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.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Wine, my old friend... we drink again...
We wake up a bit earlier today to catch a water taxi to Murano. The gal trying to sell me a silk bra and panty set for a king's random yesterday said it's best to go in the morning. When we arrive at 9:00 AM, there are many stores not even open yet. That doesn't mean there isn't plenty to keep us occupied. or pulling our our wallets.
Mom's a sucker for glass! She's made beads and i do mosaic and some fusing. I've also been called a crow more times than I can count. I like things that sparkle, and there is no shortage of that in Murano.
At one place we stop, there is a darling little dog. I stoop down to pet her and in just a few minutes, she's licking my face with approval. The owner seems pleased, and when we ask about the adjoining factory and seeing the glass made, he walks us back for private viewing. It is so very cool. They are making a chandelier. There is a master actually working the glass, and several assistants doing various jobs. One makes the rods, taking a ball of molten glass and twisting and pulling it i to an unbelievably uniform shape. This is then given to the master, who snips off one end in the appropriate length. Another assistant brings over a gob of hot glass after rolling it in frit and applying golf foil. He attaches it to one side of the rod, which the master presses flat and then literally takes a special pair of scissors to cut ridges as the glass begins to take on the form of a leaf. The same is done for the other side, and the master takes the glass to the oven, glowing bright orange, and gives it a spin or two until it is the perfectly malleable. He shapes it as another assistant comes over with a tray, which he breaks it off on, and it is whisked away to be annealed.. Which means cooled very slowly in an oven to avoid fracturing the glass. Wow. It's really all I can say.
We wander from store to store, ogling mostly. I'm not in the mood for another sit down lunch for and arm and a leg, so we pop into a little bar and do like the Italians... grab a bite and lean. It's the cheapest meal, aside from breakfasts, that we've had in Italy. For under 10 euro, we have 2 "cicchetti" (a little cold fried snack of mozzarella and ham that reminded me of a Monte Cristo, and 2 "tramezzini" (these little wonderbread sandwiches -- mom's with crab, mine with proscuitto) and two waters. It was actually one of the better meals we've had. Or I was really hungry.
Amazing how all that walking (and shopping) can make you famished.
We head back to the apartment around 4:30 PM and sit down to admire our treasures, which in mom's case means trying to remember what she bought and trying to find things she can't seem to place, and for me, repacking her stuff so it will fit in our ever-expanding luggage. Then we sit down for a snack, sadly the last of the truffle cheese and the proscuitto we got in Greve de Chianti, and a glass of dessert wine. I have a little champagne, too, to dull the pain for what soon will amount to us being lost.
Again.
We decide to take the water bus to San Marco, which is about a half hour voyage, but saves us the hour of being lost. We wander our way toward the Grand Canal and hop on another bus toward the Rialto. Then it's in and out of a few shops before finding a place for dinner. There we discover that you should also understand the conversion factors for liquids.
A liter of wine is entirely too much.
It will, however, make getting home fun. Hopefully, we will be typing again from Milan tomorrow. If not, perhaps you can call the American Embassy for us?
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Mom, Part Three: If you tell me you don't like opera, you've never been...
Amazing! We stepped off the train Wednesday night and onto the canal of Venice, Italy, that is water taxis, gondolas and charisma all it's own. Nothing will ever be quite like my first glimpse of the Grand Canal, okay except for "the David," after all, I am a push over for a great looking butt! Next big miracle -- that's right, two in a row... the girls are on a roll -- we buy the primo 36 hr vaporetto pass and it's right there at the dock waiting for us to board. We got to our stop in 30 minutes and walked straight to our apartment! Our host representative, a sweet nonna (that's grandmother in case you haven't taken the Rosetta Stone Italian course yet... I don't remember much of what I learned so grant me the indulgence to use it here please, lest it be wasted info), gives us cheek kisses all round and shows us upstairs to our room. She proceeds to give us all the details about our stay, including directions around town IN ITALIAN... even though we have told her several times in English and Italian that we don't understand what she is saying. She persists, and in spite of trying to use our phrase book, we are unable to get but just a few words. We keep saying ok and nodding and she leaves us to figure things out, with a warning (I think) that she is back on duty Friday!
A quick shower -- in a shower the size of half a phone booth -- and we are ready for bed.
In the morning, the second shower in less than 8 hrs is the best ever. God love me, there is a great hairdryer here, so my hair won't look like I was caught in an electric fan all day. I swear, when my hair was dry and brushed I heard angels singing! Mind you it isn't the crack of dawn but it is about 10 AM when we are finally out the door and off on our adventure to find Piazza San Marco. Many winding streets and photo ops later we arrive at the Doges Palace and the heart of the Piazza. Walking on the uneven stone streets is almost as difficult as navigating through the throngs of tour groups and tourists meandering around. We do some window shopping and then find a lovely "Tea Room" where the thought of enjoying the scenery while sipping tea sounds great! The waiter brings us a menu and carefully points out that the beautiful music we hear on the veranda automatically adds 6 Euros to our bill. Each. Since the band takes a short break, we make our getaway too.
On the back streets behind the Piazza we stop at a couple shops with glass, then purses and finally... a lingerie shop, complete with crops, diamond studded handcuffs, and underwear that is tiny, tiny, tiny... and costs about 150 euros. The Bras are almost 250!!! They should throw in a complimentary pair of handcuffs for at price. What we DO come out of this fine establishment with is a recommendation for lunch. We promise to think about the lingerie and just about start a stampede to get out the door to lunch.
I did say lunch right? Probably our most expensive lunch yet. Pappardelle with wild mushrooms for Amy, and if you know me, you won't be surprised to find that I ordered the gnocchi in red meat sauce. I don't care what kind of sauce they put on a gnocchi, I am determined to have it as many ways as I can find it and only have 5 days left to try them all! We each have a glass of house wine -- really, it's cheaper than water... honest! -- of course, we have the water too, but I' m just saying... Add one after lunch Cappuccino and our grand total is 61 euros! Mamma Mia!!!
Strolling through the streets in a pasta induced stupor, we purchase a couple little fifty things and then suddenly we are in front of the Venice Opera house. Oh my. You know this is tugging right into the depths of our souls... wallets right? We did it! Bought front row box tickets center in the second tier to see Mozart's Don Giovanni. He's my favorite composer, so I was all in without hesitation. Ah, but what time does the Opera start you might ask? Seven o'clock this evening would be the answer! What is the current time? It's 4:30 pm! Ok, then let's do some fancy figuring... two women, one almost dressed properly for the opera, one probably not, currently located God only knows how far from where their clothes are, with absolutley no idea of how long it will take to get back, get changed and return to this place where they have just spent a days wages to see some fancy singing!
I'm telling you I felt like I was on the "Great Race" show! Did we start our way back right away? Oh No! We went back to the Tea Room first and really had tea this time along with a fancy dessert. Now it's 5:40 PM and the race is on! We make a mad dash to the vaporetto and head to the Rialto Bridge, then sprint through some streets and back to another vaporetto that takes us closer to the apartment. Just so you get the total picture, this is high speed foot travel, and you must know that colors may run, silk stockings will run -- but KAREN doesn't run!!!! Yet here I am, running as if my life depended on it. The 100 euro dash is how I think of it!
We make it back to the apartment on the fly while Amy is having someone call a private water taxi to take us back toward the theater. In 20 minutes total, we are back at the dock. I can't even begin to tell you how fast this happened, how far we had to go etcetera, but it took me a good 15 min to catch my breath after we were seated on the boat. The cabbie (or is he a captain?) of this water vessel is very kind, right on time, but doesn't speak much English. He is able to understand that we are trying to get to the theater. Maybe our dresses helped the translation along, but if he would have looked at me carefully he could have just as easily thought we were headed to the emergency room. I had just caught my breath from our exhausting sprint when the captain dropped us close to our destination and told us how much the ride cost! Hope you are sitting down for this... 60 euros. Seems that when you call the private cab and tell him to meet you somewhere in 20 minutes, the meter STARTS at that moment and stops when he let's you out! Note to self -- better time management is necessary! It is all worth it though as we make it to our seats with 15 minutes to spare.
Don Giovanni... a real live opera in the "land of Opera" -- it's a bit like seeing the wizard of Oz in the Emerald City. Be still my heart! Watching the maestro lead the orchestra in the opening number is great fun, especially to a music novice like myself. I am mesmerized by all the gestures and how the different musical sections just know what they mean and turn that into the most wonderful sound! Mozart, how did he ever hear all of this in his head while writing it down? How did he know it would sound so fantastic? When the curtain goes up, the actors are all just human but their voices are other worldly. The stage lights are placed so that their shadows are bigger than life on the scenery wall behind them, giving this entire experience a significant grandeur! The story and the subtitles are Italian, which makes it a bit more difficult to follow along. Basically, Don Giovanni is a cad and bounder who gets his just desserts in the end.
Now with the opera over, all that's left is to find our way home. It's late. And the taxis aren't running. A daunting task in the daylight, we now are challenged by darkness, a map that doesn't list many of the streets we find ourselves on, and shoes that are meant for looking stylish at the opera not running around the streets of Venice. An hour later, we finally round the corner to the apartment.
There's no place like home, but shouldn't there be a nice big hunk of cheese on the porch?
A quick shower -- in a shower the size of half a phone booth -- and we are ready for bed.
In the morning, the second shower in less than 8 hrs is the best ever. God love me, there is a great hairdryer here, so my hair won't look like I was caught in an electric fan all day. I swear, when my hair was dry and brushed I heard angels singing! Mind you it isn't the crack of dawn but it is about 10 AM when we are finally out the door and off on our adventure to find Piazza San Marco. Many winding streets and photo ops later we arrive at the Doges Palace and the heart of the Piazza. Walking on the uneven stone streets is almost as difficult as navigating through the throngs of tour groups and tourists meandering around. We do some window shopping and then find a lovely "Tea Room" where the thought of enjoying the scenery while sipping tea sounds great! The waiter brings us a menu and carefully points out that the beautiful music we hear on the veranda automatically adds 6 Euros to our bill. Each. Since the band takes a short break, we make our getaway too.
On the back streets behind the Piazza we stop at a couple shops with glass, then purses and finally... a lingerie shop, complete with crops, diamond studded handcuffs, and underwear that is tiny, tiny, tiny... and costs about 150 euros. The Bras are almost 250!!! They should throw in a complimentary pair of handcuffs for at price. What we DO come out of this fine establishment with is a recommendation for lunch. We promise to think about the lingerie and just about start a stampede to get out the door to lunch.
I did say lunch right? Probably our most expensive lunch yet. Pappardelle with wild mushrooms for Amy, and if you know me, you won't be surprised to find that I ordered the gnocchi in red meat sauce. I don't care what kind of sauce they put on a gnocchi, I am determined to have it as many ways as I can find it and only have 5 days left to try them all! We each have a glass of house wine -- really, it's cheaper than water... honest! -- of course, we have the water too, but I' m just saying... Add one after lunch Cappuccino and our grand total is 61 euros! Mamma Mia!!!
Strolling through the streets in a pasta induced stupor, we purchase a couple little fifty things and then suddenly we are in front of the Venice Opera house. Oh my. You know this is tugging right into the depths of our souls... wallets right? We did it! Bought front row box tickets center in the second tier to see Mozart's Don Giovanni. He's my favorite composer, so I was all in without hesitation. Ah, but what time does the Opera start you might ask? Seven o'clock this evening would be the answer! What is the current time? It's 4:30 pm! Ok, then let's do some fancy figuring... two women, one almost dressed properly for the opera, one probably not, currently located God only knows how far from where their clothes are, with absolutley no idea of how long it will take to get back, get changed and return to this place where they have just spent a days wages to see some fancy singing!
I'm telling you I felt like I was on the "Great Race" show! Did we start our way back right away? Oh No! We went back to the Tea Room first and really had tea this time along with a fancy dessert. Now it's 5:40 PM and the race is on! We make a mad dash to the vaporetto and head to the Rialto Bridge, then sprint through some streets and back to another vaporetto that takes us closer to the apartment. Just so you get the total picture, this is high speed foot travel, and you must know that colors may run, silk stockings will run -- but KAREN doesn't run!!!! Yet here I am, running as if my life depended on it. The 100 euro dash is how I think of it!
We make it back to the apartment on the fly while Amy is having someone call a private water taxi to take us back toward the theater. In 20 minutes total, we are back at the dock. I can't even begin to tell you how fast this happened, how far we had to go etcetera, but it took me a good 15 min to catch my breath after we were seated on the boat. The cabbie (or is he a captain?) of this water vessel is very kind, right on time, but doesn't speak much English. He is able to understand that we are trying to get to the theater. Maybe our dresses helped the translation along, but if he would have looked at me carefully he could have just as easily thought we were headed to the emergency room. I had just caught my breath from our exhausting sprint when the captain dropped us close to our destination and told us how much the ride cost! Hope you are sitting down for this... 60 euros. Seems that when you call the private cab and tell him to meet you somewhere in 20 minutes, the meter STARTS at that moment and stops when he let's you out! Note to self -- better time management is necessary! It is all worth it though as we make it to our seats with 15 minutes to spare.
Don Giovanni... a real live opera in the "land of Opera" -- it's a bit like seeing the wizard of Oz in the Emerald City. Be still my heart! Watching the maestro lead the orchestra in the opening number is great fun, especially to a music novice like myself. I am mesmerized by all the gestures and how the different musical sections just know what they mean and turn that into the most wonderful sound! Mozart, how did he ever hear all of this in his head while writing it down? How did he know it would sound so fantastic? When the curtain goes up, the actors are all just human but their voices are other worldly. The stage lights are placed so that their shadows are bigger than life on the scenery wall behind them, giving this entire experience a significant grandeur! The story and the subtitles are Italian, which makes it a bit more difficult to follow along. Basically, Don Giovanni is a cad and bounder who gets his just desserts in the end.
Now with the opera over, all that's left is to find our way home. It's late. And the taxis aren't running. A daunting task in the daylight, we now are challenged by darkness, a map that doesn't list many of the streets we find ourselves on, and shoes that are meant for looking stylish at the opera not running around the streets of Venice. An hour later, we finally round the corner to the apartment.
There's no place like home, but shouldn't there be a nice big hunk of cheese on the porch?
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Molto Bene
Dear David,
I've been thinking about you for weeks, daydreaming about being in the same room as you. I just can't seem to get you off my mind. People told me over and over that you would be much bigger than I imagined, but I have to tell you, I wasn't prepared for today... to see you in all your glory.
With your muscles rippling in the sun, I traced the veins in your hands with my eyes, taking in every inch of you. Thick locks of hair, tousled, make me want to run my fingers through. A body so firm, I could bounce quarters off your abdominals. And what can I say about that butt? It is the most beautifully sculpted piece of "art" I have ever laid my eyes on.
I'm not disappointed. How could I be? You are perfection incarnate.
I love you.
Me
PS... It's a little disturbing to me that my mom is also in love with you. Perhaps excellent taste in men runs in the family.
I've been thinking about you for weeks, daydreaming about being in the same room as you. I just can't seem to get you off my mind. People told me over and over that you would be much bigger than I imagined, but I have to tell you, I wasn't prepared for today... to see you in all your glory.
With your muscles rippling in the sun, I traced the veins in your hands with my eyes, taking in every inch of you. Thick locks of hair, tousled, make me want to run my fingers through. A body so firm, I could bounce quarters off your abdominals. And what can I say about that butt? It is the most beautifully sculpted piece of "art" I have ever laid my eyes on.
I'm not disappointed. How could I be? You are perfection incarnate.
I love you.
Me
PS... It's a little disturbing to me that my mom is also in love with you. Perhaps excellent taste in men runs in the family.
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