My sister and brother-in-law's house in No. Arizona

After 22 hours of traveling from Athens, Greece to Denver, Colorado, USA, the navigation through the Denver Airport presented a challenge to the body and mind.   US Customs and Immigration area presented its’ usual test of patience.  The “food courts” filled with fast food restaurants emitted the distinct American smell of fried hamburgers, french fries, and MSG laden Chinese fast food.  I doubted the words “freshly baked” written on a sign next to sugar-coated cinnamon rolls in a kiosk, but I did stop at the nearby Starbuck’s cafe.   This combination of smells assaulted my nostrils and navigated its way into my brain’s sensory system which caused a signal from brain to stomach to focus on the word “REVULSION”.  The intestines contracted, acidic bile rose, sweat appeared on the forehead, the wall provided support and I breathed deeply through my mouth to avoid what could only be described as a potentially “embarrassing moment”.

My mind filled with words flashing like a neon sign in Times Square:  ”WHAT HAPPENED TO FRESH FETA CHEESE, GREEK SALADS, FRESH FRUITS AND VEGETABLES?”  The cafés of Provence were gone,  the pastries filled with fresh whipped cream from Italian farms were a memory, the morning’s fish catch off the Greek island of Paros was not going to pass my lips here…

The coastal walks, wildflowers growing amidst rocks, sipping a cappuccino while watching the Aegean Sea turn different hues of blue depending on the sun’s location, hiking in Petra, riding the bus from Rognonas to Avignon, entering Italian cathedrals and marveling at the beauty, the efficiency of train travel, meeting new friends, 10 months of trains, buses, planes, hotels, guest houses, foreign languages and broken English– in one brief instant, all was replaced by iconoclastic symbol of America:  McDonald’s and Starbucks.

Airports encapsulate the unpleasant traits synonymous with Americans and their culture:  airport security, the God-awful smell of American fried food, overweight population, constant impatience, sloppy dress, plastic water bottles everywhere   – yet – despite it all, my ears welcomed the sound of America’s native tongue spoken fluently and the psyche’s comfort level went up several notches.  I had returned home, and sadness enveloped me as the realization of how much I treasured all the experiences of the last year.  Will I continue to  look, now,  at my home country, with the same anticipation of new experiences?”  I hope so.

The circuit of 1500 miles through New Mexico and Arizona to reconnect with friends and family was akin to watching a movie entitled “Why I Return Home” – open spaces, small farms, big ranches, can-do attitudes, friendly smiles, different American accents reflecting their home states, entreprenurial minds, and familiarity…..

MOUNTAIN SKIES OF NEW MEXICO

It has been a gift to feel recognizable arms encircle my body in a now-accepted style of American greeting – a big hug! Conversations recounted lives lived over the last year, some with tragedy and others with new-found happiness, and others -well – non-eventful day-to-day living, which is the case with most people. Conversations lulled, started again, but with a preamble to bring me up-to-date on the event, and eventually comfort levels returned to the conversation participants.

Extended time away “home” and returning seems to be a dance of self-realizations, different lifestyles, personal changes, relationship adjustments, and a longing for the unspoken excitement and tension when traveling in a foreign country.    Daily, the click of SHIFT/ALT/DELETE to reboot the body’s computer is required to remind the body to do yoga poses, keep the energy flowing, retain the calmness and don’t get hooked into “hurry-hurry mode”.  One is home, but occupying in a different space now.

I remind myself to take a moment and look at the sky….every minute is precious and won’t be lived again.

No. New Mexico

So. Arizona

…..and still settling in…finding the balance….

Take good care,

cya…me

But, have a really nice day, no matter what happens, OK?

Beautiful Santorini provided the most amazing vistas to calm the mind and spirit, and prepare the body and soul for returning home to the USA.

White is the color of the Greek Isles– furniture, clothing, waiters and tourists dressed in white, walls, ceilings, and roofs, path ways painted grey but outlined in white.

Blue shutters and doors …

Quintessential Greece.

Sun glasses – big ones – de rigour as is sunscreen…

Many roads traveled, people met, thought-provoking situations and loneliness experienced, fulfillment enjoyed….  ”thank you, life” are the three words that sum the last 10 months up.

Thoughts before I return to the USA after 10 months of traveling thru Portugal, France, Italy, Jordan and Greece:

Kindles compete with I-tablets and the mass-produced mystery novels bought at the “international press shops”…

White skin turns pink — in some cases, painfully pink – a sure-tell sign of a tourist…

Single travelers – strike up conversations with everyone – you never know where it will lead.  People are willing to share their experiences …really!

What DO tourists carry in those small backpacks when they are seeing the sites?

Bangle bracelets and gold earrings contrast the bronzed skin – a constant in beach resort destinations…

Smart phones abound…very convenient for self-portrait shots …

Cameras with 8 inch lenses wait for the perfect shot of the sunset, the bridges in Florence, the Eiffel Tower, the fields in Cinque Terre…

“Oh My God” has become an international expression….along with “actually” and “exactly”…

English is the international language, French disdain the use of it, Indians speak it crisply with an English lilt and days-gone-by expressions such as  “properly chilled”, “I shall not..” but go back to Hindu when irritation strikes,  Italians love their food and all aspects from its growth to the table top – whether it be a family meal or a snack with the early evening wine, overly polite and friendly Americans ask apologetically for something, American tourists do tend to travel in groups, most visitors try to pronounce basic words of the country’s language, Germans trudge up and down the paths or streets, Asians ALWAYS have small umbrellas with them…

Trains and buses provide transportation for those with and without vehicles.. easy, easy, easy traveling….I wish the USA had the same system….

Train stations closing in smaller towns..indication of new generation moving on..

Agricultural land is for sale, tourism is becoming more and more an economic base…

Walk 2 blocks off the main streets and see the “real” town….

Worldwide skepticism propagates daily regarding countries governments….

America’s influence is dwindling….and a constant source of derision in discussion about America….but, yet, most people really like Americans! Friendly, friendly people….

Chinese language schools are multiplying…  Chinese are traveling…

Adventure travel companies have made everywhere accessible in the world by the internet/google/baidu/emails & advertising … ie: the Undiscovered Italian Coast” – Cinque Terre was “discovered” by Rick Steves…

Don’t believe everything you read..the French were very friendly to me!

Common threads — immigrants, unemployment, low wages, gap between incomes is rising, energy concerns, “how do we get more tourists”, education issues, borders or lack thereof in Europe and issues associated with that, people want a say in their government…

Read opposing opinions, listen – no, really listen, then speak, leave the table with the agreement to agree to disagree and be friends….

Cash in the air miles or save some money and go someplace different…leave your comfort zone and then, leave your culture and pre-conceived notions when you board the plane or train or car..with the final step being:   erase the chalkboard of the mind and let the new experience write new sentances on that board…

At home, help someone who is lost or doesn’t speak the language ….

Home is where the atmosphere cloaks the body like a down comforter and a breath is exhaled with a soft smile.  That “home” may be the hotel room for the night.

Going home today…. a soft smile will be on my face when I see my family & friends and those blue skies of the southwest…

cya…

me

Filed under: woman traveler Tagged: Greece, home, Santorini, tourists, travel

Buses roll over roads transporting locals and tourists to various towns, artist workshops sprinkle hills,  200-year-old rock walls mark the boundaries of fallow and tilled fields, dirt roads flanked by vineyards and olive trees lead to houses  – these are some of the sites on the 64 square miles of Paros Island, Greece.

Life is simple on the island.  Crops are grown for local consumption, goats’ milk produce local cheeses,  cattle and sheep graze the hills, vegetables gardens are plentiful, artisans paint, write and sculpt.   Some landowners have sold to developers, made millions and moved away.   Others, the cycle of life goes on with new generations living on their centuries old family’s soil.  Athens is “over there” someplace, and here, the weather is a main topic of conversation.

Coves are tucked in the coast with small patches of sand inviting a sunbather.  The beaches are awesome.  Some are sandy, some are rocky but all meet the Aegean Sea with its hues of blues and soft waves.  The sun warms the body and just feels so damn good.

The towns of Parikia and Naoussa are the main tourist centers with all the trappings that go along with the words “tourist towns” but still have a vibrant local community.  Lefkes village in the center of the Island was the capital during the Middle Ages.Olive trees cover the hills around the village and its’ 500 inhabitants, cobblestone streets, whitewashed houses and white marble Byzantine church.  An old paved footpath winds it way from the village to another village and finishes at the sea.

During the month of April, year-round and summer-only residents open their tavernas and shops, construction and painting jobs start, local fisherman prime boats, freshly painted signboard menus appear by the doors of restaurants, and a few summer houses open their shutters and doors.  The locals wave “hello’s” or greeted “Kalimera” to their friends who arrive for the three-month tourist season.    The small village of Alyki, woke up after winter’s hibernation, and it was my home for 5 weeks.

A 1 week yoga course brought me here and I stayed longer to experience more than:    ligaments shouting “Oh, yoo-hoo, this is what happens when you ignore me”……. and shortened thigh muscles pulsating the words “You should have stretched during all those years horseback riding”….. and me thinking x-rated words ending with the phrase “Oh God, let me survive this pose, please.”   Six days later, the body said “Thank you, Oona(the yoga instructor), maybe NOW, Lisa will pay attention to me in a kinder and gentler way!”

Restaurants and the only tourist shop were beginning to open when the taxi dropped me off, and the beaches had few footprints on them.  The coastal paths bordered by rocks, sea and spring flowers welcomed me as their only visitor.   Greek was the main language spoken at the restaurants.  As time progressed, my ears received a refresher course in French and Italian, and soon UK English floated into the stream.   The tourist season began slowly, and now,  the weekends are busy.

Men with baseball caps and sunglasses drive by on 4 wheel ATVs and the tour buses slowly navigate the narrow street thru town.   The once empty beaches are  playing host to all shades of red tinted skin on their shores.  An additional waitress works the weekend evening shift at the restaurant next to the coffee shop. Memories of being the only guest at the hotel for the first few days bring a smile.

I am sitting in a coffee shop, now, watching people with really white legs clad with Bermuda shorts and black socks in sandals walk down the narrow street in what can only be described as “the tourist stroll”.  No attention is given to who or what is behind them – this flock of strollers has caused a car to slow down to 1 mph with the driver tapping his thumb on the steering wheel.  Would you please look behind you ….and… A woman looks behind her, out comes “OH DEAR, we had better move over…” and the group backs up in a long line to allow passage for the car.  Can they make it any more difficult to get out-of-the-way?    Tourist “line dancing”, I guess. Sounds crotchety, doesn’t it?  Selfish of me, the quiet village town is entering the season.

I imagine, towards the end of September, smiles will be thin, and the locals will probably be glad the season is over.  Windsurfing and diving schools close, the beach tavernas close their shutters, fewer buses will travel the roads and the summer vacation homes will be winterized and vacant.  The lady at the bakery will speak her native Greek to 99% of the clientage and greet them all by their first names.   The markets reduce their inventory and day-to-day life resumes – school, kids, cooking, TV and going to Parikia once a week to do errands.  Money will have been made to help tide everyone over until the next June comes along.   The population on the island will drop to 18,000 +/- local inhabitants.

I will say good-bye to Mr. Costa and Maria who tried desperately to teach me some Greek(absolutely NO success) while I ate lunch at their restaurant, order a cappuccino from Marianna for the last time before departing, and pet the four kittens whose eyes opened during my stay.   The trail along the coast with flowers in bloom and views of sailboats in the Aegean Sea will be disturbed one more time before I board the ferry tomorrow to Santorini.   I shall miss this little fishing village where I felt complimented when some of the locals started saying “Kalimera, Lisa.”       Maybe next year……?

Take good care,

cya..me

p.s.  remember to “elongate your spine from the tailbone to the crown of your head”  OK?

The day trip from Amman, Jordan to Jerusalem started with a taxi ride to the Jordanian border followed by:  passport stamped, fee paid, shuttle bus from Jordanian border to Israeli border, 2 checkpoints(1 Jordanian and 1 Israeli), Israeli immigration, 3 more security checks with x-rays and passports checked each time, military patrols carrying machine guns throughout the buildings and another bus to another Israeli checkpoint.  After officially entering Israel,  I found a taxi driver who showed us(met a woman who worked for a NGO in Amman and she joined me on this excursion) the sites of Palestine, Jerusalem and Jericho.

A side note on this spontaneous little excursion:   Since my passport now has a Israeli visa entry stamp, I cannot enter any Arab country with this passport.    Also, I thought American security was horrendous in boarding planes etc.; well, the Israeli crossing is now at the top of the list.

Holy Week in Jerusalem is NOT the time to visit if one wants to avoid the crowds and experience Jerusalem in a “sane” manner.   Police everywhere, Christian/Greek Orthodox/Muslim/Jewish faiths demonstrating their presence by bells/Byzantine mosaics/mosques, tiny streets with shops selling olive wood crosses to “All I got was a T-shirt from Jerusalem” t-shirts to spices, the taxi driver not leaving us for one minute for fear of losing us in a MASS of humanity, Palestinian checkpoints, close to being trampled by people pushing the crowd limits for a view of the tomb of Jesus Christ – all of this did not lend itself to the phrase “spiritual experience”  nor a description for the two words Holy Land.  I left with the feeling of “So, Lis, did you try to cram in too much in one day?  What do you think?”  Glad I went, but, wish it was at a different time…..

Twenty four hours later…Mykonos Island greeted me….and talk about a “disconnect” in a chain of travels — desert to sea, war-torn areas to passengers disembarking from cruise ships, bedouins and Petra to fisherman and white houses with blue shutters.   “Party all night in Mykonos” = the Mykonos scene.  A few days later, a high-speed ferry that looked like it came off the TV show “MIAMI VICE” sped passengers thru the Mediterranean Sea and I landed in Paros.   8 passengers including myself disembarked and the remaining 272 people remained on board and continued on to Santorini.

From Parikia, the primary port on the island of Paros, I traveled 12 kilometers on windy roads, past white houses with bright blue shutters, olive groves and vegetable fields, and the taxi dropped me off at Villa Konikotopoaulus(THAT name just rolled off the tongue..) in the tiny town of Alykia.  The five-minute walk thru town took me past 8 tavernas and restaurants, 2 little markets, 1 soft drink stand which also sold bus tickets and stamps, a small tourist oriented shop and benches lining the walk along the Mediterranean Sea.  By the time I walked back to my hotel, I was sure word got around to the local population of 300 people a new tourist was in town.

“Lisa, you here because????????” the question is asked.

I “googled” Yoga Greece and up popped “Special – 5 days – yoga classes – May 1st”.   So, “why not?” entered the mind, “still the off-season in Greece, 20€ for a hotel including full breakfast” and here I am in Alykia, Paros Island, Greece.

I arrived in Provence, France at the end of the tourist season and saw the local population “winterize” their shops, hotels and restaurants.  In Greece, I witnessed the opening of the tourist season – painting houses, signs, outdoor tables and chairs, purchasing new cups to hold the cappuccinos’, writing on new menu boards subsequently placed outside the tavernas, the rent-a-car establishment washing its only car(!), all the locals still in really good moods and genuine smiles on faces as the occasional tourist drives into town signaling the beginning of Greece’s tourist season.

A Dutch yoga teacher, who lives in the town, is teaching Hatha yoga to 8 students from Holland and myself 2x a day for a total of 4 hours.   My constant quest continues of loosening up the body, asking energy to flow thru old broken bones, the teacher saying “Do what you can” and the body responding with “Well, it ain’t much!” and then screaming “you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me-if-you-think-I-can-do-that-Yoga-pose”, followed by muscles/ligaments crying “Good luck on THAT pose, kid.”

After morning class, it is off to coffee at a restaurant that I cannot pronounce nor spell, and THE BEST small grilled spicy lamb patties or freshly caught grilled fish served with french fries for $5.00

Island exploration is possible via the various buses.  Walks on the rocky coast and seeing that occasional patch of sand is a treat, friends from Rome will visit for a few days in mid May, the sun is shining more and more, and spring’s cool weather and cloudy days are slowly disappearing …. and, “I am staying put”, as my mother would say, for a while.  So, on that note, I will watch spring disappear and summer seep into the Greek Isles….

cya.. me

Desert crossing sign

Ciao, Italy — loved you but decided to leave you…. inexpensive flights, tourist bargains in the Middle East and time to go before anything else happens led me to Amman, Jordan.   I visited all the four compass points and places in between–  crusader and Arab castles, deserts, Jordan River, Dead and Red Sea, Petra and Little Petra, Roman ruins, Hadrian’s Arch, towns whose names I can’t spell or pronounce…..

 Difficult traveling without a driver if there is a timetable involved.  Sporadic buses, schedules change, and several tourist sites are not on the routes.  Rental cars were available, but I elected not to rent a car and travel alone.  So, opted for a driver to get me from A to B, etc.   Arrived in Amman, Jordan’s capital city with a population of 2 million people  A sea of white and rose-colored stone buildings covered the land – all I could think of was “breathing room only” …..  as the driver said “It started out like Rome built on 7 hills, and now, covers 25 hills!”  Since rock is NOT a problem, it is law that buildings are built of stone.   Amman is a city filled with shops selling all the normal utilitarian items, a mish-mash of shops selling tires next to vegetable stands next to coffee stands, posh coffee shops, malls, theatres, Roman ruins, multi million dollar homes, apartment buildings upon apartment buildings, hotels, a HUGE American Embassy with all the necessary concrete barricades surrounding it, and, everything and everyone bathed by the reflection of the sun off white stone structures… Mercedes/Hummers/BMWs competing with Nissans/Citroens/Toyotas and the taxis…and people.  Third world in some respects — the ever-present rods of rebar sticking up out of half-finished projects next to multi million dollar McMansions with a Starbucks on the corner.   English is a spoken language by most – so – easy traveling.

Dead Sea = people trying to get healthy soaking in a Sea that is shrinking/Red Sea = the Middle East Riviera with all the accoutrements..

Jordan River winds its way through salt brush and willows and,once a thriving river, now a dwindling water source being sucked dry by Israel and Jordan competing for irrigation rights…

Petra is awesome.  7:00am in the morning found me walking thru huge pink limestone canyons and thinking “Raiders of the Lost Ark”.   The semi marked trails looked down on temples and caves carved in the hills, bedouins tended their sheep and goats,  greeted by a woman selling tea on the trail… the occasional trail marker sign – key word occasional - and silence.    Returned to the main entrance at 4:00pm thru a mass of people/hawkers selling stuff/men offering rides on horses — so glad I arrived early in the morning…I could have stayed another 3 days and explored more, but wanted to see all — so — went on to the Wadi Rum desert area.  Driver dropped me off at a small stone house, met the jeep driver and off we went in his 200?? ladies Mitsubishi jeep, described such because it was an automatic.  Empty desert during the summer and fall, and winter grazing for the bedouins’ goats and sheep.  The desert guide’s English was limited, but we did manage to have the following conversation:  DG = desert guide & L = Lisa

 DG:  Married? (a constant question)

    L:  No, alone with sons and granddaughter – many family members. (that seems to put me in some type of OK standing, not great, but OK)

DG:   OK…I marry you and you come help me with tour business.  Live Bedouin life, camel’s milk is desert Viagra.  Strong woman, big help.

  L:  (You have GOT to be friggin’ kidding me….) Well, somehow I don’t think that would work well.  I have family in USA.

 DG:  No problem.  They visit.  How old you?

L:  61

DG:  (Face immediately falls, smile gone – reality sinks in –’ just lost 12 good working years from this woman who seemed so promising initially’… )  No, you not.  You are 48 or 49.

L:  No, I am 61 years old….

DG:  OH-H – hmm – still strong.  too bad…

Silence followed, hopes dashed, acceptance seeped in and back to conversation about the million stars in the desert night sky while we raced over sandy roads to see the next petroglyph, I climbed on correct rocks for a photo,he made tea on an REI camp stove(!) and spoke about walking in the desert and mountains before he moved into a village with houses.  Missed the bedouin days.  No guile – straightforward – a desert cowboy.  At his house, though, was a Sheik of a large Bedouin tribe — gun holstered on his waist, large knife in waistband, black Mercedes with dark tinted windows parked in front of the desert guide’s house.  This man was a serious looking soul not to be taken lightly — which I did not, and looked at my driver and we left!

Castles from the crusaders days, and castles dating back to 8th C. provided a welcome respite from the sun — incredibly cool inside with 2 feet thick stone walls, passage ways, tunnels for man and animals, intricate water systems, Romans to King Richard to Lawrence of Arabia…..my mind romanticized about it all.  One of the most outstanding castles was in Eastern Jordan – a hunting pavilion and bath house with murals on the walls.  It was in process of being restored.  The eerie isolation of this place added to the bleakness of the Northern Jordanian desert comprised of scrub bush, basalt rock and sand and added another dimension to the rumble of long haul trucks taking supplies to the Iraqi border and beyond.

Hummus, turkish coffee, sweet tea, grilled chicken wrapped in pita breads, bananas, dates and lemonade…

Life goes on in Jordan — a country surrounded by strife — Egypt, Israel, Palestine, Syria, Iraq – the Jordanian king visits his people constantly, he is well liked and respected, peace is paramount in everyone’s mind — I have been welcomed as an American and have never felt any hostility — I can best describe it by — Every place I go, I always say “Hi, how are you?” and the response most of the time “Hello, you are American — you are always such friendly people.”  Never talk politics – there is a separation between the political world and the American populace – at least, that is what I have experienced here in Jordan.  I am so grateful to gain a better understanding of the people and their culture.  Will be heading on to Jerusalem/Bethlehem/Jericho ….

Jordanian girls sending off pink balloons in hopes of peace in Palestine.

take good care, cya…

me

Filed under: travel, woman traveler Tagged: Jordan, Middle East, Petra

I had lunch at a locals’ restaurant on a side street.  The all in one mâitre’d-waiter-bartender-cashier greeted me like his long-lost friend, took my order after many “prego’s, prego’s”(please, please)never said only once, and “si, si’s(yes, yes) same applies — all one word acknowledgements must be said at least twice, but preferably three times. The regular lunch crowd arrived around 12:30ish and re-emphasized the importance of community in daily Italian life.   Everyone knew one another and was greeted warmly by the all-in-one only employee(!), some received their usual drink, others heard the daily special and ordered as they walked to their table. Everyone spoke at the same time, gesticulated with their hands and forks constantly, nodded and never stopped eating.  Noise level reached new heights as 1:15pm approached and started to taper off around 1:45pm — I learned weeks ago lunch is a 2 hour affair – enjoy the food, appreciate the ambiance, savor the flavors, and absorb the sights/aromas that make up one of the main components of Italian life – FOOD.

I wish I had spent more time in Bologna to see the museums and neighborhoods, but, plans had been made.. so.. only saw church #8,765, the Civic Collection of Art, and walked thru streets with the usual collection of high fashion stores that are in many of the larger towns — Gucci, Chanel, Hermes, YSL, Fendi, Praga and a multitude of other Italian designers — and outlet and non-designer stores owned by Asians and Italians, a smattering of small speciality stores, and coffee bars filled with customers standing at the counters drinking espresso.

On to Verona of “Romeo, Romeo, for where art thou?” fame…

Well, let me tell you, he has left the building…. but… restaurants/bars/hotels have taken his name…..and capitalized…along with Juliett…and the balcony…

The graffiti in Verona was unbelievable — I have seen graffiti all over France and Italy, but in Verona, it really reached an entirely new level  -  no place escaped the spray can– except the arena(1 A.D.)…again, didn’t spend much time there — summer time brings a high-profile music scene, concerts in the arena and warm summer nights to reminisce about love’s sweet sorrows….

“Good Night, Good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

…. and off to Venice.

.

I got off the train, and thought I thought, OMG…. canals = water = boats – “Oh no, how do I get from here to the hotel without getting on a boat?”  Well, it simply is an impossibility.   Boarded the water bus, “vaporetto”, for those in the know, and off we went… the waiting platform was worse than the boat because it wobbled/bobbed like a basketball player, 10 minutes to San Marco square, where I became totally European, ignored all forms of civility and bolted/pushed/glared my way off that boat.. to the sidewalk, where I promptly found a café and sat…breathing deeply.  This was an issue.  Can one go to a farmacia and ask for Dramamine for a boat that goes on a canal and doesn’t really even bob or rock?  And will that take care of the waves of claustrophobia with all the millions of people crammed on the water buses… well..not really since in Italy, one needs a doctor’s prescription for just about everything, and the tourists were propagating by the second(I understand how the “local population” can just get MAXED on the same question being asked again and again and again..)…so… I walked everywhere – over bridges, side streets, policemen became close friends since I always needed directions… Word for the wise — if you suffer from motion sickness – don’t go to Venice!

Can we get ANYMORE tourists on these islands –…and shops, you bet…we only have 1 Hermés, bring another one.. triple the cost of food anyplace else, and you might have the price - masks, glass anything, jewelry, fabric, designer clothes — all geared towards the primary economic base of tourism.  Empty buildings on side streets reflected the lack local life in Venice.  A majority of people employed take the train into Venice on a daily basis.  St. Mark’s and the other churches, museums, art galleries, great building facades, HUGE Italian sunglasses(!), and Venice’s history, overshadowed so much of the kitchiness — one of those times, when a person needs to close their eyes, and imagine floating on the canal to the Opera House, listen to the symphony, sip champagne from fine Venetian crystal, and flirt with others while never removing the one of a kind handmade jeweled mask covering your face… oh, days gone by…………………

And………plunk…….reality……zoomed to Rome on a high-speed train…met my friends, Annalisa and Francesca from “travels in India” days, and saw Rome through Roman eyes.  The one-time power base of the world sent shivers down my spine, walking on the same stones as the Roman soldiers, and the sheer magnificence of it all.  My little camera cannot justify it.    We, also, visited a town that has a Sunday “flea market” containing everything from clothes to olive oil, salami to paintings, cheese to honey…..and, of course, we ate! Arrived mid day at old farmhouse complex that I doubt has seen more than 5 tourists in its life time — kids playing soccer in the parking lot, Francesca ordered for us…Was the pastry made by hand TODAY or brought in?  Where did the meat come from?  When was the bread made? — all the while I am thinking “Oh, THIS IS what they talk about for HOURS before ordering — they get the pedigree of the menu — I get it!!!”

Bottom line….Italy is awesome.

Riding on the train to Rome, I thought about “local life” — no matter where I am in the world, the common thread is we all live our lives  -  some places are more colorful or exotic than others, but, we are all trying to do just the best we can at that moment in time…

cya….

me

The 2006 Winter Olympics were held in Turin –???  ”Might have been your first clue, Lisa, with regards to climate.”  People dressed in full length down filled coats might have been another CLUE…not to mention the kids getting on the train with snowboards…oh, and , THOSE are the ALPS in the background there….  Trenitalia rumbled thru tunnels, snow-covered valleys, stopped at every little village ever known to mankind, and arrived in Turin, northern Italy which happened to be snow-free – THANK YOU!!!  But, it was a bit on the chilly side!

I am sure that I received the attic room that was occupied by either the red hair stepchild or the newest-country-maid in a semi renovated old house turned hotel, in Turin.   A single twin bed for an anorexic adolescent did not factor into the equation which ended in the sum of “good night’s sleep”.    The receptionist, imagine “female hunchback of Notre Dame”, an elevator that must have been the first prototype for Mr. Otis Elevator’s company, and a staircase with thread bare red carpet contributed to the eeriness of  the 5 story building.  The good part was fan-tab-u-lous morning cappuccino served by a little Italian man who always smiled, but never spoke!   All that aside, though, Turin was awesome.  And, the hotel was conveniently located….

Many many museums of every size, shape and content –  The Egyptian Museum  with one of the finest collections of Egyptian artifacts in Europe(Italian explorer brought massive amounts back in 1904 +/- a few years!), the 2nd floor of the Egyptian Museum housed a collection of  Flemish and Italian paintings (didn’t quite get the connection there..but..), the Turin Mountain Climbing Museum hosted by same club(not ALOT of visitors at that one, but great building and interesting history of mountain climbing gear), Oriental Art Museum w/an amazing collection of fabrics/ceramics and Hiroshige drawings, and the Resistance Movement Museum were checked off the list.  The remaining 190 museums ranging from Contemporary Art Museum to the History of Plaster(!) to Museum of Criminal Anthropology to the Bottle Cap Museum(!!!) were left to another time.

And…you know…the norm…. huge churches, buildings, great antique stores, designer clothes’ stores, trattorias, pizza, espresso, chocolate, original L’Oreal building, Po River — I hate to say this, but after a while, at least for me, here in Italy,  it is like anything after 1750 — “you are so-o-o-o the new kid on the block”!!!

Hop On Hop Off Bus provided a quick city tour through the hills where the “high society” lived in their villas/homes and many are still in the family and well maintained.

Chocolate/Martini & Rossi/ Vodka/ pastries, and focaccia – huge items here —   Bottom line:  Turin, I would come back in a heartbeat, hike in the mountains,  rent a car and tour the country sides and see all the castles that open from mid April to mid October.  Great feel to the city — bicyclists, joggers, furs and hiking shoes..

On to Parma — well, let’s just start with the food — cut to the chase here — freshly made ravioli stuffed w/swiss chard and parmesan cheese in olive oil and butter sauce, followed by suckling pig cooked in calvados apple liqueur w/sliced apples, followed by creme caramel w/eau de violet and cappuccino.. I eat one meal a day – lunch at 1:00pm – so I will not be charged extra baggage weight if I ever board an airplane again.  I am not kidding you — these people live for food.  I know I am doing something wrong when I order my lunch.  Why?  Because, it takes me about 30 seconds — one reason is I have no idea what I am ordering because it is in Italian.   Two,  I pick something from the 1st course and the 2nd course that I have not had before.  Three, I usually point with my index finger to the item, smile, waiter smiles and that’s the extent of the conversation.  But when the Italians order, it is a full-blown conversation.  Do they talk about where the cheese comes from, the age of the meat, the type of sauce, how it is prepared???? — I don’t know, but it takes them 5 – 10 minutes of animated discussion w/the waiter — so — obviously, I am NOT in the know here.

Parmesan cheese and other cheeses… essence of violet for perfumes and cooking oils…dairy farms for the cows that produce this cheese… a university town with ongoing symphonies, plays, musicals etc.. and shopping  Oh, that is the other thing, besides eating, Italians love to shop — again, fabulous shops w/just coffee machines or just chocolate or just pens, pencils and rulers(??-that was a new one!)…  and of course, the church– taken me a while to fully comprehend the magnitude of the Catholic Church until I came to Italy  – I don’t know how long it took to build some of these, but to think of workers just doing frescoes, or wood work or marble or tile or mosaic flooring…. it is truly mind boggling… as one person said “Italy is one big national treasure.” … so true.

Took a day trip to Modena – balsamic vinegar fame — forget that generic “balsamic vinegar” from Safeway or Smith’s — never again — 150€ for a bottle – stores upon stores selling every type of vinegar.  The city had an old feel about it — and wasn’t “white-washed” shall we say, for lack of a better word.  Seemed to be a bit slow on the “welcoming the tourist trade” — few tourist signs.  It is great to go into some of these places, sit and watch the world go by in a slower fashion than what I am accustomed to in the US.   I was so lucky though, because a church that was built in 1100 was open ( only open a few days a years) and inside were these amazing terra-cotta figures of Christ, Joseph & Mary and a few apostles around him — couldn’t take a photo but — did get a photo of this carved wooden Virgin Mary  – truly something to behold…

I am beginning to see people on tours — how does one see Europe in 21 days?   How do you spell E-X-H-A-U-S-T-I-N-G..?

On to Bologna…

Take good care,

cya….me

Sta. Margherita/Portofino — the Italian Riviera — very cool.   Cobblestone streets, centuries old villas,  – wonder if it was like a “villa competition” in the 17th & 18th C. – who could design the most ornate villa w/the sumptuous gardens? — a centuries’ old version of:  Jackson Hole, Wyoming & dueling architects I.M. Pei /Frank Gehry /A. Predock — but in 1687, it would have been Sr. ???  No idea!   These “small little summer getaways” for the family and 20 staff members are gorgeous.  Currently, they are in all stages of renovation.  Little trattorias tucked in here and there ..  the main road along the coast introduces one to the ever-present Hermés Store signifying that the town is “hip”, Yachting Days = here-come-the-$200-blue-and-white-striped-cotton-t-shirts, and Il Bambino shops selling mommy-daddy-look-a-likes for 200 euros. Walk 1 block off the main street and there is the local town with the hardware store, outlet shop, shoe repair shop.. the locals are welcoming and there is an air of “whatever” here – where your Levi’s into the white  linen tablecloth restaurant, it’s ok – wonder what it is like during the summer?  Probably a zoo.. the train station is close to town, easy access..buses run from Sta. Margherita to other coastal towns… the touristica boats operate from April thru October taking tourists to the coastal towns … seasonal living on the Mediterranean. Not crowded here now, and what a treat for me!  Walked from Sta. Margherita to Portofino(5 KM) along the Mediterranean Coast and thru the hills on a designated pedestrian path…had a cappuccino, thinly sliced dried beef with chunks of parmesan cheese and watercress, and bread in Portofino before I headed back.  The waiter rolled his eyes and nodded when I said “April – lots of tourists?”   But now,  life doesn’t get much better than this —   I feel so lucky to spend 2 or 3 days in these places – and see not only the tourist sites, but watch local life.At my hotel, the chef and the head waiter review the day’s menu with two women(mother, age 80 at least, and daughter, – both always dressed in tailored suits) who own the place.   Over breakfast, they discuss the food, and add a suggestion, the chef and waiter give each other surreptitious looks with the occasional raised eyebrow, followed by “Si Signora” and the menu was set for the day.  The Signora’s’ of Italy rule the country – they may be diminutive or old, but ooooohhhhh the power……..   There is such pride taken in the food, questions asked about preparation – nothing left to chance.  Service is impeccible..and everyone receives a welcoming smile whether it is a party of one or a party of seven.  1 hour later in Cinque Terre for 3 days…

My base was Vernazza – one of 5 little villages built during the 10th century(+/-).. trails connect one little town to the next, and also accessible by a railway system thru the mountains. In 1997, this area was designated a UNESCO heritage site.   Around 12 years ago, guidebook writer Rick Steve’s did a piece on Cinque Terre, and opened it up to the world of tourism.

I arrived via train from Sta. Margherita, walked into a cafe, ordered a ham/cheese Panini and asked how to use the pay telephone so I could contact the innkeeper for directions to my room.  The young man at the restaurant explained to me the Italian pay-phone system.  With very specific instructions, even down to the difference between the Italian ringtone and the US ringtone(!), only obtainable from a person who has dealt with numerous tourists in his lifetime, I contacted the propietor who sent his MOTHER to meet me.    We walked thru the town(500 feet) and up the 107 steps to my room.   Looking out my bathroom window, I saw rock terraced gardens on mountain hillsides that should be in every agricultural textbook entitled “Mountainside Farming ”, and, from my bedroom window, the Mediterranean Sea  greeted me.  It was as if I had taken the time machine back to 1 A.D.

The next 48 hours were Christopher Robin blustery days, but I ”buttoned up the cardigan, old girl” as the English say, and explored the Cinque Terre area. Coastal trail #2 was closed but all the other trails were open.  I walked up mountains on smooth stone worn paths, “one foot exactly in front of the other” size paths, and  streets thru towns following the occaisional small red/white painted stripes trailmarker.  The trails were not difficult to figure out — sea on the right, mountain on left! On these paths, I saw terraced mini farms filled with lemon and olive trees, farmers tying up grape vines, terraced walls in various stages of repair, vegetable and flower gardens, shrines depicting the different Catholic stations of the cross and a 10th C. church. Church bells rang in the mountains and marked time passing.  When 2:00pm echoed in my ears, I knew it was time to head back - and eventually, the following thought became paramount in my mind:  “I think, I will just take the train back.”  When one encounters the following signs: “365 steps ahead is the town of Corniglia” and there literally are 365 stairs…or..”2.5 km -Manzola/2 hours” – neither of these signs indicate easy walking.   The STAZIONE beckoned me , and for 1 €, 7 minutes worth of time, and no body movement required except getting on/off a train = I am so-o-o there.  The healthy snacks bit the dust and the replacement was the absolute best pizza I have ever had in my entire life.

Two excellent seafood dinners(stuffed mussels(#1) and spaghetti with clams & mussels(#2) were consumed in different trattorias, and I spoke with more Americans than I have in the entire seven months I have been traveling.  Casual dress, easy-going pace — so different from the Italy I have seen so far with chic dress de rigour — most likely because it caters so much to the “hiking/outdoors group”.

Cinque Terre has tried hard to keep its “ambiance” and, for the most part, has succeeded.  It really is a special place.  From April thru October, the visitors fill the towns to capacity and support the tourist based economy of postcards/t-shirts/B&Bs/bike,horse, boat rental industry, etc.  So, although the eyes roll and people lament having to deal with the tourist, the residents receive substantial income is from the tourist trade.   Like most tourist towns, once the “season” is over, the locals go back to their favorite coffee bar counter, drink their morning or afternoon espresso, discuss local events and continue on with life as the previous generations did for centuries in these hillside towns where the current sign says:  “no autos allowed”.

…and now, “Hello Turin” — home of the Fiat manufacturing plant and home to one of the most renowned Italian museums, Museo Egizio[Egyptian Treasures] & the mysterious Holy Shroud…city of 900,000 people — love these extremes…

cya…me

No idea what they are looking at!!

And the outfits we wear — OMG –

I am getting pretty good though at picking nationalities — GERMANS:  sturdy shoes ALWAYS, rain jackets;  ENGLISH:  sturdy shoes ALWAYS, sweater or jacket under the rain jacket, funky little hats, sorta pasty skin and usually eye glasses;  AMERICANS:  back packs with the ever-present water bottle in the little string thing on the side, Merrill or all terrain shoes , Rick Steve’s’ See Europe or another guide-book in hand;  ITALIANS:  the most AMAZINGLY large sunglasses one can possibly imagine and boots ALWAYS //  ASIANS:  Always and I do mean ALWAYS, CAMERAS, and women carry backpacks w/fuzzy little pink bears hanging from the zippers…..

Took the train to Florence:  glad there weren’t TOO many tourists there, thank you very much, and oh yes, I don’t mind being #1,456 person in line for this museum…..and also to Lucca: trendy little town with a wall completely around it which was great for walking, beautiful churches; Siena — gorgeous cathedral — I mean, they are all beautiful and finally found the ideal guide-book, at least for me.  Key words:  SHORT HISTORY

My last breakfast at Michele’s Guesthouse was truly what “traveling” is all about.  At the table there was:  a German man and his French wife/companion, a Chinese man and his girlfriend, Michele and Gabriella(B&B hosts), and me.  Main language spoken was English interspersed with French and Italian.  The German had something to do with factories, I gathered, and the Chinese man was 28 years old,  completing his Ph.D and doing research in Germany on, are you ready for this one?? the effect of learning different linguistics on the brain – I just stared at him and of course, diarrhea of the mouth immediately happened and out of my mouth came the words “Now, that will be handy..and you will use that for?????  what kind of job?”  – “I’ll go into research.” OK..thank God, nobody got my tone of total amazement …. anyway, we spoke about all our individual countries and the different world perspectives… it was just great conversation and what a gift the Europeans have - converse in so many languages..

Took the train to Sta. Margherita, on the Italian Riviera, next to Portofino and it is gorgeous.  The difference between Nice and here is like — well — Rodeo Drive, California and old Pasadena, California ,or maybe,  Red Cadillacs and Black Mazeratis – very few people here..

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cya..me

Misty rainy day accompanied me while I rode TRENITALIA, the regional train, to Pisa.   The words “trundle” or “plugs along” seem to fit these trains as they lurch along.  The conductor hole punched my ticket, all the while leaning on a chair seat for balance.  The seats are smaller than the French trains as are the steps to board.  God help you if you have a large piece of luggage, because from the station platform to the first step on the train makes you want to discard any unnecessary items and start doing lunges at the gym to build up those thigh muscles for that initial “umph”.

There is so much more to this town that just the Tower.  One can see the town in a day, but there are museums, churches, a pretty park, great river walk,  good restaurants,  a 30 minute train ride to Lucca, a one and half hour ride to Florence.  So, Pisa can be a less expensive base to see the surrounding area. I was surprised, because all I have ever heard  was “don’t bother”  & “not much there”.  They had a Miró exhibit in a gallery, also, that I missed!  So, it isn’t just the Tower!

Remember reading about and seeing pictures of the Leaning Tower of Pisa in the 5th grade?  I do, and when I saw it, it was a “I  truly cannot believe that I am here” moment.  Next to the Tower, was a gorgeous cathedral that received little publicity and was spectacular – have to say, it is becoming sort of the norm now – gold leaf, huge paintings, carved statues, marble alters, fresco painted ceilings, mosaic floors and of course, HUGE.

Art students sat on the grass in groups sketching, vendors of every Italian kitschy item ever produced in Asia selling their wares, and tourists from all over the world with local guides giving the spiel, all gave the area a theme park feeling.  Several people told me “pass on Pisa”.. well, I am glad I did not take their advice– it was worth that one moment of “wow”.  It is an old old town, well, aren’t they all, but.. this one really felt old in parts.  55% of Pisa was bombed during WWII and maybe it was the stark contrast between new and 11 & 12th century buildings with 12th century religious icons preserved in small provincial museums and little churches trying to raise funds to help w/restoration – a feeling of “don’t forget the rest of the town – we are worthwhile, also.”

The museums and churches filled with relics and religious icons were beautiful, but, the thing that really made Pisa worthwhile was lunch at a 10 table indoor restaurant.  My pasta with olive oil and fresh herbs NEVER turned out like that, and the thinly sliced beef with just a smidgen of balsamic vinegar reduction sauce required minimal mastication because it was so tender that it essentially dissolved in my mouth.  And, then the desert — semi-orgasmic experience!  It was chocolate cake, and of course NO FLOUR, with thinly sliced cooked pears baked on top, drizzled with hot chocolate sauce –just a little to compliment it and not overwhelm it.  Fork in hand, cutting off a bit, one feels guilty if this cake is bitten because you might hurt it.  But, that decision was already made because as soon as the piece of cake descended upon my tongue — it automatically started to melt, the chocolate and fruit flavor slowly seeped into the roof of the mouth, the flavors started percolating in the most wonderful sense my body had at that moment – taste.  All the cathedrals just took a back seat – that was my religious experience.  That cake with the cappuccino gave me incentive to always be good for the rest of my life, so I too, could join all those good people in heaven!!!  Lordy, Lordy!

ok.. back to reality — before I left Pisa, stopped at MacDonalds’s at the train station and had a big MAC — what can I say.

And off to a very small village 2 hours south of Pisa … to do a volunteer/work exchange – modern-day indentured servant clad in “culture exchange” – work for food & accommodation – at a German woman’s house.  She moved to Italy many years ago and worked at a high-end hotel.    German TV on, German friends, German paper — just seem to transfer life from the home country to another place.  Would I do the same?  And, if so, to what degree?   I don’t know.  But, another glimpse into ex-pat life abroad.  The Exchange didn’t work out for us — it was one of those instances when it was an instantaneous “Nope, this isn’t going to work..” and it didn’t– we live and learn — and life goes on — so — and back to the train station, once again …on the train and push the re-play button back to Pisa!

Oh, BTW, the regional trains cost zippo –  2.50 € to 6.50€ seems to be the average — of course, the train ride isn’t exactly high-speed air lifting Asian technology, and one has to wonder when you hear the conductors saying frantically to the train engineers “move, move, the next train is coming” and everyone backs up a bit – not that it would do you any good if two trains collide,  but.. details…

It is all good…how can it not be when the scene is this at 4:00pm…

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Heading to Cinque Terre, Turin, Milan…

cya, me