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?

On the road... Again

Mom is sick now, too. Ugh. Aren't we a pair?

We enjoyed some old French cafe music and a little breakfast with the doors open to the patio. It is another sunny day here. I can't actually believe we have had only one day of rain -- knock on wood. It did get very cold once we got to the higher elevation, from about 95 to 65. We need to layer. If yesterday's market was any indication, the Italians are masters at layering. All of the displays looked incredibly stylish, with tanks and frilly sweaters cinched with fancy belts, the look completed with a scarf and chic bag. 

Mmmmm... being a girl is good.

Being a bee is not. I kind of feel bad for these guys. They won't survive in here and the place will be locked up for several days. Our hostess called yesterday to say that one of her next guests has been hospitalized and they are heading home. THAT would suck. So, the bees need to get themselves back outside. I opened the window and a few of them have flown the coop, but these other guys aren't too bright.

It's to the wine store this morning to pick up a few more bottles and ship our growing liquified grape addiction back home. Did I mention how unbelievably sweet this store is? With the card I mentioned the other day, you walk around this cavernous winos wet dream where stations dedicated to all kinds of wine can be found. There's Brunello, Chianti, and Supertuscan, to name a few. The Supertuscan is my fave. It's the regions only variety where all manner of production is not tightly controlled, giving the winemaker a chance to shine by creating something special. In my opinion, it's the bling of Tuscan wine -- and you know how I feel about bling.

At each station. There are about 20 bottles hooked up to an aeration system. You pop your card in, the buttons light up above each bottle. You make your selection, the card is debited, and the wine dispensed. 

Speaking of dispensers... twice now I've seen condom dispensers on the street. I've also noticed that rather than being hidden in the back of the farmacia, a huge assortment of condoms and lubes are prominently displayed. Either Italians are not as repressed as Americans about sex, or they are getting a LOT of it and this stuff needs to be easy to grab and go. 

We pack up the car and punch in our next destination... Levanto. But should there be a few wineries and olive oil places along the way, we've got nowhere to be at any particular time.

Vacations are a good thing.

If at first you don't succeed -- buy, buy again...

What a great day today! 

Wow. I really hope that statement didn't make you fall off your chair. We are in Italy, after all, and really -- how can you help but have great days in the Land of Oz? But don't worry, there's always so e sort of craziness included in our daily adventures. Today is no exception.

We followed the incredibly curvaceous road into Siena with an idea of where we wanted to go, but no real clue as to how to get there. The market, we were told, is near the bus terminal. I decided to follow the numerous signs toward the center of town and the bus we are close behind. Voila -- we find the market AND parking right across the  street. As mom is complimenting me on my amazing parking karma, I get a weird feeling that this was all too easy. I ask a carabinieri (that's pig -- oh, I mean police!-- in Italian), who tell me parking is for residents. We hop back in and head toward the direction he points, which consequently is about an hour walking distance straight uphill toward the nearest public parking.

Puh-lease. We circle back in the Panda and find another great spot a few hundred meters from the market entrance. We will take our chances. 

The  market is awesome. There are food stands when you first start in, with fresh vegetables, meats and cheeses, fish, and fried foods of all kinds. We pass through and on to the clothing stands, where socks, underwear, affordable and designer Italian fashions are heaping on racks and tables everywhere. Mom picks up a few scarves, including a really gorgeous designer one. I find an adorable and very cheap dress, so I do the only natural thing and buy it in two colors. I also discover a stunning and very expensive designer coat. Actually, for a good fall coat, I would probably spend $150 at home. This less than that... and marked down from 650 euros. Yes, I said 650. Those Milan designers, what can I say? So, when everyone gushes about how fabulous this jacket is back home, would it be misleading to say -- very nonchalantly, of course -- "Oh, it's from Milan"?

I just like the sound of that. 
 
We spend a good part of the afternoon wandering from stall to stall before looking at our non-existent watches and realizing it's time to head back. Getting out of the shopping maze is a bit challenging, but we manage and even stop to pick up some fried vegetables, polenta and calamari on the way to the car. 

The car with the big fat ticket on it. 

Not cheap, and definitely not clear how we are actually supposed to go about paying it. I tell mom we will deal with it after we return the car and can ask Hertz. Frankly, I'm a little worried about speeding tickets, too. Though I have been extremely careful, there are cameras everywhere (I will NEVER complain about DC again.) The GPS keeps telling us the speed limit, but it doesn't always seem to correspond with the posted speed. Or common sense, for that matter. If I took some of these curves at 90 kilometers per hour, we'd be off the road and sailing into never never land.

Speaking of the GPS... mom and I have been giggling our socks off the last few days. The voice is male and has a sort of Aussie accent. He definitely doesn't speak Italian very well and can't pronounce the street names to save his own electronic life. That, and the street names are like six words long. He starts out okay, then by the time he gets to the second word, he's just vomiting letters. It is really something to hear.

"In 200 meters, turn left on Via Contraaaaallllleeeeeeiaaaa Le Contraaaaallliiiaadddeentnneeeee Piaaaaannneee....."

Our next stop is San Gimignano. Hoping to make up for a bit of the fried foods and the copious amount of chocolate we bought in bulk at the market as "gifts", we stop at a darling little agriturismo on the way called Taverna di Bibbiano. We order a light lunch -- mom gets risotto with truffle (unbelievable) and I get a salad with pecorino cheese, pear and truffle. There are actually truffles cut up on top of the salad. 

Look, you are going to have to drag me kicking and screaming away from this place if these people keep feeding me truffles. I don't give a damn about the gelato, but I am freaking addicted to these damn truffles. They put them in honey. On salad. In sauce. Pizza. They even make chocolate sauce out of them. 

Kicking. And screaming.

San Gimignano, whose towers we could see in the distance from the terrace where we enjoyed lunch, is quite like Montepulciano. It's a quaint, walled city with all manner of shops lining the street. I think it may be a tad bit more expensive, but there are lovely finds to be had here, too. I also try and convince mom to go to the Torture and Death Penalty Museums with me, but she won't have any of it. They have over 100 instruments of execution, including the hanging cage, which can be seen in front -- free of charge. A little macabre, but we are talking Spanish Inquisition here. How cool is that? I will add this to my growing list for "next time" I'm in Italy.

I won't spend too much time, but I have to award the patron saint of today award. It goes to Antonio from Le Torri, a leather goods shop in town. My eye was drawn to the Tiffany blue snaps on these purses. Audrey Hepburn had the right idea with a steaming cup of something, a croissant... and a window into heaven. I love Tiffany. Now, the crow in me is a bit won over by the sparkle at Swarovski (thanks to you, lady D), but overall -- a bauble is a bauble, and I love being a girl in bling. And bling is what these purses are, and as Antonio explains, so much more. The snaps actually convert the purse from a satchel, to more of a triangle shape, then to a boxier version. There are short handles attached, and it comes with both a long and short shoulder strap. It's like six purses in one. 

Love.

Here is my only issue. I want three, but I settle for a mustard yellow colored one and a long conversation with Antonio about how to get more. That leads to a conversation about how to help him sell the bags in the United States. Purse party, anyone? Seriously... this bag is amazing. 

And it goes with my new jacket. 

This isn't why Antonio gets the coveted honor of the day. Antonio gives me money. Let me explain. Apparently, here is a duty free thing in Italy. Prices for goods include a VAT tax. If you spend more than 150 euros on and good (not valid for services), you get a special receipt. When you leave Italy, you take this to an office at the Airport and they give you money back on your purchases. I've been in Italy for a little more than two weeks now, and though I have not made many purchases of this dollar amount, I am very upset to have this be the first time a merchant has bothered to explain this. Ugh. 

It's a long drive back home in the dark with the twisty roads and hazards like a few fox (alive) and a wild boar (not so much)... yet, thankfully, we arrive in one piece. I am making some chicken with red pepper, sautéed bacon from the butcher and tomato sauce for dinner when I notice two bees on the window. I decide to leave them be. They are kind of nestled in together and I think maybe they are mating. I keep looking over my shoulder while I'm cooking to make sure they aren't coming for me -- mind you, I'm a foot away in this tiny kitchen -- and when I look again, there are not two, but ten. 

Did I mention I don't like bugs, much less ones that fly and can sting you?

That said, I'm a bit fascinated. They are kind of swarming together. I'm hoping they are simply cold or lonely and not planning some sort of sick midnight attack while we are sleeping. I've got a nervous eye on them as I wash the dishes and tidy up, but they don't seem to mind me at all. 

The feeling is definitely not mutual, you little bastards. So, just to be safe, as I flick off the light... I close the kitchen door behind me. 

I fully expect they will have turned the kitchen into a massive hive by morning.

At least I'll have honey for my tea, right?

I only cry when it Hertz...

What would a day in Italy be for us without fiasco upon fiasco? Thankfully, I'm still smiling. In fact, I'm pretty damn happy. The town we are staying in -- Montepulciano -- is divine. High in the hills and much, much cooler than Rome. Sadly, the hill also poses a bit of a problem. All the great shops and trattorias are at the bottom and mom is a teeny bit nervous as we make our descent for dinner.

I digress. I should start at the beginning.

I returned from my fabulous foray to Trevi Foutain and the Pantheon (which I realize I have been referring to as the Parthenon for several days) and mom is a bit beside herself. I've been gone for two hours and she was sure I'd been raped and killed. I remind her I am an adult and perfectly capable of taking care of myself. She says she was about to call the police. I tell her she needs to stop reading the murder mystery she's got her nose buried in.

We grab the bags and get in the cab that Lady Ana calls for us. Meter has been running for a while and is already at 6 euro when we get in after hugs, kisses and a gift of a pair of mom's fabulous earrings to our hostess. We've stayed a bit later than planned to mail off the extra stuff we accumulated without our luggage. Okay, fine... we did a little shopping, too. But when we arrive at  Mailboxes, Etc., we discover they are closed. That's the same result we had last night after I dragged the bag uphill for twenty minutes. We get in another cab to head to Termini Station. 

That's when mom remembers that we were supposed to leave town early for a reason.

We were supposed to pick the car up in Chuisi by 12:30 PM when the Hertz location closes -- for the weekend. It's 10:00 AM and thing aren't looking good for the home team. I have her get in line for train tickets while I get on the phone to Hertz. No cars in Florence, and no other options near our destination. Awesome. Well, if all roads lead from Rome... one has to take us to Montepulciano. 

Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner, and unfortunately, it won't be mom, who will probably have a heart attack when she finds out I'm driving us out of Rome. At least it's not on a Vespa! We jump in our third cab of the hour with a driver who is an absolute doll. He regales us with stories about a recent trip he took to America with his family. It was a shame to get to our destination so soon, as we were laughing and having a lovely time.

Which ended promptly when we arrived at Hertz.

The woman behind the counter clearly did not want to help us. She was miffed that mom had paid with her card and I would be driving. Though we had cleared this in the US when we made the booking, it was NOT ok now. We had also rented a GPS, and when I asked if she would show us how to operate it, she glared at me and said she already programmed  it in English. Then she had mom sign the damage waiver before we looked at the car. Record scratch, not okay with me, so I asked her to stop. She looked at me and said something about how we were already breaking the rules and they don't have enough cars to go around. Ok, ok... I'll just go take a look. There was, of course, more damage -- including a major dent under the passenger door. Not a ding, a dent. I walked back into the store and asked her to change the other copy she had ripped off and stapled to our re opt for their records. She refused and told me she wasn't renting me the car. I kind of ran out the door with the keys, snapped a few pics, threw the luggage and mom in and pressed go.

Driving in Rome? That was nothing compared to all the other stuff we've experienced. 

And the GPS was the best money spent on is trip. Until it died about 45  minutes away from our destination. We call Hertz emergency roadside assistance, which is busy. They say they will call us back. Emergency. Roadside. Assistance. We call the Hertz we picked the car up from, but since we don't understand Italian, we keep getting disconnected at the prompts. About eight times. We call the Hertz at the airport. Nothing. We finally get a call back from roadside assistance, who tell us the problem is the GPS, not the car. I discover later that isn't accurate, but it doesn't matter much. We will stop in Siena on Monday and get this sorted out before we head to the next town. We are hoping to ship stuff from there, too. 

 I won't be holding my breath on either account.

It isn't clear where we are supposed to go when we arrive in Montepulciano, but thanks to the directions we write down before the machine calls it quits and wonderfully marked roads, we DO actually arrive. Our new hostess is kind enough to meet us at the entrance to town and lead us through the winding back streets we never would have found on our own. There were flowers and a small birthday cake waiting for me when we arrived. I parked mom in the house with the luggage and went with Cinzia and her sister to park the car outside the city wall. 

Mom and I set out when I return. Literally right next door is a very old winery, which we wander into, marveling at casks reaching far above our heads. The cellar is brick, with cobwebs hanging from the black candelabras on the ceiling and walls. There are barrels upon barrels, and the musty scent in the air is a mixture of dampness and wood. It is magnificent, and we are sad to be kicked out for a large tasting that they have scheduled, though happy to be invited back later. We stroll down the road and come upon a board with all kinds of posters advertising events. One, a flute concert, is happening tonight. Now, actually. As in it started about 15 minutes before we saw the sign. We move as quickly as we can straight up to the Piazza Ricci to an international music school. I'm following the sound of the music, and we make it in time to hear about six different pieces.

I learn another thing today. I love music. That I knew. I'm a big fan of violin, adore cello, can appreciate the piano, a saxophone or trumpet. I do not like the flute. Please forgive me if you are a flute player, but who the hell picks that as the instrument they want to build a career out of? In a symphony, okay. But solo? Blech...

We haven't eaten much today... a roll for breakfast, a bit of cheese and buffalo salami in the car, and a small snack -- mozzarella and prosciutto on crostini -- after the concert at a small bar overlooking the countryside. We have glasses of white wine and a birthday toast. Then we head to the main square and take some pics before the long descent to poke in shops and eventually grab an actual meal.

So we've come full circle. Mom's blogging tomorrow since I'm coming down with something. Vacation colds have summer colds bat, hands down. I think we plan to take it easy tomorrow. Sleep in. 

If you read my post from this morning, you already know that sounds perfect to me.

The Road To Amalfi... Paved With Good Intentions?

The bus ride from Massa Lubrense to Positano is stunning. The road along the Amalfi Coast is as narrow as they say, and the busses just barely fit past one another as scooters dart in and out of traffic. Mom had her eyes closed some of the time, but says she didn't think about it that much. For me, it wasn't the white knuckle experience it was made out to be, but was still amazing. I like white knuckles.

Positano. We got off the SITA bus at the top of the city and started making our way toward the beach at the center. Loved this little postcard of a town, with it's steep switchbacks lined in all manner of boutique. I finally bought some limoncello, which I tuck deep into my backpack to pretend I don't have to carry it around the rest of today.

Yeah... I got the large.

We stop soon after arriving at Cafe Positano for breakfast. We began speaking Italian to our waiter, who in English, informs us it would be much easier to communicate in our own language. He's from Hungary, working here for a few months. We both had omelets. Mine was not cooked through, and though I have a tiny problem with runny eggs (consistency violation), but it was still very good. I've missed eggs.

After poking in and out of stores, where I pick up a skirt and mom and I both get little bathing suit cover ups that will double as dresses, we head down to the public beach. Just before the water, there are small sooth black stones leading to the black sand. I can't help picking a few up, as I always do, when I am somewhere special. I have an extensive shell and stone collection back home. Nor can I resist taking my shoes off and sticking my toes in the water, which is clear and cool. My feet and legs are sticky from the salt when I climb back onto the dock. Mom has waited up on the promenade, and when I join her, we are looking for a place to wash them off before I put my shoes back on. I hate to anger the shoe gods less they send their minions to chew my feet apart again... since they actually feel better today.

I spot a drinking fountain overshooting it's mark with some little kids playing in it. I slosh around in the puddle they have created, then indicate I want more. The little boy manning the controls smiles wide and puts the water on full force, as it arcs well past the fountain and on to my legs. They are all giggling watching me wash up. Mom hands me a tissue to dry off, but not before shooting me an, "I told you these would come in handy" look.

Whatever. They are not for my bottom, but the bottom of my FEET.

We purchase high speed boat tickets for Amalfi, despite having the bus passes. A different vantage point wold be nice, and we are not disappointed... it is a lovely ride watching the houses stacked on top of one another all along the coast. We positioned ourselves right in the front and the breeze feels good. It's been hot, which is more tolerable today in a skirt than it's been with Earl. The ride isn't long, and soon, were disembarking.

Shoot me for saying it, but I'm not impressed. Amalfi is so touristy, and most of the stores just seem to have junk. We end up getting gelato -- twice -- but I'll be saving all my experiences with Italy's favorite snack food for my gelato review at the end of our stay! I end up buying a piece of pottery, which this region is famous for. It isn't the standard issue intricate work that you typically see. It's kind of like the outlet version of Coach. Still Coach... still Campania pottery... but not REALLY as bragable. Why not? You may LIKE your outlet bargain better, but apples to apples, some would argue the "real" Coach is $499 and the one you got is $199. Why does that matter? My stance is that it doesn't. If I like my inferior, atypical pottery better than what they are selling at twice the price, who cares? I paid 25 euros compared to 150 for the one the sales lady insisted was more traditional but I didn't like as much. 

Anyway. I don't really have much else to say about this famed town, so let's move on, shall we?

Ravello. Good to the tenth magnitude. Loved it, hated to leave. Had so much fun, which is clearly demonstrated by how many euros I leave behind. The first place we stop is another pottery store, Villa San Cosma. The people are uber friendly and speak good English. We get into a conversation about the threats of a terrorist attack on the anniversary of 9-11. I talked to a friend from DC who says they're on high alert there and in New York. The guy in the store flashed me some sort of security card and tells me not to worry... there is no real threat. I'm confused, given that he also says he runs a limo service, but thank him for reassuring me those i care about are safe. I literally knock on wood. That gets them rolling. One of the guys knocks on his head and says, "capa tosta," which means "head of wood."

You might think that's what I have when you read this next part given my Amalfi testimonial a minute ago.

I fall in love with another "atypical" piece of pottery -- though slightly more traditional  than the piece I bought in Amalfi. This, however, is just as  expensive as the regular stuff. So I buy several pieces. I mean, the lady makes perfect sense in telling me she will ship it all home, including the Amalfi plate and several that mom buys for 30 euro. That's actually a great deal, comparatively speaking.

I'm rationalizing.

I do believe in one thing while traveling -- buy art, and buy stuff you will use. This is both.

Sorry. Rationalizing again.

Look. It's my freaking birthday. I'm in Italy. I wanted the damn bowls and I'm not going to feel bad about it. 

What I AM going to do is have a drink. This is where things get really interesting, and Amy does something very out of character. No, not the drinking part. Any of you who know me well enough have seen the damage my liver can withstand. And has, time and time again. It's the BUYING part I'm referencing. I am a wine consumer, not necessarily a connoisseur. 

As we wandered through Ravello taking in the sights, the shop keeper of a wine store invites us in for a tasting. Yes, please. But this isn't a tasting. This is a gulping... and this guy isn't pouring crap. The first we try is a Terredora 2003, which has the most amazing tobacco aroma I've ever smelled. Then it's a Brunello di Montalcino 2004. Both are reserves from this region. I like neither, but describe what I do enjoy about each. He pulls out a  wine that makes me happy. It's a 2007 Pomorosso. It does a little dance in my mouth, and baby, this wine's got moves like Jagger. Now this guy has my number, and it's a 1999 Barbaresco Prunotto Bric Turot.  Now... this is a wine I could grow old with. A wine to keep me warm at night. I won't even tell you how much my purchase is, but am sure he overcharges me by a lot. I see a very special occasion in my future and possibly a call to my credit card company. 

Rationalizing.

The wine store owner, Branko, is from Croatia. The place is called Wine & Drugs. I can'texplain why, and he can't seem to, either. I ask him about his baseball hat, which is clearly American, with the USS Albany embroidered in gold across the top. He points to a collection of baseball caps and explains that customers send him one from where they live when they're case is delivered. I spot a University of Michigan cap and almost have a heart attack. I make him promise when I send him a cap from Michigan State University, despite not buying a case myself, that he will put it in front if this abomination. Go Spartans!

We have a wonderful dinner at this place in Ravello called Figli di Papa. Mom orders gnocchi, while I try the veal and mushrooms. The rice balls are delicious. I realize now that I should have written down what they are called, since "rice balls" sounds so classy, but it is what it is. These mozzarella things that come on the same plate are to die for. 

Despite perfect planning, an early arrival and a confirmation with the bus driver, we still end up going all the way to Sorrento instead of arriving at the Bivio Titigliano stop as we requested. If you don't understand the question, please, for the love of all that is holy, don't give an answer. Annoying, but not a buzz kill. 

There are women on the field tonight playing il calcio... or futball... or soccer. Equal opportunity sport -- like.

Still no bags when we get back. Mom and I are hedging our bets the freaking airline will wait until we arrive in Rome to deliver them. Easier for them, you know? Ah, well. Another day... a few more necessary items. Including that bathing suit for Capri. That's where we're headed tomorrow. AND Paestum. 

Ambitious, but doable.