Postcards From Italy
(Condon, Z) Performed by Beirut
The times we had
Oh, when the wind would blow with rain and snow
Were not all bad
We put our feet just where they had, had to go
Never to go
The shattered soul
Following close but nearly twice as slow
In my good times
There were always golden rocks to throw
At those who admit defeat too late
Those were our times, those were our times
And I will love to see that day
That day is mine
When she will marry me outside with the willow trees
And play the songs we made
They made me so
And I would love to see that day
Her day was mine
Oh, when the wind would blow with rain and snow
Were not all bad
We put our feet just where they had, had to go
Never to go
The shattered soul
Following close but nearly twice as slow
In my good times
There were always golden rocks to throw
At those who admit defeat too late
Those were our times, those were our times
And I will love to see that day
That day is mine
When she will marry me outside with the willow trees
And play the songs we made
They made me so
And I would love to see that day
Her day was mine
Perhaps a too obvious song choice for this week, but since the first time I heard it was on a plane to Italy (Kennedy had made it part of a special play list for our trip), it is too perfect not to use. The following will be the tale of our adventures there, as shown primarily in bad cellphone selfies (note: as the internet is full of amazing professional shots of all the sights and scenery, only bad cellphone selfies seem a legitimate form of travel documentary to me anymore).
This trip was a graduation present for Kennedy - her big treat was being able to bring her mother along on a tour of Italy, lol - and after looking at a few tour packages, we decided together that this itinerary hit the most places that we would want to see. So, we travelled on the "Italian Dream" Costsaver Tour by Trafalgar, and although I only have the Gate 1 package to Peru last year to compare it to, this wasn't as impressive: I didn't realise that "Costsaver" meant mediocre hotels outside of city centres so that once we were dropped at our hotels in the evenings, there was literally nowhere to go (barring expensive taxi rides). I also didn't like that there was a seating chart posted for the coach every day: I get that some people might complain that others always hog the front seats or wherever they think it would be best to sit, but I think the seats were all good, and as grownups, we ought to be able to decide who we'd like to sit around. No dice. And I didn't like that we were always being upsold: this trip had many optional tours that we could choose to buy into (Kennedy and I preplanned to buy into them all) and I have to wonder if our Tour Director gets a commission for all the optional experiences she sells based on the scolding tone she constantly used to stress their value; not to mention the two "experiences" (at the glass blowing and leather factories) that felt like time share hard sells ("This is the real stuff, don't buy on the streets, come waste a half hour of your precious free time to learn why you can't afford to shop elsewhere..."). The bottom line is: I don't know if I'd travel with Trafalgar again; definitely not with their Costsaver line.
So after an eight and a half hour flight, extended by an extra half hour of circling the Rome airport, we finally landed and made our way to the luggage carousel. The delay made me worry that we were going to miss the "free included airport transfer" that we understood ran only three times a day, so I sent Kennedy out to make contact with the Trafalgar people while I waited for the bags. And waited for the bags. When the luggage carousel finally said "Toronto Closed" without any bags having come along it, a man standing nearby asked an airport employee what that sign meant, and he explained that our bags had been sent to a different carousel (without any signs indicating that). Finally in possession of our bags, I made my way out to find Kennedy (couldn't find her anywhere) and when I found the Trafalgar desk, the woman there said that the shuttle had just left (without the six of us who had been on the delayed/misdirected luggage flight; despite Kennedy having begged them to wait) and the next one would come in three hours; but we were free to pay 55 Euros for a private taxi. It took me a little panicky bit to finally find Kennedy (I finally thought to call her through facebook messenger and must have walked right past her out of customs), and I was so tired and grouchy from the flight that I couldn't have been more annoyed with Trafalgar right from the start. After sitting around for half an hour, I imagined that if I told Dave of us waiting for three miserable hours while Rome waited to be discovered, he would probably scold me for being too cheap for a taxi, and I grabbed Kennedy and said, "Let's go." We got a taxi - it was actually 60 Euros, 90 Canadian Dollars for a twenty minute cab ride - and it wasn't until we got to the weird and remote Pinewood Hotel that we realised that it was near nothing; that we had merely decided to waste our time in a hotel rather than in an airport. After a short nap, we made our way to the orientation meeting, and then it was time for our welcome dinner and night tour of Rome; and I don't have anything else negative to say. The rest was magical.
This first dinner was in Le Terme del Colosseo; an underground grotto of a restaurant near the Colosseum. There was a set menu - Kennedy and I were served a separate vegetarian menu than the rest of our table - and while it was all tasty, I wouldn't have minded having some choice (but this is a small complaint; what there was was wonderful). The best part were the opera singing servers, and while a bit cheesy, it was a great way to start a trip to Italy. That picture at the top was taken on this first evening, and driving around to see the monuments lit up was about all we were good for; all negativity was washed away by this point.
We started the next morning at the Vatican Museum (great choice to be with a tour group for this as we got to use the VIP entrance and skip the incredibly long line that was already there at eight thirty in the morning), and while I had seen this and the Sistine Chapel when I was in Europe in 1986, it was magical to see it all again through my Art History loving daughter's eyes. We toured the Vatican itself and had free time to wander around the area gift shops, and then it was off to the Colosseum.
And the Pantheon:
And the Trevi Fountain:
And we had dinner that night in the Piazza Navona. We ate at the 4 Fiumi restaurant because it was the one our tour director recommended (Kennedy wonders if she gets a kickback on this, too), and not only was it lovely to be on a patio on the Piazza, but this was the first that we really spent time with a couple of our fellow travellers that we would go on the hang out with the most: Stacey (a woman from Toronto who turned forty on our trip) and Anna (born in Armenia and now living in California, she'd be older than I am; maybe by as much as ten years). The food was decent, and the company was great, so this capped another great day on our trip.
The next morning we left for the longest bus ride of our trip: all day to Venice. (There was something squeaking in the ceiling over our heads for the entire day that made me nuts, and the young women sitting behind us drove me nuttier, but I really don't want to dwell on the negative here.) We checked into the Hotel Mercure, which is very Italian-design-chic, and then quickly made our way to Venice itself. After a speed boat tour of the harbour, we made our way to our optional gondola ride, and this was definitely worth any hassle in getting there. I never made it to Venice the first time I was in Italy, so this was magical for both of us (even if we were assigned to a gondola with the annoying young women who kept standing up and rocking the boat to get into better selfie positions. Sigh.)
The next day there were more boat rides. The Venice International Film Festival was on and we were advised to watch out for celebrities. As we were cruising along in our water taxi, a speed boat whizzed past us with paparazzi on board, and while we soon identified Javier Bardem as the subject of their interest, it was way more fascinating to me to see these men with their telescopic camera lenses bearing down at high speeds on a man leaving a canal-side restaurant than it was to see that man himself:
We walked the bridges and alleyways; visited Saint Mark's Basilica:
Saw a glass-blowing demonstration on Giudecca:
We opted into the late seafood lunch on the island of Burano, and while at first I was slightly disappointed to not have found a spot at the table of the people we had gotten used to eating with, the Australian newlyweds (Lisa and Ivan) that we were opposite were lovely, entertaining young people: we had so much fun with everyone we ended up really spending time with. This day was supposed to be over at 6:30, but who would want to go back to our remote airport hotel at 6:30? In the end, only me, Kennedy, and a young woman from New Zealand, Kelly, decided to stay in the city, and it was relaxing to not be on a schedule; to walk around the smaller alleyways and shop at leisure and watch the sun go down.
The next day was the transfer to Florence, and along the way, was the stopover in Verona. Having read Juliet's Answer, Kennedy and I knew what to expect in the city; and we were excited to be going there. We had told several people that we had written letters to Juliet and that we expected to have them answered, and quite a few of them decided to write letters of their own. As we were nearing Verona, the tour director said that the movie Letters to Juliet (which Kennedy and I watched before going; even Dave found it "charming") had given tourists the mistaken belief in this letter-answering business; she assured us that it's not a thing. We assured our fellow letter writers that it is (we'll have to wait and see if we do get replies).
Verona is actually a beautiful little city, mostly paved in marble, that I could have spent much more time in (we got an hour and a half). There's a lovely square with a snitch hole for ratting on your neighbours who don't pay their taxes:
A more or less complete Roman amphitheater, where they have operas and concerts every night during the summer (and wouldn't I love to see that?):
And, of course, the entranceway to Juliet's courtyard:
Where we found the mailbox for letters to Juliet, as we had been expecting:
We paid to enter the Juliet Museum, housed in what was at some point an actual Capulet residence, just so we could go out onto the famous balconey, where we could ham it up:
And Kennedy could pose with her copy of Romeo and Juliet:
I was most amused by the medieval computer terminals that visitors could use to email Juliet:
We arrived at our Florence hotel, the airport Novotel, and while it was nice enough, I found it weird that the only stairs to our first floor room were on the outside of the building (which we usually took anyway because it was only the first floor and the elevators were small and slow). A quick freshening up and we were on our way to Pisa; with just enough time, really, to take a few pictures with the tower:
After Pisa, we made our way to a Tuscan farmhouse/winery for a delicious al fresco dinner. Although at a long table around our familiar eating companions, Kennedy and I were sitting directly across from an American couple (Monica and John) that we hadn't spent much time with, and they were also wonderful company: celebrating their thirtieth anniversary, he's an ex-Navy, Harvard-trained patent lawyer and she's a stay-at-home Mom who just dropped their fourth child off at university (the oldest is in med school, the next is studying mechanical engineering with an eye to becoming a Navy pilot, the third, and only daughter, is in nursing college, and the fourth is just starting; all on some kind of scholarship, this sure seems to be what successful parenting looks like). The food was wonderful, the wine pairings flowed nonstop, and there was an outdoor dance floor we all eventually found ourselves on. Great night.
On the coach back to the hotel, Kennedy and I sat behind Pat; another single woman travelling alone whom we had gathered to us. This evening she told us an incredible story from her childhood: Although she has spent most of her adult life in the States, Pat (now 76 years old) grew up in the Midlands of England, and during WWII, they lived not far from a POW camp for German soldiers that her brothers referred to as "Jerry Camp". Living on rations and always hungry, when it became too much for the kids to bear, one of her brothers would say, "Let's go to Jerry Camp for something to eat." Apparently, although her family was rationed one pat of butter per person per week, one fresh egg per person per week, whenever they would go to visit the German POWs, their cook would be baking fresh bread, and no doubt looking at these suffering children and thinking of his own back home, this cook would cut them fat slabs of bread and cover them with fresh butter. Pat marvelled at the decency of her government - treating prisoners better than its own citizens - but marvelled more at the basic decency of this cook; they had a hard time thinking of these men (who were all friendly to them) as the enemy. One day as they were walking through their village as a family, they saw this one prisoner digging a ditch at the side of the road and Pat, maybe five at the time, ran up to him, took him by the hand, and declared that he was her friend Sherman. Her mother sighed and said, "That poor boy is some mother's son and look at the uniform hanging off his skin and bones; he can't be more than sixteen." When they got home, Pat said, her father - who was an officer at the German front and home on a rare leave - beat her black and blue, all the way up the stairs, roaring that no German was her friend. "And how I hated my father," said Pat. "He left my family after the war to be with another woman, and I never saw him again for the rest of my life. I have four older brothers and my mother had to move us into a workhouse of sorts, a place it was very shameful to live in because everyone knew what it was when we'd go to school, but she took it with dignity and cleaned houses and hotels to earn our way there. When my brothers grew up they treated our Mum like a queen. One of my brothers became a builder, and grew quite well off, and he built our Mum her own little house. But I broke her heart. I fell in love with an American and moved away, because that's what you did back then. When you fell in love." With four older brothers, and eventually four sons (at least one of whom will call her every day to check up on her), Pat has always been surrounded by protective men; when she goes home to England every other year to visit her family, she's still the baby and they spoil her. And she still loves it. I thought that Pat was a very special woman, and I enjoyed every minute we spent with her.
The next morning was Florence proper, and we started with a visit to L'Accademia, and the incredible Statue of David:
We had a couple hours of free time after our city walking tour (which included the "leather demonstration", which was really just a sales pitch, sigh), so Kennedy and I had lunch (the most delicious gnocchi verde at a hole-in-the-wall; maybe the best thing we ate all trip) and ran back to the Uffizi, where we goggled at the paintings of Michelangelo, Leonardo; all the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Saw the Ponte Vecchio, even if we didn't go gold shopping there:
We then made our way to the walled city of San Gimagnano - which is not only Italy's best preserved medieval city, but home of the world's best gelato. We were given a voucher to sample it and were encouraged to try an "interesting" specialty flavour; why stick to Chocolate when there's so much more to explore? I got a scoop of Gorgonzola Walnut (which was sweet and creamy but tasted like cheese; what else did I expect) and one of Blueberry Lavender (which was deliciousness). I might have preferred Chocolate...
I loved the medieval vibe, but did not love the sight of prosciutto complete with hair and hoof:
The next morning we made our way back to Rome, stopping at Assisi on the way. The Cathedral of St. Francis was stunning and humbling and we took a fast hike up to the Rocco Maggiore fortress at the top of the hill - the Umbrian countryside surrounding the town was unbelievably beautiful from up there. We got back to Rome (and back to the Pinewood) more or less just in time to go out again for our farewell dinner, and it was on the lovely patio of the Opera Restaurant; decent enough food and another opera serenade (maybe not quite as good as the restaurant on the first night in Rome, but we got to choose our dining companions this evening - Stacey, Kelly, Anna, and Pat - and we had a fun time). We walked around Hadrian's Castle lit up for the evening, doing some last minute shopping at the outdoor market there, and then back to the hotel. Tired and ready for bed. But wait - everyone wanted to stay up for a night cap, so we took over the small lobby bar for several bottles of wine and the singing of show tunes (oddly enough, at the urging of the ex-Navy Harvard-trained patent lawyer).
It was pouring rain when we woke up the next morning; the only rain we saw despite the forecast assuring us it would be soggy all week. Watching it pour and listening to the thunder rumble, I realised just how lucky we had been - it's easy to take perfect weather for granted in the moment. And not only did it not rain, but the average temperatures were in the high twenties, compared to the high thirties they experienced the week before; I would have been useless in that heat. It's easy to take a happy life for granted, too; I am so blessed to have my own lovely family and to have been able to share this trip with a wonderful kid like Kennedy. The others on the tour group all seemed to be attracted to Kennedy and her vivacity - and not just because she was always willing to lend a hand, from bandaging an old woman's knee with our first aid kit to helping a stranger with a limp up the stairs of a church - and that made her a fantastic travelling companion. I hope she had as much fun as I did; that she knows just how special she is to me.
The times we had
Oh, when the wind would blow with rain and snow
Were not all bad
We put our feet just where they had, had to go
Never to go
