Spring Break: Genova, Roma and the Swiss Alps (Part 2 – Rome)

Posted on April 10, 2013 by liguriansun

Easter Monday, we woke early when it was still dark. Brendan’s hay fever had taken full hold, and I found some Aleve and Claritin to give him to help him breathe a bit better. However, it was a mostly sleepless night before we groggily got ready and headed for the bus to Brignole station. Off to Rome!

I was a bit apprehensive after checking the weather all week. Rome — usually sunny and beautiful in the spring, was showing a soggy forecast. All of Europe seemed to be stuck in unseasonably cold and rainy weather. My students and colleagues told me that it was usually possible to swim this time of year. I felt so guilty because I had told Brendan it would be a good time of year to visit. But all of this is part of travel.

I checked my transit ap to see when the next bus would arrive at our stop, growing a bit nervous because it looked like it would cut it close. “Should we take a cab?” I asked. “Whatever you think is best,” he said. I decided to take the risk. The bus dropped us off in plenty of time, we got to the platform, and as the sun began to rise, we saw our train was delayed. “Good thing we didn’t spring for the cab,” Brendan said.

Now we both felt like zombies. It was cold and quiet as we waited for our train, moods tense. I felt like I was on an episode of Amazing Race . . . these things happen. And with both of us tired from long workweeks, we both just needed some peace. I was hesitant to book such an early train, but this was just over 4 hours instead of 7 hours, and would give us more time in Rome.

Eventually we boarded, and napped our way along the Riviera and down the coast to Rome, pulling into the station around 1pm. It wasn’t raining. In fact, the sun was shining! Brendan was finding it impossible to breathe and still feeling epic jet lag, but we both knew we had to get out in the sunshine for some wandering before the downpours. We dropped our bags off at the hotel which was right by the train station, then saw the Colosseum, The Forum, and other iconic landmarks.

I had a Frommer’s Rome Travel Guide, but instead of trying to navigate to one of the suggestions, I figured we’d pop into one of the little cafes on a side street. The food was ok, but mediocre and didn’t impress me or my foodie friend. The price wasn’t too bad, but I knew that Brendan was waiting for some mind-blowing Italian food. Having been spoiled by years of Arthur Ave (Little Italy in the Bronx), featuring the best of all of Italy, he may have been expecting all of Italy to be like that. In addition, Rome is known for many things, but not necessarily their cuisine, especially for lunch.

We found a pharmacy where, hurrah! they gave Brendan some antihistimanes that helped him breathe with sweet relief. He took a long nap, then we wandered out again at dinner time, once again finding a disappointing dining experience. Mediocre and slightly expensive pizza. “It’s all pizza and pasta, everywhere,” he noted. Yeah . . .

Toting my takeaway Quattro Formaggio, we looked at the tourist map, trying to find the Ice Bar. The winding backstreets of Rome were quaint and a bit empty due to the holiday. If it wasn’t cold and rainy, it would have been more enjoyable but we weren’t really feeling the scene. We wandered into the Ice Bar, where we were the only folks. “Come back tomorrow, for open bar for 20 bucks. There will be a crowd,” they advised. Sounded good, so we left and tried a few other places, but couldn’t find a seat or a good scene. We eventually ended up sitting at the bar of an Irish Pub, talking to the Australian bar tender over Guinesses. We walked home past the ruins lit at night as Brendan entertained me with his comedy.

Tuesday 2 April, we got to sleep in a bit, waking up just in time to head to the free breakfast upstairs in a sunny room. There was good variety as we woke up and hoped the rain would hold off. We had “Skip the Line” tickets to the Vatican. For a nominal fee, you don’t have to stand in line for hours. Perfectly worth it.

We took the metro and arrived, wound our way through the halls filled with art, peeked out the window at a massive thunderstorm, and eventually found our way to the highlight of our visit, The Sistine Chapel. This was my third visit to Rome. Both other times, I had been on EF Tours. 1997 as a high school Junior and last year as a teacher, bringing my own students. in 1997, we were not able to get admission to the Sistine Chapel, which was a major disappointment. Last year, we did get to go, and I found it to be so moving and one of the most amazing works of art I had ever seen. This time, it actually brought tears to my eyes. It was less crowded than our Easter time visit last year, and I didn’t feel squished and pushed through the room while trying to look up and enjoy. I could really take it in and absorb the wonder as it was meant to be appreciated. Splendid.

The ceiling in one of the main galleries

Thunderstorm as viewed from one of the windows

Brendan identifies with Mercury and even uses the symbol for his brand, as seen on his shirt.

Upon our exit, I went into a little gift shop to get pink rosary beads for my great Aunt Minnie. We almost left the premises to get online for admission to St. Peter’s, which we had to do last year. That line was winding around the giant square. But first, “Let’s just pop into that pretty chapel,” I said, peeking through a door featuring lots of marble inside.

We walked in and Brendan immediately said, “Wow!” This was not some little chapel . . . it was St. Peter’s, and we had entered without a line.

St. Peter’s Basilica

We went straight to Michelangelo’s gorgeous Pieta, and I explained how someone had smashed it in the 70s, so it doesn’t have the original glow, even though it was carefully repaired. It’s still amazing.

The Pieta

We wandered around, and Brendan was excited because he got to “see a dead pope!” in one of the many tombs.

After some pictures and prayers, we exited into torrential rain. First I sent my parents and my friend Kat postcards with the Vatican postmark.

Welcome to the new pope.

Where to now? Rome is enjoyed by wandering, walking and soaking in the beauty — not by actually soaking. It was so disappointed because last Easter it rained a bit, but we had a sunny day that was just splendid. To stay dry, we hopped on the first tram we saw, and figured we’d go on an adventure, not knowing the destination. En Route, we skimmed Frommer’s for ideas for aperitivo later. We stopped for gelato and saw this:

Viagra Gelato! ha

Eventually, we made our way back to the hotel, cold and wet, and each had a warm bath trying to get our body temps back up. When we departed for dinner, we had plans to head to the Ice Bar, then the Disco after, so I took a small purse and no guidebook. We headed to Spagna, the neighborhood where the Spanish Steps are, and wandered in the rain until we found an amazing, trendy cafe with stadium seats for chairs.

The Spanish Steps

There were tiny snacks for aperitivo (that came out with our wine), then I ordered Ceasar Salad and Brendan got meatballs and some pasta. The meatballs were absolutely divine, and as much as I try not to eat lamb, we think there must have been some inside. “This is the pasta I’ve been waiting for!” Brendan exclaimed with pure joy, finally having found the Italian meal he’s been craving.

Next, off to the Ice Bar, touristy but fun. Again, we were the only ones there as they draped us in capes. Nobody looks good in a cape. We waddled into the icy room and settled into a little igloo, drinking our vodka mixed drinks out of ice glasses. While we waited for others to arrive, I noticed some glasses left behind and began smashing them like a disgruntled wife. Eventually, a bunch of college-aged kids arrived, and we made small talk. We each had 5 or 6 drinks, and there’s only so much time you can spend in the ice bar, so we waddled on out, but not before taking some photos that made us look like Bond villains.

Drunk on vodka, we were too beat and money conscious to spring for the disco, so headed for the hotel and Brendan wandered into a kebab shop for a late night delicious snack. Tomorrow we would depart Rome for the Swiss Alps!

We didn’t really get the best vibe from Rome or give it the best chance, but we saw it. I had visions of visiting the fountain of Trevi, Trastevere, drinks in piazzas, wandering along the Tiber, maybe even a boat cruise. The weather was a real damper. I felt bad and almost responsible, but Brendan reminded me to relax and that he was not mad. (Although clearly disappointed). Rome deserves another chance with more time and better weather, but we enjoyed our mini adventure. This is all part of travel, and overall, it was fun and we saw a lot. 🙂

Brendan’s been thinking about Rome for years.

Check out one of his many comics, Hannibal Goes to Rome.

-written 26 June but posted in April for timeline purposes
-continued in Part 3

Hot Wheels!

Posted on March 23, 2013 by liguriansun

Ciao! I bought a scooter! Finally. 🙂 I am so grateful for my administrator and his wife who took me out to a few shops this morning to finally get my scooter. Like many Italian cities, scooters are super practical in Genoa whereas cars are an expensive pain in the bum, leaving you broke and without a place to park. Meanwhile, a scooter can zip you around the tiny, winding roads and up and down the hills or along the coast, with easy parking options. Unlike flat Florence or Rome, though, Genoa’s mega hills require some more power and fatter, bigger wheels, so Vespas are a bit unsafe although classically sexy. It’s ok, this scooter will still work for the European Dream Eddie Izzard describes in his comedy.

Now I can be all like, “CIAOOOO!”

I got a Yamaha 125 cc, which is less problematic with a US license. She’s an oldie, but I love her. I knew she was mine when I saw her, and the price was about half of what I was prepared to pay. I worked after school for two days a week last semester, which gave me enough money for the bike. But now I can afford both bike and insurance without scraping the bottom of my sickly bank account. Like I said, I won’t get rich, but I’m living richly.

I have her just in time for the spring and summer weather that is arriving soon. 🙂 Fun, fun, fun!

Cogliere l’attimo. Carpe Diem. Sieze the Day. No Regrets.

Whirlwind Weekend

Posted on March 4, 2013 by liguriansun

When I departed for Genoa, one of my best friends Kat was there at the airport to send me off along with my parents. Kat gave me lots of luck and hugs, and said “I’ll be there soon. I’m also good with postcards.”

Kat kept good on both promises, with postcards arriving frequently to brighten my day and a whirlwind weekend visit planned. In the fall, Kat called and said “I can’t get much time off from work, but I’m coming. Alitalia has good fares. How about March 1st?”

Kat arrived fresh from JFK on a Friday and departed on Monday morning, for a fantastic, fun-filled weekend adventure. What perfect timing. Work was at its most chaotic of the year, with International Baccalaureate assessments and paperwork due — super high stakes work. As this was my first time through it, there were a lot of nitty gritty details and stressful aspects (work to be redone, late work, formatting) that I didn’t anticipate. All of us IB teachers were like zombies walking through the day. Usually, Friday arrived and I was relaxed and peaceful with a light schedule, all classes completed by 11:30. When Kat arrived from the airport, I was in a meeting with a student, and didn’t even have a minute free to run down to the office to notify them of Kat’s arrival fresh from the Genova airport. Luckily, she met the director who asked around and found me. When I exited the classroom with my student, there was Kat’s smiling face. How can she look so awesome and fresh from an overnight flight? Amazing.

Originally, Kat said she was up for anything and just wanted to spend time with me. But this was her first time in Italy. She was also a Medieval Studies major (along with Spanish), so I knew she would appreciate a lot of the wonder of Siena and Florence. In the days before her departure, I said, “I have a crazy idea. Want to spend a night in Siena? It’s beautiful. Then we can visit Florence before heading home on Sunday.” When I saw that the train to Florence stopped in Pisa, we planned for that as well. 3 nights, 4 cities. And we did it!

I gave Kat a quick tour of the school, which she noted was beautiful. She also asked, “How do you like it with all the little kids?” As a group of 3-year-olds walked by in a neat little line like ducklings. “I love it. It always brightens my day,” I responded. The director had generously given us lunch tickets to enjoy a meal in the cafeteria. I had hallway duty upstairs for the first part, so Kat took the opportunity to meet many of my coworkers, noting that they were extremely sweet, friendly and positive. That truly is the vibe of our school.

I joined Kat when my duty was over, and she was in mid conversation about all the wonders of Siena. One coworker said, “You will eat well. This lunch food doesn’t count as your first Italian meal.” It’s ok for school food, but this is true.

I walked Kat down to my apartment, which is just minutes from the school, where she settled down for a short winter’s nap, and I went back to work until the end of the day.

Back to my apartment, I roused Kat as we prepared for an evening in Nervi, a nearby resort neighborhood along the sea — where I take all my guests on their first night much like the school brought me when I first arrived. There is no better welcome to Genoa and the Ligurian Coastal beauty.

We walked along the passegiata and walked into a quaint seaside restaurant called Chandra, with views of the waves crashing against the rocks. With a slightly Indian vibe, we enjoyed the quaint decor, snacked on the free snacks with our drinks, and then ordered our meal, featuring focaccine (friend dough filled with soft, yummy stracchino cheese). I had chicken tandoori and Kat had a pasta dish, I believe.

I’m showing off the beautiful new necklace Kat bought me at the Met as a hostess gift along with plenty of other practical and fun goodies and meals to spoil me.

We chatted, caught up, enjoyed the sea, and then enjoyed the live music as it began to play. With jet lag for Kat and general fatigue for me, though, we couldn’t last through more than a couple of songs. Back to Genoa for bed. A big day ahead of us on Saturday.

We were blessed with glorious spring-like weather that weekend, with temperatures climbing into the low 60s, a delightful break from the soggy 50s we had in the week leading up to her visit. Saturday morning we had breakfast, then headed into the city to see Genoa. I showed Kat the medieval center, the port, Columbus’s alleged birthplace, and we even had some time for boot shopping . . . while there were some good potential options, we didn’t find exactly what Kat was looking for but we enjoyed the browsing experience.

Back on a bus, we grabbed our overnight bags, then back on a bus for Brignole train station, then to Siena via Pisa. I slept most of the train ride, absolutely exhausted from work. Kat began her many postcards (I believe she sent 30 something). The sun was in that glorious golden hour, and with our latitude, it lingers longer than in other parts of the world. We consulted the map, and made a mad dash for the iconic slanted architecture.

It leans a bit more every year, and as I had not been since 2004, I could really feel like it was leaning noticeably more. After posing for the obligatory “let’s hold this thing up” pictures, we strolled back through town, past postcard shops and touristy knick knack pushers, back to the train and towards Tuscany and Siena.

At one random station, we stopped to get a snack and read the board for our connection. Our train was cancelled! Ahh, Italy . . .always full of frustrations. We had to sit in the station and wait a bit for the next train, but we were grateful there was a next train. We rolled into Siena a bit later than we anticipated, but glad to be there with fresh air and stars peeking out of the inky sky. Having not been there since 2002, I was very pleasantly surprised by the redo of the train station. Previously, you had to board a bus, grab a taxi, or walk up a very long hill to the city, with the station settled at the base of a big hill. But now, they have constructed an elaborate system of escalators and people movers that bring you easily and conveniently to the top of the hill, where you can then stroll through the medieval wall and right into town, all lit up in its serene romantic beauty.

We were tired from the travel, but captivated by the magic of the city. Siena is special, and I will always choose staying her over Florence. It’s a popular day trip place, but to stay allows you to experience the real magic when the tourist crowds disperse, and you can wander and enjoy in peace and serenity. Kat had articles from the New York Times Travel Section and she had a recommendation for a restaurant in the main square. We found it, and enjoyed an absolutely delicious meal with a view of City Hall. Then a short stroll just outside of town to our hotel, which we were so excited about. We chose a quaint b&b with 360 degree views of the hillside.

Upon arrival at our hotel, we experienced a bit of a snafu. They accidentally gave away our room to someone who arrived looking for a room. The person working the desk was not a regular, so she made a mistake. I was so exhausted and irritated by that point, but Kat works in hotels and knows this can happen. They rebooked us in a nearby hotel in the same area. We ended up with two single rooms, and the rooms were on the road instead of secluded like the other hotel. However, the quality was excellent as was the service. The original hotel was very apologetic and offered us discounts on future stays. So it’s all good — and these things are part of the travel adventure. I slept very well, and we awoke to a beautiful breakfast with views over the hills and valley in the bright sunshine. Delicious. No complaints. Another gorgeous day awaited us.

After some photos in the garden, we saw the civic museum with its famous mural. Kat educated and entertained me with her wealth of medieval knowledge, enhancing the experience. We then boarded a train to Florence and headed to the Duomo for a quick photo stop then straight for the Uffizi Gallery, where we had booked “Skip the line” tickets for a nominal fee. This was my 5th time in Florence, and I was finally getting to see the Uffizi. So much outstanding, famous and beautiful art to contemplate. We spent hours there soaking it all up, took some photos outside along the river, stopped for some yummy pizza, then back to the train. Yes, there was unfortunately a lot of clock-watching on my part to make sure we could do everything — and it wasn’t as laid back as I would have liked to be. But we made it happen, it was a great adventure, Kat was in awesome spirits, and I had a blast.

We rolled into Genoa that evening, and instead of going straight to sleep, I hung out in the living room with Kat for a sleepover style late-night chat.

Here is a slideshow of our adventure:

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Kat left for the airport 5:30 the next morning, with a stop in Paris long enough for her to enjoy the city then back to New York. What an amazing, fabulous adventure. Thanks for visiting!

“I’ll be back!” she said. I’m looking forward to our next adventure, whether it’s a weekend somewhere in Italy or Europe, or a longer break. We shall see. Until I post our next adventure, you may be interested in checking out Kat’s photography blog: http://hhphotogsummerstreets2013.tumblr.com

-written 26 June 2013 but posted in March for appropriate timeline

Visit #10 to the Emerald Isle

Posted on February 23, 2013 by liguriansun

There is definitely a theme to my travels. I repeatedly visit favorite places in Europe like some visit a favorite park or beach. An open Europhile, I traveled to Europe every chance I had. In fact, I tell people I moved here in order to reduce my carbon footprint. Now I fly Transatlantically twice a year as opposed to the 4-5 flights I did when I lived in NYC.

Ireland is one of my favorites. What are the other repeats? Well, by now you should know Belgium (12). I lived in England and went back 6 or so other times (it gets fuzzy due to years I popped in just for a night en route to the continent). Switzerland (10). Other places, I’d like to pop in and visit, but I would always go to the favorite spots as well. Europe allows for that, with countries like US States. (You don’t count how many times you visit NY when you live in NJ, for example).

But why not Italy? Why is it not on the repeat fave list? Let’s see, before I moved here, I had traveled to Italy 5 times, so I clearly did enjoy my time but was not lured as often as nearby Switzerland, for example. Well, to be honest, I always liked popping into Tuscany especially and always had visions of one day chilling in the Cinque Terra (that’s just 1.5 hours away now!). But train strikes, overbooked trains, missed connections, tourist crowds, and general chaos makes Italy a bit frustrating for a tourist (as well as an inhabitant). Not to knock my host country, but I just didn’t feel as strong a lure to Italy as to my faves. Switzerland, Belgium, and Ireland are calm, ordered, peaceful, beautiful, friendly, and extremely accommodating to tourists.

Even after all these visits, I was still excited and at peace when I landed around 8pm. Ahhh. The fresh air, the . . . how do I say it? Ireland has some kind of magical hold over me. A friend told me, “It’s in the blood.” I am 25% Irish, with my mother’s grandparents hailing from County Monaghan. As a result, she just got her Irish passport after validating her dual citizenship status. She also qualifies for Italian dual citizenship (actually, as do I as they honor citizenship through great grandparents). But as I have learned after the 6 months it took me to get my Visa, the process is very bureaucratic, but I’ll get it one day. 🙂 I’m 50% Italian, by the way, with Mom’s maternal grandparents from Northern Italy, the Piacenza region, to be exact. And Dad’s grandparents from Sicily (Palermo). Anyways, I do feel a bit at home in Italy, and I certainly look Italian. But I’m still trying to find a way to articulate why Ireland is so special to me.

Is it the incredibly fresh, crisp air? Not to knock Genoa’s air, but it doesn’t have the same pristine quality. Is it the fact that they speak English? With the fun brogues? Is it the people’s wonderful sense of humor? Their open and friendly nature? The fact that even the cab driver will tell you his life story if you get him started. Mom loves to get them started, always asking, “How is your day so far?” That’s all it takes. Before long, we are learning tales of relatives in New York, snowstorms 15 years ago, slow business days, daughters and sons-in-laws, advice for traveling, commentary on the “Gloom and Doom” economy . . . it goes on and on. Mom is always quick to say, “I come every February and now I have my Irish passport.”

“It’s the promised land,” said our Cabbie last night.

Ahh.

Ireland is a beautiful country. But while the views are splendid, I guess it is the people. We love the people. The Irish make everyone feel at home, like we are all family. I love that. And now we actually do have some friends here who are like family.

We met them in Lake Como, Italy actually. How? Mom’s gift of gab.

I was swimming in the small pool on the terrace, overlooking gorgeous Lake Como, summer 2011. Mom was sunbathing and happened to strike up a conversation with a young woman. Her friend was floating on a raft in the pool, near me. Before long, we discovered they were both teachers working in Dublin. We enjoyed lots of conversation, laughs, and some drinks, kept in touch through facebook, and reunited last summer for dinner and a concert at the National Concert Hall. The music of Danny Elfman. (Simpsons, of course!). It was all in connection with the Jameson International Film festival that is held this time every year. And I’m always here this year because it’s my February break. Luckily, my February break at my new school (the Ski Week) coincides with that of my old school.

Anyways, this year, the music at the concert hall was a bit dark so Mary Bridget and Elaine booked tickets for The Gate theatre, a small, intimate theatre. After a delightful dinner and sinful dessert at the Gresham Hotel (seriously sinful — bread and butter pudding for me that must have had a whole brick of Kerry Gold in it, mmm), we walked across to the Gate Theatre where we discovered we had 2nd row seats for “A Bedroom Farce,” a very funny British Comedy.

We were laughing our arses off for the duration, especially while watching a John Cleese like character stuck in bed with back pain. He dropped his book and the look on his face and the perfect mannerisms . . . it was wonderful. If the wrong type of actor was cast, it just wouldn’t be funny. But this was delightful. Having just suffered a flare up of an old track injury where I had a slipped disc/sciatica, I know all too well the comic positions, faces, and noises you make when your back gets “stuck” as his was.

2nd Row Seats for the show. Intermission.

So, after a lovely evening, we thanked the girls for their delightful treat (Aunt Minnie got dinner for us and the girls just insisted that they treat us to the show no matter how hard Mom tried to protest. Elaine said, “We won’t take it. We’ll just leave that as a very nice tip for our waiter.”)

Mom said, “These are our first international friends. You’ve been traveling for years, but for us, this is new and they are so special.” She is right.

“Who are your first international friends?”

I thought a minute. “Jasper and Dave” I said. From Bruges. “11 years later, I still talk to them and visit them.”

Mary Bridget said, “It is so wonderful to have international friends.”

“It Tis,” said Elaine. We all nodded our heads, said a farewell, and Mary Bridget promised to be in touch to help me plan my trip. I’m taking some students to Dublin to study the Irish Nationalist movement, the revival, WB Yeats, James Joyce, etc. As she is studying at Trinity College in the English Department (for her Masters) she said they would be happy to help.

—-

What else did we do on this tour? Well, a quick recap. I arrived via Paris the evening before and stayed in a single ensuite room at a lovely hostel I had visited in 2006 in a dorm room. This was the first time in a private room, and it was spendidly comfortable. The next morning, I walked over to our hotel where I met Mom and Great Aunt Minnie, freshly arrived from JFK in NYC. They napped, I got a haircut at Toni & Guy. (It’s very hard to find English speaking hairdressers and my Italian is just not that good yet).

That evening, we took a DART train ride to Dun Laoghaire (pronounced Dun Leary) for a lovely stroll in the sunshine along the sea and a delightful meal. I had sweet and spicy chicken wings. mm. Back on the electric commuter rail (60% financed by the EEC) and back to Dublin. Did we take a stroll around? I don’t exactly remember, but the ladies were jetlagged and to bed early.

The next morning, we enjoyed a lovely breakfast, hopped on a hop on/hop off tour bus — an annual tradition, stopped at the Guinness Storehouse for their first visit (I went in 2001). I enjoyed a pint at the Gravity Bar with views over the city. Mom had half of hers, and Aunt Minnie had a soda. I loved it and couldn’t believe that when I came in 2001, as a Junior in College, I still was making bitter beer face, even with Guinness. I had a couple of sips and then handed it over to the man sitting at the bar waiting for such an opportunity. He must buy his ticket every day and then drink discarded Guinnesses all day for free. I did not see him in 2013 on this trip, though.

Anyways, we completed our loop and returned for high tea. Later that night, I ordered room service for puff pastry potato and chicken leak pie. mmm.

The following morning, we boarded a bus for our annual Wicklow tour, the gorgeous mountains just outside of Dublin where many movies are filmed, including PS I Love You. I can’t go to Wicklow without thinking of this clip: Mom saw it on TV and said it reminded her of me. Aww. What a sweet movie. With great music. Love it. Of course, as it was February, the fields weren’t filled with the gorgeous purple heather, but they still have their own special quality. More about Wicklow along with photos in another post.

That evening, Mom and I walked to Grafton Street, where there was shopping until 9pm and I had a wardrobe to restock a bit. But somehow we got separated and somewhere there is security footage of us comically passing each other. In fact, we both said we were watching the street sweeper go by. We were probably on either side of him. And somewhere in that sweeper went one of my new favorite earrings. Oh well.

Yesterday was a lazy day. We woke up for breakfast, Mom and I shopped (finally), then we rested until dinner with the girls. And finally I did some yoga to try to fend off this food binge. Oh, but how lovely it all is. And now here we are, Lazy Day 2. We might go to a movie. It’s really cold, actually snow flurrying. And while I did not need gloves in Switzerland when it was -9 degrees Farenheit, Ireland at 30 degrees freezes my hands off. It’s a chilling, damp kind of cold. We were thinking of heading to Howth to see the sea lions at the other end of Dublin bay, but it looks like a movie is in order. I want to see Lincoln, but Aunt Minnie says, in all seriousness, “I don’t want to see that. I know how it ends.”

So we shall see. Off for a walk so housekeeping can come in.

Belgium calls again!

Posted on February 6, 2013 by liguriansun

I have just returned from visit number 12 to Belgium! Che Fortuna!

Here’s how it all happened. I am teaching an International Baccalaureate (IB) course called Language A. (I teach it in English, but it is offered in dozens of languages). I already have training in Language and Literature, but it’s a different track for English than my school offers. I applied for funds through the professional development committee to go, originally for December in Oxford, but it’s a crazy time of year and I had already received some funding, so I applied again for spring semester. The soonest course was in Brussels, Belgium. So once again, back to one of my favorite countries.

As you may recall from my previous Belgium post My Magic Bruges , my heart lies in Flanders – the Flemish (Dutch dialect) speaking region north of Brussels. But while I may love Bruges the best, Brussels is certainly nice.

It was a whirlwind. I worked on Thursday, my crazy day, for four 80 minute classes, jetted home to get my bags and dash to the airport where I had to transfer in Rome, finally arriving in Belgium at midnight. Brussels airport is super convenient with a rail connection to Brussels Central, so I did that then groggily showed a taxi driver my hotel info and arrived at my hostel/hotel around 1am. Whew! Reception normally closes at 22:00, so I’m so glad I notified them in advance and someone waited for me. When I arrived, I soon learned that he was “going to sleep for three hours” because then he had to work again very early in the morning. Yikes.

I awoke the next morning to pouring rain as I had a yummy hotel breakfast – just some warm croissants and breads along with coffee and OJ. I was worried about my transport connections to the Management Conference Center, so I jetted out and on my way. I somehow got on the right tram, but in the wrong direction, with foggy windows and no signs to announce the stops, it was a collossall guessing game. Where am I? Where am I going? I dunno. Eventually I asked someone what stop we were at, then I learned I had gone the wrong way. I am not necessarily a shy person, but with certain things I’m painfully shy — asking strangers for directions – yeah, that’s tricky for me. Everyone was being super helpful, but they were also confused, too. The directions listed the wrong name for the tram stop, which thanks to google maps and some help from tram riders, we learned was Baili. Next, the website said, “once you get off at the stop, the Management Center is a short walk away.” No map, no indication of the direction. Nothing to help. Again, luckily I had a google maps printout with me as well, but that was not exactly correct. One woman said, “I worked at that stop for 20 years, and I have never heard of that place.” There was a lot of passing around of my documents, a lot of discussion and a lot of wishes for good luck. We had a while to go, so we chatted about books and how much she loves Faulkner. So friendly. Everyone was so kind, and I was so grateful.

Once I exited, I clung to my soggy paper and finally found my way. After a hard start, the day was lovely. My teacher was extremely warm, positive and helpful– an IB English A teacher in London. We had people in our class from all over the world: Russia, Netherlands, Turkey, Jordan, Poland, Italy, Switzerland, Slovakia . . .and all teaching in different languages. Very cool!

The information was extremely helpful for my coursework. We shared ideas, and it was all information my students and I desperately needed, so I soaked it up like a sponge and the days flew by. They provided us with coffee breaks after 90 minute sessions. Yummy treats, and then an absolutely delicious lunch buffet. The first day, there were cheese croquettes as an option! My favorite! And two different types. I just love how these are done in Belgium, fried perfectly crisp with a sumptuous filling. I need to write poetry about these cheese croquettes to do them justice. They also had a huge salad spread with smoked salmon, meats, tasty raisin and cranberry bread . . . I couldn’t stop eating, and even went for a second helping of croquettes. Even little glass bottles of coke. And one of the dessert options at the buffet was creme brulee. At a buffet!

At the end of a long yet productive day of coursework, I grabbed a fresh-made warm waffle with chocolate sauce, whipped cream and ice cream, then headed straight for a train to Ghent, where I’d meet up with Jasper, one of my Belgian friends I met in Bruges in the summer of 2001 — all those years ago. Both Jasper and Dave have become really good friends, and due to both my love for Europe and Belgium, I get to see them a lot.

Jasper met me at the station, and we walked around the very quiet streets of Ghent. It was Friday night — and unlike most university towns in America, the college kids go home. Virtually all of them. Ghent is a major university where most of the Flemish speaking college aged kids go to school. Both Jasper and Dave went there, and both of them now have their own apartments in the city like many young adults stay. Jasper walked me through a street that was like a mini Greenwich Village, if I wanted to stretch a bit. . .er, a lot. He kept calling Ghent the “New York of Flanders”

“Take a photo,” he said, “and post it as the New York of Flanders. And everyone will wonder — ooh, what is that city.” I laughed and turned on the sarcasm. Then he said, “No really, look at that tall building they are constructing.” He pointed to a solitary communist-style architecture apartment building that was clearly an eyesore on the gorgeous medieval landscape. “That makes it like New York, and this is my neighborhood. So I kind of live in New York. I’m a New Yorker.”

“So move to New York, ” I said.

“No, I can’t. My heart is here.”

And I hear that from so many Belgians. They often love to talk about and visit New York. They have a fondness for America, American things, and American people. (Do they like me for me or my country, hmmm?) Yet they wouldn’t want to leave their country. I can’t blame them. It’s a good , peaceful life. People are provided for. Overall, it’s calm. It’s a beautiful country with beautiful people and delicious food and beer. Yeah, I get it.

I had to get some fries. Though they try, they just can’t get them right in the “Belgian Fry Shops” of NYC. This night, I tried the Mammoet–sauce (mayonnaise, tomato, onion,glucose, garlic, soy) because I remember loving it out late in Ghent in November. To help me choose, the girl put four different sauces in a dish for me to dip a fry in to taste. Cool! I loved them all, but chose the Mammoet for this night.

Jasper had a water.

I refused to feel guilty devouring the fries as he counted calories and just ate his traditional one fry in sauce. I was in Belgium and I was determined to eat my way through it. As usual.

Afterwards, we went to a bar in a student neighborhood, where on a Friday night, there were only four other people, all around age 18. We had Leffe Blondes, then moved on to another bar for a cocktail. I had a mojito and Jasper had a Bloody Mary, mostly for the political reference. (He’s a history teacher). He kept making a face while drinking it, saying “I hate tomatoes, I should have known I wouldn’t have liked this.”

Um . . .yeah.

We had some good laughs, sharing memories over the years, and then I had to dash home to catch my train. Bummer. I’m usually here on holiday, where I can crash if I miss the train — no big deal. But my class was super important and super expensive for my school, so I wanted to make sure I got the most out of it.

I arrived back at Brussels Central and decided to walk to my hotel that night, through the Grand Place, past students, locals and tourists out for Friday night fun, and I got to my hotel around 1 am . . .again, and passed out exhausted. 7am rise the next day.

Another pleasant hotel breakfast, another amazing and informative day of class along with fabulous lunch (Turkey Cordon Blu), then I dashed to the train for a ride to BRUGES! I was so excited both Jasper and Dave agreed to meet me in Bruges this night so I could see it. 🙂 Jasper hopped on the train in Ghent, and Dave was already home in Bruges for the weekend, so he would drive over later.

As Jasper and I walked around Bruges, he was oohing and ahhing at everything: the quaint winding Medieval streets, the peace, the architecture. “I’m starting to appreciate my city like a tourist,” he said. “I see why you always want to stay here. I can really see it now. It’s special.”

We walked through the market square, passed the Belfry, then stopped in a fry shop where I indulged in bitterballen — fried balls filled with something delicious. Then I had a Kaas Kroqet. mmm. After, we had beers in a bar I visited several times before, including NYE 2010. When Dave arrived, we went to a bar on the T-Zand, the other big market in Bruges, with the fountain. I had a Brugse Zot (Bruges Fool) and a Kriek, followed by profiteroles. mmmm. Dave was distracted because he had a crazy girl stalking him and getting him and his friend in trouble with their girlfriends, so he was outside on the phone for much of it. But we understood. Then all too quickly, it was time to catch the train home. Jasper and I said farewell to Dave, boarded the train, and he departed in Ghent. I wanted to snooze, but Jasper said, “That’s not social!” So I stayed up to spend time with him before my next visit.

Back in Brussels late again, and again, I arrived at my hotel around 1am. Really exhausted now, but it’s all worth it.

The following morning, I rose early, ate breakfast, checked out and left my luggage, and darted to class for the last time. It was a super helpful conclusion. We said our farewells and had lunch at 12:30. I sat with my teacher and a woman who is an admin in Lebanon. I’m going to try to arrange a visit.

After, I strolled around a Brussels park a bit, at the stop called Parc on Tram Line 1 and 5. Then I got my luggage and headed for the airport an hour early. I wanted more fried food, but didn’t have the opportunity there. I did have the opportunity to purchase some Neuhaus cocoa powder for hot chocolate. mmm. To kill time, I had a nice Leffe Brown beer in the terminal and headed on a long journey home, transferring in Rome. I arrived in Genoa before 11:30, but by the time I waited for the air bus, switched to the local bus, and walked home, it was almost 1am . . .yet again.

The next day at work, after going, going, going — I was super exhausted. But I was also glowing because it was an awesome, productive and fun trip filled with much joy and a lot of food. I don’t know how this is possible, but I swear my pants already don’t fit. Worth it.

**Please note, there seems to be an issue with inserting a slideshow in WordPress. The button is no longer there. Any ideas? I inserted a gallery this time instead.

Fairytale Bruges at Night

Posted on November 24, 2012 by liguriansun

Slideshow of photos from my nighttime strolls in Bruges, Belgium: November, 2012.

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My Magic Bruges

Posted on November 24, 2012 by liguriansun

November 1 and 2 is the All Saints holiday in Italy, so we had off that Thursday and Friday. As with any break, it was time to travel somewhere. I chose to visit Bruges, Belgium to see one of my favorite cities in the world as well as good friends I met over 11 years ago.

This was my 9th visit to Bruges . . .10 if you count 2002 where I visited twice during one long backpacking trip. There has always been something extremely magical about this fairytale city, a step back in time and a break from reality. A place to wander and imagine.

While studying abroad in England in spring 2001, my friend Mike and I booked a mini break to Brussels, Belgium. We were looking for something different and new, and figured this would be a nice three day escape. Our travel agent in Banbury said, “Oh, you must go to Bruges. It’s very special. Canals, swans . . . you must go.” Mike and I kept that in mind. After wandering around the beautiful yet congested streets of Brussels, we returned to our hotel and saw a poster advertising a day trip to Bruges the next day. We signed up, and the next day, we arrived for a big surprise.

I knew nothing about Bruges except the swans and canals. I was not prepared for the sights that had me spinning my head in all directions like my cat when we throw too many catnip mice at her. We oohed, we ahhed, we wandered, and we couldn’t stop snapping pictures — beauty everywhere. Extremely ornate baroque architecture, with intricate details on every piece of moulding and wood, from houses to churches. The carillon bells chimed throughout the day, a live organist playing sweet melodies for us at the top of the Belfry, the centerpiece of the quaint, picturesque cobbled square. The square was lined with restaurants, horse-drawn carriages, and tourists happy to discover one of medieval Europe’s best kept secrets. Back then before the release of the movie, who knew how beautiful things were In Bruges?

Bruges is considered one of the world’s largest outdoor museums. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. How did it stay so well-preserved? Bruges used to be on the coast, an important port city, an epicenter for trade and Flemish art and architecture. But when the water receded, Bruges was no longer on the coast and the city was abandoned, almost forgotten for centuries. In the 1800s, when travel became a leisure activity, Victorian tourists “re-discovered” the beauty, putting Bruges on the map for the Grand Tour. Though filled with tourists, and tourism certainly has increased after the release of the 2008 movie, people do live here in this very special place.

During our walking tour, we wandered down a cobbled back lane, and I peered at the lace-covered windows, wondering about the lives inside. What would it be like to live here? I’d like to live here. I need to come back. I was absolutely mesmerized, and then I tried the food. Fries like I’d never had in my life . . . crispy and flavorful, served in a white bowl, mayonnaise on the side. Chicken in a delicious cream sauce. I don’t know the name, I’m not even sure what else we had — I just remember the sensational flavors. This was so early on in my world travels, just my second time in Europe — and I was overwhelmed with sensory ecstasy.

We took a cruise along the canals, dipping below low bridges, gliding past more intricate buildings and past the majestic swans, undulations trailing them. We sampled the rich chocolate truffles, watched some lacemaking, then we stopped at a convent for cloistered nuns. I sat amidst yellow tulips and imagined a life cloistered amidst all this beauty: thinking, praying, writing, reflecting . . . how peaceful. I envied the nuns a little bit.

We boarded the bus and left the magical city, the spires disappearing in the distance before we entered the highway back to chaotic Brussels. I began to regret not staying in Bruges instead. I didn’t know. But I knew I’d be back.

I had no idea it would be so soon. That was March 2001. That summer, my best friend Anna announced that she was going to be studying abroad for a month in . . . BRUGES . . . as she was working toward her culinary degree at Johnson and Wales. My heart pounded with excitement for her and a tinge of jealousy because she got to stay in that city, to experience life there like I had dreamed while wandering the streets. She invited me to visit after her studies. I had just returned from life abroad and was already dreaming of being back in Europe. My parents said, “We’ll buy you the ticket as your birthday present. You just pay for the hotel and incidentals.” I did not hesitate and booked my flight for that July, just two months after I had returned from England.

Just before my 21st birthday, in low pigtails with a bright lifeguard tan, I boarded the plane for my first international trip alone. Oh yes, I had the travel bug big time now, and this trip launched the next phase of my adventures. I met Anna at a hotel in Bruges, and we rode bikes into the countryside, discovered a beautiful park, stumbled across a festival at a beer garden, and enjoyed summer beauty. Before heading to Interlaken, Switzerland, we ventured out to her favorite bar, Bras, located in another square by the fountain. I threw on jeans and my royal blue Superman tank top, and we were out the door. I remember being a bit tired that night but knew that I’d have a good time if I could just make it out.

At Bras, I had my first Belgian beer. I usually involuntarily made “bitter beer face” every time I tried to have a beer when out, and instead opted for mixed drinks like vodka and cranberry. Anna ordered me a Duvel, and it glided right down with a pleasant aftertaste. Smooth. No headache. Nice buzz. We sampled different beers that night, including Hoegarden and Stella, enjoyed the music, talked to the bartenders that Anna knew well, and then . . . magic.

A guy came up to me and said, “What do you think of that guy over there?” He pointed to a very attractive, tanned, athletic Belgian. “He’s cute,” I said. Shortly afterward, he came over and in his good but not practiced English, we began talking. And then . . . kissing. We kissed so long that the bartenders sprayed us with tap beers. We barely noticed. Anna said she had to make new friends.

His name was Jasper and he had a fun, cute friend named Dave. I found out he had lied about his age when his mother kept texting him to come home. They were only 18, just having graduated from high school — about to enter college. I was about to turn 21 in a couple of weeks, about to enter my senior year of college. Oh well. Jasper scrawled his email on a bar coaster and the next day Anna and I woke up without hangovers and were off for an amazing adventure in another one of my favorite places, the Swiss Alps.

At the end of that trip, Anna headed to Greece and I was back in Bruges for just a few days by myself. I emailed Jasper, he met me at Bras again with Dave, and a long friendship was born. Dave said, ‘We noticed you because of your Superman shirt . . . we thought that was so cool.” And then when they found out I was a lifeguard, I had to explain that, no, I did not know Yasmin Bleethe.

We emailed throughout the year, and I visited the following summer while backpacking throughout Europe on my own for 3 weeks. This was my two visits in 2002 . . . and well, I guess you could also say I had two visits in 2001. Maybe 11 visits to Belgium depending on how you count it. 🙂 Bruges was the 2002 Culture Capital of Europe, so there were even more museum exhibits and cultural activities than usual. I explored Van Eyck paintings, I learned more about the history, I shopped on the quaint streets, and I ate well. Of course, I met up with Jasper and Dave at Bras and met some of their new friends and introduced them to some friends from Fordham that I ran into serendipitously on a back lane on the outskirts of town. I also visited Ghent University, where they were now studying in another beautiful canal-laden city with grand architecture. And then life happened. Emails changed and we lost touch. But we never lost the fun memories.

In 2005, I received an email from my friend Charlie. The guys had posted a comment on his blog because he had mentioned my full name. I guess they were searching for me and they said, “this may be the Kristin we met in Belgium some years ago.” He asked if I knew them and said yes, and then we were back in touch.

We kept in touch with emails, but I did not get back until 2006 when I was in Belgium with my entire family . I had to show them how beautiful it was.

I’ll never forget the family’s faces as we walked to the market square at night on my birthday, August 11, 2006. Sweet 26. All lit up and a surprise feast for the eyes. Then an absolutely amazing meal at one of the restaurants, facing the belfry. Cheese croquettes. Delicious meal in various sauces. A special beer called Kwak that required it’s own wooden holder to keep the hourglass shape from tipping over. Bubbles and a bubbly mood. Have I ever been this happy? It was the only time our whole family traveled in Europe together, and we were in one of my favorite places. On a whim, I emailed the guys, and then we met at the fountain, just like old times. My brother met them and we were all fast friends, enjoying the music festival in town, talking in the bars until 4 am each evening, and just savoring the moment. They told my brother, “You are our hero.” Did I ever laugh so much? Good Times and Amazing Memories.

Life got in the way again, but I was able to return in the summer of 2009 on a grand tour with my father to Switzerland and Belgium. Dave took me to a friend’s birthday party, then we met Jasper in Ghent for some beers and fun. I was back that winter to experience New Years’ 2010 in Bruges with my friend Krista. Partying till dawn and making new friends, it was another of my favorite experiences. I really enjoyed wandering the Christmas markets, sipping mulled wine, and peering at all the lights and Christmas decorations — one of my photos made it to the cover of my Christmas cards the following year.

Summer 2010, Dad and I were once again traveling through Europe, and once again returned to our favorite city to wander the streets and savor the food. This time, I didn’t get to see Dave who was out of town, but Jasper and I met up a few times for good meals and good conversation. I also met up with Kai,Tobi, and Simone, friends I met at New Years. And my friend from NY, Josh, was backpacking in town that weekend, so we all had drinks together.

Summer 2011, yup, I was back in Europe again. I spent a week in Italy with mom and Aunt Minnie, then flew to Brussels. At Dave’s new apartment in Ghent, he popped some champagne for the three of us to celebrate 10 years since we first met in Bruges. Anna said, “I wish I could have been there. And who’d have thought that you’d still be in touch all these years later?” We were grateful for the friendship, and I said, ‘Here’s to the next 10 years. Hopefully I’ll come with my family one day and our kids can all play together.” .

This year, as always, it was great to see my friends. Thanks to facebook, I know everything that’s going on in their lives, and it’s so easy to just pick up where we left off, chatting, laughing, wandering. We had some good beers in Ghent. We ate delicious fries and bitterballen. We watched Dave’s soccer game and met his teammates and their friends and girlfriends. Everyday Belgium.

The trip was quick, but there was plenty of time for a visit to Ghent and plenty of wandering around Bruges, beautiful even in the cold November rain. I was heartbroken and upset after all of Superstorm Sandy’s destruction in New York. I was feeling far away and alone, and this trip ended up being at the perfect time. The beauty and magic of the city soothed me as always. The long walks cleared my head while I traveled back in time. The conversations with my old friends were special as always, and I enjoyed meeting more of their friends. I ate well, laughed much, and soaked my soul in beauty. I have a lot to be thankful for this Thanksgiving as always, and I am very thankful for the many, many happy memories I’ve had in Europe over the years with friends, family and new friends. More about this particular trip in the photo essay.

Happy Halloween from Italy!

Posted on October 31, 2012 by liguriansun

Halloween is starting to become a thing here in Genoa. They have a pizzeria in Nervi called Halloween , all decked in black and orange year-round. Nestled in the little port, I really want to try it, especially since it was recommended in our “Welcome to Genoa” packet compiled by staff members.

Trick-or-treating is a new trend here. My colleagues were surprised when kids showed up at their 4th floor apartment, then proceeded to give two pieces of candy they scrounged up for the 6 of them. Even so, they still said “Grazie mille!” I never got trick-or-treaters in my NYC apartments so I think it would be very interesting to have my first ones here. But after 9pm, I guess the time has passed. Good thing. All I’d be able to offer is change, like that old lady in grandma’s neighborhood who gave out nickels on Halloween and warned us not to eat too many tootsie rolls, as if those were what I craved.

Due to the new trend, Halloween shops have popped up all over the city, including a quaint one down by the sea, selling devil horns, vampire teeth, masks, wigs, and pre-packaged costumes straight from America. A costume that costs 50 bucks at Party City is now 75 euros. Yikes! I should get into that as a side business, much like the shop owner.

Somehow in the move, the stand-up collar for my vampire costume did not make it to Italy. I had to get something to go with my gothic dress. Thanks to the recommendations of my students, I strolled down to the sea to the quaint little Halloween shop, where I then waited on line for about 15 minutes. A woman said, “Buona Sera . . .” and I said, “I only speak English,” feeling guilty because I should be able to say that in Italian. I get embarrassed using my “broken” Italian, but how else am I going to learn? My progress is coming along, though I will talk about that in another post.

The woman gestured to the man next to her who said in near perfect English, “How can I help you?” I explained my situation and he said they only had the packaged sets there and to come next door to get accessories in the Tabacchi. He took me to the front of the line, and soon I had a nifty witch hat. “Where are you from?” he asked.

“New York City,” I said proudly, missing home but not enough to jump on a plane or leave my beautiful life just yet.

“I go there at least once a year to meet with the costume designers and stock up. I love New York, what a great city. But next year, the event has been moved to Houston. This is my side business. I work for the German company Siemens”

“Ahh” I had seen the name on a building in town.

“How long are you here?” he asked shaking his head with that look I get so often here in Genoa. People don’t seem to understand how I could leave such a great city or how I could be happy here.

“2 years.” His look grew even more exasperated. “How about we switch. You stay here, and I work there. I’ve always wanted to live in New York.”

I hear it a lot, and I totally understand it. “New York has everything, but I have the sea here,”I said, gesturing across the street to the moonlit waves gently lapping against the shoreline. “And the mountains,” I added, pointing behind me. “I guess the food too, but in New York we can get anything . . .ok, except maybe good pesto.”

After chatting a bit, I left knowing I’d be back. He sells decorations for all the holidays, and I was hoping to get a few things to bring my place into the Christmas spirit soon. But first, Halloween Spirit.

My school — being cute and adorable and super spirited . . .well, the parents put together this amazing Halloween Festival for kids through 8th grade, featuring a spooky room and outdoor activities and candy. While I was teaching the older kids, I kept hearing “Thriller” –occasionally breaking out into the dance– “Werewolves of London,” and “The Addams Family.” Speaking of which — each day, we rise for a different world anthem. Today, we rose for — The Addams Family. I have juniors, and I even got them to sing and snap along with me. Yay!

The Genovese seem to prefer the spooky over the cute costumes, so there were witches and ghouls galore, monsters, vampires, ghosts, and gory makeup. But there were also quite a few cherubic witches and cutie pie kiddies as well. Ahh, so fun! Even many of the teachers got into the spirit. Since I am teaching The Crucible, I decided to be a witch — although they didn’t quite dress up like this kind . . . and I’m a good witch. 🙂

Here are some photos of my colleagues and me from today. Happy Halloween!

With the Middle School head of years / other English teacher.

Head of Years for High School

Our IB coordinator had to take a phone call. When she entered the room, with the best voice ever, she said, “Ahh, my long lost cousin, how are you? It’s been forever!”

Backstreets of Venice

Posted on October 21, 2012 by liguriansun

Dad and I passed the gelato shop I visited in 2002 for my first real gelato, an addiction that kept me coming back sometimes 3 times a day. I told him about the mini-tornado that swooped into Venice during my stay, turning the canals into giant wave pools, covering the stones with water along with a torrent of rain. I slipped down the steps of the Rialto Bridge, running for cover with my hostelmate Katie, and we ducked into a bar shortly before they pulled the metal gate closed. We were locked inside to brave the storm. We had a few drinks and met a group of locals that showed us around afterwards. We surveyed the damage, wind battered trees, and flower pots and window boxes broken everywhere. A unique Venetian memory.

“Hey, Dad, my b&B was actually in this neighborhood. It’s been 10 years, but I wonder if I could find it.”

With pure 10 year old memories, I navigated down the winding backstreets and said, “Ahh yes, up ahead, there will be a turn, a tiny bridge over a quaint canal, and then the street is shortly after that.” Sure enough, we made it to the street and think we found the place. Later, I checked facebook pictures on my iphone and found that I actually took a picture of the door back then, but we didn’t go back to check we were right. Ahh technology!

While we were in the neighborhood, we went searching because I remembered many quaint restaurants for aperitivos, but I couldn’t find them. Was I on the wrong streets? Did they close? Nothing is constant except change, even in this well-preserved museum of a city. Eventually we ended up in a charming square, the trees turning brown in mid autumn, folks quietly clinking their silverware against the plates under a starry night sky. We picked one place in the far corner, and sat down for a beer and a meal. I had the lemon chicken and Dad had veal marsala.

It was a long yet fun day. We were exhausted, and wound our way to the bus station, the university section of the city before boarding a vaporetto back to our dock, Ca’D’oro. I passed out on the bed in my clothes before 9:30.

The next day we woke up for another breakfast and checked out the rooftop terrace, which was a special surprise. Beautiful and peaceful view of Venice from up there.

Boat day. We boarded a vaporetto for the lido. The Adriatic was bright blue, and I kept repeating, “It’s so pretty.” I knew what it looked like, yet I was still happy and surprised to see it again.

At the lido, we walked along the main street, past holiday-style tourist shops selling flip flops and sand toys. “It’s a totally different feel here,” said Dad.

“Yup, it’s connected to the mainland. More of a resort.” Cars can drive over a bridge to get here, unlike in Venice. There are plenty of hotels to stay here, and certainly more space, yet it lacks the charm of the tight, winding paths and canals of Venice.

We made it to the big, Sandy beach, and gazed out over the blue water, churning and turning gray under a stormy sky. By the time we left the beach, the rain had started, and then it became like a shower by the time we arrived on the island of Murano, world-famous for its gorgeous, colorful glass.

We wandered up and down the streets, gazed at the shop windows (all selling glass except for a few that sold food). We snacked on giant meringue, I nibbled–er, devoured Harbo gummy bears, then back on the boat, soggy and tired, to head for town. We had decided to eat at the Hard Rock Cafe tonight. I was getting very sick of the lack of variety in Italian food. I wanted a BURGER, and bacon and cheddar! Dad is used to Italian food as well, growing up in NYC and with my family’s great cooking over the years (I’ve yet to find a restaurant that rivals many of the family dishes, including mama’s sauce). Sidenote: Every time I tell people my family is from Piacenza, they always say, “Oh, the food there is the best!”

The Hard Rock Cafe was nearly impossible to find. The map on the website was . . . wrong. . . misleading. Google maps kept running us around in circles. I even called the restaurant and the directions were confusing at best. Eventually, my Dad stopped into a shop and got directions that were more clear, and we saw it, glass windows, facing a quiet canal filled with gondolas. Normally a travel sin, but now an oasis.

We went inside, while some of my favorite songs blasted in my ears, and we orderd Nastro beer, noshed on cheddar nachos, and by the time our bacon burgers came, we were stuffed but continued. Bruce played. I smiled. Our waitress was one of the top 3 I’ve ever had. Ever. She was so lively, so fun, so funny, dancing in the aisles, joking with us – animated like a cartoon.

Then back to bed, where I passed out even earlier, I think. Oh wait, there was a gelato first. 🙂

The next morning, we awoke for our last breakfast. I went outside to try to get a pair of shoes really quick, and saw the ground had buckled. Acqua Alta – the high waters. They seep up through the clay in the rising tide and cause all kinds of damage. Even part of the wall of our hotel had broken through, spilling clay. A neverending battle.

They say one day Venice will be just like a museum, with no actual residents because it’s so hard to live here, to raise children when you have to navigate the streets, bridges, canals, vaporettos with a stroller. They claim it would be like a Disneyland for grownups. It would still be amazing, though, even if that happens. Hey, as long as it’s here. The Acqua Alta, though, has other plans. See Venice while you can.

Ah Venezia!

Posted on October 15, 2012 by liguriansun

This weekend I returned to Venice for the first time since 2002. 10 years gone. There is always a risk returning to a place you once loved and adored, a fear that you could ruin the magic and distort the original memory — like Wordsworth’s “Tintern Abbey” – the memory may compete with the current image in your mind’s eye.

Check out images from my first trip to Venice, featuring the 21-year-old me who inspired my current life. This is for you, kiddo! Stay fun!

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A little over 10 years ago, I strapped on an overloaded backpack after college graduation, and popped all around Europe, booking hostels on the Internet and changing plans as I went. I originally booked two days in Venice, but fell so in love that I had to completely rearrange the rest of the trip, just for one more night. I heard false rumors of the stench, dirty water, and decaying buildings — but instead found clean(ish) blue water, no noticeable scent, and buildings that were in charming states of renovation – preserving the beautiful architecture — architecture unlike any I’ve encountered in my travels since.

That first night, after wandering through back alleys following detailed and slightly confusing directions, I found my B&B, met my hostel-mate, and went out for a delightful aperitif along a small canal, enjoying the beautiful life. As I wandered, explored, tasted gelato, gazed at the scenery, and soaked in the unbelievable feeling of being in a place I dreamed about my whole life, I was elated. I kept thinking of the report I did in 4th grade, researching the city of Venice, and drawing detailed pictures with markers and crayons, painstakingly copying the boats and canalsI found in my library books. How amazing! What would it be like to go there? I need to see. Then I did! [As a bonus, the next post will be cut and pasted from the blog of my youth, when it was so important to just get the ideas down — type, type, type — GO! edit later. You’ll see]

The trip was magical, and the city was hard to leave after just three short nights. On to the Tuscan countryside and a new group of friends, sights and experiences. But I always savored the images, still not believing I was there. All my trips to Europe since then, I have not returned. Now that it’s about 4 hours from my new home in Genoa, it’s a weekend trip for me. It was Dad’s first time to Italy, and as beautiful as Genoa is, it’s not the highlight of an Italian tour. He had to see one of the big three (Venice, Florence and Rome). He also got some time to see the Milan train station, but more like in my previous journeys– unimpressed, worried about missing a train, and a bit rushed. I’m happy to say that Venice was just as magical and impressive, swarms of tourists and all.

When Dad arrived last week, we spent an evening in Nervi (a typical Ligurian resort neighborhood minutes from my apartment). We then went to Acqui Terme for the weekend to indulge in mountain views, thermal waters, and quaint Medieval Architecture. The following day, Dad went off to Constance, Germany for more spas and lakeside views while I tackled the workweek. Thursday, I darted off after teaching four 80 minute long classes and met him in Milan as he was on his way back from Germany. I plopped into my train seat and gazed, dozed, and attempted to unwind while Dad caught up with all his stories from the past three days.

A couple of hours later, we rolled onto the causeway, glimpses of boats and lights glittering in the water on our way into the station. Once outside, you are right there on the Grand Canal, in the heart of Venice, with gondolas, impressive domes and terraces of charming buildings, half-lit for the evening with a humble “Hello” rather than an all out “HEY! HI! Look at me!” Dad and I navigated the intricacies of the Vaporetto sysem (the waterbusses, the main hub of public transport in the city) and noticed that the machine wouldn’t take American cards. How do we pay the 7 euros. 7 euros for a bus ride? Yikes. As we figured out details and stressed about the “work” of travel, the buildings were there, a beautiful background as we were having our “Amazing Race” moments. I had to remind myself “Calm down, you are on holiday. Enjoy!”

We met up with young American girls, maybe backpacking for a weekend during Study Abroad, and they said the guidebook said you can buy them on the boat. We boarded, nobody asked, and we rode for free. Whoops. Gliding past buildings, peeking in windows, watching people stroll about, the city was magic at this time of night, empty, ours. We arrived at Ca’Doro, our neighborhood — and we were so delighted with our choice. We chose a basic yet nice 3 Star hotel near the action, but not in it, nestled on a quiet canal. When we got to the hotel, after a magical walk through the streets, a neighborhood I’d never seen, I was shocked. It was literally on the canal. Up into the room, I peeked out the window and saw that we faced the canal with a stunning view — I couldn’t wait to see it in the morning. After 11pm, we were exhausted but we were here, ready for a nice long weekend of exploration and beauty. And as much as I love Genoa, I was happy to get away.

The next morning, we awoke to a basic but good continental breakfast in the dining area, then went out strolling and exploring Strada Nuova and all the shops. Shopping is surely good in Venice, perhaps better than Genoa, which is interesting because everything has to be carted in on boats then hand trucked to the stores. I had my eye on a few purses and clothes, but I was really here for the getaway and the beauty as well as spend time with my father — even though both of us were exhausted. Take it easy, enjoy.

Friday, we did a lot of strolling about, to the Rialto Bridge and St. Mark’s Square, which was gratefully not yet flooded. By Sunday, Acqua Alta had started to flood St. Mark’s Square as usual, and tourists had to walk on raised platforms. These platforms are set up all over the city, especially this time of year as the high tide season begins in October. Add this to the fact that Venice has sunken about 9 inches in 60 years, and we have quite a problem on our hands. I’m hoping they use the 7 euro bus fee to help subsidize the massive projects in place to protect the city. It’s quite fascinating, actually . . .they are building giant doors on the sea floor where the Adriatic spills into the canals of Venice, a city built on hundreds of little islands at the mouth of the Po River. When the tides get high, the doors will go up and prevent the water from rising. Sounds cool, like it could work in theory — but also quite dangerous if the city relies on this technology and it fails suddenly . . . If not done properly, could a rush of water flood the city to the dome of St. Mark’s Basilica?

It is quite amazing how well preserved this city is, given the age and the odds against it. “See Venice while you can!” they tell us tourists. And the tourists are coming, usually dumped in by the cruise ship load, in clusters of 3-4,000. When these day trippers head back to their boats at night, only having glimpsed the most crushed, touristy parts of Venice, Rialto, St. Mark’s, the island of Murano for the glass . . . the city breathes again. The streets become magical, and you can wander freely and get lost in time. 80% of the city is actually off the beaten tourist path, and if you take the time to wander just a little bit, you can enjoy the “real” Venice, when the ships are in port.

More about the real Venice and the magic of our visit. And I’ll show the new pictures soon, this time embedded in the story instead of the slideshow. Ciao for now. Off to dinner with Dad, his last night in Italy.

Under the Ligurian Sun

My life and travels while living La Dolce Vita in Genoa, Italy.

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