Rising to the Challenge of Trip Planning

Rome. Naples. Palermo. Stromboli (the place not the food).

Sounds fabulous.  And it will be, I am sure.  But, tonight, I stare at AirBnB and Marriott and all the other sites that I know.  And then, there is the aha!  That is where I want to be! Except not really.  I want to be on the coast and in the mountains.  I want to have the view and be in city center.  I want the fancy kitchen and the close by restaurants.  And of course, the time to go to cooking school in each city.

I also want to be in the best reasonable seats at the opera in Naples and have good seats on the train from Rome.  Decisions, decisions.  It requires discipline, research, money and a little leap of faith.  Or a big one.

In a recent article in the New York Times, a young man told a tale of horror.  Nothing about his trip turned out the way he planned.  I personally have had great success with airbnb, but I understand the caution.  I have not traveled alone on these trips  This young man did.

Then there is the concern of the immigrant situation in Europe as told by many, but this article included the plight of Rome, which is where we are headed.  My heart breaks with the thought of planning a vacation, when so many are lost.  So many things to think about.

An image of contemporary Rome


And then, I remember that I won't be at work for two straight weeks.  Sixteen days total. Limited computers, lots of walking, thighs burning from stairs and laughing at how bedraggled I have become. Dragging suitcases up stairs and running through the market with the awe of a child seeing all the things new to me.  Especially the fish markets, that do not stock Florida fish...

Two weeks of no office and no confrontations, no negotiations and no bosses.  Just the opportunity of a new day every day and new experiences.

internet photo

That alone will improve my posture and improve my gait.  It will make my neck a little longer and my legs a little quicker.  I won't be driving so my left leg will re-engage.  I won't be sitting, so my core will have to work for its food.  The plus part of a late year vacation in Europe: fewer tourists, lower temperatures, fewer lines, a little less expensive.  On some trips, a little too cool. Small price to pay.

Departure day arrives and as we depart at the airport, my husband says not to worry about his new cast (he just had surgery) to have fun and to not worry.  This means, please write me and think of me.  I am sure he wants to milk this for the hunting trip to Kansas he wants to make in late November.

The long flight over is filled with older folks ( including me) but other people with white hair.  The ones that surrendered to the grey or white and joined the elderhostel crowds.  And a few very elderly Italian men traveling alone, looking lost.  One across the aisle, one such man can't figure out how to put the earplugs into the monitor or how to choose Italian on the screen. The ear buds come with the two prong insert, which is no longer needed.  I just can't stand to see him struggle, so of course I am up.

I climb over my seat mate and go to help him.  He can't hear well, so it really doesn't matter that I can't speak Italian.  I pat his arm and gently take the ear plugs and unwind them.  Then I remove the two prong insert and plug the mike in to the slot.  I hand him the ear plugs and he tells me, " gratcie, gratcie".  I am sure that is not how to spell it, but it is how it sounds.

He goes to sleep after the meal and I worry not about him for now.

The plane is packed and it is surprising how quiet it is.  even the babies know it is night and we are flying.  I think it is harder for older folks to sleep than the babies.  The fellow next to me dozed, then woke and restarted the "Godfather" and then dozed again.  How does one sleep through the "Godfather"?  Don't they shoot and kill people in that movie?  This must be a man thing.  Like sleeping through baseball and missing the grand slam.

The plane ride is ridiculously long and not the fault of the airline people.  It is just a long overnight flight sitting up, waiting to arrive in a a fabulous location.  A first world problem I am sure my children would say.

internet photo

Out to the airport in Rome, I ask my traveling friend if it feels like home. He says yes, go left. At this point, I am glad we have both agreed on the car to the apartment in Trastevere. The good news is the driver knew exactly where to go. The bad news is we arrived in rush hour traffic. Lovely ride though outskirts of Rome and we were so pleased that the flat looks just like the photo.

Exhausted on the first day, we stroll along the Tiber River walk south of the area we are staying.  The weather is wet and drizzles are on my coat.  I worry more about footing on the slick cobblestone pavement of the roads than about my damp hair or the wet coat.

We decide to turn back and my hair is increasingly curly from the rain.  We stop at a tourist restaurant to eat because my travel partner says he ate there before and it was good.  I said it is a tourist restaurant.  He says, "it's great"!  I say, he has this and only this day to choose where we eat.

There is more to tell, but it will be tomorrow.

Oh Lyon!

Oh Lyon, you feel like a big city - and indeed you should.  But luckily, we are by the old City Center.  The cneter is located in the confluence of the Soane River and the Rhone River.   The center is not an island, but a peninsula, with lovely bridges to and fro, up and down, both sides of the center.

Some are foot bridges and some are road bridges, but all are lovely with suspension and arches and some supporting Neptune and his bride (Charles says it is cheating to look up his wife's name) statutes.  We cross over the Cours de Roosevelt Bridge to the center city and walk several miles - I am sure it is that long- to Bellecour Plaza or Place as they say locally.  There we gatheredthe information from the Tourista Info center and headed to the Vieux Lyon.  Saint Jean and Notre Dame de Fourvier.  It is everything it says, but first the metro...

We climbed through the stairs and escalators, steep as Washington DC and then hit the Metro Station.  Three very authoritative, yet totally ignorant personalities take charge.  Amazingly, we end up on the right rail to the top of  Saint Jean - we tour ta small Cathedral of Saint Irene ( a man btw).  He is still entombed there and the Church has survived since 710 ans according to the plaques.

This is NOT where we thought we were going.  Vistas were vast and all city encompassing hills steep, but a neighborhood of school and home is not where we thought were headed - this is not tourist fare.
Back on the metro - thank goodness for unlimited fare, we head to Vieux Lyon and had salad and quiche. - and wine and bierre of course!  The tourist info place nearby, I popped in while waiting on food and gathered the correct directions to the cathedral and Vieux Lyon proper.  Lovely, but now setting sun and whipping winds have made is a place to visit briefly.

Too cold and we rush to go inside the Basilica Notre Dame de Fourviere.

Being raised Catholic, I cannot bring myself to take photos inside of a cathedral - signs tell you not to and God is watching.  Part of me looks and admires the great talent and the wealth of the Catholic Church and the business sense that the Bishops had to build the empire.  And the other half of me knows that it is built on the backs of those slightly above slaves, clearly - the masons worked themselves to death for the church.

The gold and ornaments of the Church would feed many and warm many houses and yet, we sacrifice that as the art and the expression and the offering of hope is too overwhelming to melt down.  It is if the amount of life given, must be honored by keeping the life of the art and the sanctuary.

Back on the funicular, our little tram up and down the hill, we head home to our apartment.  Patrick is ready to be finished with travel.  We are in lyon for only four nights and three days.  For Charles and Patrick, it is about how long since they left USA.  For me, it is how short till we return.

Tomorrow, my cooking class!