his iPhone. What a doll that little guy is. I bid them good night so I could get a full night of sleep. I need to be fresh and perky. From tomorrow on, it's showtime!

1 Ottobre – School's Out and Ritorno a Venezia!

I arrived at the Scuola and found it wasn't opened yet. I knew I was going to be the only student there today so I sat on the steps across from the building and waited for my teacher to show up. She did, a few minutes late, and we commenced to learning. Being alone in classes makes things go much faster.

All in all, it was a great experience and I will be happy to return to the Scuola for more lessons eventually. I won't need to take business-related phrases any further, but for vocab and grammar I would like to go into the advanced courses when I have a week at at time open. While I have lots of conversational Italian experience, I have learned bad habits from my friends. I will have to chastise them when I see them. They have been too kind over the years in letting me get away from speaking incorrectly and never correcting my grammatical errors. I have not learned “the rules” from them because they're all being kind, even though I've repeatedly told them “correct me if I'm wrong!” I correct them when they make errors in English. Jeez... No more.

On the way back to the apartment I stopped and bought some flowers for La Signora. She was so happy to receive them. I finished packing my things, called for a cab and said goodbye. She told me she would like to have dinner when I am in town. She also said she wants to see me giving a tour, even though she wouldn't understand the English speaking. “You look smart – you look like you know many things. I can tell you love the art and love Firenze, Kristina.” Yup Yup Yup.

Hauled my bags onto the train bound for Venezia. I'm tired already. It was 90 degrees and breezy in Florence, but if it's that warm in Venice it's going to be awful. More humidity there, which I do not do well in. Looking at the weather report, things are supposed to cool down a bit by Monday when my tour begins, however, I'll be further south so it'll be warmer anyway. At least it'll be more arid.

Overhearing a conversation on the train: three college age girls. They are all apparently American taking a semester in Florence and they were taking a day trip out of town. They were discussing all their tv shows they are missing. Two of them were going mental because they are missing this season of Dexter, which is stating this weekend. “I would do ANYTHING to know how I can watch Dexter over here. I'm going to DIE if I miss the whole thing...”

At this point I leaned over the aisle and said “Okay, I'm eavesdropping and I'm going to tell you what to do. You wait until Monday or Tuesday and you go online to www.eztvstream and you watch it and you thank those little tv pirates who post it up for all of us.” The squealing commenced. I helped them with a quick sightseeing itinerary for their day and a half in town and showed them on their map how to get to their hotel, pointed out cheaper places to eat, a couple of bars.

I was very surprised to see Marco at the station when the train arrived. I handed my bags down to him, and we hugged hello. The college girls all started whispering and giggling about how much he looks like George Clooney. I told them “Go ahead, take a photo to send home to everyone. Don't worry, he LOVES having his photo made. Crowd up, I'll get you all.” Meantime, Marco was shooting daggers into me with his eyes. Ha ha.

We made our way over to the vaporetto and disembarked at the Rialto Market stop. He had the keys to the studio where I would probably be staying in for my downtime. It belongs to one of the ladies Mamma goes to church with. It's about the size of our two-car garage, but it's completely serviceable. It's a ground floor unit so there's no stairs, yay! There's a bathroom, kitchen with stove and 4 ring burner, a tv and a very comfortable pull-out. The mattress is thick and comfy, no “bar in the back” from the frame. This should work out very nicely. No rent – just pay for the utilities. Going to church with the little old lady brigade has paid off for me. Alrighty, I'll take it.

He left and I stayed to clean myself and put some things away before heading over to their house. I called home and told the husband all about the past few days. Even though it was hot outside, the positioning of the house doesn't get the heat. It's cool inside. Whew.

I made my way over to Giudecca, first stopping at the grocery store for some supplies to bring with me. I was making a simple dinner of soup and chicken for us. I was so ready to be back in a familiar kitchen that I truly have the run of. No Signora standing over my shoulder making sure I don't burn her house down.

Lots of hugs and kisses from Mamma. She made me sit and she held my hand so tight I thought she would break bones. She looks frail. Marco told me a few days before I left the US that she had spent some days in the hospital with her heart. I am here to fatten her back up.

A lovely evening with my Venetian family. My second home, this city. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

30 Settembre - Firenze: killer of feet

I walked a different way to the school today and was kicking myself most of the time. The sidewalks were modernly paved and smoother – no cobblestones. Why didn't I discover this sooner? Florence is always terrible on my feet and ankles; the cobblestones are uneven and very hard on my ankles. I get a lot of trauma from repeatedly hitting the stones. Rome – no problem, Venice - completely flat pavings. The day I leave Florence my lower extremities stop protesting and go back to normal, but until then... oy. No matter how sturdy my shoes are, my feet always balloon up and I look like Jumbo the elephant. The word “cankles” doesn't even begin to describe it. No matter what kind of shoes are on my feet – flats, clogs, sneakers. I see these Florentine woman skipping about in 4-inch heels and I want to trip them. Tra la la... boom!

Shoes I wear on a regular basis become torture devices at these times. At the moment both of my feet have blisters on three toes each: the swelling in my ankles and the tops of my feet have made my toes press up and rub on the sides & tops of my shoes. So I have compression “cortetto” foot bandaids on them all. Isn't this a charming subject? I know how to bring the glamour!

Extreme measures are called for in this situation. I had to break down and buy a pair of shoes if I was going to be able to walk for the next few days. Oh, lucky you, you must be thinking... buying shoes in Florence, the epicenter of shoe fashionistas, the home of almost every major shoe designer on the Italian peninsula... Yeah, try finding a woman's 11, even when your feet aren't swollen up to rhinoceros-sized. I was going to be heading to Arezzo for an afternoon trip with some other students from the Scuola, so I needed to find something during my 30 minute break between sessions. I knew exactly what to do... I went to one of the outlet shops around the corner from the school and bought a pair of man's shoes. They are “driving mocassins” so they are slipper-like but have a rubberized sole, are not blocky, have good support for the arches and the leather feels already broken in. 40Euros. Sold. I am never taking them off.

There were ten of us on the trip to Arezzo, which is an hour's train ride southeast of Florence. Arezzo is known for its contribution to the world of music and for gold - jewelry making. As for the jewelry, there are lots of goldsmiths there. That's the extent of it mattering to me. But for the history of music, it is everything. Long before notes and scales were as we know them now, there was a method of musical notation and singing the European monks utilized in their daily prayers, known as Gregorian. This was before they set them to music in the 90s, we're talking Dark Ages here, from the 600s to the 1000s. Another Benedictine monk, in Arezzo, Guido Monaco (or more widely known as Guido d'Arezzo) created a set of notation on scales we recognize today (the “do, re, mi...” notes, but not the 5-line staff) in 1025. The notation tones' names (do, re, mi, etc) were taken from the first line of a latin hymn, the first syllables of each line in the verse. It was originally “ut, re, mi, fa, so, la” and the “ut” was replaced by “do” in 1600, which was when “si” was added to the scale as well. But, for all you fans of The Sound of Music, Arezzo was where it all began. That will bring us back to Ut Ut Ut... yeah, “do” sounds a little better.

In more modern times, Arezzo was the site for the Oscar-winning film “Life is Beautiful” made by and starring Roberto Begnini. The film takes place in Arezzo, before they are sent off to the concentration camp. There are signs and placards up all over town showing it as a site for a particular scene. The city's theater and two of the main piazzas figure prominently in the movie.

I ended up having a very interesting conversation with my new friend Fraucka as a result of these signs. She doesn't know the film, and being German, I was interested in knowing how the educational system presents the whole topic of WWII and Nazi Germany. It's kind of unavoidable, but how do they treat it? Our discussion started when she asked me what the film was about. I told her “an Italian-Jew is being sent off the camps and he doesn't want his young son to realize the terrible situation they are in. He tells him fantastic stories and uses his imagination to prevent his son from “seeing” the real horrors around them.” She was very straightforward in saying that the German school system is, well, very straightforward about their history. I asked if they teach that Hitler was a madman or about the cruelties he and his SS leaders subjected, and she said they do. It was very interesting but I can't relay every bit of it... suffice to say, the kids know about the atrocities and there is a definite stress on the idea that it should never happen again.

What she did say that struck me is how kind she thought my phrasing was in asking my questions. “Most people are not so thoughtful in how they speak around Germans about Camps and SS. They do not think that I might be embarrassed about my nation's history.” I kept saying “Nazi” and she just refers to them as Germans and said it was okay to call them that because that's who they were. When I disagreed, I told her “Not all Germans were Nazis. It's important to specify it. In my opinion.” She thanked my for my consideration. I said, I understand to a very small degree since I come from a German background. In school I was always a mite embarrassed when we studied WWII and was concerned that kids being stupid kids would place that tag of “your family is German, so you're a Nazi” because kids are stupid kids. At the very least, I didn't have the family German surname. I wonder if my cousins with the surname went through this? But I have always tended to overthink things, even as a child.

Fraucka reminds me a lot of my cousin Alena, and it turns out her younger sister's name is exactly that. Weird coincidences. She is at the school for another three weeks and then her mother is coming down to Florence for a few days. They will drive home to their village, just outside Munich, but stop in Venice for a few days. In checking my calendar, we have it timed right that I am in the city at the same time. While I can't spend all day with them because I'll be working, I can go to dinner with them. This makes me happy. She wants her mother to meet me and I would love to help the out by giving them some pointers on seeing the city in a short amount of time.

On the way from the train station I called La Signora and asked if I could prepare dinner for her tonight, which is my last night there. She said she & her daughter's family had planned to go out for their evening meal, so I said I would be happy to cook for all of them. A non-Florentine or Venetian dinner, of course, but I wanted to thank her for her hospitality. I left out that it took almost the whole time to get her to warm up to me, but we'll just keep that between us. She insisted it would be too much work, I insisted it would not. I make this meal all the time. I would be back by 7 and dinner would be ready by 8. Ok? She still sounded doubtful.

Well, I made that dinner and they were stuffed to the gills. They were pleased and there wasn't a drop left. We drank two bottles of wine, between four adults and a good time was had by all. I even received cheek kisses from La Signora. I did it. I won her over. I never had a doubt.

29 Settembre – Oh How I've Missed You, Internet

It seems my body wants me to only sleep for four hours at a time. I guess that's okay, as long as I can do it more than once a day. Did the writing and the homework and rechecking everything between 5AM & 6AM and sat around staring at the walls for a while. No teevee in my room, no internet as yet and there's no going in the living area to watch the Signora's teevee. She pops up out of bed when I come out in the morning to see me off. She'd probably get apoplectic if I turned on tube at that hour. I left a little before 7 and walked slowly toward Santa Croce. Went into the Cafe Oibo again and was pleasantly surprised that the barista remembered my order from the day before. Yay!

My classmates Werner and Kristina, the German couple, are making me a little crazy. He cannot seem to grasp the idea that if a question is being asked to you (in the “you all” plural, like there's more than one of you being directly asked) that you answer in the “we” form – like “I” plural.) Apparently in German they don't have as much verb conjugation going on? I don't know. I only know romance-rooted languages so I can't speak to this. They do tell me there aren't prepositional phrases and indirect objects. Maybe we should all learn German. Kids wouldn't have to learn to parse out sentences and there'd be less anxiety in elementary school. I'm sure of it...

Werner gets soooooo stressed out when he's not “getting it” and turns beet red and starts muttering things in German that can't be all that nice, and then Kristina chimes in to give him the answer and they start hissing back and forth at each other. I should have videoed it. It only happened fourteen times today. Kristina, on the other hand, has an accent so thick there is no way you discern that Italian words are coming out of her mouth. I only know because we're reading from the same exercises.

Conversely, the young German woman in our conversation sessions is so easy to understand. When Fraucka speaks English you wouldn't even know she's German. She sounds so natural 95% of the time. Her Italian accent is clear and not overwrought with German-ness. If she has to slip into German to find a phrase it's almost a shock to me every time.

Fraucka and I are becoming friends. After class (our second sessions) she asked me if I wanted to go for a coffee during our 30 minute break before the third session. She's in a different setting for 3rd, since she's not taking the business course I am and I'm going solo in it. We went to a place around the corner in Piazza Santa Croce because Oibo was packed to the gills.

I learned a lot about the German educational systems and university tracks in a short space of time. Boy, that widely-known German efficiency is used in all aspects of life. That's all I can say.

Florence is stiflingly hot at the moment. We're having a late-season heatwave. It's been 85-88F but not absolutely unbearable thanks to the breezes and winds, even though they are sciroccos coming up from Africa which leaves actual grains of sand in your hair on on the floor of the shower – I kid you not. I've got Sahara sand in my hair, y'all! But I have been here in summer when it's 105 and absolutely still air. Ugh. I'll take the sand in my eyes, please. Here's hoping the heatwave does not extend to Venice when I'm there on Sunday.

Meanwhile back at the apartment of La Signora... CeeCee the cat is ruler of the roost, as most any cat is expected to be. At any given moment she is laying on the foyer table, in the sink, in the mail basket, in front of my door to trip me when I open it at 4AM. She must be old. The cantankerous bitching she makes as she's settling leads me to think she's got old bones. Me too, CeeCee.

I am very pleased to report I am the proud new owner of a working mobile broadband internet key. Whoo whoo! It's fast enough for me to stream teevee shows and talk on the magic jack. I have everything I need right there. Life is good.

28 Settembre - Waking up

I set my alarm for 6AM but woke at 4. Completely awake. I completed my homework exercises, wrote and put away my things as I had planned to yesterday afternoon, before I succumbed to the sleep fairy. I waited until 6 to go and attempt to use the shower umbrella. I figured the Signora would probably make a face at me, but let's remember we are supposed to be independent people. Using a shower before sunrise can't be as bad as say, staggering in completely drunk at 3AM. Right? I wasn't going to walk out of this house without cleaning up. I was still grimy from transit.

I managed not to knock anything over, or fall down, so that's a plus in my book. Didn't soak the floor outside the bathroom. She didn't knock on the door so I couldn't have bothered her too much.

She get up to ask me if I wanted a coffee. I told her no thank you, I will get one near the school. I suppose I will “turn Italian” and start having just a coffee and cornetto (croissant) for breakfast. I can do this for this week, but believe me when I start the tours, taking advantage of the breakfasts at the hotels will be gladly welcomed. Fresh fruit, yogurt and mueslix galore. Not to mention an omelet, waffles and breakfast meats when I feel the need. Besides, it's a 15-20 minute walk to the school; the morning air and moving about will wake me up better than a coffee would anyway.

But, oh boy, I can tell I hadn't eaten anything in more than a day. My last full meal was in London at the airport more than a day before. Yikes. I felt like a dog sniffing the air as I walked along. Baked bread, brewing coffee, a fruit stand setting up almost knocked me over with the aroma of fresh fruit. I made my way to the Piazza Santa Croce and sat for a few minutes, filling and drinking from my water bottle.

I've gone on about this before, but I will again for those not familiar – there's really no need in most cities in Italy to every purchase bottles of water. Well okay, once – for a bottle to carry around. This isn't me being cheap, this is also ecological as there are SO many bottles thrown away. Millions. The water in the city fountains is crisp, fresh and free and comes from the mountains just like the water in the bottles you buy. I bring a bottle with me everywhere and fill it up as needed. Unless you are looking for sparkling water, the city fountains are just fine. The pipes and aqueducts are maintained so the water is good. Always. Unless there is a major catastrophe, like the earthquake in L'Aquila a few years ago, the water is always safe to drink. I save the sparkling water for eating in restaurants.

Decided on which cafe I wanted to have my morning coffee in (the one directly downstairs from the school, Cafe Oibo, because they have huge windows where I can sit with the computer and write, as I am now, while watching the city wake up and glimpse the sun peeking from behind the facade of the church across the piazza. I installed myself in a chair and ordered a doppio (double espresso) and cornetto mandorle (almond croissant.) Gustavo the school director knocked on the window as he passed on his way into the building.

I hadn't been able to find an open wifi signal at the house, not that I truly expected to, but the school does offer free use of their wifi. I couldn't access it from the cafe, so after my so-called breakfast I went up to the school to finish up and post to the blog and hopefully call home on my magicjack.

Ay yay yayy. The internet connect is sooooo s l o w. I managed to call home, but the slow speed only allowed me to catch about every fifth word coming out of my husband's mouth. This was a huge letdown. At times like this, the distance is unbearable. I wanted five minutes to talk to him and was so close to being able to. It crushed me a little. I resolved that later in the day I would go purchase an internet key so I can have my own mobile broadband signal. They are relatively cheap here – 30E for a unit, and then you can pay as you go by the month for around 20E, no 2 year contract necessary. And it's unlimited use. Why do the US companies jack you around so badly? Hopefully, this solves my problem of connection and communication.

Classes went very well. Even though I am in an “intermediate” class, I am still ahead of the others in both the grammar and conversation classes. If I was staying another week in school I would worry about it more, but just being able to practice has brought back a lot to me. And having the last block of lessons one-on-one, I feel like I'm flying through it.

Walked back to the house after classes and promptly fell asleep for a couple of hours. I am still getting used to the time difference and the lack of restful sleep from the trip over. And using my brain makes me tired too, I suppose.

The Signora knocked on my door to tell me her daughter had arrived and she wanted me to meet her. Her name is Raffaela and she is about my age. She and her family live in the same building, on the 4th floor. She speaks English, and I thought it was kind that the Signora wanted her to speak to me to find out if there was anything I needed – for her to be an intermediary and translate anything that was confusing to me. I feel the ice in her demeanor is melting...

Raffaela asked me where I have been in Italy and I told her my story about visiting here and now working here, having friends and an adopted family of sorts in Venice. Their faces lit up. They are Venetians! They moved to Florence ten years ago. Things will be better now, I think. I told her that I am usually a very people-oriented person and am not used to only being in my room – that I love to cook, and talk, and if her mother can handle my muddled terminology, I would love to spend more time “with the family” if they were comfortable with it. Raffaela's daughter is 12 and speaks English very well, even spends summers in Jersey (England) every year. The Signora seems very pleased and I think she trusts me a little bit more now. I'm not going to go burn her kitchen down.

I asked Raffaela if she went to “liceo” (high school, secondary school) in Venice and she said yes, and why? I told her my best friend is Venetian and he grew up on Giudecca and since we are all about the same age she may have known him. There is only one public high school in the city, and they both went to it. She promised to bring up her annualle (the yearbooks) to me. It would be amazing if she and Marco knew each other. She probably more likely knew his sister Francesca if anything.

We'll see how small this world is when I see the books.

27 Settembre – Thank the Deities for Elevators

I hopped in a cab outside of the Santa Maria Novella train station to Scuola Toscana, the language institute. We arrived and I entered the lobby vestibule to find it was on the 4th floor, actually the 5th floor to us Americans. All I saw was stairs. And I almost burst into tears. For a fleeting moment I thought to myself “I don't need clothes. I don't need anything. I'll buy everything new. Just leave it here.” Riiiight. At that moment I was greeted by two people entering the building and I recognized the gentleman as the director of the institute, Gustavo. I introduced myself and he smiled “Kristen! We are so happy to see you today!” He took my bag and brought it up to the next landing twelve steps up, where there was a tiny elevator. Thank YOU!!! Small miracles await around every corner.

They checked me in and presented me with a packet of information. Most students begin on Mondays, but they arranged for a Tuesday to Saturday week for me. Because I'm special, dammit.

Class didn't begin until 9AM so I had 45 minutes to go supply myself with enough caffeine for the next block of time so as not to start snoring in front of people (or drooling). The school is across the street from Piazza Santa Croce, and so I sat in the morning sunlight on a stone bench facing the church of Santa Croce and wondering how in the world did I get to be so fortunate as to have this adventure I was embarking on? No amount of travel exhaustion could get to me at that moment. I felt very invigorated and energized. One of my favorite places in the world – right here – in front of that church, where those amazing men of science and art, the architects of the renaissance – literally, “those” guys- are interred in their mausoleums. I am going to school. I am working my dream job. I am here, and being paid to do it. I feel like the pieces clicked together for me at that moment. Never take anything for granted.

The first block of lessons each day is review of regular everyday italian grammar. I am in a class with a german couple, Werner and Kristina. They are in their 50s. The second block of classes is conversation and everyday communication. I have Werner & Kristina there too, along with two young women in their early 20s: Fraucka (German) and Carolina (Chile). The last block of lessons is just me, apparently, and it is business & hospitality phrases and situations.

I left at 2PM and hauled my things down across the street to a taxi stand, where the happy and singing driver too me to meet my host for the week. I was a little disappointed that I am not staying in a shared apartment with other students, but I think the school thought that I wouldn't be happy living with young girls in their 20s, and they opted to have me in a more “mature” setting. I get Signora Rossana Rugi di Biasi, a tiny woman in her early 70s and her cat CeeCee. The apartment is on the 6th floor – and again – I thanked the deities for elevators!

The apartment is large and spacious with high ceilings, although it seems I am relegated to my room only. She was a little stern in her instructions to me. While giving me the lay of land she told me no eating or drinking in my room and to keep the door closed. Because of the cat. Ok. But she also said the living room is hers. I can be independent and she will not bother me. But I have my room. That's it. When I inquired about use of the kitchen, which is to be included according to the school, she made a face. Oh great. She showed me a pot I can use for pasta, and a small pan I can use for other things. And the small coffeepot for single servings. She will make a little space for me in the fridge. Oh thanks...quite magnanimous of you.

I imagine she usually has younger people staying and they don't cook, so she has become used to it. I told her I do like to cook and I promise to clean up after myself. She looked at me dubiously. I will win her over. I have no doubt.

I also have to leave the keys on the front table in the hall when I am home, so she knows I am there. That seems reasonable when you think about it. I have my own bathroom. It is three feet wide by nine feet long and completely tiled. The shower is built into the wall and the curtain is extended by an umbrella-like contraption that is supposed to encompass you. All I can imagine is that water will flow over more than the drain in the floor and I can only imagine the Signora's face.

I will be minding my Ps & Qs.

I began to put my things away, only things I know I will need for the week, but was suddenly so tired that all I wanted to do was sleep. It was 4PM and the exhaustion hit me like a brick wall. I set the alarm on my phone and went to bed. I have homework exercises, but I planned to do them in the morning.

Good night. I planned on sleeping the sleep of the dead for at least 12 hours.

25/26 Settembre - Getting There in ONLY 132 Steps

The day has finally arrived for my return to work in Italy. I will be going to school for five days in Florence first, not only for a language review, which is SORELY needed, but also to learn “Italian for business” - the phrases and discussions I would likely to run into. The language institute I am attending offers classes for people in the hospitality, culinary and design industries. I love a classroom setting and am very excited, even though the idea of six hours a day has me thinking I will will drinking a lot of caffeine. But it is only five days, after all. I think I can hack it.

I have brought along a few mini companions on this trip, for the first couple of months. I put the word out to my friends that if they wanted to send me a small stuffed animal in need of a vacation, I can oblige. Photos will be included when I send them back before Christmas. Wouldn't you want your little stuffed friend to have a guided tour of Italy even if you can't go with them? Here's your friend at the Colesseum, on a gondola, overlooking the ocean in Sorrento.

So I am in possession of a monkey, a koala, a gnome and the cutest little white dog ever. The dog belongs to the 10 year old daughter of a friend from high school. She wrote the sweetest note when she sent her, telling me her name was Snowball. Laura then caught me on an instant message on Facebook and told me her name has changed to Sienna, like her own real dog. I will care for them and keep them from running into too much trouble, and try to keep the clients from thinking they are being led around by a crazy lady. You know, as per usual.

Said goodbye to my darling husband at the airport. This is going to be the longest I've been away from him. I will be gone for almost five months, but he will come over at New Year's, so it will still be just over three months by the time I see him again. It may get rough emotionally. Gosh, you think?

Finally aboard the plane – in a cushy business class seat. I can still manage to dislike the person in front of me though. I have a knack for being seated near people who annoy. Before the plane had taken off she stretched out her chair to the maximum space allowable about seven times. There is definitely more space in business, but she still managed to encroach on what I consider my personal space about six times too many. Especially when you consider that the time before you take off is usually spent putting your things away. She knocked me in the head as I was placing my bag under the seat a few times. Calm down, lady... jeez

It's a little sad to admit, but most of the movies are on airplanes. I just don't go to the movie theaters much, even though we have a really good one in my neighborhood (Yay, Piedmont Theater!) No stupid blow 'em up blockbusters for me and my twelve dollars. So I spend my time hurtling through the air at 40,000 feet watching those movies I don't deem “worthy” of my time on the ground. I am the epitome of a captive audience while on the plane.

The one exception this time around was that they were showing the documentary “Senna” about the race driver Ayrton Senna. It's still out in theaters in the US, but since I was on Virgin Atlantic, the Brits have seen it come and gone from their theaters. If you get the opportunity – GO! I was supposed to see it with my Dad in a few weeks ago and didn't get to go. I am so glad I saw it. I have always been in awe Senna's talents, so to a racing fan the backstory and footage is fantastic. To someone who is not a racing fan, it is definitely interesting. You do not have to be a gearhead or know anything about racing to follow it. It was done very well.

I also watched “Bridesmaids” and “Thor.” Um... yeah. Very glad I didn't spend money on either. Next?

Did something different by ordering a special meal in advance. My rationale was that I would be served first, not have to worry about them not having the selection I wanted with a regular meal – then again, I would be served first anyway because I wasn't in coach. Duh. See where my mind is? I ordered a Hindu menu. It was really good. Chicken curry, lovely basmati rice, potatoes and cauliflower. No naan, darn it. Flavorful!

My friends who ask me about traveling at some point usually get a diatribe about how much I dislike the Paris airport and avoid it like the plague. Charles de Gaulle is the worst hub and I will do about anything to ensure I do not have a connection through there. Guess what? I have a new LEAST favorite airport. Heathrow in London!

It's been a few years since I've been here, and I've never had to use it as a connection; only as my destination. We all spent over an hour and a half getting through passport control. Over 90 minutes IN LINE to have a worker bee stamp my passport. Get some more lines going, people. That was ridiculous. The rest of my dislike is based purely on how tired I was and having to maneuver my bags through the terminals. I'm willing to concede that the situation from the outset was not exactly ideal, so I reserve the right to change my opinion for LHR after some time has passed.

My home office folks made an odd booking for my plane tickets (someone was not on the ball – and we're touring company – yikes!) so to amend it they purchased a separate ticket from London to Rome, thus making me have two separate tickets, separate bookings, separate record locators. What does this mean? It means my luggage was not getting pushed all the way through to Rome. I had to pick up my bags in London, exit the terminal and go through check in again, security again, everything again.

I knew it was going to happen beforehand, but it was still tiring to do it. Heathrow is huge and being muscle sore, punchy from flying, and angry in the head from the passport control stupidity, having to walk half a mile to go get the bags, walking another mile (not kidding – it was 25 minutes on foot!) to the Tube station below ground and get the train to Terminal 4, THEN another half mile inside to the Alitalia desk to check in again and hand over my things.

Which is exactly what I did. I pulled the “I'm a Gold Medallion member I want to check in additional baggage for no cost” card and got rid of everything but my wallet, my phone and some gum. They did it. Virgin had allowed only on bag, weighing 50 lbs maximum. I had a carry-on stuffed to the gills and my large messenger bag with the computer and electronic doo-dads. But thanks to my usual frequent flyer program rigidity, now they were gone. Away! Good thing too – my gate was another 15 minute walk from security. Yup. Batting a thousand here. Where's my pedometer?

Then the dread set in. My flight was delayed until the middle of the night. I found a corner chair and half-slept for five hours. We were supposed to land in Rome at 8PM, but the delay got us there at 3AM. Too early for the express train into the main train station, Alitalia made up for it by busing those of us desiring, on a coach bus instead. We got to the Termini station before 5AM and I lugged my things onto a train for Florence. It was a sleeper train, coming from Calabria (the toe of the Italian boot) and bound eventually for Venice, an “Inter-City Notte” designation. I hadn't been on a night train in my travel experience. I found a cabin with two guys sleeping, woke them up and asked them to move over (the cabins seat six) and we were joined by two others. I didn't feel so bad after that.

Two hours later just before 6:30AM I was handing my luggage down off the train in Florence to a helpful soul I was hoping wouldn't take off with it before I could get onto the platform. Over 27 hours in transit, not much sleep – certainly none that was restful, and I still get to go spend 6 hours in classes and then go put my things away in the apartment I am in for the week.

Give me strength. Give me caffeine.

25 September - Yadda Yadda Yadda

Epilogue

ok, ok, ok. I failed. I didn't complete my blogging the last ten days of the last trip. I'm a horrible person. Here's a synopsis, as I sit here in the airport waiting to board my flight to return to Italy to work. Yeah, it's months later, but think of all the fun times we have in store. Forgive me, move on, and enjoy the ride.

In brief:

Luke & Char went back home. My landlords had to come back to town for legal proceedings and they needed the house back- I wasn't homeless or anything. I stayed at a rental I've used before down by the city gardens on the southeast end of the city. Frank called to invite me down to Bologna to help out on a tour for two nights. Mamma's house had a problem with their plumbing and workmen were making her crazy until she took a fall from the mess they had in her kitchen and bath. I took her to the hospital. Nothing broken, but a bad sprain on her wrist and black and blue up her side. I bought them a microwave so she wouldn't be cooking while she recuperated. We celebrated the 150th anniversary of Italy being a nation. My tours were switched with Frank and I got to leave to come home a few weeks earlier than expected.

And on a bad note: got robbed outside of a currency exchange by a gang of Albanians. Grr! NEVER use those kinds of establishments, folks. You're a sitting duck for crime.

Other than that, another fantastic experience. Here we go again.

Tuesday 8 March – Al Fine da Carnevale 2011

I made a big breakfast for everyone. Frittata with herbs, cheese, mushrooms and pancetta, home-fried potatoes, fresh fruit salad with yogurt, croissants with apricot marmelade baked in (courtesy of the bakery down the street) and prosecco with blood-0range juice. Faux-mosas, we have christened them.

Zoe went out sightseeing with my marked maps and “must-see” notes and Luke & Char rested the morning away, recuperating from their whirlwind touring the previous day.



We all met up for dinner – a “proper” meal that even my persnickety Venetian brother would approve of – marinated antipasto salad of olives, mushrooms, red bell pepper strips, mozzarella balls, artichoke hearts, zuppa di zucca (Luke's favorite), baked florentine chicken and roasted brussels sprouts.

For dessert I had sent Zoe out to the pasticcieria to buy a Venetian specialty avaiable only during Carnevale – the fabulous zuccotta! It is a layered dish, similar to a trifle, with maraschino liqueur, fruit (cherries in this case), zabaglione custard, chocolate mousse, and whipped cream. I've had the other kind before, with a sweet pumpkin-flavored mousse in place of the chocolate in ours – thus the true name of the dish, zucca is pumpkin (or squash) and “cotta” for cooked. Like panacotta means cooked cream = panna+cotta. It's probably good they only make this a few weeks a year – you may as well adhere it to your thighs because that's right where it's going.

But that is what Carnevale is all about, the decadence before the austerity.

Zoe in particular was nuts over the zuccotta and vowed to buy another one in the morning for us to have for breakfast tomorrow before she leaves for Florence. I like the way this woman thinks!

We grabbed up our wine-filled waterbottles and headed out for Campo Santa Margherita to people watch before going to see the boat procession. Charlene and bought her mask to match her crown, at the place around the corner where Luke had also purchased, and I lent Zoe the mask from New Orleans that Jamie gave me. We were fully equipped.

Walking over to the campo by way of San Barnaba we saw that the pasticceria where I had bought the zuccotta was still open at 10pm. Zoe went in and bought one and asked for spoons too. Two zuccotta in one day – whoa are we decadent! Actually, between four people it's not that much. The container only holds about two cups' worth. But it needed to thaw a little before we could eat it. We went to the steps of the flagpole and I kept it on my lap, hoping that it would warm it sufficiently to eat soon. We chanted “Zuccotta Zuccotta Zuccotta” to help it along. It wasn't really helping yet.

At eleven we started walking to the Salute church. I had figured it would be a good place to see the procession, since there are lots of steps there, we wouldn't have to stand on a bridge or jockey for a seat in a vaporetto stop in the cold. The streets were filled with (drunk) revellers all in masks and/or costumes. There were lots of groups in themed costumes, playing cards, angry birds (I have never played the game so I take it at my knowing-friends' words), nuns and priests, caterpillar sections, all having fun.

The Accademia bridge was a full-on crush of bodies standing shoulder to shoulder. People couldn't walk across it. I am glad I didn't plan on watching it from there. I am not really claustrophobic, but it just didn't look like much fun being crushed like it was the 50th Anniversary of the Golden Gate Bridge – been there done that.

As soon as we rounded the corner away from the Accademia the streets were a ghost town. Nobody on the walk with us to Salute. I started feeling pretty proud of myself for thinking this was the way to go. We arrived and there was virtually nobody there. A football field – length of steps and we were the only ones up there. Over the next thirty minutes maybe two dozen people joined us, but it definitely was not like at the Accademia bridge. I am genius.







But it was damned cold sitting on marble steps, even all bundled up. Wine can only make you so warm, and the zuccotta was not thawing. We had made Luke put it inside his down jacket (put it down your pants if you have to Luke – it's for everyone's benefit!) for the walk over from Santa Margherita. Checked it again, still needed thawing. Damn.

So as I was looking across the water I had a brainstorm – a true lightbulb over the head moment – we should try to get across the water on the next vap and go sit on the terrace at the bar of The Consulate. We wouldn't be on cold steps and we had tables to set our cameras on for filming and pictures.

Duh. Why didn't I just plan this from the start? Oprah may speak in terms of “aha!” moments – I think in terms of “duh?” moments.

So then it became a race against the clock. They would have to shut the vaporetto lines down at some point to stage the flotilla of gondolas to start at Rialtoand make their way down the Grand Canal. Were we too late? We could catch a boat in either direction to the next stop and walk over in a few minutes. Would a boat be coming?

Everyone was on alert. At 11:46 I saw a boat coming. We trotted down the steps and hopped on, took it one stop to Vallaresso and strolled in to the Europa Regina at 11:51. I nodded to Marco at the concierge desk, he shook his head at me, surely thinking “poor crazy girl” and waltzed in to bar Tiepolo to find Aldo behind the bar. I sent them outside to get a table and ordered wine for all four of us. It was the least I could do since we were using their tables. I told Aldo I would come in and bring it out, he didn't need to deliver it to us. “No problem, cara mia.” Love that Aldo!

We made it, and were a bit warmer not being completely exposed to the cold. We were the only ones out there when the bells rang out at midnight, then other guests and staff came out, including Marco and the porters. The gondolas came a few minutes later and small boats with small engines, trying to be as silent as possible, and hundreds of balloons were released into the air, ghostly ascending into the night air. Boat after boat came wafting past us, almost eerily. Shadows on the water. I took some film but without good lighting most of it is not worth seeing.


From "The Consulate" terrace looking at where we had been, wicker seats with cushions beat cold marble steps any day!

We finished our wine and Aldo refused to take any payment for it. I kissed him on the cheek and told him I would see him a few days. 'Si, cara mia. Buona notte!” Walking out of the hotel we got a wave from Marco and the porters. I wasn't going to try to catch a boat after this, there would be way too many people, so we made the “8 bridges to home” walk back. Twenty two minutes later we were thanking the house for being so warm and having zuccotta, finally thawed out.

A good night, enjoyed by good friends – old and new.

Monday 7 March – Locanda Ca'Kris

I heard Luke & Charlene leave the house to go catch the 6:30 am train. They didn't takemy kindle, but Luke has been to Rome before, he should be able to show Char around just find. They both also have iphones so they could look things up in a pinch. Luke had said his plan was to buy tickets for the hop-on-hop-off open air bus, so that would easily transport them to the major sites. I know Charlene needed to go to Saint Peter's as her major sightseeing of the day and everything else would just be gravy.

My foot feels a little better, but I kept the menthol patches on it just in case. I had told the two of them to leave any laundry for me they needed doing and I commenced the washing and hanging laundry process when I woke up. Cleaned the kitchen and dining areas spic and span, got the bedding ready for Zoe to sleep on the fold-out in the living room downstairs, did a little bit of grocery shopping and waited for her call that she had arrived at the station.

I met her at the vaporetto and we talked for about an hour about how I came to be here in Venice and working in Italy in general. She's a librarian, wife and mother of two young ones (3 and 4) who lives in Charleston, SC and her husband is an engineer at Boeing. Wow.

She went out for a walk before dinner. I asked her to be back at 7 and I would have food on the table for us. Just before 7 Marco called and said he would be finished with work at 7:30 and he wanted to come over and show me movies he had taken on his Flip camera. Could I show him how to work the editing software? I told him to come for dinner with me and Zoe. He was confused – where are the others? They went to Rome for the day.

“Roma?”
Yes Roma.
“Roma, where there is the Colosseo?In Lazio? In the south?”
Yes, the same one. Capital of your country. That Roma.
“In one day?”
Yes, one very long day.
“You Americani. So crazy.”

Yep, we are crazy Americani.

Zoe called me not quite in a panic. She had lost her way in the streets and now that it was after sunset she really didn't know how to get back, but she thought she was close by. I had her tell me which bridge she was closest to, or the name of a restaurant or shop she was near. She said Taverna San Trovaso near Accademia Bridge. I kept her on the phone a few minutes while I gave her directions how to get back, she was about 7 minutes away. We rang off, and I waited. And waited. And waited.

I called her back and asked if she was okay. She had taken a wrong turn somewhere and didn't know where she was. I asked her if there was a restaurant nearby – go in and hand the phone to someone working there. She had somehow only gone about a block from where she had been before and had been kind of going in circles for twenty minutes. I almost told her to wait there and just have Marco collect her on his way and bring her, but she might think that odd that some guy pop in and say “Kris sent me, come with me.” I told the man on the phone at the trattoria to have her stay there I was coming. I put a note on the door for Marco in case he beat us back to the house.

I found her and we had a laugh about it, got back to the house and three minutes later the bell rang. Marco joined us for dinner of soup and pasta, which he likes to rag me about. “Krix, is two primi dishes, we do not do this.” I really don't care, it's a vegetable soup and a little pasta with tomato sauce and it's enough for me if I don't want to make a big meal. But to a traditional Italian it is blasphemy or something; no secondi dish means no protein. Even though there are beans in the soup and meat in the bolognese sauce, you'd think they were going to die from not having a dish of chicken or steak or fish twice a day. Oy.

“You want so much to be Italian, but you do not make a secondi.”
I don't want to be Italian; I'm Irish and German, so I can't “be” Italian. So there. You want a secondi? Go get yourself a pizza. I told you what I was making for dinner and you came anyway.
“I hoped you only forgot to tell me about secondi and you have a chicken in the ho-ven.”
I'm a terrible host Marco. Please forgive me for not being your housewife or your mother?
“Okay, one more time I forgive you. No more, ceci.” Jackass.

In the mean time, Zoe cracked up at our verbal exchanges. “You guys are comedy! But you are worse than me and my sister fighting as teenagers.” This sums up my relationship with the guy, and she nailed it in five minutes.

He is now calling my house “Locanda Ca'Kris” - Hotel Kris' House. I like having people around right now – I've been in the country for a month and planning for Luke & Char to be here for a week in the middle of my stay was brilliant. It's the energy shot I need to get me through the next half of the schedule. I need to plan for someone to come visit me mid-trip every stint, until I can get used to being away for multiple months at a time.

Marco found it very interesting that he was having dinner with two married ladies whose husbands don't mind them traveling alone. I am very happy to know that my hub-unit is not the only man out there who is okay with this. In Zoe's case it's a bit of a necessity for the time being. They had decided to each take one vacation alone and one together each year while their kids are still very young. This way it doesn't disrupt the kids' normal daily schedules and they still get to go somewhere they want to go without dragging disinterested or behaviorally challenged young ones. When both kids were at least seven they will start doing the longer family vacations, but until then, she gets to come to Europe for two weeks a year and see what she wants to see without the headache of compromising with the kids in tow. Brava!

After dinner and dessert (I was forgiven for the paltry meal because I had gelato, but of course) Zoe went out take a night cruise on the Canale Grande on the vaporetto. Marco and I booted up the computer and I looked at his movies. The guy is a Speilberg in the making, I tell you. Okay, maybe a well-known documentary maker then...

He made short movies of people in the Piazza San Marco and all their costumes. Asked them where they were from. In a few short days, just on his way to and from work he had taken 205 short clips of people in wonderful costumes – just regular people, not the professional Fantasie-costume models who don't talk behind their masks.

I showed him how to start editing out the extraneous - he just wanted a frame or two of the costume and the person stating where they were from and the costume again, then switch to the next. I wasn't about to edit 205 clips, but I showed him the tools and how to shorten each clip, then how to stitch it together. When he was comfortable and ready he could take on the whole task on his own. He seems okay with it, so now I know I won't be taking that camera home with me. I may not make a proper Italian meal 100% of the time to his satisfaction, but I can pick out a good gift. So there.

Zoe returned and we showed her what we were doing. She got very excited seeing all the costumed visitors, and said she couldn't wait until she was able to see them all herself tomorrow. She went to bed at 11:30, Marco left just before midnight, and Luke & Charlene came back at 12:30. I had a bottle of wine and glasses in my room for when they came home so we could talk about their day without disturbing Zoe to go get refreshments.

They had a blast. I'm glad they went, even if hearing their story of the day's events was exhausting. I'm glad I stayed home. It was a long day!

Tomorrow is Fat Tuesday and the end of Carnevale. Everyone needs their rest so we can stay up late for the midnight silent boat procession. Goodnight.

Sunday 6 March – When Did I Get So Old?

After last night's be-bopping my feet hurt. It was a feeling of bruising on the balls of my feet,but the small bones on the top of my right foot also feel bruised and the tendons inflamed. I am no stranger to foot pain. I have have serious bouts of tendonitis and tendonosis with my left ankle. I was in a walking cast for almost six months throughout 2009 and have have cortisone shots in the bursa sac at the ankle. Working side by side with an honored podatric surgeon has had its benefits. Dr Ford kept me up and running during my traumas, but since leaving Kaiser's employ I haven't had any flare-up that have hindered me. I think my office working environment kept me cursed, quite frankly. I still knock wood there won't be more problems, at least not while I'm over here, and thus far, it's working out for me.

So I knew I needed to keep myself inactive for a day or two. I may actually need to cancel my plans to go to La Fenice for the opera- the idea of climbing the stairs three or four stories to our nosebleed seats at the operahouse wasn't a good idea. The other solution for me to go would be to goon myself out on codeine, and probably fall asleep under my chair as a result. I don't have to make the final decision for at least a day though, so time would tell. The most important thing was not to overextend myself in anyway. I need to heal myself before my next tour starts up. Hat good would I be to these people who expect me to be a trouper? Gah, when did I get old?

Charlene and I headed out to celebrate Mass at San Marco. Another day, another opportunity to try and count tiles in the mosaics. Outside in front of the Doge's Palace we took pictures of the Fantasie costumed beings at their photocall.

We walked over (slowly, slowly) and picked up the tickets at La Fenice. Just the box office section was ornate and elaborately decorated, with giant chandeliers and huge gilt framed mirrors. Gorgeous.

I spent the rest of the afternoon on the couch with icepacks and mentholated pain patches to take the edge off. Luke & Char went out sightseeing and picture-taking.

We walked over to the San Polo area and ate at Alla Rivetta. Our waiter thought he was a comedian, at my expense, and was promptly cursed with breaking glasses and dishes galore in the space of three minutes. That was funny, to me...

I made my way home and Luke & Char went to check out if anything was going on for evening festivities at the Rialto. When they got home they announced they were going to on a daytrip on their own. I'm thinking they would go to Padova or Verona, so they totally surprised me by saying they were going to go to Rome on Monday.

Wow! It's a 3.5 to 4 hour train ride each way, and even with taking the first train out of Venice and the last train back, it gave them nine hours essentially in Rome. Whirlwind to say the least, but I gave my friends Allan and Trixy a tour of about that length last year when they took a cruise and had one day in port. I rattled off the general itinerary I followed on that day and offered them my Kindle to take since it has guidebooks on it.

I was going to be meeting a couch surfer who was staying with us for two nights on Monday afternoon, so even if my foot wasn't being wonky, I still needed to stick around for her arrival. Zoe had grabbed my attention with her email request of how difficult it was to find a female host where a married woman would feel comfortable and safe in staying. She's originally from Sacramento and went to Mills College and is in her mid-30s. I believed immediately that she would be a safe bet and a good fit for our wacky little group for a couple of days.

Saturday 5 March – Lightsaber Jesus and the Kissing Bandit

While walking around a few days ago with Jamie we stopped at La Fenice, the opera house, so I could tell her the history of the theater. This current building is the third incarnation, after having been burnt down twice before. The last fire was in 1996 and it took ten years to rebuild it, which they did in the manner of “come'era dov'era” - where it was, how it was. Although I have had invitations to attend in the past, the timing has never worked out so I haven't seen the inside, which is the classic, grandiose gilt and red décor and gigantic chandeliers. Think of the movie Amadeus and you've hit the nail on the head. They hold tours of the theater but I have yet to get around to it.

In looking at the schedule of events while with Jamie, I saw that they are playing Puccini's “La Boheme” while I'm here. I've always imagined the tickets to be incredibly expensive or hard to obtain the cheap tickets since they go so quickly. I resolved to attempt to get some tickets while Luke & Char are here, whether they want to go or not. To be able to see the inside is what's important. I know Luke would be interested. He was here with me in 2006 when the theater reopened, and I know he has read John Berendt's “City of Falling Angels” - a book about the process and bureaucratic nightmare that it took to do it. Berendt is a great writer, he also wrote “Midnight In The Garden of Good & Evil” which spent four years on the NYT bestseller list and Clint Eastwood made into a film starring John Cusack and Kevin Spacey. Berendt has a way of getting to know the people of a city and really getting the details down. I recommend the book about La Fenice to anyone who hasn't read it, he tells the stories of real people who are great characters in themselves and digs under the surface for his stories. I can relate; the people I know in this city have fascinating tales to tell, just as the city itself does. Venice is a seductive mistress who gets you to keep coming back to her, no matter what the cost.

So this morning I went online in search of tickets to La Fenice. They had tickets available for the Tuesday afternoon matinee in the section “solo ascolto” - listening only for 11E each. If you wanted to have a full view seat it jumped to 130E per. I figured we really wanted to see the theater itself – I may
know opera but friends aren't really into it, so we would at least be able to take in the experience of going into the theater and seeing it as we walked to our seats. That and if I only hear the music, I'm good.

I announced to the troops that tickets had been purchased and we went out for a late “breakfast” at 11AM of pizza over at Campo Santa Margherita. What goes with pizza? Beer of course. An excellent way to start the day in my opinion. We didn't get out of there for two hours, so it's not like we were complete degenerates...

Later on in the day we went around the corner from the house to a mask shop for them to shop. The man makes the masks by hand with papier mache and molds – it's definitely not like the Made in China fare found at most souvenir shops. Venice may be overrun with tourists and crappy souvenirs, but it isn't very difficult to find mask-makers still doing it the traditional way. There are plenty of artisans still working in this town, and I'm happy to throw business their way.

Both Char and Luke found masks they like, but only Luke pulled the trigger and made a purchase right then. It's a great mask – a jester crown with blue and crimson points and gold trim. With Luke's white hair, the colors are even more vibrant. Charlene is looking for a mask to compliment her New Orleans mardi Cras crown she got there last year and the mask-maker has a one that's perfect but she wasn't ready yet.

That evening we got all dolled up after dinner and went out. I was in my black velvet “gypsy” ware and my new lace mask I purchased a few days ago, Luke had his new mask and Char was being royalty from New Orleans. We are an odd trio, but it works!


How do I learn not to take the most craptastic photos of myself?

We made our way to Piazza San Marco to check out the festivities in the “Gran Foyer” at the stage set up for Carnevale. The stage is reminiscent of the stage at the Fenice, with opera boxes for VIP access (upon paying the fee, of course) and most of the stage shows are interactive with the boxes. Well, good for them.

There were the sounds of a drum circle playing in the gated area in the center of the piazza – I immediately thought I was at Burning Man or UC Berkeley on a Sunday morning. But the crowd was having a good time. There wasn't much going on except people-watching for great costumes and stepping out of the way of hooligans and dropped bottles (and more than a few firecrackers thrown at our feet.) Asshats.

It was a bit of a letdown after the fabulous show with European dragqueens two years ago. Oh well. What can you do? Just like Lollapalooza, it “misses” every couple of years in terms of true entertainment.

One guy nearby was wearing a Jedi outfit and I pointed him out. “Hey look, it's Luke Skywalker. Or Ben Kenobi.”
Luke's response: “Or it's Jesus.”
Char's response: “Jesus doesn't have a lightsaber.”
And this threw us into fits of giggles. Yeah, we're idiots, but we have a good time with it.

We decided to strike out for the Rialto area to check the goings on over there. A few turns away from the bridge I made the decision to stop in at Bar Torino in Campo San Luca. My friend Davide had taken me there a few times in October and I know they tend to have live music and djs playing. If they do that at other less festive times of the year, they must have something going on during the Saturday before Carnevale.

I was so right in my assumption. We arrived at the campo to hundreds of people dancing in front of the bar to a stage and four djs spinning old 70s and 80s funk and R&B, and into 90s hiphop. We grabbed some beers inside and went back out to dance. Dance we did – for more than two hours. It was a great time. The mix of people was great, the vibe was frenetic. People dancing and laughing. I'm not a huge fan of hiphop and rap, but I definitely know my way around the genre. And when you start playing House of Pain's “Jump Around” in a campo in Venice Italy and everyone knows all the words, it's a great scene.

I am by nature a people-watcher. I can't help it. In airports, while shopping, at restaurants, I just tend to see things going on around me and access things pretty quickly. I kept seeing this man standing near me who was looking in our general direction. He was alone but that's not odd in a crowd like this. Late 40s, handsome enough. He was bopping along in time to the music like the rest of us, but you knew he wasn't familiar with the music even though he was having a good time. He would stand near me for long periods and smile periodically, but he wasn't overly freaky or anything.

I got separated from Luke and Char at one point. I had a phone call come in on the mobile, saw that it was a call coming in from the Europa hotel (is it sad that I know their phone exchange numbers???) so I mouthed to Char “I'll be back in a minute” and moved away from the music of the campo. It was Serena at the bar – she was trying to eject a drunk and needed some help with an English translation. She kept me on the phone for a few minutes and when the call was complete I needed to find a bathroom. All that dancing created an urgency, let's say. I knew that the Bonvecchiati hotel wasn't far away and the night doormen have seen me enough times when I've gone to visit Marco (on nights he's called in to help out there) that they wouldn't trip if I used their facilities.

I came back out into the street and saw that guy. He didn't say anything or acknowledge anything, and I found it a little weird. He let me walk past and I could hear him behind me as I walked back to the campo. Okay, so he's escorting me, just stay back, buddy. I have a scalpel in my bag, after all. The loud music had ended since it was past 11PM and the scene at the campo was breaking up. I didn't see my friends so I checked inside. Still no sign. I tried calling the numbers for the phones I had given them on arrival – no answer. Now I had to use my brain and try to remember their US phone numbers. I called Char and she picked up – whew! My brain works after all. As I was standing on the street a few blocks from the bar I saw the “gentleman escort” nearby in a doorway looking in my direction. I stared directly at him and he left the doorway and moved past me. I see you sucka, what are you doing?

Char and Luke were making their way back to the house. I told them I'd meet them there in about 20 minutes, I just needed to catch the boat at the Rialto stop. I picked up the phone and called Marco, since he would be leaving work about now. He had mentioned earlier in the day that he would try to meet up with us. It also gave me the opportunity to let the “gentleman escort” know I could possibly have an assignation and his escort services were not needed any longer. But Marco let me down – he was going to have to stay longer at the job, until 1AM so he would go straight home afterward. In the meantime, I saw the man walk past me again and down the street while I was hanging up with Marco.

I have said before that I have never been scared of walking alone in this city, no matter what hour of the night it is. It is a very safe city. However, as I have also said, I have some trepidation when it comes to Carnevale time – there's a huge influx of people not from Venice in town, lots of drinking and incorrigible hooligan-types that are not usually here. Let's just agree that I make myself more aware of my surroundings at these times. Knowing the city as I do, and all the shortcuts to be had at every turn, I decided not to take the marked route to the Rialto vap. If the guy had heard me on the phone which is pretty safe to assume, I at least hadn't said which route or direction I was going once I got to Rialto, or which stop I was going to in order to get home. I ducked down a side street and passing a bar, I found myself face to face with a priestly-costumed guy in the alley.

“Sorella, mi sorella. Dammi un bacio e poi si può passare attraverso.” Sister, my sister. Give me a kiss and you may pass through.

No harm in that – I gave him a peck on the cheek. And then five others came outside for the same. Six men, six pecks on the cheeks, and at the end of the kissing gauntlet, as I had been doing my random pecking, my gentleman friend had passed by me and joined the crowd. Ugh, really? I went in to kiss his cheek and he turned his head and it landed on the mouth. And it was an actual kiss. Dude! No tongue, please. I don't know you and I don't share your last name that I am aware of. So I pulled away and said “Buona notte, signori” and walked on to the vap. He was behind me and as I stepped out into the crowd on the bank of the Grand Canal I called Char again. This dude was creeping me out now, and I didn't want to take the chance he would follow me home, so I told them to bring a bottle of wine from home and to meet me in Campo Santa Margherita at the flagpole.

He didn't get on the boat. I made my way to meet up with my pals and we elegantly sipped wine from the plastic bottle procured from the neighborhood vinaria across the street from house, people-watched, ate pizza and went back home for a good night's rest.

Friday 4 March – Today's Lesson Is...

I woke up to a crash at 4AM and found Charlene trying to pick the dividing screen off the floor that is her room's door. She had picked it up to move it aside to go to the bathroom and one of the sections came off the rail, so to speak. No problem, I would be able to fix it when it was daylight.

We had a lazy morning and had lunch at home before heading out to the lagoon islands. Seeing Murano, Burano and Torcello was the itinerary for the day. Charlene hadn't seen them two years ago when she was here on her first visit. I planned the timing so we would be able to eat dinner on Burano at Il Gatto Nero when they opened at 6:30PM.

Apparently we caught the slowest boat to the transfer station in Murano. We had the milk-run route, in effect, as we went to every stop in the area, and it took longer than I remembered. Probably due to the time of day and the time of year. These routes change a little during the day so they can accommodate the tourists and workers so some boats have abbreviated routes, some have every stop. What can you do?

We transferred finally and on the 40 minute ride to Burano I made friends with a baby in his pram. I love happy smiling, no fuss children. He was a doll, and I had a nice conversation with his mother while playing pattycake and peekaboo with him. She told me she was relieved to have a short break from entertaining him constantly, in order to keep him occupied and quiet. The family is brazilian and spending Carnevale time in Italy, the first time they've been away from Rio de Janeiro's annual festival. She was surprised and pleased at how different it is than in Brazil – much more family friendly. It was a nice ride, even though we were on the deck and it was cold out.

Once on Burano we walked the 100 yards to the launch to catch the boat to Torcello. Showed Charlene the churches and took her photo in what has been name “throne of Attila” - a stone-carved chair which most likely never saw the backside of Attila the Hun, but we'll just keep that between us. No sense in spoiling it for everyone.


Charlene on Attila's throne


I don't know why the kitties are named Dingo, but here they are

We saw the sights and went back to Burano with a little bit of time to spare before restaurant opened. As we walked over to it I could see the outdoor seating was packed away, but in winter they are more likely than not to only serve indoors. Approaching the place one of the waiters came outside and I asked him if they opened at 6:30. He said Yes, then said No. Funny. Their closing day is Monday and here it is Friday. Then the owner/chef came outside so I asked him “Aperto alle diciotto e mezzo stasera, si?” Open at 6:30 tonight, yes?

No. Not open tonight.

Whaaaaaaaa? It was like the Soup Nazi on Seinfeld telling me “No risotto for you!!!” He wasn't mean, just matter of fact, but no explanation as to why.

Here Luke and I had been talking all day about the amazing food at Il Gatto Nero – the grilled fish and the seafood risotto – and we had her jazzed to go there, and it wasn't freaking open? I was trying just figure out why they weren't open. We walked over to the main drag through the island and it dawned on me. There were signs up for Carnivale di Burano, which I had seen days earlier when I was there with my group, but actually looking at the poster I could see it was huge community procession being held in the park on the island on Friday night. That had to be it – everything was shutting down for the locals to celebrate together.

Oh bother. So here's the lesson for the day: Carnivale di Burano means no risotto dinner for you.

And the teasing commenced. Charlene thought it was hilarious that she had been hearing so much about this famed risotto (dude, Tony Bourdain featured this place and the risotto making on his Venice episode, even though I've been frequenting it much longer than he has) and I make the oversight of not knowing the island shuts down this day every year. For the rest of the evening she would pop up with “Did you know? Carnivale on Burano is the Friday before Carnivale? And did you know? No risotto!” A new inside joke for our arsenal.

We took the boat back to Venice proper. Starving all the way.

I took us to Trattoria da Bepi which is located about ten minutes from the vap stop we disembarked from in Cannaregio. We had 20 minutes to wait for them to open, so we did. It may not have been the much-discussed seafood risotto, but we had a lot of great Venetian specialties mixedin with “regular” food. Luke had pasta aglio-olio, then cuttlefish and polenta, I had shaved artichokes (the castraure variety only grown in the lagoon islands) in a balsamic vinaigrette and then tagliatelle al granceola (the tiny spidercrabs found only in Venice) and Charlene had spaghetti carbonara, then scallops. We all opted for tiramisu for dessert.

All kinds of yum!

We meandered to Piazza San Marco to walk off some of the two liters of wine and all that food and then home.

Did you know that on Burano the Friday before Fat Tuesday there's a Carnivale celebration? Now I do.

Thursday 3 March – Nevica e Amici: Snow and Friends

I met the departing clients at their apartment at 5AM with a taxi to take us to the airport. The problem with taking a boat to the airport is that you usually still have to haul your luggage from the boat docks to the terminal, about a quarter mile away up a ramp. However, I called for a transport while we were on the water to meet us. First class service, kids, is how I treat my peeps. I got them checked in and said goodbye. Just before getting off the boat, one of the ladies handed me an envelope and told me they didn't have as many euros as they had hoped to give me as a tip. So she wrote me a personal check that she hoped I would accept. Gee, thanks. Like I can deposit this by mind control into my bank back home. It's the sentiment, right? I know that guides are not supposed to expect tipping- that it's a gratuity we are to grateful to receive, but after these people I had hoped to have a clean break. Instead, I have to hope they don't cancel the check because they are disgruntled or something after the trip is over. Whatever. Good riddance.

Their flight was leaving at 7:30 and Charlene's was coming in at 9:30 so I hung around the terminal having coffee and a cornetto. I stepped outside for a minute and saw something I haven't seen yet in all my visits to Venice. Snow! It doesn't happen that often and usually doesn't have the chance to pile up and make snowmen or anything, it's usually too wet. But to see the flakes coming down in flurries was very pretty. I am not a snow person; I can usually deal with it for a few days when we go up to Tahoe on rare occasions. I hope this doesn't linger.

Charlene's plane landed early at 9:03 but she didn't come out of the security gates until an hour later. She said the luggage just wasn't coming through on the baggage carousel. I guess the baggage handlers were playing in the snowflakes.



The BOOT is here!

We took the ATVO coach back to Venice which dropped us at the bus terminal at Piazzale Roma. I got some photos while on the bus of the snow on the ground along the way. We took the vaporetto back to the house and froze on the deck of the boat while being pelted in the face with cold water- the flakes had turned to sleet. Charlene would be sleeping on the foldout in the study / den next to my room and Luke had already claimed the attic room upstairs. She dumped her suitcases and after catching up on the goings on in her world and the flights over we went grab a bite to eat at the Dona Onesta. We had a leisurely lunch, including amaretto after meal drinks courtesy of Safwat, before heading back to Piazzale Roma to meet Luke. I got a text from Luke when he had boarded the bus and we headed over on the vaporetto. Charlene took a nap on the way.


Snow in Venice


From the bus. Snow on the ground.


More snow on the ground. Enthralling, isn't it?

Met Luke's bus in the freezing cold. At least the flakes and sleety-rain had stopped, but now it was just cold. The three of us walked back to the house and Luke put his stuff upstairs. I showed them the neighborhood and we went off to the grocery store for food supplies.



Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuke

We spent the late afternoon catching up and drinking wine from the vinaria across the street. Then Charlene discovered my bottle of amaretto and dipped into that. She fell asleep at the table before I had even started dinner, so Luke walked her over to the couch and covered her with a blanket while I prepared the meal. We ate and she snored. Love that girl.

Luke's plan was to remain awake until 10PM so we headed over to The Consulate for a nightcap. We visited with Giorgio and came back around 10:30 – Luke wins! Charlene had woken up and moved herself up to her room. I cleaned up and crashed. I am officially on my own time now, not beholden to schedules and I love it.