29 April 2007

all weekends lead to rome



I have a hunch that you could live in Rome for years and years and never quite see everything. I also bet that Rome never really feels wander-able; that it's a difficult place for whims and flights of fancy. That when a city is consistently packed with tourists, as Rome is, it demands a certain amount of focus and planning. Otherwise you'll simply be swept away... by the crowds, by the sights, by the unrelenting sun and equally unrelenting stampede of history.

Rome is a crazed Disney Land of sights to which a million little umbrella sticks topped with scarves march daily. These umbrella sticks (minus the umbrella) are the batons of the tour guides, leading legions of tourists in every direction, filling every crack and every corner. You rarely hear Italian spoken, you're more likely to hear English; and Spanish (with a heavy Catalan accent) was the second most popular language on our weekend. We're used to Milan where if you hear English on the street, your head spins to find the source. In Rome, it's the Italian that's fleeting.



But the sights... how to describe their ubiquitous presence? The well-worn phrase, "an embarrassment of riches" doesn't do this city justice. Everywhere is SOMEwhere. Everything is SOMEthing. And it's all so much older than anything we as Americans have regular contact with. It's hard to put it in perspective. It's hard to picture the Romans filling the Colloseum all the way to the rafters and screaming at the bloodied gladiators on the floor below. But they did. It's hard to imagine the Pantheon - standing in the exact same place, with the same forceful lift to its structure - in its heyday, in oh...well... 125 AD! How do you begin to wrap your mind around that?

The only comment card suggestion we could make to Rome would be the addition of a touch more shade. A few more shadows in which to cower when the afternoon sun is beating down. But other than that small favor - which is just a petty thing really, more of a luxury than a necessity - what can you add to a city that has been added to for centuries?



We ate exceptionally well at our favorite Roman restaurant and whenever we did a "buddy check" (a little something we picked up from the tour guides and their herds of followers) we came up even. Our hotel was in the process of renovating (yes, literally in the process - it was a construction site where the cleaning ladies were caught in a Sisyphusian battle to take away the accumulating dust and debris) and so had gloriously high-powered air conditioning and new furniture. Stefano secured us tickets to the Vatican Museum and swept us into the Colosseum with barely a line to be had. We explored basilicas and ruins, found fountains and friends, and kept on the trail of Pope Pius IX. It was a glorious weekend made even more so by our traveling companions.

There's nothing like a weekend in Rome to reset your understanding of the world's timeline... and remind you to make the most of your own.

16 April 2007

faces in the crowd



If you've ever been in Milan over Easter weekend you know that it empties out like an upturned espresso. The streets are quiet. The stores are closed. Restaurants hang up signs with messages along the lines of "be back later." We stayed here last year and in our lonely wanderings muttered more than once, where'd everyone go? And wherever it was, it became abundantly clear that the next time around we should follow their example.

So, this year, we came up with an answer... the locals go to the lakes. How do we know they go to the lakes? Because we went there and ran into what seemed like half of Italy.

We spent Sunday on Lake Como and Monday on Lake Garda and felt spoiled rotten. Italy's lake region is amazingly pretty and when you're gifted with glorious spring weather it's hard to go wrong. And Milan, which has a reputation for being a bit grey and business-like, makes up for its everyday hum-drum by being within a mere hour or so from most of the lakes.



You just hop on a train in Milan and the next thing you know you're staring at gorgeous waters ringed by mountains, palm trees, and villas. (Ok, before you get to the lakes you have to deal with the train which is always a mild adventure. For example, see the above couple. Yes, they were like this the whole way. And no, I'm not exaggerating. The really romantic thing is, the way the trains are set-up each section is comprised of four seats, two sets of two facing each other. So picture the two people sitting across from these lovebirds. At least we were across the aisle!)

The other thing we saw for a nanosecond on our way to Lake Como on Easter Sunday was a field full of rabbits. Seriously. There was a field of semi-tall grasses filled with rabbits that were all sitting up, their ears raised. And I don't mean three rabbits. We're talking twenty rabbits minimum. Maybe twenty-five. It was surreal and creepy and the kind of thing that inspires recurring nightmares. If the train had been going any slower I'd have been worried. Like when we were on a bus in Peru and people at the side of the road started throwing rocks. But I digress.



Lake Como is probably the most famous of the lakes, perhaps because it happens to be the lake along which one Mr. Clooney lives. I haven't seen him or his villa but I've heard stories of the star joining pick-up basketball games in town. What town that is, I'm not sure. But we went to Varenna which is small and quiet and always boasts a healthy crop of sailboats. We've also become fans of having a cappucino and brioche in the piazza and happened to be sitting there as Easter Mass let out from the church at the piazza's edge. Families streamed into the cobble-stoned space as church bells sang and it was a far more pleasant reminder of the holiday than the strange field of rabbits we'd seen earlier.



We took the ferry from Varenna to Menaggio - a town we hadn't visited before. It was quaint and even promised some hiking opportunities. But after we'd made our way up a fairly steep path through town (passing a cat with no ears) and still hadn't arrived at the starting point of the hike, we decided it was best not to embark on that journey just yet. Instead we turned around and enjoyed the path going in the opposite direction - downhill.



After another ferry ride we poked around Bellagio. These ferries are great. They skate along the water, chased by a crisp breeze. Snow-capped mountains hang in the lakey distance and hills climb up out of the water. Lago di Como is a gorgeous place and so different from Milan. You can really understand why people would flock from one to the other - especially on a long weekend like this. (The Monday after Easter is called Pasquetta and is a holiday in Italy.)

For our Monday activities we again fled Milan and headed to one of Italy's lakes. Lake Garda is to the east of Milan and within about an hour and a half by train. We then took a ferry (this one a slow paddleboat version) to a small peninsula along the lake called Sirmione. It was packed - and I mean PACKED - with people. There were couples, and families, and groups of friends. Young people and old people and everyone in between. It was by no means a quiet and calming destination but it was beautiful.



Sirmione is a great place to spend the day. A place with flower pots on window sills and older folks leaning out of windows. It has a castle along the water with a moat. There are tall leafy palm trees and you can see mountains across the water on a clear day. The combination is strange and gorgeous.

The town's full of boutiques and restaurants and gelato shops - and if you look carefully you can find a little bar that will make you a great panino and wrap it in a napkin. Then take the panino and go to the shore. You can sit along the rock wall, and watch the lake lap at the beach, with the castle looming at your side. Just don't let the children throwing rocks at the ducks ruin your mood. And no, throwing rocks at the children won't make you feel better - although it may give the ducks a chance to get away. Still, don't do it.

The best part about a visit to Sirmione is the Roman ruins known as Grotte di Catullo. This gigantic villa, thought to have been constructed in the first century BC is crumbled and stunning, and occupies the entire tip of the Peninsula. You can walk the entire space of the peninsula, working your way higher and higher, with thick walls of rosemary edging the path. A vast spread of olive trees populates the flat top of the ruins, offering some of the only shade to be found.



The waters below are light blue and aqua, shallow with smooth rock patches here and there. It's a dramatic view and seeing it through the arches of a ruined Roman villa is stunning. You can't help but sigh and take great gulps of the lake air.

Milan this is not.



The only unpleasantry about Sirmione was having to leave Sirmione. And not only because it would be nice to stay there. The bigger problem was that all of us who were tooling around town had to leave town. And most of us were leaving at the same time. On the same ferry.



But since we were looking for the locals, finding them was part of the fun. (I'm not exaggerating when I say that the rabbits were far more menacing.)

03 April 2007

torrone and towers in cremona...



Maybe I'm a terrible person. Maybe I don't know what I've got 'til it's gone. Or maybe it's that my single foray into musical instruments was a disaster (I ask you to envision fifth-grader + saxophone + Mary Had a Little Lamb.) But I have to admit... I am one of only two people in the world who've visited Cremona and not seen a Stradavarius.

On the subject I can say that I now know the violin master's name was Stradavari and that the word Stradavarius is an adjective; as in "created by a man named Stradavari." There are several places in his hometown of Cremona where you can spend time doting on his glorious violin creations. Or... and here's where I veer off of tourism's well-worn path... you can spend the musuem entry fees on torrone instead.



Torrone. That magical bar of nougat wrapped in rice paper and studded with almonds. It comes tenero (soft) or friabile (hard) and either way it's a lyrical combination of honey and crunch. And a challenge. If you know an easy way to eat a bar of torrone -- an easy way to bite off a chunk without losing a molar -- you let me know. Cremona claims the honor of being the birthplace of this little beauty and there are ample offerings around town, thus ample opportunity to gum a bar until you give up and just take a perilous bite.



A flower market had taken over the main piazza on Saturday and the open space at the foot of the Duomo was overflowing with buckets and crates of vivid flowers, with people wandering in and out of the bunches. There were wicker bicycle-baskets filled with tulips and dogs sniffing each other on the church steps. Grandparents led their grandchildren by the hand thorough the morning crowds.

After a pair of cappucinos at the busiest bar we could find it was 502 steps to the top of Europe's tallest bell tower. We both were happily surprised by the ease of the climb, especially Stefano who'd engaged in a vigorous bout of flag football only a few days before. The 502 steps breezed by, with the view growing incrementally smaller, until we reached the spiral staircases. First there was a stone spiral stairway which simply resulted in feeling as if we were going nowhere despite continuing to step up. Then came the metal spiral staircase rising to the absolute top level of the tower. It was something like eight or nine swirls above a stone floor... eight or nine swirls in a big open space going up, up, up. It wasn't my favorite thing to do in the world but it brought us to a heck-of-a view.



When we were back down on the ground - and let me tell you, spiral staircases are even less fun going down - we headed to the Baptistry and the Duomo. The Baptistry was surprisingly large, with light coming in from the ceiling as it does in the Pantheon. The Duomo was closing - who knew prayer pauses for lunch - but we did get to see enough to appreciate it. (And we'll let you in on a little secret - the vestaments and fabrics at the alter are only wrinkle-free because a dedicated individual rushes back from lunch to iron them. We saw this when we returned post-lunch for another view.)



Lunch in Cremona was nothing short of excellent. Truly. We went to Hosteria 700 (Piazza Gallina 1) and Stefano ordered what must be the finest plate of risotto in all the world. Truffle Cream Risotto with Smoked Goose Breast salami, simply stunning. The heady aroma of truffles was woven into the creamy risotto, with the savory smoke of goose salami giving a sharp jab to the velvet smooth. The antipasto we'd ordered (also at the behest of Stefano) was really different - a strong provolone accompanied by a gentle pumpkin marmalade. Pumpkin marmalade? Oh yes... Marvelous and bordering on sweet; perfect at the edge of a witty cheese like provolone. This restaurant was previously a villa and diners are peppered throughout three different dining rooms - each more charming than the next. Definitely two thumbs up. Although I do take issue with the fact that women order from menus with a pink ribbon and while men order from menus with a blue ribbon. The only other difference? Only the male version has the prices. Quaint, no?



We spent a small portion of our day eating pastries along the piazza while a little girl battled with a cone of gelato a few feet away. The softness of gelato doesn't seem to be as conducive to disaster as the American-style ice cream scoop - you rarely see a crying kid standing over a fallen scoop of gelato. More often than not the kids just keep smashing the gelato down with their face until there's none left or Mom/Dad interject with a mini plastic spoon in order to help.

Cremona is a nice place. It has nice pastries (albeit the ones I picked at random were for the most part soaked in liquor; could be a personal problem), nice torrone, nice flowers and nice towers.

I hear it has nice violins too. But don't ask me, I haven't seen them. And don't ask Stefano either. He's the only other person who's been to Cremona without visiting the violins. Such heathens we are.