Rising to the Last Leg Palermo

On the way to Italy, Ted continuously watched the Godfather on the airplane video console.  He said putting on a movie that you have seen 20 times makes him sleep better.  I hear the gunfire through his headphones and cannot imagine that there is sleepful bliss in this.

I bring that up, because  Palermo is very closely associated with Mafia history.  Salvatore Giuliano was the real deal.  Not the movie the Godfather, but a real Siciliani who was part of the "Robin Hood" image of Italians in the early 40's.  He was dashing and anti establishment - a villain hero, who was loved and hated by all. 

Salvatore, a handsome man

A lovely introduction to the Palermo streets.  We debated, is Palermo like Madrid or Costa Rica or Miami.  I am pretty sure the answer is yes.  Big open markets, lots of traffic, horns, whistles, yelling, hands and honking.  It is strangely attractive and sixties in architecture, though not really.  Tall buildings so you cannot see the port like one can on the Amalfi Coast.  And at the risk of the Palermo tourist industry people, dirty.  More street trash, more floating garbage in the harbor, more dog poop.

That said our little piece of heaven is fabulous.  Thanks to Michele, we have a three bedroom, three bath flat.  The kitchen is appropriately appointed and the living space and patios are to  live for.  We walk the the Ballaro Market and then down to the port.  We saunter back and hit a bar called, "the navy".  Which of course, Corbett and Ted must stop into.  We have a beer and a couple of paninis.  ( I almost called them sandwiches!)

We track along and see the Carrefour sign.  Don't know how I lived without them.  The Publix of Europe.  Open markets are great for most, but butter, oil and soap are best bought at the Carrefour!  Pronounce Cawfoe.  No r's.

patio view, like right there

View off the top balcony

sort of looks like the sun is peaking though for us

Palermo has not had time to know me, nor I it.  I love the deep roots and mysteries.  I am not sure I love the religion in every breath of every corner.  I need to feel this more deeply.  We head for Cefalu tomorrow.  Catacombs on Saturday.  Water tour on Sunday.  Busy last days.  Oh and last apartment had an elevator, and we were on first floor.  Now we are on three and a half

I miss you Charles and Morgan and Patrick.  Glad I have Corbett!

Rising to Capri

We stayed up late trying ot book charters to Capri, an island off the Napoli Coast.  Corbett and I finally gave up and pronounced to Ted that we had to go in person.

We did and we made it!

But first, we kill an hour in a different part of Napoli.  We have a cappuccino and Corbett has a cheesecake and an orange Fanta.  We watch the students, mothers and business people cross and recross the piazza.  A very nice spot except for the cigarettes.  The outdoors is always full of smokers.

Eleven comes and we are on the fast "jet" to Capri.  It is really a giant catamaran to the island.  Forty Five minutes total.  We get off the boat and try and orient.  Then I see the funicolare.  Love those.  Up and up and Ted not feeling the love so much.  Heights he says.  But aww the view.

I don't have photos of this, but the buses and the trucks and the cars and the anything else traveling on the road of Capri are truly the bravest and most technical people I can think of.  Today, the buses were so close that we felt the breath of the other riders.  Ted said there was an extra three inches, but I did not see it.  And on our right, the cliff straight down.  Look across the photo above and imagine driving around the rocky protrusions.  The drivers inching forward, squeezing busses into fiat size streets, mirrors in, people gasping, and me - I am sure that I tried to suck my belly into my lungs to help the cause.  And even then, with no buses coming, the roads sidle the edge and the lady next to me is doing the sign of the cross (a catholic thing).  Her boyfriend tries to comfort her and I tell Ted, there are worse ways to die.  And then the experience is in the past, as we are out on the streets and taking in the island views.

In case you are wondering, men from America act like men from America even in Italy.  "Do you know where you are going?"  "of course!"  Do you want to look at a map?  "Well that is inconvenient, but if you insist."  Should I ask someone for directions, Ted says?  Well yes.  And then we turn 180 and head up the hill not down the hill.

 Nope, no directions needed at all, why do you ask?

Ana Capri

We walk the top of the island.  One of the tourist offering is a lift up the mountain in single chairs, like a ski lift.   Ted does not want to ride the swinging chairs up the mountain as the clouds are covering the top.  I am sure he just doesn't want to ride the solo swinging chairs.  He is accompanied by a woman from New Hampshire, saying "no way!"  Ted offers to stay and have a beer with her while the rest of us go up.  But we decide to keep walking.  We have to be back at the port by four thirty and Ted is worried about time.  We take a short cut through the town, following the lovely Italian ladies below.  The view is the perfect ending to another day in paradise as we are told boarding our catamaran back to Napoli.  But if I ever come back, the swinging chairs for me!

A perfect end to the day indeed.

to the day of taking it easy

After much wine and the home made dinner, we all made our way to bed.  Memories of the day float in our heads.  Such lovely images of the coast.

Morgan taunting the guide as he begs her to get down on our side of the wall

Amalfi Coast

On the church steps

Morgan is first to wake as she is leaving today.  The week went by too fast when I think of her departing.  I am glad that we had the chance to do the very expensive tour before she left.  I am not sure when she will be back here.

Ted and I get up and walk her to the bus stop.  Corbett paid 50 euro to get to the apartment by cab and she was having none of it.  She hopped the bus and off she went.  We walked back past the port and all the cruise ships that park there.  It was early so not too many people out.  We gave her a cappuccino and a pastry before she left, so hopefully, it will last until she gets the tasty airplane food. :?

When we return, we sit around, eat some light fare.  Ted wants to take a nap, so Corbett and I wander off and explore the port.  We see Umberto Primo, the statute and the king.  What an imposing figure and he is everywhere that guy!  We walk past monuments and arches.

The stroll bayside is so relaxing.  It is dotted with selfie stick salespersons and fake designer handbag sellers.  But overall, the view is incredible enough to look past that annoyance.  They have to eat too.  And I think they really target the cruiseline folks coming off the ships like ants on the march.

Rotary Club Monument

Corbett at Napoli Bay

We stroll back and get Ted, who is waking from his nap.  We decide to go to the castle, Museo Civico Castel Nuovo.  It is inviting with real castle features and tons of 14th century catholic or christian art.  Some are lovely, most are dark and forbearing.  It is like an artistic punishment of all doings of all mankind, then one shred of sanctity and light, but you can't ever quite reach it.

A little heavy I know.  But I was raised catholic and I know the weight of these paintings in both historic value and guilt of generations.  I also know that the painters did not live like the popes. 

We wander into a room with clear floors, so that you can see the tunnels and walls beneath.  This is the same flooring that was in Patrick's classes in FSU Valencia, Spain.  You can see all the excavation and preservation.There are what appear to be bones and skeletons in the sand.  But, they turn out to be cardboard.  Regardless, Ted and Corbett take great joy in making fun of me walking only on the beams, as I am sure the plexiglass will not hold me.  They leave the room chuckling at my insecurity!

 Ted and Corbett are consumed with the artillery and the remnant of boats.  I wait in a not very clean blue, soft chair near a balcony.  I can't complain, because that is the Napoli Bay.  And I am here.  And that is Mount Vesuvius.

And not to sound ungrateful, but I wish Charles and Morgan and Patrick were with me.

of the double booking

Napoli  is a city of wonders.  Lots to see just on the ride in from the airport. Our first day, I booked a tour of the Amalfi Coast.  It is supposed to be one of the world's most beautiful coastlines.  Our driver arrived promptly at nine a.m. to pick us up.

Our other driver arrived promptly too.  Rut Ro.

I am not a big fan of tours and guides.  I love tromping off, as my daughter says, in no direction. But in this case, I am so happy I booked an Amalfi Tour.  In fact, I am so happy, I booked it twice.

So the day begins and I am all over getting people up to to get ready for the tour.  I get downstairs and two men are making phone debates about who is in charge.  They are arguing and then I get my party downstairs.

I think I am emailing the same person, but not true, I am emailing two and they both show and want to be paid.  We are really good sports or suckers, depending how one views it.  We  pay driver two to go away... and then half way through the tour, we're thinking the driver and think we should have had him go the whole way driving two of us since he insisted on the full fare! The only way out is to pay, so pay we did.  A very expensive tour and lesson, but worth it!  Oh and we picked the handsome guide since we had a choice.

our first view of the whole Napoli Bay

My two lovely adult children 

We stopped often to take photos on the winding narrow road of the coastline.  We could not have picked a better day for weather and clarity.  The sea is the bluest teal you will ever see.  It is deep and it is very clear.  We stop at edges just to look out and see the lovely skylines.  The photos above are taken with the phone, so they do not do any justice to the wonder.

The ride to the cities is in a new silver van and is very comfortable, even more so if you don't have to drive.  Salvetore drives efficiently and it is best not to look.  There are mirrors on all of the curves so you can see who is proceeding before you or at you.  The water takes your breath away and then you arrive at a little city like Amalfi or Positano.  The houses emerging from the hillside and every inch of soil planted with lemons or olives.  Tiny little patches house a few sheep or some milk cows.  The land is terraced and houses are tucked in every available space there is.

The beach is rocky, smooth rocks, but rocks nonetheless.  The water takes on the dark hue of the sand on the shoreline.  It is "fresh" says Salvatore.  He tells us this is the perfect time of year.  The tourists are gone, it is all Saints Day and many stores are closed, but the weather is perfect.  72 degrees.  I daresay we are blessed.

toes in the mediterranean

And of course it could not be a complete tour with out the tunnels and the art on the hillside overlooking the treasures that lie before us.  The day got immensely better when we went to the lunch where this adorable little Italian Lady who looks like every Italian grandmother you know has flowers in her hair, a smile on her face and she is ready to tell us what to eat.  Morgan has the pizza and does not finish it all.  The Lady picks up the plate, puts in in front of Corbett and tell him to eat it.  She was great.  And he obliges as if he had an option.

We finally head to the piazza and have a campari, which no one likes but me.  Beers for the others.  We take a final look at the town and know that our very expensive tour is coming to a close.  We get back to our lovely apartment and make dinner and have fun conversations about the abundance of selfie sticks and how every tour group is bombarded by selfie stick sellers.  Make for interesting entertainment watching how people learn to say no.  Oh yes, and one more.  The street vendors catch the cars at red lights and run around with kleenex on the mirror.  The kleenex is a six pack of little kleenex.  As the light heads for green, they run around and take them back if you do not purchase.  Our guide says this is effective in winter time.  Perhaps a future retirement job for me!

Rising to the Rising Sun (and son)

Last day in Rome and we are packing up for the departure.  With a little extra time we saunter one last time to our favorite cafe and imbibe in cappuccinos and pastry.  Morgan always gets something with powdered sugar.  Ted is a fan of custard and pastry.

I am delighted that they sell a type of savory pizza for breakfast.  I pick a new one that is simply pastry with tomato brush.  Delightful.

We try to get money unsuccessfully at the ATM.  Our cards are not sufficient the machines say.  I would take it personally.  All our cards fail, except for Morgans.  The one with the least latitude in expendable funds.  How that keeps one humble!

Our train trip was quite pleasant.  Morgan and Ted promptly fall asleep.  We are on the fast train to Napoli (Naples).  The city gives way to countryside and farms swell to the base of the mountains on either side of the train.  Dirty sheep dot the hillsides in pens - four legged woolen dots as we swoosh past.

Freshly plowed fields await the winter crops and creeks run back and forth along the route.

A very odd American sits talking to his companion about how different Italy is from Germany.  His soft stature makes me think he is a desk jockey of some type.  He points out the solar farms as well pass.  My travel partners have long since left consciousness and nap to our destination.  They are missing the pastoral views that inspired great artists over many centuries. I will sleep tonite, but for now, I want to capture the scenery in my memory and on this page..  The announcer says we are traveling at 293 km/h.  Sounds as if we will arrive soon.

Let the harrowing taxi ride begin!  You have not lived until you have ridden in a taxi in Rome or Naples.  This one was particularly fun as the police kept closing streets as we drove, missed corners, backed up in  a one lane alley and turned around, dodged many scooters and had narrow misses at every turn.  For your entertainment I will post it on youtube Napoli Taxi

When we finally arrived,  we were early, so we went to have a cappuccino.  I walked down the street to see if Rosa had arrived and she did.  She showed us the lovely apartment.  She grew up in this apartment and it was her mothers.  It is from the 18th century and she believes it was a convent at one time.  We are a short walk to Teatro San Carlo.  We are 100 feet from the large Cathedral in the piazza.  A special plus if you like bells.

Morgan and I are ready to give up on my son Corbett, who was supposed to arrive at noon.  Just as we are heading out, he comes in the door, bedraggled but fine.  We drop his things and head to Brandi' for pizza.  The best we are told.

selfies

And then the food arrives and it makes up all better.  Broccoli leaves and mozzarella for Corbett and Morgan.  Ted gets anchovies.  I get salad.  There is enough to share.  Giggles and grins, and fun with a waiter who asks Corbett for his American change.  Corbett hands him the change then gives him a one dollar bill and a five dollar bill.  "All the American money I have, " he declares.  The waiter tells him that he loves him.

I wait till we are at the bottom of the hill to tell him that the waiter says that to every American.

Tomorrow we are off to the Amalfi Coast to see the cliffs and the waterside towns.  Can't wait!

Rising to Rome if that is even possible

Arriving in Rome is like being Audrey Hepburn or Sophia Loren.  You are at once in awe and in ownership of a busy street, a busy city.  And of course, you feel fabulous!



If you travel to many cities, you learn to pick up the vibe of the city. You know when to walk fast and you learn when to stroll.  You can catch on to the hustle factor that the big roundabouts offer.  You watch to see if people hold their bags clutched to them or if they are just holding them as the walk.  You can see if the mood is moving or if it is one of fiscal desperation.  You can learn to step out in the street, with cars flying and to watch them all stop.  And most importantly, you learn to pick out the non tourist restaurant.  Or you learn to favor a tourist restaurant.  Perhaps it is your level of interest in cuisine that makes one place more alluring over another.

On our arrival, my travel partner says to eat at a certain restaurant.  We do.  It has a tourist menu.  That alone tells you that they cater to the travelers.  It isn't bad, but it will not be authentic.  It will be the best of all and the best of none.  To be fair, my food was al dente and was nicely presented.  My seafood pasta, which was clams and mussels was just fine.  The bottle of pinot grigio acceptable.  However, I cannot help but think the amount of pasta I can make for that amount of euros. If you eat outside in Europe, you will eat with smokers.  Don't have a bad attitude.  If it is important to you to be away from smoke, then eat where you don't have to smell it.

Later, we walk the Tiber River and then buy prosciutto and cheese and bread for the late night snack.  The exhaustion of the trip before sets in and we give into the night and return to Trastevere for the evening.  Thunderstorms break out in the middle of the night and the roof sounds like it is being pounded by rocks.  The heavy tiles take the beating with aplomb and the night beats on.  With only hours till daylight, Rome doesn't disappoint the big city reputation and the street life picks up at three a.m., bottles hitting the streets and loud young people going back to their roosts.

Then, bright as can be is the alarm to awake us to to the tour of Vatican Museo and Gardens.  Six a.m. and yes we are up and staggering around in the dark.  The Vatican, I say.  We must not be late!

And when we are twenty minutes early, we climb down the well tromped tourist stairs to buy our, "you got here early" six euro coffee.  Which by the way, we gladly paid.  Well done whomever owns that spot.  Well done!

,
The Vatican is like every church and museum and catholic school you ever attended or visited in one.  Many of the tourists are clergy, priests and nuns.  Many are on the Catholic pilgrimage.  The clergy are of every color and age, every tongue.  They are in black, grey and blue, with white collars.  There is the one rotund Jesuit that looks like the monk in the Robin Hood book, Friar Tuck.  Then, there are the multitudes of asian tourists (trusting word to know if that should be capitalized, sorry Sister Mary Judith). I wonder if I was in their country would I visit such a specifically religious place as this.  Oh, but we are in Rome.  It is not Miami or even Madrid.  It is the home of the city/state/country - Vatican.  There are museums and halls and rooms and halls and stairs, more than you can ever anticipate.

The ceilings are as elegant as the walls and statutes, more so in many cases.  And who knew that the Sistine Chapel ( which is the 16th chapel according to the tour guides, not built for a  pope's  sister) was so small compared to the rest of the museo and buildings.  One could spend days here.  But, the opulence makes me ponder the lives of those who built the buildings one stone at a time. The artists who did Michael Angelos' bidding, but were never he.   The paintings seldom depict happiness unless god and heaven are part of the picture.  I am glad that I did not live in those times.  The place is a wonder, but also provokes thoughts of bigger problems of the world.  I am glad for the break of the patio near the end of the tour.

Morgan and I find a bench that we think is far from everyone and she lies on my lap and quickly dozes.  Turns out we are in the best vantage spot to view Saint Peter Basilica.  Tour guide after tour come stand two inches from our bodies to look at the dome.  At one point, a nun - a rather young nun- pushes Morgans feet aside and sits on the end of the bench.  She has worn wool socks under her sandals and the heat is now too much.  She removes the socks and places them in a bag.  She then invites an elderly woman to take her place.  Another bench opens up and so Morgan and I move.  Morgan again reclines, only this time an officer says, "Madam! Madam!" and she sits up and we gather our thoughts to leave.  The cappuccinos have definitely worn off.

I bought postcards of Pope Francis.  Pope Francesco.  And of Michelangelo paintings.  I wanted to make sure my mother received a card from the Vatican.It made me remember my grandmother who had this little pendant that she said was full of sand from the holy land and that Jesus had walked on the sand.  I can't remember how she got the pendant as I am sure that she never traveled outside the country.

My daughter and I visited the cathedral of Saint Francesco of Assisi tonight.  We saw the Bernini of the Lying Woman.

internet photo

Doesn't sound that impressive?  Well think of any church or place of worship you have been in that houses a work of art so emotive, so full of history and expression.  If you are in America, you may be hard pressed.  It is five blocks from our apartment.  Every few blocks is a new piazza with more fountains and more art.  Marble graces the open steps and Roman Warriors adorn every monument. This interesting chap was on top of the Mussolini castle and the main statute in the Borghese Park.

Umberto Primo Wiki Photo

Aside from the fact that Umberto Primo has a killer mustache, he rides a pretty mean looking horse as well!

We walk most places covering around ten miles a day.  Of course this is filled with stops for looking and grabbing a beer or prosecco. And maybe a little cheese and bread.  And maybe a pizza.  You feel like if you walk that far, you should get  to eat or drink what you want!

We stop to get the items at the butcher shop my daughter wants. Dried meats, smoked mozzarella.  I buy Sangiovese wine to go with it.  We stop at a bar for a glass of wine, waiting on our third traveler, who left earlier to see the colosseum.  And we hear, " Even Americans don't like Fleming!"

I am assuming they are talking about a painter, but soon it matters not.  They are Bob and Bob from southern California by way of Cinque Terra and Rome.  We converse on politics and wine and restaurants and Saint Francesco of Assisi.  They were disappointed with Cinque Terra hiking access and delighted with Rome.  Then, they are off and so are we.

Our host for the dinner evening is none other that Gigi. He owns Impiccetta Ristorante in Trastevere.    He trained in South Beach, Miami, Florida.  He is fluent in spanish, italian and english.  He owns a lovely little space on Via dei Fienaroli and I highly recommend it!  #impiccetta

Gigi of Impicetta

Be forewarned, a meal is enough for two love birds.  Order two, and one appetizer if you are three fold.  You will be greatly pleased.  Beer is not so much in Italy, home to Tuscany.  But there are small craft spots that you can find.  If you are not a wine connoisseur, then definitely  pick the house wine or have the wait staff pick for you.  While not all of the ones have been fabulous, none have been so poor as to send back.

The Trastevere neighborhood is safe, but trendy.  It is noisy after midnight and easy in the morning.  Lovely to walk and easy to access transportation.  We feel safe and welcome.  People for the most part are friendly and helpful.  We have not had any trouble with the usual travel warnings of pick pockets and scams.  There are always people selling stuff on the street and they can be persistent.  But a firm no, grazie or No Thanks will do.  Rome is, well what can I say, Rome.  Ciao!

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.