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?

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? 
 

The Office -- Scuzi, I mean the Uffizi

We got up early to head to the Uffizi. I've downloaded Rick Steves walking tour of a the museum onto my iPad, so we will see how well that works out. Mom and I both brought our iPods, but they won't charge here for some reason. We have reservations at 8:15 AM, which I called Italy on Skype to make. What it translates into is paying extra to avoid standing in line. Money spent wisely, right? 

We still stand in line.

After picking up the tickets, we head into Palazzo Vecchio for a quick bite to eat. A croissant and coffee, sanding up at the bar. This is very Italian. I've been marveling this whole trip about how they pop into little patisseries to grab a cup of coffee on the go -- but they don't get it to go like we do at Starbucks. They saddle up to the counter and lean, downing tiny cups of pure caffeine in 2.5 seconds. Then they're off, as my best friend would say -- like a herd of turtles. Nobody moves fas around here. It's quite a contradiction. 

Back at the museum, we plug Rick in and climb to the top level of the museum. Poor mom... she has really grown to loathe stairs and I think this is the fourth floor. The art is amazing. The tour walks you from pre through post Renaissance, demonstrating with the works the difference in dimension that was achieved in that timespan. Michelangelo, da Vinci, Durer, Botticelli, Raphael, Titian... room upon room of stunning brush stroke and evolving realism by all the masters. I am so crushed to find the Tribuna, the octagonal room at the Uffizi that is like a work of art itself, being restored. That means we miss seeing the Venus 'de Medici. Not that I need a reason to come back... though this is as good as any.

Afterward, we pop into a few shops. Let me be more concise. Mom points to something in a window. I try and be patient. Following her in while bluntly explaining that I am done shopping and she has five minutes. It typically ends with me helping her pick a color. And getting cranky. I am in Florence. Florence. Cultural mecca of the world. Fine, maybe it is the shopping mecca, too, but the David is naked, right? Who needs clothes to look good?

My next stop is Santa Croce Church. The Piazza of the same name is teeming with stalls of vendors hawking their wares, but I am somehow able to get mom inside. This place is my undoing. Interned here are Michelangelo, Dante, Machiavelli and Galileo (though not all of him... the Science Museum has his finger, apparently)... so many great minds. I can't explain why, but being under the same roof as these men is very awe inspiring and a bit overwhelming. You a lifetime learning about these men, how they influenced and shaped the world, and here they are. I remember visiting Mahatma Gandhi's tomb in India, Paul Revere's in Boston, Benjamin Franklin's in Philly, Lincoln's memorial in DC -- all great men whose impact on history is tangible -- but the reaction was just different. Maybe it was easier to process one at a time. The awesomeness of all these men under one roof was really something. I wish I could do the experience justice. I think mom believes I've lost it. 

We take up our hostess Gaia's suggestion about a place for lunch between Piazza San Lorenzo and Piazza Mercato Centrale, called Tratorria Mario. We are again seated at a table for four with what appears to be a man and his daughter, or a man and his inappropriately aged girlfriend. He's Florentine, and very nice to help us navigate the menu. We order Ribollita, a traditional soup made of leftover vegetables and stale bread. It is remarkable.  Next, it's Farouz  uostrele or nostrele lardelleta al forgo, which is SOME BIRD with slices of crispy lard and olives. It is like crack, only slightly outdone by the Filetto Di Nizuto or Uzuto... The beef filet we also order. It's like filet mignon on yum steroids. My mouth is making promises my legs can't keep and my ass will pay for in size. I need to work out.

Sure, walking 10 hours a day is a decent workout. And carrying 500 pounds of freaking luggage also helps. I miss my routine a little. That's all I'm saying.

So let's have gelato, shall we? Mom is dying to go to Piazza San Marco, which is near a place she's earmarked as a must visit for gelato. I won't go into detail, but it is by far the worst gelato we've had. The piazza is also a bit of a disappointment... reminds me of Campo de Fiore in Rome. Not a lot there. Maybe wrong time of day, or as Mom admits, it could be the wrong city. We will try again in Venice. 

On the way back home, Mom spots a large leather duffel bag in a shop window. We end up going in and having a lovely conversation with the lady who owns the shop and stitches a lot of the wares there herself. It's nice to have a break from the guys on the street telling you how they have the best, most high quality leather. Special price for you, Madame. She explains how leather "works" in Florence, that anybody can stamp anything. They have stopped using the traditional "I Medici" stamp because so many fakes have this on it. When the price is low in the market for something stamped with that, but made in China, it becomes hard to compete. Her shop has its own stamp now. She also shows us how a bag changes over time. The ones on the shelf are stiff. I would never have bought one, but the one she shows us that she's been using for two months is more broken in, and the one that is six years old is gorgeous she debs her nail across the leather, which makes me gasp, then rubs it out with water. She says some use milk, or just oil from your hands, it was really cool. And the answer is yes. Neither of us leave without something. Or things.

We drop stuff off at the apartment and head back out toward Boboli Gardens, only to find the closed. Boo. A little further is Piazza Michelangelo. Mom is tired, and walking slowly as we follow the path of the Arno River. It's a complete role reversal as she asks me repeatedly, "Are we there yet?" 

No... and don't you make me pull this car over.

A car is what she wishes we had as we cross through the medieval city walls towed the hill where the bronze replica of the David lives with what is supposed to be the most amazing view of Florence. We get to the base of stairs that literally lead up s far as you can see. I take my comments about the Cinque Terre back... THIS is the stairway to heaven. I look back and mom is standing there, hands on her hips, looking like she wants to be sick. I walks back and tell her it's getting dark. I want to get a panoramic shot before it gets too dark. She's not happy. Not about me, mind you, about the stairs. I suggest a cab. She says she will just take her time as I start my ascent. 

When I get to the second set of stairs... the ones you can't even see from where we began, I figure mom is going to kill me either way -- whether she has to climb, or wait -- so I keep going. The view from the top is so spectacular. When I arrive, the sun has just set casting pink and purple hues I to the sky, staining the clouds in their glorious pastels. You can literally see everything from here: the outline of the ancient walls we've just passed through, the Ponte Vecchio and the Arno winding under and then through the city, the Duomo, rising spectacularly in the middle of it all. It is amazing. I snap a few pictures as quickly as I can, then run back to collect mom from the bottom of the hill. To my surprise, she's made it to the top. Tough girl. She can't breathe and she's hurt her knee, but where she is, she can't see what I've seen. I coax her over, and though still mad, tired and in a bit of pain, she softens. 

That amazing.

After a glass of wine bought from a street vendor and some lovely music, we hail a cab and head back to Piazza Santo Spirito. We have dinner at the same place we did last night. Mom orders the Riboletta, which is just as good as this afternoon and with lots of spinach, and I got the X-rated mac 'n cheese. Decidedly unoriginal. I don't care -- it was that damn good. 

 Gnocchi Part 2 is not disappointing.