For two people as tired and zoned out as Mary Jane and I are getting as we reach the end of three months' travels, it becomes increasingly challenging to get excited about new places and sights. We keep thinking about hot showers, kitchens that we can use as we please, days when we can get up and turn on the tv and do nothing.
Only a place like Rome, then, has the power to shake us from our weariness into wonder. I don't have the words right now to describe it well, so I'll just say one thing that has struck me before I speak more factually.
It's a place with the same mix of architectural beauty and modern sludge that other famous cities in Europe have, but there's more behind it than in other places. More behind the merely perceived beauty and ugliness - something which reveals itself only when sought. I haven't figured it all out yet, and to escape from the risk of rambling on without making much sense, I'll stop here, but I think what I mean has something to do with "let those who have eyes to see see, and those who have ears to hear hear..."
And on a more practical note: We were very lucky to have a tour by private car on our first day in the city, provided by some kind friends. We got an eight-hour, intense whirl through all the major sights - Trevi Fountain, Piazza Navona, Borghese Villa, Pantheon, Colosseum, and St. Peter's. At some point I pulled out my pocket notebook and started jotting down bits of info from our guide, Alfredo, who never stopped talking. He was fun; he kept complaining about how crazy the scooters are here: "You just have to not have normal brain to ride scooter in this city..." and taking us down Via del Corso, the fashion strip: "My wife is strictly forbidden to bring my credit card here..." It was great to be seated and taken around all day, and made us happy to be on our own the next day to explore what we'd seen. We tried to get to the Colosseum three times last week before we made it during the open hours; it's getting harder to do things before nightfall now that the days are short. We've also haunted the Spanish steps and the three-story McDonalds next to it several times.
Another great thing has been meeting up with people here after not knowing anyone in Italy. It's been our longest stretch of not hanging out with any friends or relatives; now that we're here, I seem to be related to everyone somehow. Have met a number of the Angelicum and Santa Croce people; we find after a few minutes that we have some mutual acquaintance and then go down a list: " Well, if you know so-and-so, then you must also know so-and-so-and-so..." We watched an old movie during a rainy afternoon at one of the girls' apartments yesterday - I had forgotten what that's like.
Highlight: we went to the papal audience on Wednesday and got a blessing for all our family and friends at home, so everyone should be feeling particularly holy for at least a few days.
Tonight is a big mass at the Lateran Basilica in honor of the consistory of cardinals, with a reception at the Irish College afterwards (we met some entertaining Irish seminarians yesterday), so that should be fun. Tomorrow we're going to the Vatican musuems and are sitting in on some classes at the Angelicum.
Two more days in Rome, then to Prague.

Time Well-Spent in Rome

One would hope that after all this time, I'd be learning some things as we go along. Something I mentioned at the very beginning of this blog was, "If something seems too good to be true, it probably is." Well, in case the lesson wasn't completely cemented, our time in Rome has certainly helped in that area. After coming from freezing cold weather in Assisi, we've been enjoying some fine warm weather in Rome. All week long, the temperature has stayed reasonably constant and our coats and scarves haven't been as firmly affixed to us as in other places. We started out on Tuesday with a wonderful all-day tour of Rome led by Alfredo, an extremely knowledgeable Italian man. The weather was beautiful, brilliant sunshine the entire day. The tour provided the best overview of a city I've ever had; all we had to do for the rest of the week was to go see things for ourselves up close (rather than from a car). We scheduled some good sight-seeing days and visited museums, the Colosseum, the Forums, the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps (we've been here several times, as this is a fantastic people-watching spot from any of its 136 steps), St. Peter's and Vatican City, etc. We've also had the chance to meet up with some friends of friends, giving us a good introduction to life in Rome.

As we're nearing the end of our trip however, we're finding that we need more time to just sit and relax. So on Saturday, after several days of fairly constant sight-seeing and visiting with people, we decided to head over to the Borghese Villa area. This is one of the major park areas of Rome, and its acres and acres of lush green grass and trees are often compared to Central Park in New York. We'd glimpsed the area from the car on Tuesday, bathed in the lovely November sunshine, and couldn't wait to go back and spend time there later in the week. Despite warnings from our guidebooks that November in Rome was often rainy, we headed out on Saturday into the first overcast day we'd had in Rome yet. Blissfully ignorant of what was to come, we emerged from the subway stop into the grassy parkland and strolled deep into the foresty area, looking for the perfect spot to sit and read for awhile. We settled onto a park bench overlooking a huge green field and had only been sitting for perhaps 15 minutes when Anna chanced to remark that she loved sitting outside on days like this. I looked up at the dark, ominous clouds in the sky (actually seeing them for the first time that day) and said that I wasn't so fond of such days, since all I could think of was the possibility of rain. It wasn't cold though, and somehow expecting that fact to protect us from any foul weather, we kept talking and relaxing on the bench. We did start noticing great streaks of lightning all across the sky, followed some seconds later by loud claps of thunder, but for some reason, we still made no attempt to move. We were undoubtedly quite secure in the notion that it was impossible for us to have chosen the only rainy day in Rome as the day we wanted to sit outdoors for several hours. It wasn't until sudden drops of rain became more insistent that we actually got up to look for shelter. Thinking it would pass quickly, we strolled somewhat casually through the park, looking for an awning to stand under momentarily. But it turned out that we didn't just choose the only day of rain we'd seen all week, released in the form of light sprinkling; no, we chose the day with an unbridled torrential rain storm, complete with gailing winds that blew the rain in all directions. The umbrella pine trees we were standing under (so called because of their shape) suddenly developed holes and we were drenched in a matter of minutes. We did our best to keep cameras and backpacks dry under our coats, all the while desperately looking around for better shelter, but since we were rather deep in the park, cafès and restaurants were a bit harder to find than they are in the heart of the city. We finally made a run for it, seeing that the rain wasn't about to let up anytime soon, and we found a small amusement park ride to crowd under, along with a number of other people caught in the same predicament. Amazed that the rain was continuing unabated, we decided to buy an umbrella from the quick-thinking entrepreneur who appeared out of nowhere, laden with an endless supply of brightly-colored umbrellas. Now equipped with a bright yellow umbrella of our own (we weren't given a choice), we headed down the path to a cafè across the way. Of course (as you can all surely guess), as soon as we settled down inside with our overpriced thimbles of cappuccino to wait out the rain, it stopped completely. Classic.

The whole situation ended up being so absurd, it was just funny. One of those things where you almost can't be upset by it. Almost. But I guess the unmistakable lesson to take away here is that if you are in a car touring a large city, and the weather is absolutely gorgeous, don't count on it to be the same a few days later. Instead, leap out of the car as soon as possible and seize the day on foot. You may never get the chance again. . .

The Travels Continue. . .

One of the things we will surely miss most when we come home are all of the flights of stairs we're encountering here. I've mentioned flights of stairs before with regard to some of the sight-seeing we've been doing, particularly in Paris. But Italy takes the prize for endless amounts of stairs in all the best places. Every hotel we've been to in Italy has had its entire operation located on at least the second floor, if not higher. (And in case you're not aware of the distinction, Europe doesn't number floors the way we do. Here, the second floor really means the third floor.) We're truly enjoying the free exercise we're getting - it's particularly good since we're dead tired after coming off of navigating train stations and the streets it takes to find these hotels, all the while dragging our luggage behind us. Initially, we thought that perhaps Milan was something of a fluke. Surely every hotel isn't located on the second (third) floor of a building. But Anna, intuitive thinker that she is, knew something was up in Venice. After climbing up and down countless small stairways with all of our luggage, and then needlessly climbing the Rialto Bridge twice (at least 20 small stairways combined), all she could say when we finally found our hotel and looked up at its entrance on the second floor was "I knew it. I just knew it." The devastatingly sad tone of her voice and the look of utter exhaustion was almost more than I could handle, and it was only the sight of our hostess at the top of the stairs that kept me from near hysterics.

Fortunately though, our endless stair-climbing isn't always in vain. In the Cinque Terre, after climbing a rather steep hill to check into our room, we were led back down the exact same hill to an apartment building that housed the room we'd be staying in. Squeezing through the extremely narrow door, we looked up at the steepest stairs we've ever seen. Your stepping leg has to be at nearly a 90°-angle in order to master the step properly. There were exactly forty-four such steps (Anna counted on the way back down), zig-zagging all the way up to the top of the building. Sadly, there were eight more steps we didn't take (I was ready to see if we could switch rooms), but all of that stair-climbing led to the best deal we've had yet. We ended up getting an apartment all to ourselves: a room for each of us, a living room with a kitchen table and a sofa, and a full bathroom. Not so bad climbing all of those stairs in slow season, I guess. . . Most of the time, no one bats an eye at all of the stairs (I'm assuming all of the other similar-looking buildings have the exact same set-up we've been seeing). But in the Cinque Terre (once again), your efforts are recognized and appreciated. On the hike between the second and third town (Manarola and Corniglia, for those who are interested), there is a set of stairs that takes you up a steep hill, switch-back style. You don't necessarily realize when you start that you'll be heading uphill for quite some time, so it doesn't occur to you to count the stairs until you're breathing hard, wondering how much longer you've got to go. But a pleasant surprise awaits you at the top. A large sign reads, "Congratulations, you've just climbed 382 steps. You're now in Corniglia, right in the middle of the Cinque Terre." (Yes, I took a picture of the sign; it was too good to pass up.) I wish I could say I was immediately refreshed by such recognition of my achievement, but I think the long rest at the bench placed strategically next to the sign did me more good.

Aside from all of our unexpected exercise, we're still enjoying our tour of Italy. We've now come to the first spontaneous part of our trip, though, and have tentativly decided that perhaps it's good that we planned the rest of our trip in such great detail after all. . . After arriving in Assisi on Thursday, we decided we liked it so much that we wanted to spend an extra couple of days there. We changed our Rome accomodations without difficulty and were promptly rewarded for our decision the next day with 25°F weather and strong, freezing winds that continued for an entire day and night. We also discovered (too late) that grocery stores in small towns don't exist to actually feed people; they often just take up space between religious gift shops and patisseries (pastry shops). The only open ones we made it to (posted times don't correspond to reality) had very little to offer if you need more than canned food or hunks of uncooked meat. Consequently, the only meal we could count on each day was breakfast at our hotel. Despite pangs of hunger, we did enjoy our time in Assisi. The basilica was gorgeous, and being underground in St. Francis' tomb was a moving experience. Needless to say, we're glad to be in Rome now, with all its big-city convenience. The train station in Rome apparently has a huge underground mall, full of all the shops you could need, so since we're staying in a place right next to it, I don't think we'll be having the same sorts of difficulties as in Assisi. And now, as if we haven't gotten enough of stairs, we're going to head over to the Spanish Steps. . .We'll make sure to count them all for you and report back in the next post.

When in Rome...

Our path has finally brought us to Rome. We were actually planning to arrive this past weekend, but we changed our plans and spent two extra days in Assisi after seeing what a great hotel room we had (Assisi was beautiful, too, but more on that in a minute). It was so great that it made up for having severely limited food options for four days. We had lukewarm pizza from the little stand-n'-eat shops and that was about it; it was fun to listen to each other's stomachs growling all night. There's just not much in the town. Of course, we did miss a few decent places by making refuge from the elements our greatest goal. The wind was raging for the whole first day - so much so that on the second day, my ears were hurting and I had to suffer Mary Jane's laughter at me in wrapping my scarf up to my eyes. Luckily, there was a warm cafe right around the corner from our hotel; they got to know us pretty well over our stay.
All that said, Assisi is as everyone says: peaceful, gentle, and spiritually uplifting. Faded frescoes from the life of St. Francis adorn even the outer stone walls; Franciscan monks and little nuns pepper street corners and churches. One of the mornings, we got up for the early prayers of the monks at the basilica of St. Francis; considered one of the finest churches in Europe, it houses the tomb and major relics - such as a hair shirt - of the saint. (I realize that the last sentence sounds like it's straight out of a travel guide book. Don't ask me where that came from.) I wanted to take the 90 minute hike to his hermitage on top of the mountain outside the town, but considering the blustery weather, it's probably best that I didn't. Unless I wanted to just become a hermit somewhere along the way myself. Anyway, the monks and nuns truly do exude a joy that none can fail to be drawn by. You get the feeling that St. Francis is watching over his little brood with the same exuberant fondness he must have had on earth.
We took the train to Rome this afternoon, so here we are, with about ten days ahead of us to run around and soak it all in. We've only seen the train station and the few streets to our hotel, which is really an apartment masquerading as a hotel room, but we had no need to look farther than the full-scale grocery store in the station before realizing that Rome can only be wonderful. We love the breaks in the quiet towns, but it's always exhilarating to get back into a big city where the days are chock-full of sights and your stomach can look forward to something more than pizza.

Tastes of Tuscany

I'm writing late at night after a surreal day of trudging through Siena in the rain and sailing through Tuscan vineyards in our little tour minivan. Getting soaked to the bone in the first half of the day turned out to be a surprisingly good prep for the rest of it. We appreciated the sights from a warm van all the more (the first car we've been in for over two months), and the chilling autumn wind on our damp clothes when we got out at our stops put us in a giggly overexerted slightly hysterical mood that fit nicely with the winetasting. I have a treat of a shot for you all of Mary Jane-after-seven-glasses-of-Tuscan-wine - a sight none of you has ever seen. The two Brazilian couples in our group were getting a kick out of her.
Our first tour stop was at the only (surprise) winery in the world that serenades its grapes with classical music. Carlos, the vineyard owner, believes that his grapes favor Mozart, Bach, Vivaldi, and Scarlatti - "a favorite of the foliage season of the vine," to quote him verbatim. He has Bose stereos scattered all over his vineyards; we got to listen ourselves. I haven't tasted any pre-Mozart Brunello to compare with what we tasted, but Mozart isn't hurting the grapes. If it works for mice and babies, surely also for grapes?
The second winery we visited belongs to a 77-year-old out-of-a-movie Tuscan named Mario; his winery doubles as a museum of Tuscan winemaking history, complete with old winepresses and photos of the landowners from over 100 years ago. He seemed to relish educating our little group in Italian, which our gracious guide Paula translated for us, and he even took pictures of all of us to keep for himself. He and his wife served us a light meal at a long wooden table in the dining hall: cheese, prosciutto, the first extra virgin olive oil of the season, and several of their wines, including grappa.
I felt that we got a real slice of the Tuscan paradise that people fall in love with; here was a true taste of what I imagine was Italy in better days. Crucifixes and paintings of the Madonna hung above fireplaces and in hallways; warmth and a sense of family pervaded the scene. It's surprising how little it seems to take to change the mood of a place, but some things absolutely do. At any rate, the group was in high spirits by the time we headed out.
Cinque Terra was, to use an overused word, beautiful, too. Adding to the drama of the landscape was my near encounter with the death of my camera. At one point I went to explore a footpath off the main one, and while leaning across a barbed wire fence to get a shot of the coast, dropped it into the brambles of a mini-vineyard below. I slid under the barbed wire so that I was sitting on the dirt ledge, and reached as delicately as possible for the precariously balanced subject; when I finally reached it, though, it was only to send it plummeting to the ground. The only way to it was through a little wired-up fence, barring off someone's personal three-yard vineyard, so I unwired it as quickly as possible and retrieved the camera, half-expecting a ferocious watchdog to come bounding in to attack. After that, I decided to stick to the main path.
It's still hard to for me to say just how I feel about Italy. Much of it I like, but I can't get the right feel for the people yet. I'm having a hard time identifying the same characteristics in the present Italian population that have defined all the great figures of the past centuries; it probably seems a silly comparison to begin with, but it seems the same traits must still be there in some ways. I'll have to reserve judgment until our time in Italy is complete.

Traveling Through the Italian Countryside

Since we've always heard how warm and friendly Italians are (especially considering those we know at home), we've been wondering what we'd done wrong here. Our time in Italy started off somewhat shakily, particularly concerning the people we've met. We've (I've) been the butt of a joke or two, as well as the cause of a fair amount of grumbling (give anything but exact change and you automatically warrant such treatment). But touring the countryside and hitting some smaller towns (and their wineries) has proven tremendously rewarding and shown us more of the Italy we'd anticipated. After Milan last week, we headed over to Venice. Everything good you've ever heard about Venice is absolutely true: The waterways are appealing and romantic, and the old buildings have been well-preserved, giving the effect of an unchanged city from hundreds of years ago. Standing on the Rialto Bridge (very famous, you've seen it in just about every shot and painting done of Venice), I felt like I was in The Italian Job. From Venice we visited Florence, where you are essentially required to visit the Uffizi Gallery (can't miss Michelangelos's David, which in itself is worth the price of admission and then some). We also found the church that Dante attended, which apparently is also where he met Beatrice. Our most surprising visit so far was our next stop: the Cinque Terre. According to Rick Steves, this is Italy's rugged answer to the French Riviera, and the description is apt. We hiked for a large part of the day we spent there (Anna actually visited all five towns; I stopped at #4), and the weather was perfect. The towns are carved into the hillsides, and there are spectacular views everywhere you look. Anyone traveling through Italy would be missing something wonderful by not stopping here. Wondering if we'd hit the high point of our Italian countryside tour, we headed into the Tuscany area last night, into Siena. The train ride in was gorgeous; rolling hills, lovely trees with changing leaves, smoking hillside fires giving off the scent of autumn. We were ready to enjoy the loveliness this morning, but a sudden burst of rain changed our plans somewhat. We got pretty soaked searching for the relics of St. Catherine of Siena, but we finally found them (San Domenico's has her head and her thumb). Aside from that great find, Siena might have been somewhat disappointing, but fortunately, the winery tour we'd scheduled for the afternoon proceeded as planned. The rain let up, and we were able to see a fair amount of the Tuscan countryside. I don't think it's possible to visit this region without a wine tour; you can't get a real feel for it otherwise. We visited two different wineries and met some Italian families that did their best to make us feel welcome. A truly memorable experience. Maybe Italy's not so bad after all. . .

Italian Initiation

Here we are in Milan. I don't feel like we've gotten a great feel for Italy yet, but our train from France to Italy was a good start. At our connecting train in Chambery, there were suddenly Italians everywhere, including a loud lady who tried to squeeze past me in a crowded aisle between seats, with a luggage that could go nowhere. I just stood there smiling, because I could go nowhere either. Definitely an immediate switch from the very accomodating French.
The highlights of our time in Milan have been sleeping in because there's not that much to see here-besides the larger-than-life cathedral-and ferreting out cheap tickets to see Cosi Fan Tutte at La Scala. Yes, dear various family members, it was an experience to warrant deep envy. I felt like I was in a movie the whole time, looking from my seat behind the balcony seats to the people in the cubicles across the way. I wished there was some bitter enemy I could spy on from across, that could make me feel even more like I was in a movie, but the best I could find was the two American girls we had met in line beforehand. They weren't very menacing. The opera house is red velvet and gold everywhere; a great chandelier sparkles from the ceiling. The performing was, of cource, spectacular. I've heard many great singers (shout out again to you family), but never all in one grand, seemingly flawless performance. I most liked the soprano who played Despina; she was an Oriental girl named Joo Doo or something like that.
What else about Milan? As many do, I've always equated Milan with fashion, but I've been on the outskirts of that experience here, sadly. I sort of expected to see model shoots and fashion shows going on everywhere, just as nonCalifornians expect to see movie stars the instant they set foot there, but I'm not running into that. We did walk down Via Montenapoleone, where all the shops are, and get some good photos.
One fun thing here is the bar right below our hotel room. We leave the window open at night, so that we can be lulled to sleep by the dulcet tones of a crowd of drunken Italian men. I think that's about as close as we'll try to get.

Italy So Far. . .

I'm sure you are all thankful that we've finally moved on from France, so that French transportation will no longer be an obsession for me. However, given our more recent dealings with train transportation in France, I guess it wasn't possible to leave the country without a definitive farewell, so one last missive is in order. So there we were, scheduled to leave Lyon for Milan early last Wednesday morning, and just arrived at the train station with plenty of time to spare. We decided to head to the grocery store across the street to stock up for the day, in case Italian grocery stores were hard to find (you just never know). It was probably a bad idea, since the store didn't open until 8:30 and our train left at 9:15. We chanced it anyway, and despite a few minutes of real panic for me, we made it back to our platform even before the train arrived. Thinking we were safe and good to go, we boarded our train along with everyone else, and headed up to the second level (yes, some French trains are that cool). In a rare moment of confusion, Anna decided to locate the nearly invisible storage rack above the seats with her face. A stunned collapse into the nearest seat took up several minutes, causing us to lose sight of what was happening around us. (But not to worry, folks. The effective use of packaged coldcuts and hot dogs kept the swelling down, and Anna is still as beautiful as ever.). In spite of her injury, Anna quickly assessed the situation (in a deja vu-like way) and realized that we were once again the only people on the train. My first reaction to this kind of thing is, "Great, more room for us." But Anna, the unselfish quick-thinker that she is, hustled us off the train and we learned from the train guards standing on the platform that our train had suddenly changed its mind about its destination. At first, the guard simply told us the new platform, but after seeing our horror-stricken and probably uncomprehending faces, he took us there himself. (Turned out to be a good thing, since it sounded like he said "G" for the platform, but apparently that's how the French say "J.") Since he wasn't running to the platform (although still moving very quickly, as the new platform was of course located on the far side of the station), we figured the train was being held, but the fear and panic had already set in. I had visions of never quite making it to Italy, always being on the wrong train track and not knowing exactly how to get out of France. . .I am still mystified by how often things change so dramatically and at the last minute with the trains here, but somehow, we do manage to eventually get on the right train, so I guess I should be thankful about that. Our connection in Chambery (one of the last towns in France before crossing the border into Italy) proved to be one of the most crowded trains we've been on yet. Even the platform train guards were rolling their eyes at how long it took all of us to get on the train, but by this time, Anna and I were too exhausted to care. Arriving at the Milan train station and trying to locate the correct Metro line to get to our hotel also proved quite a challenge after the excitement of the morning, so a day of almost complete rest was in order for the following day (only got up to go to Mass, since it was All Saint's Day).

We've been taking it rather easy here in Milan this past week, trying to catch up on some much-needed sleep and generally gathering our energy for the last third of our trip. Since we haven't ventured much afield from Milan yet (except to Varenna yesterday, a lovely little lake village just this side of the Swiss Alps), the only things of note I can say about Italy so far are: 1) No one here seems to be able to walk in a straight line, at least not in Milan. I've never had to do so much dodging before, not even in New York City. It's really bizarre, makes me feel like maybe my equilibrium is somehow off. . . 2) Since there are no Starbucks to be found anywhere (I know, we're barely surviving), another behemoth is stepping in to fill the void between overpriced thimbles of càfe and decently priced hot beverages: McCafe. Yes, you're reading this correctly; McDonald's has branded part of their line-up as McCafe. I can't remember if I've ever seen these before in the U.S., but let me tell you, when you're craving something hot and don't really want to spend €3 - €4 for a swallowful, McCafe's are heaven-sent. For €1.40, you can satisfy your thirst with 20 times the amount of your average thimble. Bigger isn't always better, of course, but when it comes to càfe. . .3) Cultural events here, as in the other big cities we've visited, are absolutely amazing (and extremely affordable). For about $20 total, we've now seen some sort of fine art event in each of the big cities we've visited, often in world-class settings. A Shakespeare play at the Old Globe in London (£5 = $10); a wonderful classical music concert in Paris (think we forgot to mention this, but it was completely free. In the U.S., the seats we had would have been at least $30 - $40, and the musicians were superb); and now in Milan, we stood in line for quite some time to score tickets to see an opera at La Scala Opera House. The tickets cost €7.50 ($10 - $12), and the opera that happens to be playing right now is Mozart's Cosi Fan Tutti. Can it get any better than this? It was awesome, of course, and we still can't believe we were able to get in (thank you, Rick Steves!). A fine way to remember Milan, now I'm looking forward to what we might be able to do in Rome and Prague. We'll try not to break this trend. . .