Veni, Vidi, Vomici. After months of talking about it, and weeks of planning, we sojourned across the sea to see the land of pizza and pasta. Not South Philly, but Italy. We started off with an evening departure from Dulles on Friday, September 16th (Day 0). Little excitement from the get-go, although I found amusement in an old white guy wearing a Michael Vick (Eagles) jersey, while playing with his cute little furry white dog. For some sick reason, I expected the old man to suddenly choke the bitch, even though I trust his jersey’s namesake is a changed man. Besides, the real Vick only tortured / slaughtered loser dogs, and this pup showed no signs of failure warranting execution.
We arrived at our intermediate stopover in Munich, which would also be our final destination for the trip. I applauded the fact that the terminal had an adult video / toy store in its midst, while Sai decided to start shopping at the more standard duty-free departments (you can take a Thai out of Thailand, but she’ll still love to shop). 8 a.m. with jet lag was a bit early for browsing German porn, so I waited at our next departure gate instead.
Day 1 – Rome (Saturday, September 17th)
Buon Giorno! Touchdown for Day 1 in Rome, Italy occurred around 12 p.m. on Saturday. We found the train station, where we first learned that Roma Passes were sold out. Waiting in line for the train ticket, the sales girl convinced me to take the hotel shuttle (direct to the hotel), instead of taking the train into town, followed by the subway, followed by walking to the hotel. The shuttle cost the same amount as the ticket, so no problem, let’s save some time! However, Sai’s defense mechanism kicked in, and she nixed the purchase, because she doesn’t trust those damn Italians (or anyone else). Short train ride to Termini (main train hub), followed by a lengthy wandering trying to figure out where we were, where we were going, where to buy the Roma Pass, and then where to buy subway tickets when the Roma Passes were again sold out. Termini is a big place. Sadly, while I had printed directions out for the first hotel minutes before leaving the office, I had subsequently rushed out, leaving them on the machine for some other coworker to wonder why someone was printing maps of Italy. That other coworker might have had better luck finding our hotel, because without the directions, it was definitely not easy.
Hotel Boccacio was on a ridiculously small side street that did not show up on any city map. Fortunately, Sai spotted it as we randomly walked around after getting off the subway (sure glad we didn’t take the hotel shuttle). This bargain establishment had three noteworthy features:
- Fifteen foot high ceilings – pretty impressive.
- Shared bathroom – pretty annoying, especially when you have to piss in the middle of the night, and now must get dressed before trekking down to the other end of the hall (I pondered using a pee cup, but elected not to. Stay classy).
- When you left the hotel, you were instructed to leave your room key on a hook outside your room – pretty scary. Anyone could easily get into your room, ransack the place, or pee in a bottle and leave it beside your bed. The security was the hunchbacked seventy year old woman who checked us in, who could easily chase away any hunchbacked eighty year old woman who might attempt either of the aforementioned offenses. Any non-hunchbacked or under seventy year old, on the other hand, could probably bypass this defense system. Oh well, it’s not like I had any expensive jewelry or anything else of value with me. Our passports and cash were strapped to my stomach whenever we went out. And for the record, while most pictures may show a beer-gutted buffoon, note that in addition to the camera adding 15 pounds, the stomach pouch didn’t help either.
Hotel Boccacio was located a few blocks from Trevi Fountain, so that became our first tourist trap. The story goes that if you throw a coin into the fountain, it guarantees that you will come back to Rome someday. While I was less than thrilled thus far into the trip, especially when the mob of people from the train station were outmobbed by the masses around this first tourist stop, I still decided to do the touristy thing and throw some coins into the fountain. Littering is fun. The fountain is very ornate, sculpted gods and horses frolicking together in a bestial watery display. Then we were on our way.
The Pantheon is a few blocks further from Trevi, with some cool old buildings in between. From the outside, the Pantheon is an impressive structure, humongous columns on the front portico, a massive rotunda beyond, looking very old and important. I can only describe the outside, because there was some special event inside for which Sai and I failed to receive an invite. Those bastards! At least we were welcomed at the nearby gelati shop, where we took our first taste of the Italian ice cream. It was good, and would not be our last.
Next stop down the street from the Pantheon is the Piazza Navone, a large square with fountains, people, museums / palaces, artists, and those annoying touts selling crap that no one wants to buy. The worst were the guys that we would see all over Italy selling those rubbery blobs that they throw to the ground, where it splats flat, before restoring its original shape. How could you resist such a fascinating, special find? Other than these annoying guys, the Piazza was a cool destination. There was a group of guys break-dancing amid a crowd of onlookers (working for tips), there were street vendors, outdoor cafes, and more masses of tourists (kind of like New York City).
Dinner was found on a side street from Navone, at a popular pizza shop where they had us share a table with six other people (all tourists – you’ve got to keep those foreigners together). There were two sizes of pizza, M and G, all personal pies. Sai’s understanding that the M was for lunch and G for dinner made sense to me, so we each ordered our own G pizzas. We did our part to represent American gluttony by having pies much larger than the rest of our table, since G more likely stood for Ginormous. No problemo, I still finished my plate, while Sai mangled her pizza to look like she ate a lot, leaving an odd pile of discarded crusts and peeled slices. I enjoyed the meal, but didn’t think the pizza tasted too different from a thin crust pie found stateside, though the salami topping was special. From there, we trekked back to the hotel to see how our lovely hostess was handling all the hunchbacks trying to steal our stuff and piss in our room. In defense of Boccacio, neither event ever occurred.
Day 2 – Rome (Sunday, September 18th)
Our advanced reservations helped us avoid the line into the Colosseum, though the ticket windows inside again informed us that all Roma Passes were sold out. For the love of Zeus, just admit it Italy, there is no such thing as a Roma Pass! The Colosseum demonstrated to us how it coined the term colossal. It is a massive stadium, but I am sorry to say, it has seen better days. The place is falling apart worse than the old Vet was in Philly before its demolition (though I didn’t see any rats, or any drunk Eagles fans, so I guess it’s still better). Really, I don’t know why they don’t get Jerry Jones to build them a new one. The guided tour explained that they take great efforts to restore minor components of the place, but are careful not to add back anything that is not true to the original – except for the elevator into the underground, steel stairs, the souvenir shop, and the ticket offices. The Colosseum suffered several destructive fires, wars, government overthrows, and other events over the last two millennia, but is still standing to show that the world needs entertainment. The guide defended the barbarism of the ancient Romans by informing us that there were medical facilities in the bowels of the arena to treat the athletes; gladiators were not just discarded upon defeat. The whole thumbs up to live and thumbs down to die signals from the Emperor were also debunked as the product of Hollywood imagery, with no historic basis. And they swore that Christians were not martyred on center stage (they had other places for those events). The Colosseum did feature multiple lifting platforms (archaic elevators) that were used to raise exotic animals up to the main stage; they used diverted Tiber River water to offer indoor plumbing; neither system is currently running, but give props to the Romans for being state of the art back in their days. I wonder what they did with the animals that lost in the arena…
Palatine Hill is nearby the Colosseum. It is a large park with more remains from the Roman Empire, leading over to the Forum. The Forum is a massive plaza where people used to gather. Now it’s only a snapshot location for tourists. While I can appreciate staying true to the stadium’s roots, I wonder why they couldn’t restore the Forum to its original splendor to reuse it for a lively central square, instead of a ghost town. There wasn’t even anyone selling those stupid splatter toys.
On our way to a late lunch, I learned that the evening Lazio soccer match (futbol for the rest of the world, calcio for Italians) was not at the six p.m. time I thought, but at three. Despite Sai’s passion for all things sports, and my own interest in comparing the Olympic Stadium to the Colosseum, we skipped this action, and settled for crummy lasagna at a local hole in the wall. We followed this passable meal with our first real argument, over an old issue (my tendency to overtip). My faultless sense of direction next brought us closer to the Spanish Steps than to the Circo Massimo, so we opted for the former find.
Spanish Steps are a bunch of normal steps only with darker hair and skin, and a different accent. Okay, not sure what makes the Steps Spanish, but they reminded me of the Philly Art Museum steps, only with tourists taking up every inch so that I could not do a Rocky run to the top. The area leading up to the Steps is full of high end clothing and shoe stores, much to Sai’s window-shopping delight. She observed that the Italians have much better fashions than American stores. Personally, I couldn’t imagine getting anything for those outrageous prices, but I admit that Sai would look better in those designer dresses than me (now there’s a sick image for you). There’s another fountain at the base of the steps, and an impressive church at the top. From topside, you also have a tremendous view of the city. I’ll spare you detailed descriptions of the church inside, as I am not a good enough Catholic to offer anything beyond blasphemy.
Making our way back to the Hotel and out to dinner, we re-crossed the stops from Day 1 (Trevi Fountain – still crowded, Pantheon – now open, and Navone – more restaurants). Trevi Fountain looks better at night. The Pantheon is as impressive inside as the exterior façade proved the first time. The tremendous dome offers an eye to the sky, shrouded by ornamented walls and ceiling. Looking up at the clear center, it was difficult to see if there was a skylight or if it was open to the elements. No signs of birdshit to reveal the glass.
At dinner that night, Sai stuck with the thin-crust pizza, though in a more manageable portion this time around. I went with the gnocchi, chased by a liter of beer. The proprietor wished me good luck when he delivered the beer, not knowing that I was merely practicing for a larger challenge at Oktoberfest at the tail end of the trip. We also stopped for more gelati, of course, and picked up some drinks for back at the hotel, before retiring for the end of our second day. Both the pistachio and cantaloupe liqueurs are dangerously delicious and smooth.
Day 3 – Rome (Monday, September 19th)
Waiting in line for tickets to the Vatican is a bad idea. The line stretched at least a quarter mile (or .4 km for you metric folk). Our advanced reservation had us behind maybe 20m worth of waiting. We had booked an expensive tour, since I know enough to know that I don’t know anything about the Vatican. The guide was extremely knowledgeable, as long as you didn’t question him (an Orthodox Romanian in the group had a heated argument with the guide over the differences in their sequence of crossing yourself (father – son – holy spirit vs father – spirit – son, or something silly like that). I thought the two would come to blows, but fortunately it was so crowded that they could not swing at each other). The Vatican is a massive complex of buildings, filled with unbelievable amounts of artwork. Sculptures abound, showing Greek and Roman gods and goddesses, angels, and other weird works; massive tapestries covered some walls, while other walls and ceilings were filled with paintings.
Little known fact for you (it was news to me at least) – the Greeks idolized their sculptured forms, creating flawless stone images of perfection. The Romans tried for a more true to life model, showing veins, scars, and other less flattering versions. Regardless of Greek, Roman, or Renaissance, the Church went through its own different periods of conservativeness, wherein the nudity inherent in most art was found offensive. This led to one of three outcomes: either a statue’s penis would be lopped off (a vicious Christian circumcision gone too far), a fig leaf would be added, or the artwork would somehow escape the overly sensitive censors and survive. This is nothing new, as apparently a few years ago, a replica of Michelangelo’s David was sent to Jerusalem to proudly represent the Jewish hero on the 500th anniversary of Michelangelo’s masterpiece. However, Israel could not accept this seventeen foot tall naked guy (just be glad Michy didn’t make Goliath, how big would he have been?). The resolution (as our talkative guide told us) was to add a pair of underwear to the statue. Google it if you don’t believe me, and let me know, as I am too lazy to do my own fact checking, but found the story entertaining enough to share nonetheless.
There was one lengthy corridor we passed down, where every inch of the ceiling was covered in incredibly detailed artwork. This was much longer than the Sistine Chapel, and while it could not be credited to a single artist, was awe-inspiring in its own right. I would have loved to leisurely walk its length, but the fact was, we were herded like cattle through the space on our way to the Chapel. Our guide noted that Mondays are pretty busy, since the Vatican is closed to the public on Sundays. If you go, try a Tuesday or Wednesday, as it was way too crowded for my tastes.
The Sistine Chapel is an awesome building, with Michelangelo’s ceiling fresco taking center stage. You are not allowed to take pictures inside, and the crowds again make it a bit overwhelming. I was rather relieved when we moved on to Saint Peter’s Basilica, where the spacious cathedral would allow for more breathing room. One of the nice things about the tour was that at the beginning, our guide used an electronic kiosk to show us the different scenes from the Sistine Chapel artwork, with explanations of what we would see when we got inside. In Goodwill Hunting, Robin Williams talks about knowing what it smells like inside the Sistine Chapel. Having now been inside, I can’t say that the smell was anything special. I did, however, find the space interesting enough to later pick up Ross King’s “Michelangelo and the Pope’s Ceiling.” This book told me everything I needed to know about the project. Key points include:
- Pope Julius (the Terrible) was a megalomaniacal, war-mongering, irreverent nut, who reminded me a lot of Dick Cheney. He even loved pheasant-hunting, despite the Church’s official objection to the practice. He coerced Michelangelo into doing the project, while busily leading an army to reclaim different parts of Italy for the Church.
- Michelangelo (the Whiner) was not an avid painter. Sculpting was his medium of choice. He nonetheless accepted the commission to paint the ceiling, bitching and moaning to and about his father and brothers for the full four years it took to complete. Rants like “I have slaved these past ___ years for you, without a moment of joy for myself…” While the genius of the man is undisputable, he also seemed like a real douche.
- Michelangelo used a team of helpers for the project. He would draw up the cartoons, then transfer them onto the wet plaster, and the gang would go about coloring in the artwork. The scaffold was erected some 6-7 feet below the barreled vault, so that Michelangelo would be looking up and working over his head. The sorry image of him cramped on his back, slaving away alone, is also a popular misconception.
- Michelangelo’s image of God as an old man riding a cloud (reaching to give Adam the spark of life) was a new imagining at that time. Otherwise, though the artwork itself was ground-breaking, many of the concepts were dictated by the Church and inspired by other artists. It was not completely original in its story, but still masterfully depicted.
Anyway, Saint Peter’s Basilica (which was re-built starting during the reign of Pope Julius, after he rather harshly tore down the old church, discarding the corpses of his clergymen predecessors) is a massive building with religious artifacts as far as the eye can see. It even features a few desiccated deceased popes. If they are beatified or canonized, their carcasses are exhumed and put on display. Not sure how much of an honor that really is to the bodies of these boys, but no one asked me my opinion. There was also a statue of the Virgin Mary holding the body of Jesus behind some heavy glass in one corner; apparently a crazy guy attacked the statue with a pick-axe twenty plus years ago, so the restored sculpture is now protected. Our nearly four-hour tour wore both Sai and myself out, so we took our sore feet onward and away from the Vatican. The outside plaza is another massive space, where thousands of people can comfortably congregate; quite the opposite of the thousands of people uncomfortably crammed like sardines inside the Sistine Chapel. While the overall experience was informative and impressive from an artistic standpoint, neither will Sai convert from her lax Thai Buddhism, nor will I move from my apathetic atheism to any sort of religious conviction.
Because Sai is slightly crazy (evidence enough is that she is with me), she decided that staying in one place in Rome was insufficient, so we had to switch hotels at this point. Part of her nuttiness also meant that we were not allowed to take a taxi, so we instead rode the bus for a lengthy loop around the city, since we got on at the wrong stop. We visited a nice looking park, though the view from the bus was enough. The second hotel was right next to Piazza Navone, and even had its own bathroom! The concierge / deskman was very friendly, and gave us a bottle of red wine to welcome us (though the wine was not very good). Everything about this second place was better than the first, except that we were no longer conveniently located near a subway station.
For dinner, we walked over to the Campo De Fiore, another big square with outdoor cafes and fountains, smaller and grungier than Navone, but similar style. The Campo was only about five or six blocks away; I had managed to miss it twice on previous tries. The European compass is a little different. Or, more honestly, because I am an idiot. Third time was the charm anyway, especially when we found the lovely establishment called Sloppy’s. This favorite bar and restaurant had an assemblage of diners outdoors, but no one inside, save for the two people working behind the bar, the passing waitstaff, and myself, grinning from ear to ear as I was able to watch a portion of the Eagles – Falcons game on TV!! Oh, there was also an angry little Asian girl sitting next to me, glaring at me, trying to figure out why I was skipping dinner in favor of watching football and drinking beer. The Peroni Gran Reserve that they had on tap was the best beer I found in all of Italy, by the way. Sloppy’s even had Matisyahu playing on their sound system. Good music, good beer, and a great quarter of football that saw the Eagles go from down eleven to up ten points had me in high spirits. Alas, Sai had higher dining aspirations than the limited bar menu at Sloppy’s, so I left what was perhaps the best twenty minute stretch of the trip for me. Sorry to say, to spite my disloyalty in leaving early, the wrathful football gods punished me and my hometown fans by causing the dream team Eagles to fall apart in the fourth quarter, I was dismayed to learn the next day.
Sai’s gourmet find for that evening was a fried cod shop, where they offered nothing else. It has been around forever, and was very cheap. However, I cannot recommend this place over Sloppy’s or even over the slop that Sloppy’s throws away each night. Not a good meal. At least we found our favorite gelati shop (gelateria) on the way back home that night. We did witness an amazing magic trick. The touts selling silly splat toys amazingly transformed their wacky wares into cheap umbrellas at the first sign of storms! We still weren’t buying. Did you know that if you buy fake goods from a street urchin, the police will fine you (if they find you), not the illegal merchant? Caveat emptor, courtesy of Fodor.
Day 4 – Rome (Tuesday, September 20th)
To mix things up, on Day 4 we planned an excursion to Tivoli, home of Villa D’Este, an old estate famed for its amazing collection of fountains. After all, it’s not like there are fountains on every corner or in every plaza in Rome. To get to Tivoli, we simply had to stroll to the bus stop, ride the bus to Termini, take a subway from there, then take a bus to the countryside. What could possibly go wrong? Okay, since you asked, we started off with a very unsettled stomach (courtesy of Sai’s fine dining find – FU fried cod!), which sent me scrambling through the Termini station, looking for a toilet. I followed the first toilet sign I saw, not realizing until after I had paid my Euro (not all toilets are free you know) that I had run into the ladies room. Classy gentleman that I am, I quickly exited and ran over to the less noticeable mens room, where I again had to pay to do my business. Sai questioned my sanity, but when you’ve got to go, sometimes your thinking is less than optimal.
We then spent the next ninety minutes trying to straighten out our train ticket vouchers for the upcoming legs of our journey. The self-serve kiosk printed only part of our boarding passes. While I waited in line for customer service, Sai went shopping. Forty five minutes to get through the queue, I was then sent to the ticket line instead for another fun airport-like wait. When we finally reached someone who seemed willing to help, he was genuinely befuddled by our problem, before ultimately learning that our tickets were printed out and buried somewhere downstairs (still not sure how that happened). Oh well, at least Sai was able to sight-see the stores in Termini.
Anyway, let’s move on with the trip to Tivoli. The guide book said that it was an hour’s journey from Rome. Less than 45 minutes later, we were already in town, and the bus was emptied. However, we were not at the stop directly in front of the Villa, but somewhere on the other side of town. Random locals gave us enough directions to finally make it to our target destination after a lengthy walk through a basic suburb with nothing of note (i.e. skip the long way if you ever go).
Villa D’Este had a bunch of fountains on fancily landscaped grounds, on a very scenic plot of land. The mansion itself was big, but otherwise not that special. The fountains varied in size and ornamentation, but overall, there were too many parts out of order to be truly impressive. It was a nice way to waste away half a day, away from the crazy crowds of Rome. An interesting sight for me was a fountain featuring a fertility goddess with dozens of breasts. She totally outdoes the three-boobed chick from Total Recall! And in case you ever wondered what a picnic lunch of train station sandwiches tastes like, try eating pre-made sandwiches from any train station (or off the floor of a train), and you will get the same flavor.
We arrived back in Rome later in the afternoon, and made plans to dine that evening nearby our hotel. The over-crowded restaurant sat us outside, tight to a couple of chain-smoking women who wanted to share their cancer with us. Meanwhile, a busload of tourists beat us to ordering food, which I was confident would mean an even longer wait with the Marlboro maidens, so we went elsewhere. Our gracious hotel guide saw us on the street, and recommended the perfect place that just so happened to be affiliated with his B&B. This empty restaurant lacked the carbonara that Sai wanted, and while entirely smoke-free, the deserted diner seemed a little less than the last meal we wanted to have in Rome. After our guide dropped us off, we snuck away to try someplace else. Sai’s carbonara was a pasta dish with egg and bacon in the creamy sauce. While not as good as her pizzas, it was definitely better than the fried cod. My tortellini was decent too.
Our evening escapade took us to Trastevere (across the Tiber), a bohemian section of the city with its own neighborhood bars and cafes. The whole area had a kind of college kid feel to it, which made me feel old. But they had plenty of bars, which made me feel happy. We went to “Ma Che Siete Venuti A Fa” on the recommendation of our B&B host. There did not seem to be any business connection this time, so the recommendation seemed a little more honest. I was told that the name of the place translates to “Why are you coming here?” or something like that, which is a very inviting name indeed. They had an eclectic mix of brews on tap, but the bartender berated me when I ordered one because I thought the name sounded interesting, rather than ordering based on what type of beer it was. I wondered, why am I coming here? We left after I drank one of the bartender’s “better” recommendations. Interestingly enough, the place was ranked #2 on the Worlds Best Beer Bar list, behind Kulminator in Belgium. There was also a top 10 bar in Norristown PA called Capones, for the next time you’re in that area. Trastevere is a cool place, worth checking out for its after dinner scene, though neither of us is the club type to hit up their late night action.
Instead, we went back to our fallback of eating gelati and drinking in the room. Sai took the opportunity of my good buzz to grill me with trick questions like what do I like about her, and what would I change. Fool that I am, I took the bait, and spent the rest of the night on her bad side, with her wondering if I would ever be able to commit to our future.
Day 5 – Manarola (Wednesday, September 21st)
All late night dramatics aside, both of us really liked Rome. It’s a fun place to visit. Wherever we walked (and we walked all over), we always felt safe, and found interesting buildings, alleys, restaurants, shops, etc. There is a lot more to the city than what we saw in our three and a half days, but there’s only so much you can do when you’re trying to do everything. Besides, I tossed my coins into Trevi on day one, so that ensures my return trip someday.
Early morning, we walked to the bus stop, which took us to Termini, where we boarded our train to La Spezia. There, we stopped for lunch, before taking the local train to Manarola. Manarola is the second (from the south) of the five towns known as Cinque Terre. They are, in order: Rio Maggiore, Manarola, Corniglia, Vernazza, and Monterosso al Mare. Each town has its own unique charms, but they are all very popular little cliffside fishing villages on the Italian Riviera. Rick Steves ruined the region by talking it up to his dedicated followers (damn tourists!). It was also highly recommended by a couple of co-workers. The five towns are connected by a 10 km +/- hiking trail, for which you need to buy a daily pass. This place offers a refreshing change of scenery from the urbanity of Rome, and is very picturesque.
Sai and I took to the trail between Manarola and Rio Maggiore, along the Via Dell ‘Amore, or the Path of Love, or Lover’s Lane, or whatever similar translation you like for the very busy stretch between the first two towns. It was an easy trail, with beautiful views of the sea and cliffs. Perfect place to place a ring on the finger of the girl of your dreams, or so it seems. Except that there is nowhere to have an intimate conversation (curse you Rick Steves!), so we traipsed over to Corniglia, saw the same touristy places as our own town, and headed back. Along the way, I asked Sai to take a break around one corner, at which point I hurriedly took a knee and pulled a ring out of my pocket, and said “Will you…?” To which she replied, “What, no speech? Okay.” Quick, back to my feet, before the next group of passersby interrupted our scene. Because we both worried about the infamous gypsy pickpockets, and since the girl has a tendency to change her mind, I opted for a nice, non-diamond, pre-engagement ring engagement ring, which is to say that the intent is there, but the real hardware will follow Sai’s final selection back in the safety of the States. So, my unacceptable answers to Sai’s late night deep talk were really a red herring. Pretty slick I am.
With that out of the way, we returned to Manarola, grabbed a gelati, and went for a swim in the swimming hole next to the pier. Water was cool, but very refreshing. We made reservations for dinner nearby, and returned a couple hours later to enjoy a beautiful yellow / orange / red / violet sunset over the water before our meal. We both sampled the seafood selections, with anchovies and stuffed mussels for her, while I chased ravioli in walnut sauce with the tuna steak. Good, not great, though I was very grateful for that date.
INTERLUDE: So I wrote the above during / shortly after our trip to Italy in 2011. Some years later, I found the typed up portions you’ve just read, but the original notes and the balance of the trip was MIA. So instead of a further detailed day by day tale from the balance of the trip, all I can offer is a whirlwind summary from what I recall well after the fact (including pieces that were fed back to me). The bad news is that the rest will lack specifics. The good news is that the rest will lack specifics, so it will be a lot shorter!
Day 6 – Manarola (Thursday, September 22nd)
Downhill from here. The hard part was over. My fiancée and I (first time I could say that!) hiked along the other stretches of the Cinque Terre trails, visiting quaint seaside towns, vinicultural fields aside the hills overlooking the sea, and that pretty much sums up what there is to do in Cinque Terre. Venturing farther from the Via Dell ‘Amore crowds, the trails are much less crowded, but less memorably named for a life-altering question and answer.
The Rest of the Way
After Cinque Terre, we boarded a train south towards our next stop, the city of Florence. Along the way, we stopped for lunch in Pisa.
Pisa’ Crap
Pisa is a sketchy town, with tons of tourists stopping by for one stop (you should be able to guess it). Sai joined the multitudes in cheesy poses pretending to hold up the leaning tower. The guidebook warned to watch out for pickpockets at this prime location, so we were on guard. There was a group of attractive young women in tight black tank tops, wearing boxer shorts with David’s genitalia. It was somewhat disturbing, in a Crying Game sort of way (no judgment, per favore). These (fake?) trannies would pose with tourists while their friends raided said tourists’ unguarded bags and coats. At least that’s what I assumed they were up to. Perhaps they were innocently trying to introduce internationals to Italy’s famous chicks with pricks of Pisa, and I just assumed they were up to no good. The leaning tower itself is impressively atilt, and offers a nice panoramic view of the small town from the top. Worth an hour of off-train viewing, but not much more. Touts abound hawking cheap wares. Nothing to see here except the quick pics of a leaning tower, and perhaps some Italian ladyboys if you like.
Florence
Florence is a much nicer city than Pisa. Pretty town. My colorful description would have amazed you, had I not lost my notes. Instead, you get pretty. More museums, restaurants, and gelati.
We had an amazing meal at the White Boar (Osteria del Cinghiale Bianco), a restaurant recommended by a coworker who had copied my engagement trip years before me. Props to Josh, because the food was awesome. This was our only advanced dining reservation of the whole trip, and it was worth it. I believe I had a boar dish and Sai something with rabbit; I don’t recall the specifics beyond both of us thoroughly enjoying our meals. A big part of it was also the ambience. Above the crowded, cramped, popular restaurant, there is a table on a private island reached by steep steps, which is where we were seated beyond the plebes. Not sure how we earned this honor, but I assumed it was because we were special. Months later, when recounting the experience to the recommending party, I was disheartened to learn that he and his fiancée (by then his wife) had also been given the high table. Perhaps that’s just where they stash the ugly Americans to keep us from scaring off the other visitors.
The Uffizi is a massive museum, while Accademia is much smaller. You’re supposed to see both – the former for its converted office building into a world-renowned collection of artwork, while the latter houses Michelangelo’s David sculpture. David’s an impressive big naked guy, but I guess Michey ran out of material before being able to make an enormous Goliath. [Five plus years later, and I make the same bad Goliath joke. Say what you will (actually, please don’t), I am at least consistent.] We checked both museums off the to-do list.
For a getaway to the Tuscan countryside, I had planned a great itinerary for biking around Sienna, from wine castle to estate. However, sometimes my great plans do not come together, at least not as well as storm clouds came together on this particular day. We saved a few Euros by not renting bikes in the rain, and instead of burning calories, we ended up at a large wine-tasting store. Probably for the best. Sai does not like exercise anyway, and gets drunk after a few sips of wine. Could have been a dangerous combination. If only she could handle her alcohol like the consummate pro that I am…
Venice
Our final Italian stop was in Venice, where we teamed up with Sai’s family (mom, dad, and brother). The large train station does not prepare you for the beautiful waterlogged city. We knew enough from preplanning to get on the right water taxi, but upon departing, it was darn tricky trying to find our rental house. The dry streets between the wet corridors of canals are a labyrinthine mess. For a city this old, you’d think they’d straighten it out by now.
So I think part of the reason I failed to record the details after the engagement on Day 5 was because I became too busy studying ten Thai words ahead of Venice. It’s tough trying to remember the handful of key Italian phrases (per favore, grazie, prego, ciao, birra); adding another language to the mix is asking a lot of an idiot.
Pome Yog Dnang Nyang Gop; Look Sow Kong Kun Krup? Roughly phonetic for “I would like to marry your daughter. Do you approve?” Sai fed me the sounds and I wrote them down and tried to memorize them to pose to her parents at our first dinner. Sure, technically I had already asked the girl without the permission, but it’s not like I had given her a real ring yet. If her dad said no, well, I’m not sure what would have happened. But I asked over an outdoor meal at a Venice café, so it would have been easy for me to run away if the answer was unfavorable. Of course I would have gotten lost in the Venetian streets, but I did that plenty of times anyway. Did you know the Thai word for yes is “Dai”? It’s pronounced like “Die”, so that her father could either tell me yes, he approved, or tell me to drop dead, with me struggling to tell the difference. He instead asked some questions back to me to test my understanding of Thai (since I sounded like an expert with that last phrase), and to gage my honorable intentions. Translated to me (failed the understanding part), I confirmed that I planned to take good care of Sai (passed this second part). So Sai could keep her fake engagement ring, and I could keep traveling with her family.
Across the sea from the big city of Venice is a tiny town of Murano, where the glass-blowers make expensive vases and figurines. It’s a nice short excursion. There’s also Burano, known for lace, but the glass island is more interesting in my worthless opinion.
Venice was overall okay, but not worth too much time (as others had warned me). A couple of days is plenty. There is not an exciting nightlife (that we could find at least). We skipped the cliché (overpriced) gondola ride so that I could save money to take care of my teerak (amore), as I’d promised her father I would. Not a bad way to end a tour of Italy.
Austria
Sorry, you don’t get off that easy. Our tour of Italy may have concluded, but our trip was not over. Papa Wichgool drew the short straw of having to drive our rental car, because none of the rest of us could drive stick shift (I blame my parents for always having cars with automatic transmissions. You can also blame them for me). On the edge of town, we rented a car, aimed it away from the water, and proceeded to stall it out. While a parade of angry Italians stacked up behind us, my future father-in-law slowly retaught himself how to operate the clutch, and we lurched our way away from Venice, heading for the border for country number two. I had white-knuckled my way with the old man in Thailand, where his aggressive driving mixed surprisingly well with the other crazy drivers of his homeland. Here, however, his scary driving did not mesh as well with the crazy European drivers, but somehow we survived. I tried to alternately take in the scenic countryside and pretend to sleep from my perch in the backseat hump, as it was easier than listening to the family of four foreigners bickering in their own foreign language about which way to go. For some silly reason, I was asked on several occasions to settle the dispute, as if I had a clue. Each time, I’d authoritatively point almost arbitrarily, generally following the direction of the sun (I knew we were heading north, so the early sun should have been to our right, right?). As many times as I’ve gotten myself lost, with or without Sai, you’d think she’d tell everyone else to do their own guessing before asking me, but alas…
Amazingly, we found our way to Austria, where we briefly landed in the beautiful Alpine mountain town of Innsbruck. Our late afternoon arrival meant no time for the funicular to the top of the mountain, and we had other plans for the next day. I’d recommend spending more than our very short stay to see what it has to offer, but the German style meal was a nice transition from the Italian food we’d feasted on for the previous week plus (not that I’d ever complain about Italian food, mind you).
Germany
Our penultimate point of pictures was Bavaria, the south German region with the cool castles. We visited the pathetic Hohenschwangau Castle as well as the spectacular Neuschwanstein Castle. This latter edifice was commissioned by the mad King Ludwig II to trump his childhood home, the former fortress. It’s also the model for the Disney castle. Incredible place, inside and out, amazing views, and crazy story about a weird young King who died under mysterious circumstances in 1886. Someday I’d like to read more about him, and I apologize for not being able to twist up Bavarian history like a pretzel, but we had one more place to see before I could get back to work, and it was my ideal endgame.
Munich!
Technically part of the Bavarian region, Munich is its own separate destination as far as I am concerned. We may have given short shrift to Innsbruck and the Bavarian countryside (both definitely worth a visit and a more detailed adventure than what I’ve offered), but after all that time in Italy, we had to spend our last couple of days in the big German city with the big German beers.
Oktoberfest!!
We could have spent an entire two weeks touring Italy in late September, but when the tail end of the tale coincides with the timing of Germany’s Oktoberfest, and I’m the author of the adventure, we had to expand beyond the border. And in short, Oktoberfest is awesome. I proposed to the perfect woman. All of my prior (and subsequent) complaints about her were vindicated in one amazing day. I’ve been to Munich twice before. When I first visited Germany for a work trip maybe eight years prior, our last evening ended in Munich. After dinner with my boss and my boss’ boss, we returned to the hotel where they retreated to their rooms, while I went to the front desk and demanded a destination for my last evening’s entertainment. They directed me a couple of blocks away to the Hofbrauhaus. Two big beers later, I ambled out of the humongous beer hall, got lost re-tracing my footsteps to the nearby hotel, found a strip club instead, before eventually making it home a happy camper. Second trip, with three like-minded friends a year or two later, I insisted upon a return trip to the Hofbrauhaus, where I managed three big beers to start the evening. Some seedy German club later, after several shots of Yaegermeister, I stumbled over a concrete wall, smashing my shin, cursing at the people laughing at the stupid, drunk American, and staggered back to the hotel (without telling my cohorts where I was going). I woke up the next day in a bloody bed (my shin was gashed pretty good from the concrete wall), and traded tales with the other three about how their evening ended. One of them fell down some steps to try to match my drunken stupor. Both of these Munich adventures were in the off-season. So for trip number three, amidst the prime time Oktoberfest, what was I to do on my last day of this long vacation? For those doing the math, trip 1 = 2 liters. Trip 2 = 3 liters. Geometrically progressing, trip 3 would have to equal 4.5 liters (previous trip plus 50% more). FYI – 4.5 liters of good German beer with little food to accompany it (a shared big pretzel and some sausages) does not lead to a better outcome than the drunken foolery of the of first two attempts.
Oktoberfest is amazing. It is a true carnival atmosphere, but instead of annoying kids, shady carnies, and shitty food, it is beer garden tent after beer garden tent, jam-packed with annoying drunken (older) kids, an obnoxious older American (me, although I’m sure there were plenty of others), and a patient future Thai wife (Sai). Her brother and parents lollygagged through an hour or so of the festivities before deciding to see other tourist attractions of the city. Having seen most of them before and having zero interest in repeating when the other option was to keep drinking at Oktoberfest, we split up with an agreed plan to meet for dinner several hours later. I drank a couple of half liters at the Paulaner tent, before taking on Sai’s abandoned first, then we moved on to another large, crowded tent for the bigger, full liter beers. I can’t recall if it was the Hofbrau or Augustiner where we ultimately landed (things were starting to get a little hazy), but it was beautiful and delicious. We squeezed into to a picnic bench with some attractive young Germans who warmly welcomed us to hang out for a while. I was dismayed to learn from one of them that my proud German name of apple tree was a Jewish name (never made the connection before that Baum (tree) is a common Jewish surname – the Catholic priest who used to always show off his German knowledge never mentioned that part), but the companions did not seem to hold it against me. Seventy plus years had cured those hostilities. Anyway, I tried to play drunken matchmaker between two of the youths seated with us (Sai later told me that the guy was gay, which was why he wasn’t jumping on my slurred suggestion that he should have been jumping on the cute girl next to him), while testing out if my stomach could really handle that much sudsy goodness without exploding. In fairness, it felt like I was peeing out at least as much as I was drinking in by the end of it. Still, I had a mission to hit the 4.5 liter mark, even though the last liter took us perilously close to the meeting time with the other Thais. One of our German friends grew increasingly agitated that we were going to be late. It was either German efficiency, or he was trying to get rid of us so that I’d stop telling him to start hitting on the girl next to him, or perhaps both. Regardless, I stayed until that last big glass was empty and bladder was again full, and we moved on.
I’m not sure how (train or taxi, or both), but we ended up at the Marienplatz, a main square in the center of the city. Sai was my guide, and I was blindly following. I tried to convince her to abandon me to the hotel, but she was persistent. I recall her setting me down for a few minutes so she could find her nearby family, and was woken up a little while later as she guided me next to a restaurant that may have been close by, or in another country for all I knew. Inside, I recall walking up some steps, past a lot of people, and settling into a booth towards the back. There, to clear space for food, I proceeded to projectile vomit out the glorious beer I had so proudly taken in earlier that afternoon. Quick on her feet, the lovely lady saw the warning signs and held a plastic bag to my face to catch my upchuck (we had earlier bought matching Oktoberfest shirts, so cute, and the transport container served better as a barf bag. Her horrified parents finally agreed with my earlier entreaty to Sai that I would be best put away back at the hotel, so she and I retreated while they stayed to eat. I’m not proud of how this day ended, but I still had fun. And I learned that Sai would take care of me in my darkest times of need, so there’s that.
The next morning, her father icily drove me to the airport (they had a later flight). He doesn’t speak much English, and I had exhausted my Thai in asking for his daughter’s hand in marriage, so it may have been just a language barrier. Regardless, no take-backsies!! He already approved of me marrying Sai before seeing what a sorry drunk I can be (it was Oktoberfest), so I could smile through a hell of a hangover and a heck of a great trip. Sai was still speaking to me, but she has made it clear that it will be a cold day in hell before she lets me visit Munich for round four.
Prost and Ciao!!
Traipse Reports - Trips and Races 