TravelStream™ news feed for member northwesthook on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/northwesthook en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Sat, 22 Sep 2007 18:22:10 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/civitavecchia/1189996800/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/civitavecchia/1189996800/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/civitavecchia/1189996800/tpod.html Sat, 22 Sep 2007 18:22:10 -0400 Laura & Justin spend one and a half days in this noisy little beach town prior to boarding our cruise.

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Civitavecchia, Italy

Saying goodbye to the extremely crowded but beautiful Firenze, we boarded our train for Rome that afternoon. It was only a short wait of about an hour and a half at the train station this time, unlike our three hour marathon at the station in Venezia. After an hour and twenty minutes we hit the Roma Termini train station, a sprawling mass of tracks and people and platforms and shops. On the way into Rome you could tell you were heading towards a large European city by the size of the graffiti on the walls that followed the train tracks. I've come to realize: the bigger the graffiti in Europe, the bigger the city. This graffiti was extra large, though we won't discover the size and scope of Roma until we finish our cruise at the end of September, as we have planned out about three full days in the giant Italian city after our journey at sea.
We had a short stay at the station before catching our Inter-City train to Civitavecchia. This was the first train where we had to share a little room with about six other travelers, making it extremely difficult to move your luggage in and out of the room. Due to everyone's legs sticking out into the aisle, there is no walkway. I had to lift each of our fifty-pound bags of luggage over their annoying legs in order for us to get off the train. I saw it as "working" our way toward the cruise ship.
Civitavecchia ended up being a nice little beach town that reminded us a lot of California. Sitting near, as far as I could tell on a map, the Tyrrhenian Sea (just north of the Mediterranean Sea), the place is filled with palm trees, beachside restaurants, lots of traffic and gangs of teenage kids on mopeds. Not violent gangs. I mean gang is in a large, large amount. I would imagine the town anthem being just two minutes of moped sounds. Our hotel was a lovely little four-star retreat called "Hotel San Giorgio". They gave us a room with an ocean view and satellite television, but once again there were no channels in English. For the first time in either of our lives we encountered a hotel room that was smarter than we were. You had to leave the room key in this little slot by the door in order for the lights and the television remote to work. We didn't figure that out by ourselves by the way. I had to go down to the front desk and explain that, the two of us being silly Americans, we couldn't figure out for the life of us how the dam lights worked. Our stupidity gave the extremely friendly hotel concierge a good chuckle, and she kindly explained to me how their high-tech hotel worked. It was so simple, yet so difficult to understand.
That evening we had dinner at a local pizzeria and then went and walked along the rocky beach that ran along the town.
The water was cold but could have been colder. It was the kind of cold we could walk in and feel okay about but would not really like to swim in. Some crazy Italian was out there swimming in it and he has my utmost respect. I have become a shell of my former self. Whereas a long time ago I could be found swimming in the freezing, inhumane waters of Lake Michigan, I have been spoiled by the bathwater that is the Pacific Ocean around the Hawaiian Islands for the last five years. After our beach walk we headed back towards the hotel, looking forward to some well-needed rest as we waited with anticipation for tomorrow. The 17th had arrived... it was time to start our cruise and begin the last leg of our journey.



]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/firenze-sep07/1189910100/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/firenze-sep07/1189910100/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/firenze-sep07/1189910100/tpod.html Sat, 22 Sep 2007 17:51:57 -0400 Leaving the crowds of Venice, Laura and I hop on the Eurostar-Italia train and head south to the birthplace of the Renaissance: Florence.

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Chianti, Italy

We met our little bicycle party around 9:45am next to Ponte alle Grazie, a bridge just East of Ponte Vecchio (which was next to our hotel). When we arrived there was a group of late-teens, early-twenties college girls all standing around and waiting. Laura asked if they were waiting for the bike tours. They all answered yes. Most of them were from the east coast of the United States, all of them studying abroad for the summer in the South of France near Nice. We started a lovely little conversation with a young gal from Perth, Australia. She talked about how much she loves Australia and how traveling around has made her realize there is no place like home. She also snuck in that Steve Irwin does not personify the typical Australian. I had been making the comment that we would always leave Animal Planet on for Luka when we left for work in Hawaii, and every time we came home Steve Irwin would be there to greet us, with Luka nowhere in sight. She got a bit of a hoot out of that.
Around 10:15am our guides showed up. They counted all the heads, made sure everyone had a reservation and then split us up into two groups. One group would ride in a van with Andy, an avid bicyclist from Edinburgh, Scotland, and the other group would ride with wild Keith, an Irish man to the core from the great city of Dublin. Laura and I had the pleasure of going with Keith. The van filled up fast, leaving us in the passenger seat. We would soon find out it was the best place to be.
Keith and Andy make the tour feel amazing right from the moment they walked up to the meeting spot. These two mates from the United Kingdom are filled with jokes and witty little comments to the same extent that Dr. Phil is filled with advice he learned from Oprah. Which is a lot. They had moved to Florence about seven years ago, leaving the rain and wind and clouds of the UK for the beautiful country and weather of central Italy. As Keith drove the seventeen year old Fiat mini-van through the winding streets of the city and out into the heart of wine-country, he involved the entire van with jokes and stories and extreme sarcasm that sounds greatest when delivered with a pure Irish accent. The van was a manual with the shifter being next to the steering wheel. It was amazing watching Keith barrel through people and cars and mopeds all while shifting like a madman on a little stick next to the dashboard...and all while chatting up a storm. It's like he was born driving a race car and for some reason had been thrown into a mini-van with a group of tourists. While he drove he played a large mix of disco and 80's, which was a bit of a strange mix with the scenery. Laura and I were laughing our behinds off as we rolled through wine country with Wham, George Michael and Earth, Wind & Fire blasting all around us. It was amazing.
Before we knew it we were at Castello di Poppiano Guicciardini, an 11th century castle once used as a Florentine fortress and now a vineyard pumping out immaculate wines and olive oil. The place was absolutely breathtaking. We were between Florence and Siena in an area called Chianti Colli Fiorentini (Hills of Florence), which is one of eight regions of the Chianti area. Known as "Castello di Poppiano", the giant estate covers about the equivalent of 270 acres, with 130 acres of vineyards and about 47 acres dedicated to rolling olive groves. Keith gave us the grand tour before we hit the streets on our mountain bikes.
We started off in the bottling room. There where empty boxes with the vineyards name plastered on it, just waiting to be filled with luscious bottles of their mouth-watering wines. Laura and I couldn't believe it. We were in a real winery in Tuscany. I'll say it before and I'll say it again: I never thought I would ever get to see this type of stuff. From Watervliet-Middle-Of-Nowhere Michigan to Tuscany. Yes. I am easily impressed. It's just that growing up in such a small town, with nothing really around you (not that that's bad, I loved growing up in my little corner of the United States), this kind of stuff just seemed like some sort of fantasy world. Like it didn't really exist. But, exist it does... and here we are. After the impressive bottling room we went down into the wine cellar, where huge oak barrels filled with wine were lined up and left to work their magic. This small to medium winery pumps out about 500,000 bottles of wine a year, run and managed by a "Count" and his wife. They put out three reds, five whites and a couple delicious olive oils. We stood and listened to Keith as he explained what we were looking at: some French Oak barrels that housed the "flagship" wine of the vineyard called "Tricorno". A mix of traditional Tuscan Sangiovese (my new favorite wine), Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot, the wine ferments in the barrels for a total of three years, with the workers cleaning and rotating the barrels every six months. One thing I found extremely interesting was that after the barrels are used to make a batch of the wine (three years... remember?), they ship the barrels off to Ireland and Scotland to be used for whiskey... they don't reuse the barrels for wine. It's always brand new French Oak. Laura and I took some pictures, chatted about how we'd like to move into the cellar and tap a barrel and then moved on with our group. The next place we went to was the area where they create their olive oil. The vineyards flagship olive oil is called Laudemio La Costa, known all around Italy as one of the best of the best. Their secret is in the way the olives are crushed and then bottled within twenty-four hours, sealing in an unmatched freshness and delivering a unique taste. Laura and I bought a four-ounce bottle to enjoy once we get settled in San Diego. Funny, I hate olives but I love dipping bread into olive oil. What a friggin' weirdo right???
After a quick wine-tasting of some standard Chianti, a trip up to the attic to view a rare event where they lay all these different grapes out on racks to dry (I can't remember the name of the event but Keith said it was our lucky day for being able to see it so I'll take his word for it), another little adventure to one of the old castle turrets for some photo-ops and then a quick stop by the wine bar for a chance to buy some of the vineyards wines... we finally got our bicycles. The bikes were custom made twenty-four speeds by the Italian company Vicini, built specifically for Keith & Andy and their awesome business. We picked out some helmets, introduced ourselves to our bikes and hit then road with our group. As we rolled along through the hills of Tuscany, museums were the last thing on our minds. Sure, it's great to get your bit of historic artwork fix, and there's not much of a better place in the world for it than Florence, but this tour was built for people like Laura and I. The only people in sight was that of our fellow tour members, which was so small that you could just block them out and focus on the scenery around you. We didn't regret one bit that we were missing out on the three museums I had booked for the day: The Bargello, The Medici Chapels and The Pitti Palace. It didn't matter. We were in the country, in the heart of some of the most beautiful country in Europe. Few cars... even fewer people. It was perfect. After some uphill and downhill action and a couple of stops for some panoramic photos we made it to our lunch break at Restorante dei Buongustai. Specializing in traditional Tuscan cuisine, the restaurant was a little gem in the middle of wine world. We sat at an immensely long table to fit in all the members of our tour, Laura and I sitting on the end near Keith, Andy and Rowan. I don't remember how to spell Rowan's name, but it's pronounced like "rowin' a boat". Rowan being from Scotland, he pronounced it like the word "ruin". Like Andy, he was from Edinburgh, only instead of having moved to Florence like his buddies he was on a quick little three day long holiday, helping out and taking in some sights. Laura and I chatted with the three of them as we ate lunch, learning of their plans to vacation in the states in a few months and of the history of their company, which basically grew out of their back-breaking labor and desire to have a successful business. It made us want to do something similar in San Diego, but of course, we have no idea what we would do or how we would go about doing it. I suppose that's half the fun. Looking into the forest that leads to the treasure, only the forest is dark, winding, merciless and full of peril and danger... but you know eventually it will lead to what you are looking for.

After lunch we got back on our bikes and started the long journey back to the castle/vineyard. I was somewhat intoxicated after having drank a couple of glasses of wine at lunch. I couldn't help myself... I love the stuff. I did discover however, that wine doesn't mix well with riding uphill on a bicycle. The trip was grueling. And that was just to get to the most grueling part of all.
The whole day, Andy had warned us of a final hill we had to defeat in order to get back to the castle. He gave everyone the option of riding in the van instead of challenging it, and Laura and our new friend from Perth took that offer. They were the smart ones. Besides, we didn't want Laura having our kid several months too early due to some strenuous hill in Italy.
That's the last thing we needed. But, like I said, they were the smart ones. Everyone else decided to challenge what I would decide was the most psychotic hill I have ever walked up or biked up. I have floated up more challenging hills, but that was in a past life when I had magical sorcerer powers and could do such things. Andy had told us that even his friends that ride professionally saw the hill as a beast... and a beast it was. For 900 meters the thing twisted and turned, snaking its way up to the top of a massive hill where a little town rested in peace and harmony. I made it about 150 meters, turned a corner and saw everyone else walking their bikes up it and decided that I had no choice, my legs just refused to pedal any longer. Oh, and my heart was thumping so hard it could have made an exit out of my chest at any moment. For about 750 meters I pushed my bike up the hill, my body begging me to stop for a break while my mind pushed on and on like a machine. It was the kind of hill that messed with you mentally as well as physically. It wasn't just straight up. It was a winding, curving hill. You never really knew how much further you had to go. My god did it suck. Near the top and sweating profusely, I jumped on the bike and rode the last 50 meters when I could finally see the café... at least I saved a little bit of face.
Challenging the hill was not one of the wisest decisions I have ever made, but I'm glad I did it. It gave me a newfound respect for professional cyclists. It's no wonder those guys juice up on steroids. It's the only way they can probably make it up these things during something like the Tour de France, where they go up these types of hills for days. Anyone who can do it without steroids is, in my book anyway, not human and should be considered a robot-person. You have my deepest respect.

The little town at the top had a nice little café that we enjoyed some cold bottled water and a bathroom break at before journeying another fifteen minutes down the road to the castle. Our bicycle adventure in Tuscany completed, we hopped in the van with Keith and made our way back to Florence, once again blasting disco and dodging people and cars as if we were in a real life video game. On the way back we stopped at Piazza Michaelangelo, which sits above Florence. The piazza allowed us some wonderful views of Florence and some major car dodging (drivers in Florence are lunatics), but unfortunately the air was a bit hazy so the pictures of the city didn't really turn out the way we wanted. Pulling back up to our meeting spot earlier that morning, Laura and I were the last people of the tour to say farewell to our newest friends from the United Kingdom. We exchanged e-mails and information with Keith, Andy & Rowan, and then headed back to our hotel... with an amazing day in our back-pocket.

That evening we went over to the internet café for a bit so I could download the stuff I had written to our Travelpod website. The site is amazing but it takes forever to work with and upload stuff. We just don't have enough time. As it is right now, I am about four days behind, finishing this entry at 1:30am on the cruise shop while we are sailing over to Turkey, having just left Mykonos, Greece. Don't worry, that adventure and all the others from the cruise will be posted eventually, but probably not until after we return home. Want to know why? The internet on this ship costs about $50 for two hours. Isn't that a rip-off??? Back to the past and out of the present, after the internet café that evening we made our way back to the hotel just in time to catch our pals Rafael and Virgine chatting away on the roof terrace. Laura and I shared a glass of wine and carried our own conversation before eventually bleeding into theirs. We had a long discussion about aliens, climate-change, American stereotypes, different wines, the power of the brain and dreams. Rafael brought up an interesting thought. We were talking about dreams and he said that he had been reading and studying something where someone once remarked that our dreams that happen when we sleep only last for seconds or minutes in reality (Rapid Eye Movement) but feel like hours while we're sleeping and dreaming. This person had come to the conclusion that after our bodies shut down due to death our brains still have about ten to fifteen minutes of further activity before complete shutdown. We pondered the thought for a bit. Would that implicated death as being nothing but a long dream? If R.E.M in theory only lasted for seconds and our dreams felt like hours...the conversation carried on into the night, before Laura and I finally had to retire, our bodies broken and beaten from the days events. It was one of the best days of our trip so far. Good people, good wine, good conversation... and beautiful scenery. That's what traveling should be all about we've decided.
Tomorrow we pack up and head for Civitavecchia, where we will catch our Royal Caribbean cruise ship, "The Legend of the Seas" on the 17th of September. It's incredible. This cruise is going to be like a vacation from our vacation. We've planned and executed quite the little trip. It's the best thing we have ever done in our lives (besides purchasing Luka from the puppy market). Have I said that already??


]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/firenze-sep07/1189823400/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/firenze-sep07/1189823400/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/firenze-sep07/1189823400/tpod.html Sat, 22 Sep 2007 17:24:47 -0400 Leaving the crowds of Venice, Laura and I hop on the Eurostar-Italia train and head south to the birthplace of the Renaissance: Florence.

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Florence, Italy

The wake-up call from room 34's little telephone was extremely annoying as it annihilated the morning silence around 7am. We had a reservation at 8:45am for the Uffizi Gallery. We got out of bed, showered and prepared ourselves for our first full day in the town of Firenze.
After a quick little breakfast of toast and a croissant at our hotel, we hit the pavement and made the quick walk over to the Uffizi. It was just on the other side of Ponte Vecchio from our hotel, only taking us about 5 minutes to get there. We walked up to the u-shaped building, turned the corner that puts you into the museums courtyard and stood face to face with a huge line at the reservation entrance. This was a surprise. In Rick Steves' "Italy 2007" book, he describes entering the Uffizi with a reservation as simply as just walking up to entrance #3, getting your tickets from the window and then "...walk briskly past the 200-yard-long line - pondering the IQ of this gang - and scoot right in through door #1...", and at this point one would be inside the museum. Sorry Ricky-Boy, we love your books and they have been amazing so far, but it didn't quite happen that way. We stood in the reservation line for over 25 minutes and then finally were allowed to get our tickets. By this time it was around 9am. We then walked over to door #1 where the museum entrance is, tickets in hand, fully expecting to be able to "scoot right in" as Mr. Steves explains in his book. There would be no scooting in. The line to get in once you had your tickets was even longer than the reservation line. There was a separate line for people who didn't have tickets or reservations. I think that was the group that owned the IQ's we were instructed to ponder.
We got in around 9:45am, a full hour after our reserved time. Oh well, I suppose Rick Steves can't be right one hundred percent of the time... no human ever is. And if they tell you they are then they are more than likely wrong one hundred percent of the time and are confusing fantasy with reality. Besides, the extra wait was worth it. The Uffizi Gallery was everything we expected and more. A treasure of amazing Renaissance art in the birthplace of the Renaissance. One thing about the museum that is super nifty is that they only allow six hundred people into the museum at a time... hence the long lines and the need for reservations. As we wandered the two main hallways and took in all the brilliant sculpture, I was happy to be walking around in a museum where you had so much room. It wasn't brilliant art work mixed with human beings all falling over each other standing on each others' toes. You could spend some time in front of the pieces you wanted to and not have to worry about being in someone's way. I wish it would've been like that when we were at the Musee D'Orsay in Paris. If there was one thing that I wish would've been different about that museum, it would be that they only allowed a certain amount of people in, like the Uffizi Gallery. But hey, I'm greedy. I want all these paintings for Laura and me. I want everyone else who has the idea of visiting them to just change their minds and go somewhere else for the day. I want to just walk around with no real purpose in mind and stand in front of every painting for fifteen minutes and soak in every color, every figure, every object and every symbol. I kept thinking about how amazing it would be to come to one of these museums at night and walk up to every painting while holding a candle, thus viewing it by the hauntingly beautiful glow of candlelight. They should have a night like that. Someone would light one of the paintings on fire though. Whether by accident or on purpose, you know it would happen eventually. Maybe they could force everyone who wanted to come in for the "candlelight museum night" to take an IQ test, thus eliminating anyone who would be stupid enough to do such a horrible thing. Speaking of stupidity, I have to share this. I remember when I was in 7th grade and we were reading "The Diary of Anne Frank" for English class. Our teacher asked if any of us knew of anyone who had any World War II memorabilia that we could display for the next few weeks while we read the book and discussed it. Kind of a cool idea. Well, it just so happens that my Grandfather was a tank driver in World War II, and he had mailed back quite the scary piece of memorabilia. During a particular operation where they took back a high school gymnasium from the Nazi's (who were using it as a weapons cache), my Grandpa got his hands on a giant Nazi flag that had been hung from the rafters. He mailed it home to my Grandma, and it had been in a shoebox at their farmhouse ever since. What better way to bring the subject to life than have a huge flag symbolizing the most pure of all evils hanging in the classroom? I was amazed that my Grandparents said yes when I asked if I could borrow it. The next day, bringing it into the classroom, my teacher was amazed, as was the rest of the class. The giant swastika hung in the class for the next week as we read the book, making it seem as if we were the ones hiding from the Nazis, as if they had taken over the classroom, as if we were about to be another part of their extermination. But, of course, there had to be one real moron in the classroom. This kid, I've forgotten his name now but he more than likely has lost all his teeth and is addicted to crystal meth, took a black permanent marker and wrote "white power" on the flag. Everyone was appalled. Why would someone do that? What is it that drives people to be so completely stupid? Luckily, a professional was able to restore the flag to its original condition (the school paid for it). The kid was suspended from school for a week. Oh no. Tell a kid who doesn't want to be there anyway that they can't come to school for a week. What a horrible punishment. Personally, I think he should have been castrated in some sort of barbaric public ceremony. Anyway, I'm done rambling about that. The point of my story is that it's that kind of person that would not be allowed to come into my candlelight museum night.
Back to the Uffizi. There were highlights here and there, but the main attraction was most definitely the Sandro Botticelli room and the room containing a couple of Leonardo's early works. Botticelli is an absolute master at painting the human figure. His paintings are magical and freeze a person where they stand. I couldn't move away from his painting of Spring's transformation into the Goddess Venus. It just locked me in and there I stood, staring in amazement. He has this thing too where he is constantly putting strings of gold in people's hair, and then fully translating how the light would reflect and play off of these gold strands. The man was a genius. Besides the Botticelli's and the two pieces by Leonardo, here are a couple of the other pieces we liked by artists neither of us had even heard of: (1) Piero di Cosimo, "Perseo Libera Andromeda", which was this beautiful painting of this knight slaying a sea beast while one group of people played musical instruments, another group of people looked on in horror, all while a couple of other two knights were running down a hill and were extremely late for the battle. (2) The other painting was by Francesco someone, I don't remember his last name and I didn't write it down. It was basically a portrait of a man that looked just like the actor Johnny Depp. Laura said that the fella in the painting wasn't as hot as the real thing though.
Our Uffizi sightseeing completed, we left the museum and started walking around in the Palazzo Vecchio area. I don't know the name of the square, but it sits next to the Uffizi and the Palazzo, which was once a residence of the powerful Medici family. This large square has a plethora of tourists, and some magnificent statues including a copy of "David" and "Rape of the Sabines", both of which we would see later when we visited the Accademia on the other side of town. There were also some horses with those little eye patches over their eyes. I don't know what those are for but I'm sure the horse doesn't appreciate it. The square was beautiful but it got old pretty quickly... we're starting to get burned out on crowds.
Outside the Uffizi area, we made our way over to the Instituto e Museo di Storia della Scienza... the science museum of Florence. Once inside we realized this was a gold mine. There was barely anyone inside of the museum, which consists of two floors of Renaissance clocks, telescopes, scientific instruments, surgical instruments, globes, maps, gadgets and Galileo's finger. Someone hacked his right middle finger off before he was buried, and it's in the museum. How cool is that?
It just so happens that when sculpture and painting began to die out in Florence, music and science took over. This brilliant museum traces those steps and has some amazing sights inside. I can't really go through everything, but the most interesting rooms were the ones with Galileo's finger and all of his equipment, including the now fractured lens that he used the evening that he spotted Jupiter up in the heavens. They also have a couple of his telescopes, which were made out of paper and copper. The other room that blew us away was the map room. There were gigantic globes inside, sitting alongside maps that had the most beautiful drawings integrated into them. Everyone had such a romantic idea of what the Earth looked like back then. It seems like that type of thinking has pretty much ridden off into the sunset. There was one more room that was rather interesting but also scared the bejesus out of Laura and me. The room contained forty-one wax sculptures of women having complications during child-birth. Giving birth back then must have really sucked. If you're ever in Florence you have to go to this museum. It's a break from the art and it's another side of the city's history that people usually don't think about. We spent about two hours inside, and then headed off towards our final museum of the day, the Accademia.
As we walked towards the Accademia we made a little side trip to the Duomo. This little area of Firenze houses the famous Duomo dome, chapel, baptistery and tower. The dome is absolutely breathtaking from the outside. The lines to get in were so long though, and the square was so crowded, that all we really did was snap some pictures of the baptistery doors and the Duomo and then got the hell out of there. The famous baptistry doors are now copies of the ones created by Ghiberti. The originals are now at the Bargello sculpture museum in Firenze. They are the doors that Michaelangelo once said must be the gates to paradise. As we left I saw this kid spit at a young gypsy girl that was obviously begging for money near him. Isn't it bad enough that she has to beg for money all day? Why spit on her? After another gelato and a bit more random walking we finally arrived at the Accademia. This was more the museum where you could just walk right past the line outside, go up to the reservation window, get your tickets and then walk right into the museum. No waiting. It was perfection.
The Accademia is first and foremost a sculpture museum, with two floors of Renaissance art above the sculptures, including some Botticelli's. We skipped the paintings and stayed on the first floor, diving right into the beauty of "The Rape of The Sabines". We had seen a copy of this sculpture in the square near Palazzo Vecchio, but it was nothing compared to the real thing. The giant, swirling block of marble grew out of the floor and reached for the vaulted ceiling of the room, seeming to never end. In the sculpture, two males are struggling over one fear-drenched female, a horrible scene turned into a piece of art that is obviously using the suggestive subject as a metaphor for something. I really don't know enough about the statue or the subject matter to explain any of it. We stood in awe of the statue for a minute or so and then made our way towards the museum highlight. One of the highlights of all museums in Europe. Turning the corner, we were face to face with Michaelangelo Buonarottis' unfinished "Slaves" sculptures. Just beyond them and dominating the entire massive room, was the incredibly moving statue of David. The "Slaves" sculptures were interesting because, being unfinished, it gives you a peak into the genius of the sculptor, particularly the genius of Michaelangelo. To think that the man would walk up to a giant slab of marble and then chisel out something so beautiful and life-like, it's just something that is completely unfathomable to me.

And "David", I don't have the words to describe the power this sculpture has over a fellow human. Laura and I were blown away in a way we did not expect. It is the most perfect human figure that feels so non-human, being that it's made of marble. The muscles are sculpted as if David had been real and Michaelangelo used some sort of alien freezing device to capture time. The veins protrude out of the arms and hands. His pose is so defiant of anything that should try and stop him. It's beyond anything I had expected. The statue itself is huge. It must stand at least 60 feet tall, if not taller. I don't know how in the hell Michaelangelo did it, but it's obvious to me now why he is known as one of the greatest artists that ever lived. Laura and I sat down behind the statue for about ten minutes or so, taking a break to just take it all in.
Walking away from "David", we made our way over to a room where they had a bunch of paintings hanging on walls in random positions and surrounding several finished and unfinished sculptures. The paintings were amazing, though all done by relatively unknown artists. I usually record all of my favorite paintings and their titles on a little notepad, but unfortunately I am currently unable to locate the notepad. Since I don't remember the artist's names or the titles I can only really describe what I saw. It was really only one painting that was amazing. It was a painting of Leonardo Da Vinci on his death bed, surrounded by friends and family and those who understood the world was losing a great mind. One of the people standing beside the bed had this look of despair and loss that was heartbreaking, a true portrayal of the way a person feels when someone they care deeply about is in the throes of passing into the underworld. It was brilliant.
Leaving the Accademia, we made our way back to the hotel for a rest and a shower. Completed with our busy little day of sightseeing, it was time to start the search for dinner. We used our Rick Steves Italy 2007 book to locate a place to eat. It seemed like every restaurant we went to from his book, the people were kind of rude. Finally, as we were nearing the point of passing out due to lack of food, a drunk New Zealander walked up to us, put his hand on Laura's shoulder and exclaimed, "Arggghhhhh! You'll needs to goes to that resteeeeeront abowwwt two blahcks thata way"... he went on to explain how great it was and blah, blah, blah. We went there and stood on the opening line. Most of the restaurants in Firenze don't open until around 7:30pm, so you end up standing in line at the good ones waiting for the doors to open so you can hopefully, maybe get a table without having a reservation. We got one, had our delicious traditional Italian meal and then got the hell out of there, exhausted and ready to retire for the evening.



Laura had fallen asleep right when we got back from dinner, and I went up to the roof terrace/bar in order to work on the travel blog, go through pictures and enjoy a glass of wine. After an hour of hard work on the blog, the bartender Rafael invited me to a table he was sharing with a young French girl, Virgine. The bar was closed. The lights were off. The temperature had dropped profusely. We sat around a table lit by a single candle and chatted about music, art, Americans, Europeans... whatever struck our fancy really. Rafael gave out a few glasses of wine on the house, him being the good man that he is. He had moved to Italy just seven months earlier from his hometown of Sao Paulo, Brazil. Once I found out he came from South America, his appearance made sense. He bore high cheekbones, dark skin and hair as a black as a raven stretching down to the middle of his back. It was the look that most white men are secretly jealous of. Turns out we both were into the same stuff too. He played keyboards, piano and guitar, studied music at a school in Brazil and was teaching himself how to record. Thus, we had a lot to talk about. Poor Virgine was soon out of the conversation. At around 1am, I could stand the cold no longer. My teeth were chattering. Due to everyone's suffering, we called it a night. It had been a pleasant evening of wine and conversation, and I informed them that tomorrow night Laura would join us. After parting pleasantries and goodnight's, we went our separate ways and I was off to bed.
I had planned on us visiting about three other museums the next day, but due to the massive crowds and the fact that we really already saw what we came to the city to see (the Uffizi and the Accademia), we decided to join a small mountain biking tour group that heads for the hills of Tuscany every day. It seemed like an interesting, fun way to see one of the most famous and beautiful wine regions in the world. As the following day unfolded, we realized more and more that we had made the right decision.


]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/firenze-sep07/1189656000/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/firenze-sep07/1189656000/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/firenze-sep07/1189656000/tpod.html Sat, 22 Sep 2007 16:55:39 -0400 Leaving the crowds of Venice, Laura and I hop on the Eurostar-Italia train and head south to the birthplace of the Renaissance: Florence.

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Florence, Italy

Finished with the beautiful but extremely crowded Italian city of Venezia, Laura and I checked out of our hotel around 11am and started the long haul back to Venezia Santa Lucia Train Station. Rather than stuff ourselves into a Vaporetti with what feels like about a thousand other sweaty, annoying human beings, we opted for the 35 minute walk while we wheeled our luggage behind us and through the masses. When we arrived at the station, I realized that I had mistakenly assumed that our train left at 1:38pm. Instead, it left at 2:38pm. That meant that we had about three hours to kill at a train station. Oh boy. What fun.
We made the best out of our long wait by eating lunch at the little cafeteria and munching down an ice cream (of course). The cafeteria setup was a little strange. They had an oval counter with paninis and sandwiches on one side, and a self-serve pasta/salad bar on the other side. If you got food from the pasta/salad side, you could sit in the cafeteria. If you got a panini or a slice of pizza, you had to stand at these tables on the opposite side of the room or go somewhere else. That wasn't the thing that made it weird. The weird part was that there was no sign telling people that they couldn't sit in the cafeteria if they didn't get a pasta or salad dish. Instead, they had one guy running up to people as they sat down and yelling at them. It was quite comical. One simple little sign could have fixed the entire problem. After food, pacing and people watching, our train finally left. We had two lovely window seats on what would end up being the nicest train we had been on yet. This one was run by Eurostar Italia... and First Class was super nice. We felt like semi-royalty as we rolled through north-central Italy, heading towards the Tuscan area and finally to Firenze. About two hours into the three hour train ride we struck up a conversation with the couple across the aisle from us. Turns out they had been traveling about as long as we had and had even gone to a few of the same places. Their names were Dean and Jessica. Dean was from Los Angeles and worked as a cinematographer on commercial sets and motorcycle videos. His wife Jessica was originally from Montreal, Quebec, and she worked as an art director for television/movie sets. They were a friendly little couple. Jessica and I had the same bag from R.E.I. which was fairly exciting. Dean had the right idea; he brought a bottle of wine on the train for them to share. Might be a good idea for the trip from Firenze to Roma. Maybe not. If I killed a bottle of wine on a two hour train ride I would probably pass out and then Laura would by forced to drag my limp body through the train station.
Firenze has quite a different feel to it than Venice. First off, there are cars. Second off, due to Venezia being on an island, it really had that island feel to it. Firenze feels like we are back in a concrete jungle. A really, really beautiful concrete jungle. As we rode in the taxi over to our hotel near Ponte Vecchio, we realized that we would not be escaping the crowds anytime soon. Florence is just as crowded as Venice, if not more. I was blown away by the grace with which our cab driver dodged all the bumbling fools who were just waltzing around in the street as if they owned the thing. After a wild ten-minute car ride we arrived at Hotel La Scaletta. .
I found the hotel from Rick Steves. It was part of his description that sold me on the place, "...ramshackle and brimming with character...". I was sold. He was dead on. The place is tucked away on a side street, through an arch in a building, up some stairs and on the third floor that you have to get to by either climbing 94 back-breaking stairs or taking a tiny little elevator. Our room is beautiful. It has a king size bed and a little twin bed, two huge windows opening up to a view of some either buildings with flowers and other plants, a giant bathroom with a bathtub (finally), and two channels in English. We were in heaven, but that wasn't the best part. The hotel also has two roof terraces, one with a bar and the other without, both with beautiful views of Florence. While we got settled in, I went down to the bar and ordered an Italian beer from the friendly bartender, Rafael. It was smooth as silk. I sat back in the chair, took in the views of the city and downed the refreshing brewskie. Sometimes, life just feels really, really good.
Around 9pm we went out in search of dinner. After the usual wanderings and staring at confusing menu's we finally settled on a little dive called Ristorante Bibo. It was decent. More of a good atmosphere rather than good food. Our table was on a section of their rickety wood floor that was not very stable, and every time the waiters would walk by our table would rock back and forth as if there was an earthquake, nearly spilling our drinks. I drank a half liter of wine and ate one of my favorite Italian meals, Chicken Cacciatore (Pollo Alla Cacciatora). I discovered that an Italy they don't serve it with any type of pasta. Not what I was expecting. Laura had some yummy Gnocchi that I wish I would've had. I always wish I would've gotten what she did. That happened over and over again with desserts in Switzerland. I would order what she had the night before, and then she would get something new and I would try it and wish that I had ordered that instead. She's so good at finding the best desserts. After dinner we walked back to our happy little hotel, took in some night views of the terrace and made our way back down to the room to get ready for sleepy time. I couldn't help myself, but I had to go back out to the bar and have another glass of wine while Laura took a bath. Friendly Rafael poured me a glass of the house red, which I promptly downed. Walking up to the bar to return the glass and then head to bed feeling absolutely wonderful, Rafael made the mistake of offering me a free drink, which of course I couldn't say no to. He gave me a shot of this stuff called "Grappa", which is basically the leftovers from wine-making. Expensive leftovers. He informed me that a bottle costs about as much as a really, really nice bottle of wine. It was pretty damn strong. And delicious. I stumbled back to the room and got ready for bed... pretty much passing out once I hit the mattress. Tomorrow we have a date with the Uffizi Gallery and the Accademia, home of Michaelangelo's "David".
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/venezia-07/1189643100/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/venezia-07/1189643100/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/venezia-07/1189643100/tpod.html Thu, 20 Sep 2007 20:27:20 -0400 Leaving the beauty of Switzerland behind, we make our way to Italy as we get closer to our cruise launching point in Civitivecchia. First, a quick stop in Venice... Land Of A Million Tourists.

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Venice, Italy

Our first full day in Italy was amazing. The day started around 9am or so. We woke up, showered, did all the stuff that one does in the morning and headed out under the cloudless Venetian sky. I had the idea of following one of Rick Steves' Venice tours that he has in his Italy 2007 book, so that's exactly what we did.
We hopped on Vaporetti #1, which goes from the train station all the way down to St. Marks Square and back. The thing makes about ten stops along the way, and goes by tons of different palaces along the Grand Canal, which is Venice's version of a really nice street with lots of fancy houses. One thing I didn't pay attention too was the fact that Rick Steves tells you to get on the boat by the train station dock, where the boat starts. That way you can get an outside seat and be able to see everything he talks about in the book. We got on at the Ca'D'Oro stop by our apartment. The boat was PACKED full of people when we boarded, forcing us to sit in the middle. We could see outside, but only through the boat's dirty glass windows. In front and behind us was a sea of heads, all flapping their mouths in Italian, French, German, English and just about every other language the world has to offer. It was not the smartest idea, but it was still fun. We like being on the water.
After about twenty-five minutes we arrived at the St. Marks Square stop (In Italian it's "St. Marcos" Square). We left the boat, walked up a few blocks along the Grand Canal, turned a corner and were hit head on with the most people we've seen in a long time. Venice is a tourist city. That's all there is to it. It didn't help that not one but two cruise ships were in town as well. We made our way past a throng of little souvenir stands, selling everything from maps to typical Venetian glass items. Before we knew it, we were in one of Europe's most famous Square's, that of St. Marks.
The first thing we noticed, our "thing's" I should say, were the pigeons. They were everywhere. It was hard to tell which there were more of... people or pigeons. Vendors in the square sell pigeon feed, allowing those that want to be attacked by pigeons to hold their arms out and become surrounded by a sickening amount of the little birds. It's hilarious to just sit back and watch these people feed the pigeons. Once the little flappers know that someone has food, they sit on the person's arms, probably four or five on each arm, and sit on their heads, and each wait their turn to nibble out of the person's hand. Guys yelp. Girls scream. Laura and I found out that if you just hold out your hands and pretend like you have food you can attract a few of the dumber ones. We each took turns having pigeons land on our arms, snapping a couple photos in the process. I had one that landed on my arm and just sat there staring at me, as if to say, "Ummmm, I thought you had food you big jerk". They leave little pigeon scratch marks on you too. All pigeons aside, the square itself is gorgeous. With the Doge's palace, St. Marks Basilica, a couple of giant statues and the famous clock tower with the bronze clapper men, the square stretches out about two football fields. There are little tour groups everywhere, easily noticeable by the people that are leading a bunch of other people around by holding up umbrellas or little flags. Laura and I debated on going into one of the sights, but the lines were too damn long. Besides, we'll be in Florence tomorrow and we'll be going into a bunch of different museums. We decided we would just explore Venezia on foot and take in as much as we could without going inside any famous buildings. We could see way more by wandering around then we could be standing in the same spot for two hours just to wait to go into some place that we weren't that interested in anyway. Leave that to the other tourists. Speaking of tourists, we kept hearing American voices everywhere. There were so many American accents, it actually felt like you were in a really, really, really European city somewhere in the United States.
After stopping to buy a panzerotti and a gelato outside the square, we began to walk along the Grand Canal, trying to get as far away from the madness as we could. As we crossed the bridge just past the Doge's Palace, the one that gives a view of the famous Bridge of Sighs and the Doge's Prison, it was so crowded you could barely cross the bridge. Pausing at the top, all you can see is people in both directions. Take a look at the pictures. It looks like that game "Where's Waldo?". Walking by souvenir stand after souvenir stand, the crowd finally begins to thin out about six or seven blocks north of the square. Here is where the real Venezia begins.
The actual residential areas of Venice are like ghost towns compared to the tourist areas. Laura and I found ourselves walking around in empty streets with clothes lines stretched from building to building, the occasional Italian broad leaning out of a window to pull some laundry in or put some out. It was absolutely captivating. The buildings are so colorful and vibrant. With the temperature like it is, somewhere between, 75 and 85 degrees mixed with a gentle island breeze (Venice is technically an island), it really feels like you are on a Caribbean island that speaks Italian and is infested with tourists in certain areas. We wandered around the back streets in amazement, walked though a giant park with a ton of statues, took some pictures of the Grand Canal, bought some more gelato, and then walked back to the apartment after stopping and looking at about a thousand little shops. On the way back, we made our way over Ponte Rialto, one of the most famous bridges in Venice. The bridge serves two purposes: part bridge, part market. Oh yeah, you can barely cross it due to the amount of people on it.
After a forty-five minute walk, which could've been shorter had we not stopped at every bridge to watch the gondoliers paddling by (A Venice must-see), we arrived back at our little apartment... not before getting another gelato though. My god that stuff is addictive. We took a short break from the masses, recharged our tourist batteries and then headed back out into the crowd in search of some yummy Italian dinner. After quite a bit of our usual wanderings, we ended up back at St. Mark's Square. There were a couple of outside café's in the square, each with its' own orchestra playing traditional Italian music. If you stand in the middle of the square you can hear both at the same time, making for some interesting ear candy. Moving along, we walked around for another twenty minutes before finally deciding on a place called Trattoria da Nino.
Trattoria da Nino was BUSY. Every table was full. Every waiter was running around with their hair on fire. It was exactly THE stereotypical traditional Italian restaurant. One thing Laura and I have noticed is that Venezia is a seafood Italian city. Every restaurant menu has a little bit of pasta and meat selections, and then a humongous selection of seafood, particularly four billion different kinds of fish. Well, not four billion but I think you understand what I'm saying. Venetians like fish. We both had pasta, and I just about finished a liter of red wine. It was good wine, so I kept drinking it and drinking it until my feet began to feel a little numb, at which point I stopped drinking it so that I would be able to walk back.
Before we walked back to the apartment though, we were on a mission. The mission? Find a gondolier and go on a gondola ride through the canals of Venice at night. It wasn't going to be cheap, but hey... you only live once, and when the hell were we going to be back in Venice, Italy? I don't care if you can do it in Las Vegas, it's not the same. The first bridge we crossed had a lonely gondolier coming up the other side of it. We made eye contact and he read my mind, saying, "Gondola?". "How much?", I replied. In broken but fairly understandable English he rattled off a few options, with the 100 Euro option sounding the most interesting to us. He would take us along the Grand Canal for a minute, outside St. Mark's Square, and then back into some of the outer canals for some peace and quiet on the water. The ride would be forty-five minutes. We accepted.
Gondola rides are awesome. Laura and I floated along the water at a snails pace. Sheltered by old Venetian buildings on both side, the stars shining brightly above our heads, the sound of the gondoliers paddle softly beating the water... this was our version of heaven. We must have passed under ten or fifteen bridges, each one having curious little tourists looking down on you, sometimes snapping a picture or two. Weird to think that we're in some random person's photo album now. Along the trip, we passed under the Bridge of Sighs, glided by St. Mark's Basilica, the Doge's Palace and Prison, sailed past the houses of some of Venice's richest politician's and even went by the house of Marco Polo, one of Venice's most famous historical characters. After some more peaceful canals, we pulled back up to where we started and handed over a hundred Euros to the gondolier. Before we even were at the top of the bridge we initially saw him on he already had another couple in the gondola. These guys make some serious cash. As if to emphasize what we were both thinking, while we were walking back to the apartment we passed three gondoliers sitting on a ledge near a canal, counting their cash from that evening's business. They are not poor.
With our gondola ride done, we walked back to the apartment. Of course, along the way home we just had to stop for another gelato. It was our third of the day. Do they have this stuff in the U.S.? If not, would someone like to loan me a big wad of cash so I can open up a stand in San Diego? You could make a killing selling this mouth-watering treat, the European version of ice cream. We stuffed our faces with cold, creamy goodness as we walked, anxious to get back to our little Venetian home and rest. Our first full day of Italy has been exactly as we expected: brilliant. This is a beautiful country full of friendly people and ridiculously good food. Tomorrow we make our way to Firenze (Florence). I wish we could put Venice in our luggage and take it with us, but we can't. Our unforgettable memories of this amazing city will have to do... and that'll be just fine (and way less crowded).


]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/venezia-07/1189565100/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/venezia-07/1189565100/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/venezia-07/1189565100/tpod.html Thu, 20 Sep 2007 20:05:20 -0400 Leaving the beauty of Switzerland behind, we make our way to Italy as we get closer to our cruise launching point in Civitivecchia. First, a quick stop in Venice... Land Of A Million Tourists.

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Zürich, Switzerland

Once again, Murren was rainy and cloudy when we left the hotel at 6:45am. We pulled our luggage behind us, backpacks on our backs (duh), and made the 15 minute walk over to the Murren-Lauterbrunnen cable car station. Inside the station everything was dark. There was one tall goofy guy wandering around behind the ticket area, busy trying to look busy I suppose. He turned out to be quite the snooty Swiss. I asked him if the 7:22am train-cable car was on time and he responded to me with some sort of movement that I couldn't quite comprehend as a yes or a no. No words. Just some kind of muscle twitch. Confused and somewhat taken aback at the coldness he was displaying, I asked him again. This time, he looks up at me, bugs his eyes out, puts both of his hands into the "thumbs-up" position and nods his head in a slow, wide pattern of up and down. He was being quite the smartass. I really, really wanted to reach through the little plastic window thing that they put the money through and slam his head into his computer screen. That was my first instinct. Instead, I took a deep breath and went and sat down. Laura went and talked to him the second time, and of course, he was friendly and polite. Oh to have the power of a woman.
We made it down to Interlaken by 8:15, plenty of time to catch our 8:56am train to Zurich. Blah, blah, blah. Time passed, not much happened. We rode a train to Zurich. Fell asleep for most of it. Did get to see a lot of Lake Thun though, which is the lake we were on two days ago when we took the boat trip over to the cave system.
Arrived in Zurich's giant and confusing train station around 11:00am. Actually, I remember looking at my watch; it was exactly 11:00am, like my watch's secondhand hit 60 seconds to switch the little hand to 11 precisely at the moment the train stopped at the station, the brakes made that loud hissing sound to confirm our arrival. As if we needed more confirmation than the fact that we were stopped at a train station in Zurich. I don't know how anyone out there can understand what I'm trying to say. I usually only understand half of it.
We had two hours to kill in Zurich but we couldn't exactly run out and do cartwheels in the streets. We were lugging all our crap around with us. After paying 3 francs to use the bathrooms in the station, we walked around and stared at giant screens trying to figure out which platform our 1:09pm train to Venice left from. After finally deciphering the train station mystery, we popped into a little café for some early lunch. We ate. I spilled a coke on Laura and broke glass all over the floor. The customers in the place all gasped and screamed and threw their silverware at me and started to beat me... just kidding. It was one of those awkward moments though. You know, the kind where you just spilled a drink and something broke so all the little humans in the place have to stop what their doing and stare at you. As if they didn't know what took place. If you hear glass breaking in a room, doesn't that usually mean that a glass has been broken? Do you really have to make the person that did it feel even dumber by staring at them with your "oh what a stupid person that guy is" look on your faces? Blah... who cares. I do it too. I love staring and pointing at the idiot that breaks their glass in the restaurant.
For the first time on this mega-vacation, I am actually writing about something as its happening. The entire trip I've just been writing about stuff a day later, sometimes two days later, trying to remember everything that happened. Not anymore. I'm caught up. We are sitting on the train to Venice. Actually, we have been sitting on it for five hours now. One more hour left... we are almost in Venezia.
Our train made its way from Zurich to Lugano at the Southern Tip of Switzerland. We've gone under at least 100 tunnels and over another 100 bridges. Lugano actually felt like Italy. They speak Italian in that part of Switzerland. I just realized that now I'm not really writing about stuff as it's happening anymore. I'm reflecting again. Let me reflect for a minute and then I'll tell you exactly what I see, right at the moment I'm typing. That will be fun.
Anyway, the trip from what is basically the top of Switzerland to the bottom of Switzerland is gorgeous. We went by lake after lake after lake, past more snow-capped mountains and rolling alpine meadows, until finally entering the area north of Lugano, which really changed in the blink of an eye. There's more color everywhere. Even from inside the train, you can feel that it's warmer just by looking outside. The vegetation has changed drastically. So on, and so on and so on. We are forty-eight minutes outside of Venice. The colors of the buildings are brilliant and vibrant. Vineyards are everywhere, set along rolling hillsides that are as green as anything I've ever seen. The scenery is, once again, breathtaking. And now, for what's happening as I'm typing.
The train feels Italian. It's full of suits and ties, mainly from people we picked up in Milan. Regardless, everyone is dressed in a way that would make their mother proud. The smell of cologne is thick. Everyone stares at each other. Where at first we were sitting next to an old English couple, they have since left, getting out in Lugano. They were replaced in Milan by an even older Italian couple. The wife is sitting next to me, and I can't tell if she keeps staring at what I'm writing or if she's staring at her husband who is directly across the aisle from me. She is reading a newspaper... or maybe pretending to read a newspaper I don't know. I'm pretty sure she's with the mafia. Man I hope I don't get whacked. This guy across the aisle from Laura is on his phone again, rambling on and on and on in Italian. He's been on and off his phone for the last four hours. I noticed that he and I have almost identical watches. At one point, he was on his phone while this guy directly behind me was talking loudly on his phone in German. Thank sweet Jesus for the iPod. Laura is currently nodding off to sleep again. She's been going back and forth between sleep and iPod enjoyment and staring outside at the scenery. It feels like we're in Italy. Not only does the scenery feel Italian, but the faces of people have that thick, Italian look to them. The language fits the face. I suppose that's true for everywhere.
I get a little more worried as we get closer and closer to Venice. I could've sworn that the hotel we are staying at had included directions to their place when they sent me the confirmation e-mail. They didn't. It's not a Rick Steve's hotel either. We are arriving in Venice without really knowing where the hell it is we are going. This should be fun. It's 6:26pm. Arrival in Venice in approximately 52 minutes. Will we make it to our hotel?? Keep reading to find out. (For the best way to finish this blog, leave your computer and go do something for about three hours and then come back. That way it will build suspense and seem as though while you were out and about we solved the mystery. The hotel mystery. Otherwise, you're just going to read the next paragraph and it's not going to be as significant. I'm just kidding. Do whatever you want. I'm not the boss of you.)
And we continue... in case you were wondering, we made it. It wasn't as hectic and stressful as I thought it would be. When we arrived at Venezia Saint Luzia train station I got an idea. Since the place we were staying at in Venezia was recommended to me by a hotel that was full, I figured I could just call that hotel and see if they had directions to the place. After all, in the e-mail they sent me they said they were friends with the people who owned the hotel they recommended. I made the call, and to our luck, the guy on the other end was super, duper nice and gave me detailed directions. Right down to how many minutes the Vaporetti (Venetian water bus) ride would take. His accent was thick. His English shaky. But I figured it out. We paid six euros each for our Vaporetti ticket, crammed into the boat with everyone else and made our way to Ca'D'Oro stop.
Locanda Le'Vele Hotel was full. I had known this beforehand and had agreed to an apartment they rent out by the night. Roberto, a toothless, stumbling beast of a man, led us through some Venetian back alleys to our little home for the next two days. Roberto's English was rough. The fact that he had a total of three teeth made it even harder to fully understand him, but he was as friendly as friendly could be. Room by room, he walked us through the apartment. We have a kitchen, a dining area, a large bathroom, a living room and a big bedroom, all for 150 Euro a night. Not too bad for Italy. The living room and bedroom have windows opening up onto a little canal view below. The television has twelve channels, all in Italian.
After a quick settling into the apartment, we made a quick little adventure out of the evening by wandering the nearby streets. First reactions... Venice is a dirty, beautiful city. It has this mix of poverty and classic architecture that is oddly appealing. There are no cars, just boats and buildings sitting on hundreds and hundreds of canals. We walked around for a few minutes in search of food, something we've been doing a lot. Eventually we stumbled upon a little outdoor pizzeria not too far from our apartment. There was a piano player outside, playing some tunes under a little glass lamp. The temperature was in the low 70's, a light breeze gently moving the tree branches above our heads. We are in Venice, and we are as happy as spring chickens at the end of winter. Whatever that means. I'm writing this the following evening after nearly a liter of wine. Congratulations if you can understand any of this. Ciao!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/switzerland-07/1189481400/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/switzerland-07/1189481400/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/switzerland-07/1189481400/tpod.html Thu, 20 Sep 2007 20:01:37 -0400 Laura and I enter a world beyond our wildest imaginations. It was goodbye France and hello Swiss Alps, the place where the landscape is a never ending painting.

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Murren, Switzerland

We had fallen asleep to overcast skies and bits of rain. We awoke to crystal clear skies, the towering Swiss Alps before us, beckoning us to go on another Swiss adventure. We got out of the room by 10am, making our way down into the breakfast hall for the free morning munchies. There was a lot of bread, six different jams, loads of butter, Sugar Smack's, Frosted Flakes and bread, more bread and more bread. We each had a bowl of Sugar Smack's with warm milk (I guess that's how they like it here) and a couple pieces of bread. The breakfast bug defeated, we grabbed our packs and made our way up to the cable car at the end of town. Our plan for the day was to ride the cable car from Murren up to the top of the Schilthorn, snap some pictures from the peak, ride the car back down to Birg Station which sits at 8,784 feet and then hike back down to Allmendhubel Funicular. It was to be a long, but beautiful day.
The ride from Murren up to Birg is insanely scary. At least for me it was. The Swiss are crazy, engineering geniuses. The car moves you up about 3,000 feet. Towards the end of the ride, you are facing a cliff wall with Birg Station sitting above you. It seems like an impossible climb. Then, at what feels like the very last moment, the car starts a quick shot upwards and wedges itself into the needle thin entry way of the station on the side of a cliff that has at least a 1500 foot drop. This Scottish couple was in the car with us, and you could see that they were visibly shaken. Laura was in heaven. I was in a mixture of heaven and hell. Whereas I was mesmerized by the beauty of our surroundings, which opened up more and more the higher we went, I was also scared out of my pants at the thought of one of the cables breaking and the car plummeting to the earth with us inside screaming for our lives and knowing we were about to die. Not the happiest of thoughts I admit, but that's how I get when I'm around heights. My mind takes over and goes haywire, creating hundreds of different scenarios of things going wrong. I'm sure I'm not the only one.
At Birg Station we had to switch over to the final cable car, which takes you from Birg Station up to the top of the Schilthorn. Though this car still takes you over a lot of air between you and the ground, it's far shorter and not quite as menacing. Within five minutes we were standing on the summit of 9,748 feet (the summit boasts 10,000 feet but most maps I've seen list it as just under) with all the other tourists who had decided to make the journey this morning. Still, it wasn't that crowded. The panoramic view of the Swiss Alps made you forget about everyone else anyway. It was almost like being up there alone. The Eiger, Monch and Jungfrau Peaks all seemed so close now that you could reach out and touch them. This was a good 4,500 feet higher than Murren, where the mountains still look like you can reach out and touch them. These three menacing peaks each eclipse the 13,000 foot mark, with Jungfrau being the highest at 13,642 feet. It was basically like having three interconnected Mt. Rainier's right in front of your face. To the right of the three main peaks were a host of other mountains. There was a plaque on the summit that showed all their names and who has climbed them and the route they used to get there, but I didn't write all down so I can't really share it with you.
On the other side of the summit you can look all the way to Interlaken and beyond. The landscape gets a little flatter and flatter and flatter as you look up to Northern Switzerland. Lakes dot the landscape like pools of paint spilled from a bottle. We walked around a couple of times, went inside the little gift shop to look around and then debated on hiking from the summit back down to Murren. We decided against it. Too much downhill starts to really work our knees and neither of us are smart enough to own trekking poles. After saying goodbye to the summit, we rode the car back down to Birg Station, exited underneath and started our hike from 8,784 feet.
The sun was shining down on us like we were ants under a little kid's magnifying glass. The ground was warming up. It was starting to get hot. We were still at snow level. I picked up some snow, rolled a couple of snowballs and heaved them Laura's way, who was a good fifty yards in front of me. I missed horribly, like I was the 5th string quarterback that had never played in a real game and now was forced to start against the best defense in town. Something like that. As we walked above the tree line down the rocky, sloping path, you could hear sheep and goats yelling out in the distance. The air was so quiet... not to mention harder to breathe. People were passing us who were going the opposite direction, which means uphill, and I felt extremely sorry for them. However, the pitch of the downhill trail was so steep that I actually started wishing for uphill sections, something I have never done in my life. I felt like I needed some uphill hiking to balance out my muscles and move my knees the other direction. The uphill sections were like leg massages compared to the downhill.
We hiked around the area for the next 3 hours. We kept passing large groups of goats. They would munch on their grass and stare up at us, making sure we weren't the farmers that had branded their backs. I got my picture taken next to one little fella who was right in our path, and then when Laura walked up to get her picture with him he stared at her and walked back over to the group. Mr. Goat was done with picture taking. The Swiss should train their goats to be better photo props. Continuing on our adventure, we passed a couple of massive rock formations that were super neato. These massive boulders seemed perched on the edges of these ridges like birds on the end of a stick. In one particular section, the Eiger, Monch and Jungfrau peaks seemed as if they were set into a picture frame due to the hills and rocks on both sides of us. Once again, we were walking inside of a painting. Once we reached Allmendhubel, we took some time to stretch out our legs and play on the playground.
We went down the slide, swung on the swings, rocked on the little rocking horse... basically made asses out of ourselves in front of all the "proper" hikers dining at the Allmendhubel restaurant. Like we really give a chicken's left ear what they think. Playgrounds are fun.

That evening I walked down to the local laundry center with all of our dirty clothes and four five Franc coins for the washer and dryer. As it turns out, the place is a tiny room with two little washers, two little dryers, and a bunch of people who all want to use it at once. I huffed and puffed under my breath, turned around and wheeled the suitcase back to our hotel, saddened to have to relay the bad news to Laura... our clothes will remain dirty. Bummers.
For dinner that evening, we finally had some Swiss Fondue. Well, Laura ordered it and I ate a bunch, along with my traditional Beef Goulash in a Mushroom Sherry Cream Sauce. I cannot, will not, could not even begin to describe to you the quality of food our little hotel had. Food is impeccable. The service is impeccable. The atmosphere is like a little Swiss Fairy-Tale story that has leaped off the pages and into reality, showing itself in the form of Hotel Blumental in Murren.
Dinner out of the way, we went back upstairs and packed our stuff while being severely annoyed by the MTV Music Awards that played on T.V. When you only have three English stations to choose from that's the kind of garbage you get sucked into. My god was it horrible. I could go into a rant for several hours about how much I hate MTV and anything associated with it (but the reality shows are fun)... but I'll spare you the boredom. I doubt anyone is reading this anyway. It will more than likely only be me, and I'll read this paragraph ten years from now and wonder what the hell I was talking about and why didn't I just stop writing because it's obvious I have run out of things to talk about for the moment. I am done. Goodbye Switzerland, you beautiful, beautiful, beautiful country.


We both look forward to coming back and seeing the pristine Berner Oberland in the winter, and of course, making a little snowboarding trip out of it.


]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/switzerland-07/1189383300/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/switzerland-07/1189383300/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/switzerland-07/1189383300/tpod.html Thu, 20 Sep 2007 19:54:10 -0400 Laura and I enter a world beyond our wildest imaginations. It was goodbye France and hello Swiss Alps, the place where the landscape is a never ending painting.

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Interlaken, Switzerland

Today was the complete antithesis to yesterday. No sunshine, clouds everywhere. Luckily, we had a backup plan for a cloudy day. We were going to take the cable car back down to Lauterbrunnen, jump on the train to Interlaken and then to a boat trip on Lake Thun, stopping at St. Beatus-Hohlen caves. And that is exactly what we did. Arriving in Interlaken, we were forced to wait around for the next boat, which didn't leave for another 45 minutes. It's not like there wasn't anything to look at. Down here, the clouds were a bit more broken up, allowing for views of the surrounding, smaller mountains and the little villages along the lake. The water was a magnificent turquoise color, with ducks and swans all paddling about. We sat around and listened to the other people waiting for the boat, who were all babbling to each other in German.
Around noon the boat arrived. It was a two level ship, flying the Swiss flag off the stern. We sat inside, enjoyed the views, and then got off on the second stop. Of course, being lazy Americans, we were expecting the caves to be right there. No. It was a 25 minute, insanely uphill hike to the entrance. The views along the way were spectacular though. The scenery opened up the higher we climbed, displaying what seemed to be a never ending Swiss mountain lake, with winding roads cut into the cliffs below us. More photo ops. More hiking.
The caves itself had kind of a festival atmosphere about them. There was a restaurant, a face painting area for kids, a museum, a gift shop, a rope climbing exhibit and of course... the caves. We bought two tickets for the 3 o'clock guide, ate some lunch and hung around.
Our guide for the caves was a young man named Walter. Walter spoke four languages. Fluently. English, German, French and Spanish. We felt like stupid Americans, with our knowledge of just one little language. He caves themselves were amazing. I was the perfect cloudy day activity. The system had once been home to ancient cave dwellers, and an old Catholic monk named St. Beatus. St. Beatus had made a nice little dwelling in the caves, and legend has it, slayed a dragon inside. The dragon even had a name: Ponzo. Not the scariest name for a dragon if you ask me. It sounds more like an evil clown than a dragon. On our way through the system we got a neat little surprise, one of the current cave explorers was going off on an exploration, and we watched as he slithered his way into a crevasse and disappeared into the darkness. No rope. No gear. Just a wetsuit and a headlamp. That's the way they do it around here I guess. Crazy Swiss. We walked for about two kilometers through the twelve kilometer cave system, finally coming out near where we started and back into the "warm" fifty-five degree outside air. Inside the caves, the temperature was in the low 40's... tops.

Hiking back down to the "Schiffstation", we watched our boat leaving the dock from our high vantage point. "No worries", we thought, "there will be another one soon". Wrong. It was 4:30pm, when we got to the bottom, our American friend Julia, whom we had met in the caves, came down and informed us that the next boat didn't come by until 6:16pm. We were stranded on Lake Thun.

We passed the time by playing with ducks and chatting with Julia, who was from Florida and had been traveling all over Eastern Europe, using Rick Steves' books as her survival guide as well. Before we knew it the boat arrived, and we sailed off back to Interlaken.
We arrived back in cloudy Murren at around 8pm, ate another magnificent dinner at our hotel and went up to our cozy little room. It's been another great day in the mountains. Tomorrow we plan on hiking again, rain or shine.

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/switzerland-07/1189305000/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/switzerland-07/1189305000/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/switzerland-07/1189305000/tpod.html Thu, 20 Sep 2007 19:49:47 -0400 Laura and I enter a world beyond our wildest imaginations. It was goodbye France and hello Swiss Alps, the place where the landscape is a never ending painting.

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Murren, Switzerland

Today was our first day of hiking. We decided we were going to combine to hikes into one, taking the North Face Trail that begins in Allmendhubel and merging it with a trail that goes beneath the Sprutz Waterfall, finally ending in the little village of Gimmelwald.
We awoke to blue skies. The cloud level was about 1,500 feet below us, and by the time we left to walk over to the Allmendhubel funicular, they had dispersed into nothingness. The funicular, which is basically a single train car on tracks that go straight up along the side of a mountain, starts in Murren and takes you up to Allmendhubel restaurant and hiking point. There's a little playground up there too. The ride takes a little less than 10 minutes, and I decided while we were aboard that I like the funicular ride better than the cable car. I'm just not getting used to being suspended in the air by a car and a cable with nothing below us for 2,000 feet or more. Stepping off the funicular, we got our bearings and prepared for today's adventure. Laura played on the swing set for a couple of minutes.
We began our hike by being shocked by an electric fence. They are everywhere on these hiking trails. Obviously not for people, but for cows and other naughty little farm animals that tend to wander. As the sun rose higher above the mountains, the landscape began to turn into a painting, and Laura and I were mesmerized. We would walk for 5 minutes and then have to halt, due to the fact that our surroundings were so beautiful... it just stops you in your tracks. To our left was the valley home to our sleepy little village of Murren and the even sleepier little village of Gimmelwald. Above the valley, the towering trio of mountains and all of their sisters dominated the skyline. From left to right, the Eiger, the Monch and the Jungfrau blazed a path through the blue skies, all of them ranging in height from 13,026 feet to 13,626 feet. Sure, there are bigger mountains out there, but there is just something about these monsters. Their jagged, craggy peaks with their sheer walls of ice are beyond my abilities of description. Part of their beauty is to due to the landscape that surrounds them. And the sounds. As Laura and I followed the trail down to the first little farm, Suppenalp, we could hear the distant echoes of cowbells. Turning a corner, we were face to face with about 15 cows, all spending their day in the sun by sleeping and munching on grass. Their cow bells were ringing like crazy, as if a bunch of mad smurf creatures were running around in the meadows with little bells, ringing them at all different times and in all different places. This was the happiest place on earth. I thought about all the disease and violence and hatred and horrible things that are happening on Earth at any one time, and how it didn't seem possible that anything like that could happen here. It was just too perfect. Hiking down further, we stopped for a quick break at a little farm called Schiltalp. The farmers didn't speak much English, but we were able to at least order a couple of milkshakes. One thing we've noticed in Europe, milkshakes here are not like milkshakes in the United States. All they it is in Europe is milk with a little bit of extra cream inside and a hint of whatever flavor it was that you ordered. They are not thick at all. It's basically like drinking a drink that is barely thinner than a regular glass of milk. Nevertheless, it tasted great. We enjoyed our shakes and kept heading down the mountainside. After one more farm, the trail came to a fork and we headed right, towards the trail that winded down and then underneath the Sprutz waterfall.
After crossing a river over a rickety little bridge, we came into another clearing. To the left were some giant rocks that a Swiss couple had laid their clothes out on. The man was standing next to a giant cow, while the woman was swinging her walking stick at another cow. Laura and I were bewildered by whatever the hell it was they were doing. We stopped to snap some pictures. As we were doing so, the giant cow decided it wanted to be on the other side of the pasture, its' path there being directly through where Laura and I were standing. More where Laura was standing then where I was. As the cow stumbled down the hill like a giant walrus just learning to walk on land, Laura's eyes grew big as she began to think the cow was charging her. "Ummm... what is it doing?", she said as the cow walked right toward her. We stepped off to the side in the most non-confrontational manner we could, and to our relief the big beast just stumbled on by... she had obviously decided that the grass was greener and yummier on the other side. The trail down to Sprutz waterfall was a knee breaker. It's a long, winding trail that descends about 15 to 20 switchbacks.
As you work your way down the sound of the upcoming waterfall grows louder and louder and louder. Finally, after a small uphill stretch, the falls appear. Shooting down off a cliff, over a little cave and back into the water flow that flows over another cliff, the Sprutz waterfall is breathtaking site. Especially with the mountains in the background. The trail runs along a cliff and then puts you right underneath the falls, where Laura and I decided to take a break for a few minutes. A hundred photos later and some well-needed rest for our knees and we were off again, on our way to Gimmelwald and then back to Murren via cable car.

The path from the falls to Gimmelwald feels like a completely different world. No longer in wide open meadows with stunning views and roaming cows, the trail sends you through thick forests, finally spitting you out above the village. We made our way down to a bench above Gimmelwald. The entire valley was laid out in front of us. We ate an apple and some bread... and just stared out at the fantasy-like world before our eyes. We made our way down through Gimmelwald, jumped on the cable car back to Murren, ate some dinner and then went to bed after watching "South Park" in German. Though still comical, the show is not the same without Trey Parker's genius voice. It's also not the same when you don't know what the hell they are saying.

That night, as we ate dinner at one of the other hotel restaurants in the village, Laura and talk about our hiking experience. We decided two things that evening, before heading back to the hotel for some sleep. The first thing we decided, was that of all the places we've been so far in the entire world, Hawaii included, Switzerland is our new favorite place. Neither of us have ever been so moved by a landscape as we have been here. The second thing that we decided, is that we are buying a cow bell for Luka before we leave.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/switzerland-07/1189176300/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/switzerland-07/1189176300/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/northwesthook/switzerland-07/1189176300/tpod.html Thu, 20 Sep 2007 19:42:43 -0400 Laura and I enter a world beyond our wildest imaginations. It was goodbye France and hello Swiss Alps, the place where the landscape is a never ending painting.

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Geneva, Switzerland

After an early start that included a 5:30m wake-up call, we were off to Paris's Gare De Lyon train station. It was from here, one of the city's biggest and most confusing train stations, that we were catching the 8:46am train to Geneva, Switzerland. We decided to save a few Euros and skip the transportation system, opting to walk the ½ mile instead, rolling our luggage behind us. At about 7:00am we arrived, validated our yet unused $800 dollar Eurail train pass and located our train platform. After a traditional French breakfast (Baguette & Hot Chocolate) and some impatient waiting around, we boarded our train (1st Class... nice) and made our way south through the rolling French countryside. We stayed awake for about an hour of it, finally succumbing to the trance like state that riding on a train puts you in. Before we knew it we were both passed out like a couple of drunken sailors.
We awoke about an hour outside of Geneva. The scenery hadn't changed much. Then, like a light switch, you could tell you were in Switzerland. The hills started getting bigger and bigger. Giant walls of rock began to appear alongside the train tracks. Arriving in Geneva, we were surprised at the lack of customs or anything resembling such a thing. They had some drug sniffing dogs and a few police, but nothing else. They didn't even give us a little stamp on our passports.
It took us a bit to figure out where our next train was. We stepped outside to get some fresh air for a bit, long enough to notice a crazy lady walking back and forth and forcefully begging for many travelers. When she would get rejected, she would put her head in our hands and sob uncontrollably, pausing here and there to yell at the sky in French. It was quite a pitiful sight. Back inside the station, we got our Swiss Rail Pass validated and found our train to Bern.
The train from Bern to Interlaken let us know we were in Switzerland. As the train followed Lake Geneva to Interlaken, snowcapped peaks that could only be imagined began to show their faces through the clouds. We had no idea what was to come. We picked up a few more travelers at different stations along the way. It got to a point where there were two girls beside us conversing in German, a couple behind us rambling in French, a guy behind and to the left beating a plastic bottle on his leg and a couple in front of his speaking in thick English accents. My ears began to overload.
From Interlaken we hopped on the little train to Lauterbrunnen, an old train that weaves in and out of tunnels and takes you deeper and deeper into the Berner Oberland and into the heart of the Swiss Alps. In Lauterbrunnen we had to ride the cable car up to the Murren station. Note to those who are unaware: Switzerland is not for those that have a fear of heights. The cable car ride scared the crap out of me, but eventually I got used to it. From the cable car station we took another little train to Murren.
We had left France at 8:41am that morning and arrived in Murren, Switzerland at about 6:00pm. Ten hours of traveling... in order to get to the most beautiful place either of us have ever seen in our entire life. Never in our wildest dreams did we imagine the Swiss Alps would look like this. It's one thing to look at pictures on the internet or see movies that have them in them or whatever... to stand in front of them is the most amazing thing I have ever done. These massive, towering snow-capped peaks are the mountains I have always been looking for. Valleys stretch out for miles and miles. Meadows with wildflowers are everywhere. Villages sprinkle the hillsides. Switzerland is absolutely mind-blowing. We are in shock at the beauty of it all.

Our hotel, Hotel Blumental, is amazing as well. In an old Swiss building, run by the Von Allmen family, the hotel is as charming as can be. It feels like an old ski chalet, tucked into the mountains, a safe refuge from the cold. Technically, it pretty much is an old ski chalet. The owners speak the traditional Swiss/German dialect that is so pervasive in these parts. The waiters in the impeccable restaurant speak Italian.
The guests are a mix of English, French, German and American. Our room is huge, with a balcony that feeds us mind-numbing views of the Swiss Alps. We could stay here forever.
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