Ok, ok... I know. I've gone radio silent. Does that leave you wondering about the trip home? Let me fill you in...
We woke at the you-know-what crack of dawn to pile ourselves and all our belongings into the Milanese cab that must have started charging us when he left Florence. He didn't speak a lick of English, or he was simply ignoring my complaints about the meter when I got in.
I was really glad we looked at our itinerary, since I had the airport we were leaving from wrong most of the week. That would have added and extra element of disaster clearly not necessary when my mother and I are together. We are like a vortex for disfunction. This is clearly demonstrated when we get to the counter at KLM, which is the airline listed on our email confirmation, and nobody is there. Thankfully, the guy at British Airways points us toward Alitalia.
Fuck.
I'm sorry. I've been trying really hard not to swear on the blog this trip. That's saying a lot, since I typically swear like a sailor. But really... Alitalia, again? I'm happy to let them have another crack at properly handling our luggage, only they won't check it in. It's just past six, which they say is too early. I have never, ever, been told I was too early for a flight. I find this hysterically funny. Until I realize there are pretty much no seats. Not "not vacant seats"... no seats, period. Weird for an international airport. This might actually rank Milan Linate UNDER Washington DC's Dulles for me. That's a feat. I can't stand Dulles.
I digress.
They tell us to come back at 7:00 AM. I do, and ask for luggage tags. They don't have any AND they tell me to come back at 7:30.
These people are really starting to irritate me.
I go to the little shop and buy a few stamps to send some straggling post cards. I figure out where customs is so we can validate our "tax free" vouchers, which we hope means we can claim the refund once we get through security. By the time I circle back to mom, it is time and we unload the heavy stuff to head to the gate. Were we do a little more shopping.
At this point, I've decided this is a sickness. I can't, under any circumstances, restrain myself from buying these lovely nail polishes. And lip gloss. And makeup bag. I need an intervention. Maybe mom and I can get a 2-for-1 on that.
The flight to Amsterdam is uneventful. When we arrive, however, we have exactly one hour until our connecting flight in a terminal that might as well be in a different city departs. Thank you, airline gods. Jogging isn't and option -- need to run. Mom's asthma makes that less than an attractive option. Praying might work.
We make it -- of course -- and are pleasantly surprised to discover that there is no one in the seat next to us. Makes me feel less like a sardine. We watch a movie together, eat what might amount to the worst Swedish food on the planet (and I say this as an Ikea cafeteria connoisseur), and I fall asleep. Mom decides she's getting hey money worth by watching four movies. I think she mentions two TV shows as well.
How long did I sleep?
And finally... home again. To Dulles, and an unbelievable line at customs. I think mom was actually flirting with the agent a bit. Makes me wish I had smuggled that salami after all. We are off to collect our bags, which is super convenient as we waited so long to get through customs that all the bags from our flight are sitting next to the luggage carousel.
All, that is, except for ours.
Shocking.
Within the next week, I'll be posting the gelato lowdown and my final blog post. I'm asking mom to put one together, too, so you can hear from her what she loved, hated, and would buy again. Until then... I bid you ado.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Last Day & Last Supper
Hard to believe that this was our last day in Italy. I feel, like our luggage, that we've packed culture so tightly into our heads, we are literally bursting at the seams. I'm not sure I could take much more! What are two girls in this predicament and no more room for trinkets to do...
How about a three-hour walking tour and viewing of Leonardo da Vinci's "Last Supper"?
Since I booked it months ago, which you MUST do in order to get in to see this work, we are off and running. Well, after I make eggs and we futz around with luggage and such. That makes us a tad bit late, so we hop in a cab instead of making mom sprint again. Arriving at the meeting spot in front of the Duomo, there's a bit of congestion due to the Ferrari club of Milan gathering to show of their cars. My inner crow is drawn to the pretty and I am separated from our group. I actually am a tiny bit panicked when I can't see anyone and imagine I've. Issued the tour and lost mom. Until I hear her yelling for me over the din of the revving engines and gaggles of pigeons and people milling about.
Amazing how no matter where you are, you can always hear your mother when she calls. Sure, sometimes you pretend not to hear... as a kid, playing outside as dusk settled. It's just such a familiar sound. Of course, she's calling my name, too, so maybe I'm being a bit dramatic.
Today is a day for drama, starting with this stunning building and the tour around it. Sadly, there is a mass happening inside and we are unable t take a look, but there is plenty to see outside. The sets of massive doors on the front, each panel telling a story. The statue of Moses with horns. A story about a Dolce & Gabbana advertisement placed on the back of the structure on scaffolding during a renovation project. This is typical to raise money to pay for the restorations, but this particular ad was of a woman clad only in underwear. It caused quite an uproar. The former arch bishop, apparently a guy with a sense of humor, pointed out that the statue of Eve is naked, so what's the difference? It was still removed after a few short months. Funny. even more so to me because the history of Italy is steeped in paganism, adoration and love of the human form. Then Constantinople ends the persecution of the Christians and the Catholic Church brings an about face of modesty to the country that is contadicted by so much of it's tradition and history that it appears almost hypocritical. Naked statues here, prim and proper there, and the buying of indulgences in the middle.
But what do I know?
We tour through a darling little neighborhood, Brera, which is closed up tighter than a drum on a Sunday. Milan is a little funny like that. Not much is open late. In Rome and Florence, and even Venice, some shops were open past 10:00 PM. We stop at a darling little patisserie and have a snack with the group and then head toward the Cadtello and eventually, the painting we've all been waiting to see.
Like most things here in Italy, I'm not sure what to make of it until I'm sitting in front of it. It's quite something, but also simple in it's beauty. The painting was made to decorate the room where monks at the church would dine. As is tradition, one wall would have a last supper image, the opposing, the crucifixion. That reminds me... apparently the Duomo Has several of the nails used in the actual act. Macabre. Da Vinci's work is deteriorated, but now less magnificent. He is an artist I have always admired, particularly for his precision and, like me, perfectionism. It's a terrible affliction and those of us suffering with it ought to stick together.
Afterwards, we meander through gelato heaven and the square near the Duomo for hugs...
...and birds...
...before hitting a few stores on our way back to the apartment.
Our hostess here in Milan, Paola, and I discovered when I was making the booking that we were born just a few days apart. She makes gorgeous jewelry (www.madeofstones.it), and so we've brought her a small gift of one of mom's stone bracelets for the occasion and we plan to go have a drink to celebrate. We have planned to get together at 6:00 PM tonight, but we have been running around and didn't call. Regardless, promptly on time, she and her husband, Luca, arrive to collect us. They've made dinner reservations for mom and I at a lovely place, and brought us an unbelievably thoughtful gift of some homemade pasta. We head over to her showroom for a little tour, and I pick out a pair of lovely earrings to buy, but Paola won't hear of it. They are a lovely, lovely gift.
We have such a nice time over a glass of wine and a drink Paola orders that looks like it is in a double sized glass with half a banana and laden with other fruits. Totally fun, and we laugh that Luca has to help her finish it. We have such a nice, easy conversation that it feel like we've known each other for a long time. This is someone I hope to stay in touch with. They may be planning a trip to Florida for Christmas, so hopefully we will have the chance to chow the same warm hospitality there. What a fabulous way to wrap up our visit here.
Packed up and ready to go. I know hearing this will make some of you a little sad. But don't worry... I'll be back tomorrow and have a few other posts to tantalize you with before this journey, too concludes.
Until then, I thought I would ask if there is anything particular you would like to know? Leave a comment, sent us an an email or Facebook post and let us know. Mom will be delivering a sum-up, too, so don't forget her. We've really enjoyed all your comments and thoughtful notes over the last month. It's what makes doing this fun. Yes, even when you are writing because you are addicted and mad I'm not posting regularly!
Send us good vibes for the flight... when I tried to check in, there was no record of our reservation.
Did you expect anything less?
How about a three-hour walking tour and viewing of Leonardo da Vinci's "Last Supper"?
Since I booked it months ago, which you MUST do in order to get in to see this work, we are off and running. Well, after I make eggs and we futz around with luggage and such. That makes us a tad bit late, so we hop in a cab instead of making mom sprint again. Arriving at the meeting spot in front of the Duomo, there's a bit of congestion due to the Ferrari club of Milan gathering to show of their cars. My inner crow is drawn to the pretty and I am separated from our group. I actually am a tiny bit panicked when I can't see anyone and imagine I've. Issued the tour and lost mom. Until I hear her yelling for me over the din of the revving engines and gaggles of pigeons and people milling about.
Amazing how no matter where you are, you can always hear your mother when she calls. Sure, sometimes you pretend not to hear... as a kid, playing outside as dusk settled. It's just such a familiar sound. Of course, she's calling my name, too, so maybe I'm being a bit dramatic.
Today is a day for drama, starting with this stunning building and the tour around it. Sadly, there is a mass happening inside and we are unable t take a look, but there is plenty to see outside. The sets of massive doors on the front, each panel telling a story. The statue of Moses with horns. A story about a Dolce & Gabbana advertisement placed on the back of the structure on scaffolding during a renovation project. This is typical to raise money to pay for the restorations, but this particular ad was of a woman clad only in underwear. It caused quite an uproar. The former arch bishop, apparently a guy with a sense of humor, pointed out that the statue of Eve is naked, so what's the difference? It was still removed after a few short months. Funny. even more so to me because the history of Italy is steeped in paganism, adoration and love of the human form. Then Constantinople ends the persecution of the Christians and the Catholic Church brings an about face of modesty to the country that is contadicted by so much of it's tradition and history that it appears almost hypocritical. Naked statues here, prim and proper there, and the buying of indulgences in the middle.
But what do I know?
We tour through a darling little neighborhood, Brera, which is closed up tighter than a drum on a Sunday. Milan is a little funny like that. Not much is open late. In Rome and Florence, and even Venice, some shops were open past 10:00 PM. We stop at a darling little patisserie and have a snack with the group and then head toward the Cadtello and eventually, the painting we've all been waiting to see.
Like most things here in Italy, I'm not sure what to make of it until I'm sitting in front of it. It's quite something, but also simple in it's beauty. The painting was made to decorate the room where monks at the church would dine. As is tradition, one wall would have a last supper image, the opposing, the crucifixion. That reminds me... apparently the Duomo Has several of the nails used in the actual act. Macabre. Da Vinci's work is deteriorated, but now less magnificent. He is an artist I have always admired, particularly for his precision and, like me, perfectionism. It's a terrible affliction and those of us suffering with it ought to stick together.
Afterwards, we meander through gelato heaven and the square near the Duomo for hugs...
...and birds...
...before hitting a few stores on our way back to the apartment.
Our hostess here in Milan, Paola, and I discovered when I was making the booking that we were born just a few days apart. She makes gorgeous jewelry (www.madeofstones.it), and so we've brought her a small gift of one of mom's stone bracelets for the occasion and we plan to go have a drink to celebrate. We have planned to get together at 6:00 PM tonight, but we have been running around and didn't call. Regardless, promptly on time, she and her husband, Luca, arrive to collect us. They've made dinner reservations for mom and I at a lovely place, and brought us an unbelievably thoughtful gift of some homemade pasta. We head over to her showroom for a little tour, and I pick out a pair of lovely earrings to buy, but Paola won't hear of it. They are a lovely, lovely gift.
We have such a nice time over a glass of wine and a drink Paola orders that looks like it is in a double sized glass with half a banana and laden with other fruits. Totally fun, and we laugh that Luca has to help her finish it. We have such a nice, easy conversation that it feel like we've known each other for a long time. This is someone I hope to stay in touch with. They may be planning a trip to Florida for Christmas, so hopefully we will have the chance to chow the same warm hospitality there. What a fabulous way to wrap up our visit here.
Packed up and ready to go. I know hearing this will make some of you a little sad. But don't worry... I'll be back tomorrow and have a few other posts to tantalize you with before this journey, too concludes.
Until then, I thought I would ask if there is anything particular you would like to know? Leave a comment, sent us an an email or Facebook post and let us know. Mom will be delivering a sum-up, too, so don't forget her. We've really enjoyed all your comments and thoughtful notes over the last month. It's what makes doing this fun. Yes, even when you are writing because you are addicted and mad I'm not posting regularly!
Send us good vibes for the flight... when I tried to check in, there was no record of our reservation.
Did you expect anything less?
Saturday, October 1, 2011
La La La Scala
La Scala.
This is a weird post to write. This experience has been so hyped up for months, do I'm going to just stick with the facts.
1. This is a beautiful establishment. The glimmering chandeliers are amazing, the common areas luxurious, the theatre and boxes gilt with plush red velvet, rich brocade tapestry and gold accents. Gorgeous.
2. The orchestra is phenomenal. The music bright and clear. It was, at times, overpowering and thus difficult to hear the singers over the music. I'm not sure how a delicate balance is struck with something like that, but I'm sure it is difficult. I will say that this was not an issue at Theatro La Fenice, however, I didn't thing the quality of the music there as as good.
3. In Venice, the sets were absolutely spectacular. Perhaps I was simply in awe of how they moved seamlessly during the performance, allowing the actors to change from one to the next as PART of the performance. They walked out a door and onto the next set while the audience watched. You could see the floor move as the beautifully decorated "rooms" changed before your eyes. It was simple spectacular. The sets were a huge disappointment for me with Der Rosenkavalier at La Scala. There was a mirrored back drop that moved during the performance slightly to cast reflections in different ways. An image of what a wall or scenery might look like was projected onto this, creating the look of a wall on the mirror. The problem is, it didn't always line up, making it unrealistic. There was also what looked like a ceiling you would see in an office building, with the same awful unnatural light emanating from it. Pieces of furniture, and even two carriages (sans the horses, though there were dogs at one point) were moved on and off stage between acts mostly. It just reminded me of Vegas. I wouldn't have expected Las Vegas at La Scala.
4. For as much as tickets are here. You would expect seats with a back. We are in a box with six seats, each a bit taller than the one behind to help with viewing. We are in the back. On the left, the view is partially obscured, which is easily remedied by dragging the chair over. That means, sadly, that there is then no wall to lean against. So, sitting on what amounts to a bar stool for four hours. Fun... and it's hot as Hades.
5. I don't like German opera. I like sexy, talk dirty to me, sounds hot and romantic Italian. It just doesn't sound pretty. That is certainly NOT to say that the singing isn't superb. The mezzo-soprano las night was marvelous. All three sopranos, in fact. It just was not a Pretty Woman moment.
It did, however, almost pee my pants when we stopped at McDonalds afterwards, which looked like a lounge, and I ordered BEER. Oh, Ronald... you bad clown, you. Holding out on us Americans. It was cold, just like the food, but nice not to be staring down another plate of pasta.
I think we're ready to come home.
Home. That reminds me. In our rush to get out the door to the theatre, I didn't bring the address with me of the apartment where we are staying. Or the phone to call our hostess.
This should be fun.
Son-of-a-biscotti...
A last minute sprint this morning through Venice to complete a very important mission: to secure what one simply cannot leave this island without -- a mask. First, we tackle the challenge of finding one of the several Rosa Salva patisseries in Venice. It's a famous name when it comes to delectable ways to try and increase the size of my growing food baby, having been in business since 1879.
Not disappointing, that's for sure. I get Creme Cotta Forno, which is like shortbread baked with a custard on top. Its still warm from the oven and simply to die for. I pick up a few other amazing things, including marzipan. I may be the only person on earth who actually likes that stuff. Molded into fruit shapes and painted to resemble apples, peaches and cherries, it's like eating a tiny piece of art.
Back to the masks, of which I am now the proud owner of not one, but two. The first is a lovely white metal number in a style the shopkeep referred to as "tattoo", as when worn, it looks like a tattoo around the eyes. The second is a bit more fanciful, with pink feathers and gold glitter. It is mounted to a stick and makes me think I need to rent Amadeus soon. I remember seeing these for the first time as a kid in that movie and being smitten. As if seeing Don Giovanni the other night hadn't already put that idea in my brain. That work was written by Mozart, whose life the film is about. I'm also feeling a Halloween masquerade party may be in order -- not that I need an excuse to wear this. I may just wear it to work. Or shopping, or just to clean the house. When you see people walking around your town in a mask, you'll know who started the trend.
I don't suggest wearing them to the bank, though. Just to be safe.
As is our typical form, we are late getting back to the apartment to collect our things. The funny thing is, just as we are leaving, I discover the trick to getting around Venice -- don't give a where you are going.
Look, I'm serious. The other night I was ready to curl up in the fetal position in the middle of the street. I was literally at my wits end. The street names on the map and on the streets don't correspond, and there are sometimes two or three names on one sign (I realize later the first is the one you are on, the second typically the next street and the third can be either the name of the bridge or the canal.) And get is... I wish we had a freaking flashlight. Please don't tell mom I said that. I would hate to admit she was right about that. She was a trooper, though, to deal with me and my craptastic mood. I finally threw my hands in the air, put the map away... and we walked straight there.
Son-of-a-biscotti.
It works just as well the next couple times we try it, so here's my advice for Venice: don't waste money on a map. Spend it on wine and pastry and get lost. It's worth it, I promise. Or here's am idea... get some red twine and tie it to the door of your hotel, then you an just follow it back. No... it won't work. I thought of the Hansel & Gretel bread crumb thing and the damn pigeons will eat your trail. I've had more close encounters of the bird kind than I care to mention in Venice (that's mom's line, I must admit...)
After our 60 private taxi ride, we decided to skip the gondola at 80 euros. Mom says it's too expensive and I'm game for saving it until next time I come with the man I love. Speaking of love, there's just one thing I'm bringing when I return... bug spray. The Venetian mosquitoes heart me to welts. I look like a huge game of connect-the-dots. I think they may be working on Van Gogh's "Starry, Starry Night." They're really quite talented.
We are on our last train, heading for Milan now. In two more days, it will be a plane home. I've had so much fun, but I'm ready to go. My brain is full of all the beautiful things I've seen in a month and so is my iPad -- of pics, I mean. We both need a download. Some downtime. No ret for then weary,though, as mom asks me to lean over and examine her eyes to pick out what colors are in them. She's so cute.
And crazy.
Tonight is a big night for us. We are going to La Scala, one of the most famous of all the opera houses in the world. I adore opera, whic is one of those things you either love or hate. It makes for a great way to weed out men. It's true. I can tell you that there have been several times in dating that I have mentioned this fetish and I have never heard from a suitor again. That's okay... we likely would not have made a good match. It's that same with my job at NPR. If it tell someone where I work and I get a blank stare... check, please.
Must be cultured. And love dogs.
It is opening night, which is a real event at La Scala. It means digging out the fancy clothes we've drug across Italy for weeks. A black velevet evening gown for me, and long black palazzo pants with a velvet top lined with fur for mom. To the nines... as only we can do. Of course my inner crow will be rocking things that sparkle -- antique costume jewelry I inherited from my great grandmother.
We will see a comedy by Richard Strauss -- Der Rosenkavalier -- adapted in part from a novel by Moliere. It was written in January of 1911 and the success of the premiere led to its being performed at La Scala just two months later. It is one of the composer's most famous works. Strauss loved the female voice, and Der Rosenkavalier features three main female roles, each a point in a complicated love triangle. One, Marschallin, a deepmand dramatic soprano, is an older woman with a young lover. The second, her lover, Octavian, is a male role sung by a woman... a mezzo-soprano. The last is the younger woman Octavian falls in love with -- Sophie, a high soprano. The finale of the opera is a trio and duet sung by all three.
I admit one thing to you here. The German language is not necessarily sexy. There is a harshness to it that you wouldn't think would lend itself well to operatic singing. There are some pieces I have on my iPod that I love, so I am very optimistic. This will be my first German opera. And thankfully... there's supposed to be English subtitles. Just in case... I'll say goodbye for now so I can go read the synopsis I've downloaded.
Not disappointing, that's for sure. I get Creme Cotta Forno, which is like shortbread baked with a custard on top. Its still warm from the oven and simply to die for. I pick up a few other amazing things, including marzipan. I may be the only person on earth who actually likes that stuff. Molded into fruit shapes and painted to resemble apples, peaches and cherries, it's like eating a tiny piece of art.
Back to the masks, of which I am now the proud owner of not one, but two. The first is a lovely white metal number in a style the shopkeep referred to as "tattoo", as when worn, it looks like a tattoo around the eyes. The second is a bit more fanciful, with pink feathers and gold glitter. It is mounted to a stick and makes me think I need to rent Amadeus soon. I remember seeing these for the first time as a kid in that movie and being smitten. As if seeing Don Giovanni the other night hadn't already put that idea in my brain. That work was written by Mozart, whose life the film is about. I'm also feeling a Halloween masquerade party may be in order -- not that I need an excuse to wear this. I may just wear it to work. Or shopping, or just to clean the house. When you see people walking around your town in a mask, you'll know who started the trend.
I don't suggest wearing them to the bank, though. Just to be safe.
As is our typical form, we are late getting back to the apartment to collect our things. The funny thing is, just as we are leaving, I discover the trick to getting around Venice -- don't give a
Look, I'm serious. The other night I was ready to curl up in the fetal position in the middle of the street. I was literally at my wits end. The street names on the map and on the streets don't correspond, and there are sometimes two or three names on one sign (I realize later the first is the one you are on, the second typically the next street and the third can be either the name of the bridge or the canal.) And get is... I wish we had a freaking flashlight. Please don't tell mom I said that. I would hate to admit she was right about that. She was a trooper, though, to deal with me and my craptastic mood. I finally threw my hands in the air, put the map away... and we walked straight there.
Son-of-a-biscotti.
It works just as well the next couple times we try it, so here's my advice for Venice: don't waste money on a map. Spend it on wine and pastry and get lost. It's worth it, I promise. Or here's am idea... get some red twine and tie it to the door of your hotel, then you an just follow it back. No... it won't work. I thought of the Hansel & Gretel bread crumb thing and the damn pigeons will eat your trail. I've had more close encounters of the bird kind than I care to mention in Venice (that's mom's line, I must admit...)
After our 60 private taxi ride, we decided to skip the gondola at 80 euros. Mom says it's too expensive and I'm game for saving it until next time I come with the man I love. Speaking of love, there's just one thing I'm bringing when I return... bug spray. The Venetian mosquitoes heart me to welts. I look like a huge game of connect-the-dots. I think they may be working on Van Gogh's "Starry, Starry Night." They're really quite talented.
We are on our last train, heading for Milan now. In two more days, it will be a plane home. I've had so much fun, but I'm ready to go. My brain is full of all the beautiful things I've seen in a month and so is my iPad -- of pics, I mean. We both need a download. Some downtime. No ret for then weary,though, as mom asks me to lean over and examine her eyes to pick out what colors are in them. She's so cute.
And crazy.
Tonight is a big night for us. We are going to La Scala, one of the most famous of all the opera houses in the world. I adore opera, whic is one of those things you either love or hate. It makes for a great way to weed out men. It's true. I can tell you that there have been several times in dating that I have mentioned this fetish and I have never heard from a suitor again. That's okay... we likely would not have made a good match. It's that same with my job at NPR. If it tell someone where I work and I get a blank stare... check, please.
Must be cultured. And love dogs.
It is opening night, which is a real event at La Scala. It means digging out the fancy clothes we've drug across Italy for weeks. A black velevet evening gown for me, and long black palazzo pants with a velvet top lined with fur for mom. To the nines... as only we can do. Of course my inner crow will be rocking things that sparkle -- antique costume jewelry I inherited from my great grandmother.
We will see a comedy by Richard Strauss -- Der Rosenkavalier -- adapted in part from a novel by Moliere. It was written in January of 1911 and the success of the premiere led to its being performed at La Scala just two months later. It is one of the composer's most famous works. Strauss loved the female voice, and Der Rosenkavalier features three main female roles, each a point in a complicated love triangle. One, Marschallin, a deepmand dramatic soprano, is an older woman with a young lover. The second, her lover, Octavian, is a male role sung by a woman... a mezzo-soprano. The last is the younger woman Octavian falls in love with -- Sophie, a high soprano. The finale of the opera is a trio and duet sung by all three.
I admit one thing to you here. The German language is not necessarily sexy. There is a harshness to it that you wouldn't think would lend itself well to operatic singing. There are some pieces I have on my iPod that I love, so I am very optimistic. This will be my first German opera. And thankfully... there's supposed to be English subtitles. Just in case... I'll say goodbye for now so I can go read the synopsis I've downloaded.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)