Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Final posting?

It left this morning, opting to search out and ride the subway to the airport. He's got a fairly straight shot home (Athens to IAH). I, on the other hand, because I tried to accommodate the professor's schedule (for no good reason, I see now), have to fly at 7 a.m. from Athens tomorrow to Rome. Wait 4 hours, then fly 11 hours to Atlanta. Then sit on my haunches in A-town for another 3-4 hours before flying home to, hopefully, foggy and chilly San Francisco. I arrive at something like 10:45 tomorrow night and I should be a mess.

Today was some sort of Greek holiday, so near everything was closed, except of course for the Plaka. I managed to grab a cappucino freddo before heading to the Grand Bretagne for my "full body" massage. Fancy place. And the lady masseuse was professional and didn't balk at my awful feet (at least to my face). She even accommodated what she diagnosed as a torn rotator cuff (as I suspected), and didn't jerk on my pitiful left arm. It was a memorable massage, in any event; she really found some knots, especially in my calves (that now look a lot like Popeye's biceps).

We covered a lot of territory in a little under three weeks, saw lots of old stuff, ate some interesting things, and, despite a lot of provocation, didn't kill each other. I suppose that constitutes a successful journey.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

An abrupt ending...

We left Nafplios this morning by bus, having had to forego a visit to the castle hanging above town since none of the taxi drivers would take us last night. Our language skills failed us, and the drivers were apparently in no mood to drive anyone anywhere, opting instead to loaf on their wide asses and chat the evening out with their compatriots.

Arrived in Athens this morning, found our wonderful (cheap) Economy Hotel, at which time Leslie retrieved his bag and, for the FIRST TIME apparently, read his airplane ticket and determined that he did not depart Athens on Thursday as we believed (and as we had planned)...but tomorrow...i.e., Wednesday, a day earlier. That meant our trip to Delphi tomorrow is off, and I'm stuck in Athens one more night (hotel costs included!) without cause (as I recall, we specifically agreed on the dates of departure and chose to stay as long as we could...). His Idiocy says that he relied on "the lady at UH," and, he guesses, he "just never read the ticket." If I had not already seen Delphi once, I'd be really mad. Now I am, once again, disappointed and gritting my teeth. There is Marenchin precedent for this kind of thing, and I should have been prepared (i.e., I should have read his airplane ticket). But you tend to trust a 53 year old man when he tells you he's made the arrangements. As they say in the motherland, Oy fucking vay.

Anyway, we had final drinks at the ouzo bar, and dinner at the best Greek restaurant in town (lamb chops again). To make things better, once jackass leaves town, I'm headed to the spa at the Grand Bretagne Hotel for a full body massage (they're going to freak when they see my gnarly feet).

And so it ends.

Monday, August 13, 2007

To Agamemnon's palace (we think)

This place, Nafplios, is like some kind of European resort, the sidewalks facing the harbor covered for miles in every direction, it seems by rows and rows of cafe tables and umbrellas. We feel fancy and significant just sitting there.

After breakfast (on our pension's spectacular terrace overlooking the city and harbor, the experience tainted only slightly by two tables of Americans arguing politics), we caught the local bus to Mycenae, only an hour or so away (and that's counting the incredible gridlock in the tiny town of Argos). Here, in Mycenae, it is said, is where Agamemnon (I've given up on trying to keep the spelling correct and consistent...it's just too tough in these internet cafes to worry about the particulars) lived, on top of a great hill, surrounded by mountains, and overlooking an incredible valley, covered in a patchwork of olive trees, grapevines, etc. We entered through the Lion's Gate, a famous entry way characterized by, well, a lion on top of a stone gate. But it's more monumental than my catty comment suggests, and opens onto the citadel where you find the remains of numerous tombs, and on top of the hill, of course, because that's where the king always lives, the remains of the palace. And let me emphasize, "remains." You get some rocks in a row, a low wall or two, and the very bottom stone of a few columns. Other than that, you've got your imagination and the guidebook to rely on.

It is here where the archaeologist Schliemann discovered the very cool mask of Agamemnon (which we saw back in the Archeological Museum in Athens), along with tons of other goodies. At the bottom of the big hill, and sort of away from the citadel was the beehive tomb of Clytemnestra...which consists of a stone, domed tomb beneath the hillside. Despite Leslie's highpitched warning, I made him walk across the top of the dome on the way out (he feared my gelato-weighted ass would cause the fragile ruin to give way). These were also long-time goals of Dr. M's (i.e., the seeing of the Lion's Gate and Clytemnestra's tomb), so there was a lot of sighing. (For those not up on their Greek history/myth, Clytemnestra was Agamemnon's wife who, pissed off because he had to sacrifice (that's one way of looking at it) their daugther Iphigenia at the beginning of the Trojan War, offed him in the bathtub when he returned. Supposedly, they still have the bathtub (understand, if you will, that this is all more than likely myth)...but we never found it. The sun and the swarms of tourists beat us back to the bus, which whisked us back to lovely Nafplios.

Upon closer inspection, we have decided not to rent scooters. Dr. M left his driver's license in Athens in his big suitcase (that driver's license has come to carry a lot of psychological weight for him...lots to talk about with his therapist), which means we would have to ride on the same scooter (i.e., he would have to touch me)...and the scooters, up close, appear to be held together with plastic ties, glue, and good luck. So we will catch a cab instead to the top of the mountain to see the castle that looms over our pension.

Leslie continues to cry out, regularly, that this is the cutest town he's ever seen. And last night, when we took the road behind the pension, through a tunnel and out onto another stone path nearby, we found ourselves perched over a cliff beneath which was a lovely little beach, full of frolicking folks. He was really beside himself then, crying, "I didn't know such places existed!" Routinely after one of these comments, he adds that he wishes he had a girlfriend and that she were here with him rather than me. Understandable if irritating.

Foods been ok. I risked the moussaka at lunch and it was transcendent.

Onto Athens tomorrow, Delphi the day after (we've hired our own cab driver instead of taking a giant, nasty tour bus).

Oh, and Eric, in regard to your comment, Leslie says he is DYS-FUNCTIONALLY ILLITERATE, OK?

Sunday, August 12, 2007

By bus to Nafplios

We caught the bus this morning to Nafplios, an easy trip of 2-1/2 hours into the Peloponnese (sp?)...exciting stuff. The town, which is beyond cute and, Leslie says, may out-cutify Taormina, sits below a castle perched on the edge of a mountain. We are told the town sits on the sea, too, but we have yet to find it. We plan to rent scooters tomorrow and do just that (while avoiding head injuries).

Tomorrow we catch the bus for a day trip to Mycenae and Agammenon's palace, or so they say.

Tonight we will probably do what we've been doing since arriving in Nafplios, sit in a cafe, sweat, and drink iced coffees and beer and wine and ogle the fabulous people (gotta say it's a pretty homely lot here now). Oh, and eat a big slab of Greek seafood. It is hotter here than anywhere we've been and until 5 minutes ago was windless. Now the winds are beginning to blow and my blouse is finally not sticking to my back. Onward.

Saturday, August 11, 2007

Off to nearby Piraeus

After yet another late start--we're old and tired--we headed to Piraeus today, the nearby port town where Plato set the Republic, and where Socrates et al. used to hang. Today it is nothing more than an embarking point for all of the island cruises. It is said to have a great, often overlooked archaeological museum, so we ventured forth by subway (modern and very nice), and then hiked the 20 blocks in the windy, dusty, and mostly empty streets to the museum only to find it, yet again, closed. No reason. Just shut up tight on a Saturday. We retreated to a Greek tourist lunch of dried pork, pita bread, that great white gooey stuff, onions, etc., and hauled ass back to Athens to see the Cycladic Museum before it, too, closed. Housed in a magnificent old house in the embassy quarter, this museum features a great collection of cycladic art...that is, art from the Cyclades island chain dating to something like 2600 BC. Small and pleasant museum...made smaller because the floor with the Greek antiquities was closed (a theme?). We didn't spend a lot of time in the other wing which featured a very contemporary performance art exhibit (Leslie wouldn't let me).

We set off in the morning by bus to Nafplios on the coast, and hopefully a day trip to Mycenae (to Agammemnon's palace) and Epidaurus. We're still giving it hell, but we're seriously beginning to drag. We're debating making the 923 step flight of stairs up to the castle above Nafplios...

More later.

Oh, and in response to Jane: Yes, it is hot, very hot. And yes, it is crowded...everyone is in my way, as usual.

LATER NOTE...

We enjoyed one of the best meals of the trip tonight, at a restaurant recommended by our ouzo bar owner. A little more upscale than my little taverna, this place, consisting of 2 or 3 separate buildings surrounding a piazza, served the best lamb chops I've ever put in my piehole...Leslie kept grunting while eating his "lamb baked in ceramic pot"...so much grunting while eating his, presumably in enjoyment, in fact that it made the English broad at the table next to us uncomfortable. Speaking of which, Leslie chatted it up with this English couple, both with big hair and lots of crazy ideas (they stank of Republicanism). OK, they hated lawyers, but they didn't offer anything I hadn't heard...he was some kind of construction worker, and didn't see any good point in the law. I suggested that, in lieu of judges and juries, he let the Queen decide disputes, the "old fashioned way," but he ignored me. Then Mr. Man started lecturing the professor on the problem of all those English kids going to college to study psychology...Leslie interrupted, "No, I teach philosophy." The wise Brit answered, "Same thing," and launched into a dissertation on the waste that is higher education. The Misses chimed in then to offer her appraisal that kids are running things in England now, and teachers are paid no respect. She proposed that the schools return to beating students...it's the only way, she said, the "old fashioned way." They were off to a cruise the next morning...maybe it'll sink.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Day 2 in Greece...too much

After a late start, we head to the Archeological Museum where we find a stunning but exhausting collection of art and stuff from prehistory through the classical Greece ages. Around nearly every turn, Dr. M would gasp..."my god, I've seen a picture of that statue all of my life...here it is!" We dug the Cycladic statues, with their stylized portraits of folks, but got really blown away by the mask of Agammemnon, and assorted shiny stuff. Unlike Cairo and Naples, the museum here is organized and everything is presented beautifully (lit very well for the photos!) It is all too much to catalog here, but take my word for it, it was worth the 7 Euros and bucket of sweat it took to get us in.

A mediocre lunch (in a hip spot that attracted us because it was equipped with electric fans that spewed mist...but it featured a post-modern "Greek salad," served without Kalamata olives or cucumbers...thus it was not a Greek salad) was followed by a trip to the Agora, where we once again walked in the footsteps of Socrates, et al., climbed up to the Temple of Hephaistos (where Leslie confessed a very personal secret and cried), and onward through the complex of ruins spread out beneath the Acropolis. (For those not in the know, the Agora was where the Greek folks conducted their business--shopping, paying taxes, eating--and where Socrates, Leslie's hero, pissed people off by arguing with them. Not unlike Leslie. Then, if they wanted to pray, they headed up the hill to the Acropolis to the temple of Athena Nike (they could also catch the latest show at the Theater of Dionysus up on the hill). And justice was rendered over on a neighborhing hill above the Agora, the Aereopagus, where the first murder trials were held. Great stuff.

Leslie hauled my sagging ass all around the Plaka, the old district, for some authentic tourist souvenir shopping. Some real crap, some of which he bought (a white Socrates head and a nasty calendar).

We headed back to our ouzo bar once night fell...Leslie ever hopeful that the most beautiful woman in the world would return...with or without her new husband. Of course, she didn't show, so we drowned his sorrow in Greek beer and Greek wine and, dare I say, absinthe (licorice to the hilt), and argued with some American college boys about some unmentionable American vernacular.

Because he was lit with absinthe, Leslie consented to return to my favorite little Greek taverna. Tonight was a much greater success...he had pork chops, and was elated; I, I am embarrassed to say, ordered the same meal I had last night, the pasta and lamb...which is perfect. Ask Ricky W. We also had our wine out of the red tin cup. And the singing guitar duo played a special romantic song just for us. (OK, maybe not). Leslie was bummed that he did not encounter his "Helen" again...I was bummed because he called me, without provocation, fat. So we ended the night on a tainted, if buzzed, note.

We have screwed up, and cannot go to Delphi tomorrow (the tour buses don't run on Saturdays). So we will go to the nearby port town of Piraeus. We leave for Napflios the following date, spend 2 days there, and return to our beloved Athens for a night or two before returning to what's left of America.

Thursday, August 9, 2007

We arrive in Greece...

Arose like good soldiers at 4:30 a.m., our taxi whisked us to the airport, and we boarded the Alitalia flight for Rome, then Greece (Alitalia not a glamour airline...sitting down to dirty seats, one wondered if they didn't have the time to vacuum, did they have time to check the oil). (Note: had one of the best cafe lattes in the Rome airport of all places). Our taxi driver, speaking occasional German and playing loudly with some kind of worry beads, whisked us to the Economy Hotel in Athens. We are ecstatic because, while it is not glamorous, it is cheap (60 Euros a night). And most importantly it is clean...spotless in fact.

We set out for the Acropolis, after a tourist trap lunch...food was great but we paid way too much and are embarrassed (lamb, chicken, eggplant, yogurty stuff, and of course, the ubiquitous french fries.

Athens is much more crowded than when Ricky W. and I visited a couple of years ago (I think we were here in March...so much cooler and less peopled).

The Acropolis was great. It sits on top of a rocky mountain in the center of Athens, complete with the temple to Athena Nike, the magnificent Parthenon (not the Pantheon...that's the round building in Rome with the hole in the roof), and assorted other temples. It was political, religious, and in some ways military center of ancient Athens. Unfortunately, or ultimately fortunately I guess, there was much reconstruction work going, and scaffolding aplenty. But still, it's impressive stuff, especially to Professor M. who said that he fulfilled a lifelong dream with this visit. With glee, he said, "Socrates walked here!" (Although we think he may have busted his ass a few times as the marble on top of the Acropolis is very slippery).

We also learned, to our chagrin, that we have the Italians, the Venetians to be exact, to thank for destroying the Parthenon. Seems the Venetians were battling with the Turks, who had control of and stored ammunition in the Parthenon somewhere back in the 1800s. The Venetians bombed the hell out of the Acropolis, including one doozy that gave us the decrepit Parthenon we find today. Still, it is something. And to stand there (in the blistering sun even) and to gaze off into the surrounding city of Athens and to imagine what it was like...it's better than t.v.

Down into the Plaka, the old section of Athens at the foot of the Acropolis to find the bar Ricky W. and I frequented...a famous ouzo bar (and distillery) named Bretto's. It's been open for a hundred years, and has had only three owners. When we visited last, the owner was a guy who was the spitting image of Pope John Paul. He's sold out, and the new chatty owner has yuppified the place. He's selling t-shirts, even fixed the shelving. But he's amiable, and informed us that, in addition to us, Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have visited, as have countless other celebrities. So there.

We also chatted up a couple from Tasmania (?) on their honeymoon. Lawyers, both, they were quite civilized nonetheless...Leslie confessed that she was the most perfect woman he has ever met (that was several glasses of wine down).

On, finally, to Ricky W. and my favorite Athens restaurant, Tavernos Xino. It's down a side alley, and is worth the hunt. Simple, rustic food (order whatever Big Daddy tells you to order), served this time out in the patio because of the heat, with the Acropolis looming and countless cats roaming nearby. My food was perfect...a Greek salad (here served with no lettuce, only tomatoes, cucumbers, kalamta olives, and lots of feta...an orzo pasta with lamb). Leslie fared less well. He ordered the lamb something or other and it turned out to be a gooey mess, and he was frustrated by the fact that the lamb was served on the bone and he had to struggle to figure out what he was eating. Oh, well...mine was magnificent, and it cost about half what our lunch did so at least that was a relief.

Tomorrow we conquer the rest of the Acropolis complex, and maybe even get to the port nearby, Piraeus. We also hope to schedule a tour of Delphi the day after...the bellybutton of the universe where the oracle used to sit. For a classics professor (and his weasel of a friend who studies the classics between lawsuits), it's grand stuff.

We do not miss the driving in Italy. Nor do we miss that mid-day break that everybody takes that ruins your schedule. Alas, we have returned it seems to civilization.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Agrigento, Palermo, and Ciao to Italy...

We arrived in Agrigento without incident...a drive of 2 or 3 hours...until we hit the city limits. Our Michelin directions failed us and once again we found ourselves on one-lane streets heading up or down, never flat, with traffic coming in all directions and everyone really wanting us to get out of the way. A dearth of street signs doesn't help. Again, despite my masculinity, I retreated into the tourist information office to seek help, and found it. After several tries, we were finally able to follow the directions properly (they hid one of the main streets out), and we found the hotel at the end of even more twisty, one-lane, and heavily parked streets. The hotel, actually a bed and breakfast, was incredibly nice, an old family home that is now open for tourists. We had a suite, mind you, with air conditioning that worked (although Leslie has tested every hotel refrigerator and they truly are nothing more than an insulated box...nothing getting cold in there). And the rooftop terrace overlooked the Valley of the Temples, so our hotel owner pointed out each of the temples, ordering us to stand precisely where he was standing. An incredible site: you look off towards the ocean and the valley between the modern city and the sea is divided by a mile-long line of temple ruins.

We gathered our strength and headed out to confront the temples on foot (after driving the wild streets of Agrigento again). It was worth it...the temple of Concordia is, I am told, the best preserved Doric columned temple anywhere (or something like that). It sits on its perch above the ocean, all columns intact. Also made me want to worship Athena or something.

Further down the road, we found more temples, most in much worse shape (one had only three columns standing). The highlight was finding the altars for worshipping the chthonic divinities...cool, man. I got to give it to the Greeks, they know where to site a city. The cool breezes blew in constantly from the ocean...until our walk back to the car when it got hotter than Pompeii (the Christian burial thingies ended up blocking the wind)...if you know what I mean.

Our dinner last night was right out of a DeSica movie...you find the restaurant only after several right angle turns down deserted alleys until suddenly you are in a little piazza with tables. You sit down to dinner with family apartments surrounding you. We watched as Mama hung in the window over us and kept her eyes on the kids, who were playing in the street (you know, next to my table), with dogs barking, etc. A terrier with an appropriately emotive face jumped up to look out of the window next to Mama and comment on the proceedings. It was very sweet...and the food was good too. Leslie scored with a parmigiana made, get this, with fish! Layers of eggplant and tomato and fish and it was incredible. I played it safe with shrimp s'getti.

By the way, you should try this next time you are in Sicily: because there is a not a single, flat plane anywhere on the island of Sicily, we spend the time between courses trying to estimate the slope of the angle that we find ourselves in at that particular restaurant. Some of the angles are quite challenging (especially 3 beers down).

After a cool night in the suite, we enjoyed breakfast on the terrace and retreated to the Toyota Aygo (which we squeezed into a 'parking space' on the street between a garbage dumpster and a driveway...Ricky W. would have been proud). Our drive to Palermo took only 1 and a half hours through spectacularly beautiful countryside, hilly, mountainous, gold, brown, and lots of rocky cliffs at the top. (Sicily needs better public relations...this is one of the most beautiful terrains my pitiful ass has ever seen--and we did not even get to Mount Etna, the island volcano--and all I know about the island is that mafia crap).

Found the hotel amazingly quickly in Palermo, which is big, but beautiful in an old, complicated way. You get a real sense of the different folk who have run the place just from the architecture...the Norman stuff, the Arab stuff, the Baroque. Sometimes all in one building. Our biggest disappointment, however, is that, after hiking across the old city to the Cathedral (good stuff), we ventured a few blocks more to see the Palatine Chapel, which is said to feature the greatest Pantocrantor (sp?) mosaics around (as I understand it, these are depictions of Christ as the creator of everything, but done in spectacular gold mosaics). Of course, after 45 minutes of trying to figure out how to get to the church in the governmental complex, we find that it is effectively closed for restoration (you can go in for 6 Euros and see nothing, or take some tour for 20 Euros and climb on scaffolding or something. The guide was not helpful). Instead, we opted to return the rent car.

Another harrowing journey in the Aygo across Palermo, to this city's version of B.F.E. (not sure why Leslie feels compelled to rent cars from facilities on the edge of town). We had no map, only a mapquest set of directions, and after only 45 minutes, a few driving violations, and a quick question to a cluster of police on the side of the road, we accidentally stumbled on the rental place (I screamed like a 9 year old girl, 'Leslie, Sixt Car Rental! There it is!'...the funny thing is that the manager was on the street waving us in...how did he know we'd be passing by.) We said our farewells to that pitiful excuse for a car and caught a taxi back to the hotel.

So, we now face our last night in Italy. Boo hoo. We have to catch a 6:30 a.m. flight to Rome to Athens tomorrow. That will surely be interesting (our catching that flight, that is).

In the meantime, we are having drinks on the rooftop (where later they promise a concert will be had).

In regard to some of your posts, I keep insisting that Leslie sit down and 'blog,' but he just won't. I will try to find an internet cafe in Athens that serves drinks, and perhaps woo him to the keyboard that way. Ciao.

Monday, August 6, 2007

A good meal, finally, and a lost day

We left cramped Taormina (I have never been to a place that so desparately clings to the side of a mountain like Taormina...you get the feeling that one trip, and you will slip to a certain, rocky, and finally wet death) yesterday for Siracusa. The drive was fine, except we had to get off the main Autostrade, and onto a much lesser highway, much more trafficky.

We found Siracusa and our hotel without incident. A lovely little bed and breakfast overlooking the marina and featuring a not-overbearing maritime theme. Our hotel clerk directed us to lunch nearby...Porta Marina something or other. It was the best meal of the trip. Finally something worth celebrating food-wise: risotto marinara with seafood (shrimp, mussels, and squids) and Leslie consumed an entire giant bowl of mussels in tomato sauce. There were two large Italian families in the restaurant other than us, and after the initial discomfort of our arrival, everyone settled down to a lovely Sunday afternoon dinner.

Off to hike across town to the archeological museum only to find it very closed. Today being Monday, it is also closed. As will be, we have realized, all other museums in the city. So we have opted for a quiet day of reading and, for Leslie, cancelling his lost credit card.

Oh, and last night we committed the mortal travelers sin. Elected to eat dinner on the touristy piazza. And we paid! It was actually inedible, and pricey at that. (And we believe that's where Leslie may have lost his card.) To make up for that pitiful episode, I found and forced down a fried rice ball finally (stuffed with pancetta and cheese) and it was, like all great street food, transcendent.

A LATER NOTE...

Actually, as in all things Italian, we found the archeological park, despite all indications in guide books and signs to the contrary, to be open today. So we ventured in to take a gander at the Greek and Roman amphitheaters and Dionysus' ear (a curved cave thingy). Leslie enjoyed particularly the aptly Italian description of one of the features of the park. Without acknowledging the ridiculousness of the sentence, the guide told him, very seriously: 'Follow this street and there you will find Archimedes' Tomb. But there are no signs. Also, it is not Archimedes Tomb. It is a Roman tomb.' We get a lot of that. Siracuse, if you must know, is yet another famous Greek settlement. In addition to the archeological park (incidentally the Greek theater is where Aeschylus premiered several of his plays...wild, man), Siracusa features one of the lovliest piazzas we've seen so far. Smooth, white stone covers the piazza which is surrounded by a very cool duomo (built on and incorporating part of the ancient Temple of Athena...the columns are used to hold the church's roof up!) and a building or two across the piazza characterized by a slight curved front. Full of tourists, like us, unfortunately, but pleasant nonetheless.

We retreated midday to a restaurant next to our hotel (this one recommended by our reliable hotel clerk) and I had a great clam and spaghetti dish, and Leslie a lovely seafood risotto (full of octopus arms, to his displeasure). The food was simple but perfect. We are finally hitting something of a food stride! Tonight we are tempted to return to our restaurant of the first day, the one with the vaulted ceiling and the magnificent risotto marinara. We are gun shy about trying anything else, except perhaps another rice ball.

This afternoon, I spent a couple of hours in the neighborhood laundry, in yet another Italian experience. No one in a rush, and no one especially concerned about my wet clothes sitting and waiting for 45 minutes for a dryer while the operators chatted with friends in the street. It all got done eventually.

After coffee and bread and cheese on the roof, we depart tomorrow, early perhaps, for Agrigento and the Valley of the Temples! Ciao.

Saturday, August 4, 2007

Tiny, frightening Taormina

After 8 hours of uneventful driving on the Autostrade (Leslie almost killing only two people), including a pleasant hop across the water to Sicily, we arrived in Taormina last night expecting to quickly find and check into the hotel. Instead, we spent an hour and a half caught in horribly narrow, contorted, unlabeled, and did I say narrow, streets. We were quickly lost, and getting loster by the second. It was very touchy-feely driving, as all of the streets are really one lane roads, on which two cars try to pass, with cars parked on the side. And then there are pedestrians and scooters streaming past, that you hopefully avoid (we feel fairly certain we maimed no one in Taormina). Although we are men (sort of), we stopped to ask for directions, which meant parking the car on a side street at something like a 45 degree angle, while I climbed out of the Spritz, headed up some slippery stones, past a boy disembarking himself and his doggy from his Vespa, and begged directions from a hotel clerk. In broken English, she saved us. In another 45 minutes of horrible driving, the car heaving and smelling like it was on fire, we found our hotel, the Fiorita.

It is a weird place, a villa house, decorated in Italian modern (think 1967), that climbs up the side of the mountain. The view from our room is spectacular, however, as we have a shot all the way up the northern coast. The cable car ride to the beach way, way below is across the street (which we plan to 'do' this afternoon).

We needed drinks badly, so we headed out for dinner (mediocre...what is it with the cuts of meat in Italy...fatty, gristly...although because a thumb size piece of gristle lodged in my teeth, I was able to enjoy my dinner long into the night). (More to follow in another post about the state of Italian food, or our utter inability to find anything spectacular). After dinner, we ran into two Irish gals, teachers both, who we tried to (and clearly did) impress with our knowledge of Irish literature and drinking songs. For some reason, they challenged me on my Irishness despite the roundness of my head, my proclivity to drink and bullshit, and my mother's maiden name (McLaffon, which they said sounded Scottish. Scottish, my ass). Good chat and good laughs well into the night (accompanied by the furrowed brow of the proprietor who found us irritating...imagine that).

To the Greek amphitheater this morning (after a very tortured parking situation was remedied), and onto dinner with the Irish tonight...if we can find the restaurant (a bargain restaurant frequented by Woody Allen, it is said. Wheee. My goal is to finally eat a fried rice ball and to avoid gristle.

To Siracusa tomorrow.

Friday, August 3, 2007

Disaster averted...

So we're heading out to B.F.E. to pick up the vehicle Leslie allegedly rented. We have to take the funicular up the hill, to the subway, and the subway to some outlying suburb (Capidimonte something or other), where we exit the train station, ask the attendant where in the hell we should head now. He hooks us up with a chatty lady in a yellow dress who tells us to get on the bus with her and she will guide us (at least that's what we think is happening). The bus takes off, we go a few blocks, and she tells us to get off the bus, and she leads the way. We step off the bus, stand there a minute, and the bus driver starts yelling...something like 'what the hell are you thinking?'...so we get back on the bus with the lady in yellow, go a few blocks more, and disembark once again. She points to the street nearby, and we stroll a few blocks to find our car rental place, incredibly.

We present ourselves and our papers and the sweet girl behind the counter asks Leslie, 'may I see your driver's license?' But, you see, Leslie does not have his drivers license, even though he is renting a car and planning to drive it that very day. He has left it in his hotel room, for some reason (I've got some theories). This means we will have to retrace our labored steps back to Pinto Storey Hotel on the other side of town, without the help of the yellow lady. Alas, the sweet counter girl is cleverer than the two panicked and bitter fools, and calls the hotel to ask the clerk to locate Leslie's drivers license, make a copy, and fax it to her. The clerk does so..but the fax is illegible. All the while, I feel the clock ticking, and the possibility of my seeing Pompeii and Herculaneum sliding away...Leslie asks, 'Are you mad?' 'No,' I tell him, 'just disappointed' and I grit my teeth.

The clerk steps up and decides to hail a taxi and send the legible copy of the drivers license to us in B.F.E. So we wait another 45 minutes, and he appears. He shouts a little bit about the fare (he thinks we are challenging it but we're just trying to figure out how much the damned fare is). We pay him 14 Euro and soon we are on our way.

Our 'car' is a Toyota something or other, with four doors and not much else. It has, in name only, an air conditioner. And we're not sure which gear is which, but we have decided after trial and error to drive in 'E'. Only, we get lost constantly in Naples trying to find the Autostrade (the highway). Eventually, we run blindly into it and head out of town. Leslie is giddy that we have survived the first 45 minutes of driving with only one mirror hit.

We soon (sooner than we thought it would be) find Pompeii. In the course of the first 35 seconds of being there, we are coerced into a parking space in front of a restaurant and sold a guide book and told we should not eat in Pompeii but at the restaurant, as it is cheaper. Oy vay.

Pompeii is sprawling, and hot, but spectacular. We take the audio tour and even though most of the commentary does not quite match up with the physical layout (he says turn left, and there is no left), we hit what we think are the high points, including the House of the Fawn (mentioned in Leslie's first Latin textbook), which contained the original of the mosaic we saw in the Archeol. Museum of Alexander defeating Darius, House of the Tragic Poet (with a doggy mosaic in the doorway), the baths, which were very nicely preserved, featuring great mosaics (you gotta love those bathhouse terms: the frigiderium, the calidarium...oh, and every house features an impluvium in the foyer, which is a shallow pool to catch the rainwater from a hole in the roof) and, on more grisly note, a few plaster casts of 'bodies' of Pompeiians who died when Vesuvio blew and pelted poor Pompeii with ash, rocks, lava, and fire. Leslie also insisted that we visit the whorehouse to see the erotic graphics (the stone beds, by the way, were incredibly short...were they that much shorter, or were they more supple and creative?) Vesuvio, incidentally, looms over everything, keeping an eye on things.

Exhausted and hot, we nevertheless headed to Herculano (Leslie kept asking, 'Do you really want to go?'). But not before a quick lunch, worthy of comment: it is amazing what these people do with a simple sandwich. A hunk of good french bread (hard enough to cut your palate), a thin, thin slice of salami, a slab of mozarrela, a tomato or two, and you're in heaven). And it's cheap.

Herculano is odd because it sits in the middle of town. You hurl your Toyota Spritz or whatever it is off the Autostrade, take a curve, and hit a stop light, behind which sits an arch that reads Herculaneum. It sits next to drug stores, cafes, tabacco shops...you head inside, and spread out beneath your feet are the ruins, which you reach by walking down an incline and crossing over a pit of 50=60 feet to the city proper. Herculaneum was found in the 1700s by some guy who bought an estate nearby, and they've been digging at it ever since. It was covered by mud when Vesuvio blew, so it is better preserved than Pompeii. The street level is about 40 feet blow today's streets, so it is clear that it took a LOT of digging. Lots of walls remain, and many roofs, along with incredibly ornate interiors (although Herculaneum's baths did not begin to compare with Pompeii's in glamour terms...take that Herculaneum). It's too much to take in, really, particularly if you're 50 years old, your feet hurt, and your ass is dragging (it didn't help that I tripped on a rock left by some damned ancient, and fell over it and into a fence, where I hit my bad shoulder...Leslie helped save my camera, however).

Leslie and I had a question for the experts out there (Eric?): how does an ancient city get covered up by 30 or 40 feet of dirt? (Herculaneum got covered by volcanic mud...that's easy. But what about Ancient Rome, for example.) Anyone?

We made it back to our hotel, incredibly, without incident. Leslie was even giddier at that point, very proud of himself and his driving abilities. We are off down the coast and across the ferry and into Sicily, to Taormina, today!

A few random observations before I go:

Naples is cheaper than Roma, which I hope signals a trend as we head south. I will admit to having spent $65 on cokes, wine, and ice cream at the Piazza Navona (of course you're paying for the fact of being in and getting to watch the Piazza). Our dinner last night (including wine and meat!) was only 40 Euro.

We thought we were not that obvious, but it has become clear that we are perceived readily as Americans. (My blue baseball cap doesn't help.) Not that that's bad. One guy in Rome told us how great America was...yeah, sometimes. But we want to be regarded as citizens of the world, dammit.

I miss my beloved Tony (my Vespa). The constant stream of scooters only makes my pain worse.

A German man was either flirting with me from a table across the piazza or he couldn't believe how big my head is. Leslie and I couldn't decide.

And, Kelly, I have tried to get Leslie to write or comment, but as you may know he has the attention span of a gnat, and twitches to get away from the computer. I will try again.

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Crazy Naples

Took the train to Naples this morning (about an hour and a half trip). The train ride was uneventful, the ride to the hotel in the taxi was, well, exhilarating is putting it nicely. I've not seen driving, walking, and scooting like this (not even in Hanoi rush hour). I would say that it is organic, except that it doesn't seem to have any order or form to it. What was a two lane street only seconds ago is now a one way highway. And scooters, as much as I love them, are insane here...they never stop, and barely hesitate...it is scoot or die for these people. So if the traffic in the road stops for seconds, the scooters jump the curb and take to the sidewalks. To cross the street on foot requires a literal leap of faith, and once you cross, you'd better commit to the process and continue or they will kill you. Leslie is sweating having to drive the rental car tomorrow...I'm tossing all cares to the wind. Remember, if I pass that my sister Jill gets my shoes.

Naples is unlike Rome in many ways, in addition to the driving. It is dirtier, somehow more dense, louder, but also livelier. A walk at dusk through the ancient part of the city, and you're bombarded by people, shouting, smells of dinner cooking, etc. Great stuff. Until you look for a restaurant. We began encountering this problem in Rome...and now here. After a drink in the early evening, we search for eats. We walk, we ask directions to where the restaurants are, and we walk. Blocks go by and all we find are gelato stands (you can eat only so much ice cream), or snack bars. The restaurants that feed the people of Naples seem to be in hiding. We've asked for the password, or the secret passage, without much success. Finally, tonight, a woman whose dog I was admiring offered (incidentally the dogs here do not understand English) to help. She suggested a restaurant nearby that was incredibly well hidden. We found it however, and it was delightful (inside was a tree covered garden...with lemons in the trees). We've marked in on our map so we can find it again. Damn you Naples! We will not be defeated!

Made our way in the afternoon by subway to the Archeological Museum. It is a big and grand building, but the collection is a little hit and miss. Some of the signs are in English, but most not, and there does not seem to be much order to the situation. So the professor and I did our best to translate. The great thing about this museum is that they've taken some of the good stuff found at Pompeii and removed it for safekeeping and easy viewing. Incredible wall and floor mosaics recovered from the volcanic ruins, including one of Alexander doing some conquering that Leslie had seen prints of all of his life. Lots of pottery and stuff, and in one corner they've set off a section of erotic finds from Pompeii including some fairly disquieting phalluses and such (is that the plural of phallus or is it phalli?). Anyway, Leslie gives the museum two stars!

Oh and another thing I've noticed: the public soundtrack of Naples (music you hear in taxis and restaurants) is pretty much stuck in the 80s. We heard Groove is in the Heart several times tonight, along with lots of Donna Summer and the Pointer Sisters if you can imagine. Also, the pigeons are very forward here. We were sitting in a cafe today when a gang of street pigeons suddenly descended on a nearby table, attacking the snacks and chasing off the two customers. They didn't care that people were swatting at them...they were having those potato chips if they had to die for them. I live in a pigeon burdened city, but lord they ain't fighters like these.

Tomorrow we try to find the car that Leslie rented (apparently we have to retrieve it from B.F.E.). Then onto to Herculaneum and Pompeii to see what was left from Vesuvio's big blow. Oh, my other goal is to eat a fried rice ball tomorrow, too. So there.

One more thing about the Villa Borghese...

among the many Bernini statues in the collection is one standout. It's Apollo seizing Danae (sp?), a nymph. The story goes that Apollo, finding this particular nymph comely, seizes her nakedness...she cries out to her father, the river god, and he rescues her by turning her into a tree. Bernini captures the instant the transformation begins. So you see roots beginning to grow from her toes and fingers, and shoots with leaves sprouting from her back, bark growing up her midsection, all in white marble. What is truly incredible, especially for hacks like us, is that the leaves are individually carved, delicate little slivers, just like real leaves...only we were told that when they cleaned and restored the statute, they found that you could flick the leaves and they would ring out like crystal. Anyway, we thought it was real good.

On to Naples today by train.

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

We found the Villa Borghese and it was closed...

We learned, much to our surprise, that our hotel practically sits in the Vila Borghese (so we, Eric, had an obvious advantage). A quick march up the hill (past Largo Federico Fellini) and down a very long, but beautifully tree lined path, we eventually found the Museum. However, as in Eric's case, it was closed. It was Monday, you know. So we wandered the grounds, found the cafe, had a coffee (Leslie found what he claimed to be the most perfect specimen of the female rear so far on the trip; the owner, our adolescent waitress, did not acknowledge Leslie's existence), and then wandered all the way back through the park, back to the hotel for our fallback plan: the Vatican. That meant long pants (when you arrive at St. Peter's, you are confronted with signs that show human figures in shorts and tank tops, with the word No! underneath; on the side are figures in long sleeves and pants, accompanied by Si!. We had been warned in advance). Our hotel clerk told us exactly how to catch the bus there, but we never found the stop. So we hailed a cranky cab driver, and he dropped us off in magnificent St. Peter's square. We made our way along the very long wall around the Vatican to the museum to find, to our pleasant surprise, that there was no line (apparently the blocks long line forms in the morning, and, we learned, vaporizes by the time the drunks and sodomites show up in the afternoon). We ran through the Vatican Museum, having no choice but to move with the torrential river of tourists or get trampled. It is a pretty incredible place, but it is just too much. As one American tourist said, "It's just a bunch of friggin statues." After an hour, you tend to agree. Ended up in the Sistine Chapel where we were repeatedly shushed and forced to move along.

Professor Leslie noted that the original sin depicted by Michaelangelo in the Garden of Eden was not so much eating the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge as perhaps sex of the oral persuasion. Check it out: Adam reaches over a sitting Eve to grab fruit from the tree, with his parts placed suggestively in Eve's face. It is not subtle, even for us. And you've got to love tourists: no matter how many signs were posted, audio warnings played over the loudspeaker, or individual warnings issued by guards that pictures were prohibited, people snapped away. Couldn't help themselves. Of course, Aunt Lolly's digital instamatic won't begin to do justice to that magnificent ceiling, but what the hell. That pitiful photo shows Aunt Lolly was there, man!

To St. Peter's, which I won't bother to try to describe, except to say it's big, gaudy, and awesome (not so much in the teenage vernacular way). It, too, is hard to take in on one visit. So you grab what details you can: for me, it was Pope John's body laying in a glass case in front of one altar. Beyond creepy. And for a religion that insists that what matters is not the material world, that in fact the material world is misleading and pointless, the Catholic chuch sure revels in some curious material notions: the bodies of dead popes, the bones of St. Peter (in a box beneath the main altar), relics, and of course the gold, bronze and marble that line the walls of so many of these Roman churches. Oh, well. It can be awfully pretty.

We headed down and around to the underground crypt where the popes are buried. The highpoint, if you can call it that, is the fairly new grave stone of Pope John Paul II, the only one with fresh flowers and candles and other signs of, well, life. As we passed by the crypt holding the bones of St. Peter, a school group of Asian children, led by two nuns, promptly fell to their knees and began to pray. Reminded me of my childhood, so long ago.

We were too cash poor to pay the 7 Euro to ride the elevator to the dome (I was worried about vergito and claustrophobia anyway), so we slipped away to sip expensive beers down the street. Followed that up with a hike to the Trastavere, the cool homey neighborhood across the Tiber river from Rome proper. Found a restaurant recommended by someone, and sat down to a big dinner of fried calamari and, for me, a man size steak; for Leslie, what he thought would be a delicate serving of red sauce and meat, but what turned out to be a family sized platter of Italian chow.

Leslie chatted it up with a table of obvious Americans nearby, who claimed they were from Texas. One of the women, the chatty one, said, "Isn't this wonderful? It reminds us of Texas." Leslie responded, "How? What here could possibly remind you of Texas." Her husband said, "The heat." OK, we'll give him that. But she continued, "Well, you know, San Antonio. We have the river walk." Stunned silence all around. Moments later, she asked the professor, "Is there something called the Parthenon?" Leslie answered, "You're kidding, right?" Apparently, she had heard of the Parthenon (which is in Greece), but kept running across something called the Pantheon in Rome, and didn't know if they were the same thing. (If this exchange makes us come off as snooty, elitist, intellectual snobs...so be it. We are!)

On to take refreshment at the Campi de Fiore, a lovely square not far from the Tiber, the centerpiece of which is a statue of Giordano somebody. It seems he was branded a heretic back in the day and burned to death on this very spot. Not sure why the townsfolk want to memorialize this ugly little incident with a statue, but there it is, glaring down at you while you sip your Italian beer. We chose a cafe with what appeared to be the most comfortable seating, only to find that we were about the only ones to do so, all night. Everyone else chose to sit at other cafes, across the piazza from us. If you were sensitive, as I can be, you might think folks were avoiding us. That can't be, can it?

This morning to the Villa Borghese because our hotel clerk got us reservations! Stunning stuff. Everyone room in this sizable villa covered with incredible paintings and statuary collected by the Borghese family...nothing is left undecorated. It's dizzying, really. Although you do begin to question the propriety of a cardinal of the Catholic church having and using the wealth to buy this great art collection (not to mention hanging pictures of naked ladies over his bed). I don't meant to sound Puritan, but come on.

Off to Naples tomorrow and, I fear, more heat.

Monday, July 30, 2007

Lots of old stuff...

Off to the Coliseum Sunday morning, literally stumbling our way there (you would think that between the Ph.D. and the law degree, and my proclivities towards control freakdom, that our steps would be fairly well charted before departing from the hotel...alas, not. Lots is twisty turns, false starts, and a few dead ends...but it being Rome, incredible discoveries, large and small, around every corner. The orderly street grid of, say, New York, is entirely foreign here. I lead by my gut, and some of you know what that means.) I talked Leslie into taking the Coliseum tour...at first, after speaking with the tour guide, he turned to me with this disgusted look on his face and said, "Freebird, it is an hour long, and they give you a free tour later of the Palatine Hill, but they make you walk around with one of those ear pieces in your ear." Somehow he thought that would make us look stupider than normal. Because being with the tour group enabled you to skip the serpentine ticket line, we opted in. And it was worth it. Leslie even admitted that he learned things he didn't know, if you can imagine. I found this tour shorter and a lot less bloodier than the one I took several years ago...this guy even chose to omit mention of the bloody history of the Christians and the Coliseum. We asked at the end of the tour and he downplayed it, saying, yes, Christians were slaughtered (usually beheaded, not tossed to the lions), but not because of religion but because of politics (i.e., Christians = rebels = problems). So there. (Incidentally, the problematic ear pieces turned out to be cell phones that you could hold up to your ear if you were out of earshot of the guide...not terribly intrusive or embarrassing).

We found a restaurant across the street that offered a table in a dark, cool corner so we leaped. From our air conditioned table, we could see the Coloseum across the street, so it was nice (and cool). We returned, not expecting much, for the free tour of the Palatine hill. A young Australian guide cracked bad jokes, but led us on a spirited tour of the top of the hill where Domitian built his truly gigantic palace (using tens of thousands of Jewish slaves, don't you know, over 5 years). We learned that the Romans were lazy and cheap and invented veneer (using thin slabs of cover marble instead of building their buildings from solid stone), and that the awful modern structure that now sits on top of the hill in the midst of the ruins was built by Mussolini because, as Roman emperor, so to speak, he thought he deserved a place on top of the hill, too. He never occupied it...the people got to him first, as the tour guide explained in graphic detail (the hanging, the removal of his genitalia, the "soccer playing" with his genitalia, and then the humiliating stuffing of his genitalia, as a final grand gesture, in his mouth. Colorful stuff). The guide pointed us to one of the great views of old Rome, after which we traipsed our way out of the ruins and to the nearest bar.

OK. It wasn't a bar, but back to the Piazza Navona where I made Leslie eat a tartuffo (Tre Scalini specialty of chocolate ice cream covered in a thick slab of chocolate and topped with whipped cream), and we slid gradually into drink mode. The drinking got more intense when a young violinist (of maybe 13 years) set up his Peavy amp directly across the street in the piazza from my head, and proceeded to pelt us with lame virtuoso pieces, accompanied by a drum beat track: think Flight of the Bumblebee...that sort of crap). Leslie told the waiter that he would give the kid 5 Euros (and that's something for Leslie) if he would go away. The waiter laughed and walked away. Eventually we got him to turn the amplifier down so our glasses (and teeth) would stop rattling. We had to keep drinking to survive, so we bravely did. Finally, he left, to be replaced by countless young men selling knockoffs of designer purses, sunglasses, and belts. Their eyes roamed the piazza constantly, even while selling, watching for the carbinieri. The first flash of a police car or hat, and those guys were out of there. What a miserable way to make a living (worse than discovery battles).

Stumbled into a church on the piazza (St. Agnes of the Agony...which could not figure out which agony), into an Irish pub (where, just like McElroy's, the Irish found ways to abuse us), and to a restaurant over by the Coliseum (the only one opened on the street our guide told us was full of great restaurants). It was good, not transcendent (carbonara with smoke salmon!). Walking back to the hotel was great because night had descended, it was cooler, and the ruins were lit beautifully. Back in the hotel, we had a blackout, so I had to finish shaving in the dark (with my little LED torch). And I am sorry to say, R2D4 did little better Sunday night...and I think it was our air conditioner (or Leslie's curling iron) that caused another blackout this morning. The third world experience!

No Vatican today because Leslie woke up too late. Maybe the Villa Borghese, if we can find it. And at some point we have to decide how to get to Naples. Onward.

Sunday, July 29, 2007

We're here and we're sweating...

Arrived yesterday, Saturday, in Roma around 11 a.m., after a long, pleasantly boring plane ride. I scored a center section of seats to myself so I wallowed horizontally throughout the flight, to the barely hidden disgust of my fellow, upright passengers. I have said it before and I will say it again: melatonin is my new best friend. Pop a 1 mg pill after the first plane meal, and you slowly slide into a mellow sleep for the length of the flight (it is not sleeping pill sleep, but that is ok with me). I waited in the hotel for an hour for Leslie...as he was late, gave up on him and headed out and down the nearby Spanish Steps, where I suddenly stumbled on a sweating, heaving Leslie hauling his bags up the numerous Spanish Steps. I was bleary eyed, but we pushed onward to stumble around the neighborhood, and onto the Pantheon (probably my favorite old building...the one with the hole in the roof), and onward to drinks at the Piazza Navona (where it was so hot, the people watching was a little off...the masses were huddled whereever a puddle of shade could be found...so the Piazza, cooking under the sun, mostly was bare). We wandered up to the Piazza di Populo for more drinks before I commanded that we had to eat and we did, at a perfectly mediocre restaurant near the hotel (my pasta fagiola (sp?) was executed brilliantly however, with a slight vinegary taste). I finally had to call it quits because my eyes kept involuntarily shutting, and I still had the hill home to climb. Which I did, barely. I left Leslie to pay the bill, and as I feared, he got lost on the way home (even though I made him stick the hotel card with its address and a little map on the back in his pocket before we left for this very reason). He eventually showed up. And I soon collapsed. Slept through the night to awake only occasionally to wonder why our little air conditioner (R2D4) was not able to keep my back dry. The Europeans, I find, settle for a lot less in the way of physical comforts than Americans do. Onward to some old stuff this morning, rested and well fed (corn flakes and Nutella for breakfast).

Thursday, July 26, 2007

On the way out of the country...

A quick "happy birthday" to Malu (Hawaiian poet/warrior) and Chen (recent Master of Accounting graduate and KPMG hire). And a "good luck" to my niece Keli and my spiritual compadre Arkady on their encounters with their respective state bars this weekend (Texas for the former, California the latter). I'll toast you all as soon as I uncork that bottle on the Piazza Navonna...

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

The dollar's drowning and the heat wave is on...

Overjoyed to hear that "the battered dollar," as the financial pages call it, hit a record low against the Euro this week (incidentally, it also hit a 30-year low against the Canadian dollar--called the loonie!--this week, dragged down, the pundits say, by continued worries over interest rates and potential fallout from subprime mortgage loans (and possibly the Idiot's polyps). Sure am glad my tight self held on to all those Euro travelers checks I failed to use last time I was in Europe (with Licky Philpots). I feel vaguely rich.

Not so happy to see that it's still hot in southern Europe...Leslie has departed France for Germany. Don't know that I will hear from him again until we meet up, supposedly, in Rome on Saturday...one more half day of deposition and I can quietly slide into vacation mode...

Thursday, July 19, 2007

How do you say "talcum" in Italian?

If you review the news links on the lower righthand side of this page, you'll likely see references to the killer heatwave blistering its way through Italy and Greece, with my people dropping like baked flies. It's so hot, in fact, that the Telegraph reports: "With temperatures soaring, and air conditioners running at full blast, Italians have been ordered by the government to shed their ties in order to cool down. Livia Turco, the health minister, has sent a memo to "all government employees and private Italians" which states that the "small gesture" can lead to "an immediate fall in body temperature of between two and three degrees." Of course this doesn't sit well with everyone: Some Italians, the newspaper reports, consider it a "sartorial disgrace." Alain Elkann, a writer and the husband of Margherita Agnelli, the Fiat heiress, said it was impolite. "I have never failed to wear a tie in public in 40 years," he told the Corriere della Sera newspaper. At most, he would remove his jacket.

Since I was not planning on packing a tie, and Leslie doesn't own one, and, instead he'll be sporting his revealing linen shorts and me my wide-legged culottes, we, too, will be disgraceful in our own fashion, but cool (in every sense).

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

That damn Leslie...

has texted that he is drinking at my favorite zinc bar/philosophy bookstore in the Marais in Paris, La Belle Hortense. It is a gem, only to be outdone in adoreableness by the little bar/cafe across the street with the horseshoe bar (where Ricky W. made me drink too much Belgian ale on an empty stomach with two Swedish girls, resulting in some impromptu showtunes (yes, some Sondheim) and an unfortunate tummy situation back at the dismal hotel much later). Oh, the memories.

Monday, July 16, 2007

That marvelous internet...

Despite what Pete R. says, the internet is good. And especially when it comes to travel. My new favorite sites (although this will be the first time I'll get an extensive, real-world chance to test both) are tripadvisor.com and viamichelin.com. The former permits you to search for hotels using ratings (and lots of commentary and photos) by real people who have actually stayed in the hotel. As with all things internet, take everything with a grain of salt...but you get lots of useful, and often colorful, information (e.g., "Don't stay in Room 332. It smells bad."). The Michelin site gives you detailed (and I mean detailed) driving directions throughout the world. In addition to mileage and driving time, they give you the toll amounts to expect and nanny you with such comments as, "You've been driving for 2 hours. Take a break." (Yes, Renee, I'll give you credit for finding this site.) And it's all free! Got it, Pete?

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Another London update...

Leslie texts (I didn't know he had any idea how to text...I think it was Leslie) from abroad: "London almost magical...all buildings have mythological creatures...animals or naked women on top." Not sure I recall those particular details...anyway, Leslie remember to Mind the Gap or else!

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

From the land of "toad in the hole" and "bangers and mash," Leslie writes, "London is a fairy-tale land. I should have been born here." I envy him, dammit (not so much his hair).

Friday, July 6, 2007

The Schedule

FYI: I don't leave until July 27. Leslie leaves this weekend (he's got a course to teach). We'll meet up in Rome on July 28. We're there until something like August 16. So there.

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

Why Sicily...

you may ask, of all places to visit? Because, in addition to its amazing topography--the largest island in the Med., covered in mountains and topped off with volcanic Mount Etna--parts or all of Sicily were captured and, thus influenced, by Greece, Carthage, Rome, the Vandals (featuring Theodoric!), the Byzantine Empire, and even the Normans! And I'm told, although I haven't confirmed, that there are more Greek ruins today in Sicily than there are in Greece...that's a bit too much to swallow.

Anyway, in doing a little research, I came across this timely quote from the Christian scholar Jerome (347-420 A.D.) regarding the Visigoth's sacking of Rome in 410 A.D.: "IF ROME CAN PERISH, WHAT CAN BE SAFE." See...everybody thinks their civilization is invincible and everybody's a fool.

Monday, July 2, 2007

Some pre-travel reflections

Must say I'm a little surprised about how expensive European travel is this year. I think I'm paying more for my flight than I ever have. And the quaint hotels in Sicily that I was sure would be cheap are not (and we're not staying in anything fancy). The Euro is still beating the Dollar, but not oppressively so (it was worse when I was there a couple of years ago)...so I'm not sure why the cost spike. But it ain't stopping me. (Nor are the unfortunate and sudden cancellations of something like half of Leslie's students.) Life's too short, or in the Roman vernacular, Tempus Fugit and Carpe Diem and all that stuff.

Since I'm giving you a head start--nearly a month before my trip begins--feel free to offer your travel recommendations (especially if anyone knows anyone who knows any must-eat Italo or Greco restaurant, do share).

Monday, June 25, 2007

My people have spoken!

As I prepare for another international promenade, again among the Ancients, I begin another blog, not out of ego (I swear), but because my people have asked that I do so. I'm glad to blog (now that's an ugly verb) because it gives me a record of my adventures after I return and permits me to vent while I travel (which is especially important when traveling with the likes of Rick Wilbanks or any or all of the Marenchins). So enjoy. And when posting a comment, be sweet!