TravelStream™ news feed for member pergo on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/pergo en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Thu, 16 Aug 2007 11:38:41 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1186322640/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1186322640/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1186322640/tpod.html Thu, 16 Aug 2007 11:38:41 -0400 The Lighter Side of Rome, Tuscany and Venice

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Arezzo, Italy

First Train, First Challenge

Traveling on our own during our first trip to Italy was madness in motion. We laughed and kept moving.

After our first night in Roma, we called a cab rather than rolling our bags down the cobblestone streets to il posteggio dei taxi. The ride to Termini was quick, but when we saw the rivers of people flowing through Rome's central train station, we were worried.

Termini has three main levels and two Metro levels. The ground level includes shops, broad passageways and trains. The mezzanine has a few shops and a large bar, and the lower level includes shops and a small bar. The WC is left of the main entrance and costs E .70 (in exact change).

We found a place to wait with a good view of the large electro-mechanical display of arrivals and departures and took turns exploring the station. When I checked the large printed display of hundreds of departing trains, I realized that our Arezzo train was bound for Milano. When that train clicked up on the display, I walked to the binario.

There I found a second information system that used video monitors. Unfortunately, the two systems didn't agree. After validating our train tickets at a yellow machine, we rolled our bags out binario 9 and looked for coach 02. We found several coaches marked with large 2's. After boarding a couple, I found seat numbers matching ours, and we hauled up our bags. (Later, we learned "2" means second class, and we had first class tickets.)

The coach was almost empty, but I asked a passenger if this was the train to Milano. "Si," she responded. Fifteen minutes later, about five minutes before departure, the train's PA system announced that this was not the train to Milano. That train would depart several binari away.

Imagine our frustration. We had arrived early, checked the schedule, checked both information systems, asked a passenger, and ended up on the wrong train. I hauled down the bags. We pulled them to end of the car, and I handed them down to the platform. Next we raced back up the platform and across the station. OK, right train, but which coach?

As the conductors motioned all aboard, we gave up looking. We hauled up the bags and jumped aboard as the train rolled out of the station. We pulled our bags from coach to coach looking for our seats, until Bettie tripped. Then we finally grabbed a couple of seats in a nearly empty coach to catch our breath.

We traveled through flat agricultural land before moving into low hills with orchards, vineyards and tunnels cut through hills that sloped into the valley. "La campagna è molta bella." The countryside was very beautiful, and the further north we went, the prettier it became.

When we arrived in Arezzo, we followed the other passengers to a set of stairs. These binari were connected by a tunnel. Bettie climbed down, and I ferried down the bags one at a time, before repeating the process at the other end.

Luckily, AVIS was directly across the Piazza della Republica. Three fourths of the way through signing for the car, I needed a restroom and was directed to a bar across the street. I asked, "Dov'è le toilette" (pronouncing the last two words in bad French). To cover my embarrassment, I bought two bottles of acqua naturale on the way out. Paperwork completed, we were the proud renters of a Fiat Cleo, a small, comfortable four door sedan. Tuscany was ours to enjoy.

Car + Two Trains = More Challenges

After enjoying our final Tuscan breakfast, we said goodbye to Villa di Piazzano and headed for Arezzo. The traffic was heavy and slow through the towns, and I kept one eye on the road and the other on the clock. We had to find fuel, return the car and catch our second train.

After stopping at a benzinaio and filling with diesel, I found signs for la stazione. Upon reaching Piazza della Republica (after several lucky turns), I realized that AVIS was in an impossible location. The configuration of the piazza and the one-way streets meant I had to drive out of the piazza and try finding a narrow, one-way street that sloped down a hill in front of the AVIS store front. (How do Italians return rental cars?)

I dropped Bettie and the bags at the station and drove out of the piazza. After negotiating a wild rotatoria and being certain that I'd never see Bettie again, I brought our little Fiat Cleo to a stop, parked neatly on the sidewalk. The clerk checked the car and said I hadn't filled the tank. "I put in E 12 worth of diesel, all the tank would hold," I replied. "No," she stated, "the gauge shows 'not full.'" I pleaded, "Do what you must; I have to catch a train." She let me go, but goodness knows what extra charge will hit my VISA statement.

I joined Bettie; we found the WC outside the station; and I asked about our 4 minute coincidenza in Bologna. The station agent said, "imposibile" and wrote down the time of a later train. I validated our tickets, hauled the bags down the stairs to the tunnel and up to our binario, only to hear "all aboard" once again. As in Roma, I threw up our bags and we scrambled aboard as the train started to roll. We gave up looking for our first class seats, and settled in to view the breathtaking scenery as the train climbed through a steep narrow valley.

Our travel agent told me, "don't worry about the four minute train change; Bologna is a small station." Wrong! Bologna Centrale is third in passenger volume (70 million/year), and as Italy's principal rail junction, it is tied with Termini for train traffic (650/per day).

As we arrived in Bologna, our train to Venezia was in ritardo by ten minutes. Great, we had a chance. We saw our track number and pulled our bags toward a standing train. Wrong train! We had hurried to the commuter platform. When we found our binario marked over stairs leading to another tunnel, we knew we'd never make it! Then Bettie spotted an elevator. The operator invited us into a giant freight elevator. Another operator greeted us as the door opened on a deserted freight tunnel. "What track?" she asked before guiding us to an elevator and taking us up to the platform. "The train to Venezia?" we asked. "No, just left," we were told.

We found a schedule, rode down and up another pair of elevators and changed platforms. I found stairs down to a busy pedestrian tunnel, reached the station, fortunately had E .70 for the WC, and quickly returned to the platform where I asked an off duty conductor about our train. "No," he said, "you cannot take this train to Venezia; you must change platforms and catch another train." Down and up the elevators we went one last time.

When we settled into the second class coach with no air conditioning, we thought we were in heaven. We were finally going to Venezia. The train sped north with the window curtains flapping in the wind. It stopped at six stations and twice at signals. (It was a local train.) Finally we reached Mestre, the last mainland stop before rolling into Venezia, Santa Lucia. Two days later, we rode our last train back to Roma.

We've Got It!

There is apparently an Italian high-speed train racket that goes like this. You cannot reserve a seat until they're released, and you cannot reserve a seat after they're released because they're all reserved. Now for a few Euros, in the right hands.... In any event, we ended up in first class on the slow train to Roma.

First class, second class, we couldn't tell the difference, except that our second class trains traveled with open windows. The irony was that many well-healed tourists with huge suitcases were booked into our first class coach. They couldn't find seats, much less places to store their bags, and soon the passageway was filled with bags and people sitting on jump-seats that fold down from the wall.

For the first time, we found the right seats, coach, and train. As we relaxed, a well-to-do American couple joined us. A few minutes later, a second, much younger, but equally affluent, American couple also entered our compartment. We six American watched other passengers push, pull, and trip over the bags in the passageway.

I didn't feel a bit guilty about sitting in my cramped first class compartment on the slow train to Roma. In fact, I chuckled when an American man, who couldn't find his reserved first class seats, told his complaining wife, "You see that big number 1 on the side of the coach? That means first class, but it doesn't matter because half of Italy doesn't work anyway." By now I knew, the half that didn't work was the tourist half.

The older man was a mortgage banker, and his wife taught school. The younger couple were newly married and on their four week honeymoon. She was a management consultant, and he sold high priced real estate. Amazingly, both couples were from Potomac, an exclusive village outside Washington, DC. They knew the same people and talked about property values and hairdressers. I enjoyed the lovely scenery between Bologna and Florence.

Our four American friends left us in Florence, and we were joined by an Italian woman, and two Italian men. When the woman entered the compartment, the seat was littered with empty plastic bottles. There was only a small trash receptacle, and the "cart-man" had passed twice to sell bibiti e panini. Unlike airline flight attendants, he never collected the trash.

After getting an "are you kidding?" look when she asked the conductor to clear the trash, the lady picked up the bottles and stowed them in the luggage rack over her head. When the man said a bottle was leaking, she got up in disgust and tightened the cap. That's when I noticed window sign in English: "Don't throw bottles out the window." It had a picture of a bottle in a circle with a diagonal line through it. It was a relief to reach Roma.

Arriving Was More Fun

After our final breakfast in Roma, we caught a cab and confidently walked into Fiumicino. Why not? We had arrived without a hitch and survived four trains.

My god, what a mass of people and lack of signage. Not to worry, there was informazione directly in front of us. I asked, "Where is check-in for American" and was told, "Over to the right." We walked around an enormous line of people waiting to go the same direction, until we were stopped by armed guards who gestured to the line.

We asked, "Is the check-in line?" "Yes," we were told. After 10 minutes an agent walked down the line asking, "American Airlines?" We said "yes," and she responded, "Follow me." (It was the Delta line.) She led us out of the terminal and back in past soldiers with automatic weapons. When we arrived at the American desk, we had to show our documents twice to check our luggage and get our boarding passes.

We passed the metal detectors and boarded the shuttle train to the International Terminal. When we arrived, we lost our minds. Bettie wanted to buy a book, but I had her ID and most of her money. I wanted to buy food for trip, and without thinking we separated. We exchanged a few sharp words when we finally found each other 15 minutes later, just as our group was called to board the bus to the plane.

Arriving at Fiumicino was more fun than departing.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/montreal-2007/1184949000/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/montreal-2007/1184949000/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/montreal-2007/1184949000/tpod.html Mon, 13 Aug 2007 22:29:59 -0400 Montreal: Renewing an Old Love

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Montreal, Quebec, Canada

Did Angélique set fire to Montreal in 1734? Before my rainy afternoon ended I would answer that question. First, I needed lunch. I considered several cafes before selecting Chez Eric at the lower end of Place Jacques-Cartier. The terrace was covered; the second row of tables was dry; and the lunches were appealing, but a little expensive. Having always wanted to dine at one of these cafes, I didn't hesitate, and I wasn't disappointed. The food was excellent, and as the rain got heavier, I watched other tourists scurrying through the square.

After lunch I had a choice of museums. With its $13 admission price, the Pointe-à-Callière, Montreal Museum of Archaeology and History would have been an all-afternoon commitment. Instead, I selected Centre d'histoire de Montreal for a quicker review of the city's history. It was an excellent choice. The first floor told the story from the fur trade to the present in a light hearted fashion with artifacts, photos and interpretive text.

The top two floors housed a special exhibit on the trial and execution of the slave who was accused of setting the 1734 fire that destroyed Hôtel-Dieu and some forty houses. The exhibit was arranged as a "who done it" with information about all those who might have been responsible. Visitors were presented with backgrounds, possible motives, and whereabouts on the day of the fire and asked to vote on whether Angélique or someone else was responsible.

I decided that Angélique was innocent and considered my next rainy-day adventure. Having seen McGill University, I decided to ride the Metro to the north side of Mount Royal to visit Université de Montréal. Exiting the Metro at the base of a hill, I entered an adjacent structure with the University's name and long, sloping, motorized ramps that carried passengers up and down the hill.

Expecting the ramp to carry me into a university building, I was surprised to exit facing another hill capped by an enormous building, complete with a tower. Compared to the underground city, it was most pedestrian-unfriendly. I climbing this hill and the main stairs in the rain and entered a cavernous, completely empty reception hall. This forbidding structure struck me as classical "ivory tower" rendered in tan colored brick.

The computer science building to the left was a startling contrast of modern concrete and glass with a five story atrium. Everything on each level (walls, floors and ceilings) was painted a single bright color: two orange levels, two green floors and one blue level that connected to another building further up the hill, built in yet another style. I wandered the buildings and campus, without fully grasping the full dimensions of this 55,000 student university.

My final evening, I headed towards two cafes located in the Bonsecours's Market, but I never made it past Place Jacques-Cartier. Instead, the maitre d' of Le Grand Restaurant won my appetite with a well-priced table d'hote. I had a great meal, and in one afternoon, I twice fulfilled my long-standing desire to eat on the most famous street in Old Montreal.

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/montreal-2007/1184850000/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/montreal-2007/1184850000/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/montreal-2007/1184850000/tpod.html Mon, 13 Aug 2007 22:23:48 -0400 Montreal: Renewing an Old Love

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Montreal, Quebec, Canada

Having explored Old Montreal the night before, I headed towards the train station. Walking along Rue Saint-Jacques, I traced the line of the old city wall until I reached Square Victoria.

That's when I saw train tracks sloping up a bridge from the river. They ran into Place Bonaventure. I entered the building off Rue University and wandered up several levels until I found an interior café and breakfast. I wasn't sure of my directions, but my feet carried me through the connecting buildings to the Gare Centrale.

We took the train from there Quebec in 1992, after staying nearby at Le Chateau Champlain. The trains run below the main level, and several arrivals and departures were listed over the stairs leading to the tracks.

I gave up my fantasy of a quick trip out of the city and walked through Les Halls de la gare, the station's lively food court. The connecting tunnels took me to the shops and food court of Place Ville-Marie and under streets to Centre Eaton, a shopping mall with a five story atrium. After trying a "French" ATM, I finally got Canadian dollars from an "English" one and continued walking to the McGill Metro station where I caught the train to Mont-Royal station.

The several blacks between the station and the park were interesting, and upon entering Mount Royal Park, I found an extensive set of foot and ski trails. The walking paths crossed the gravel road where I met a band of women pushing strollers and singing cadence in French as they pushed their babies up the hill. Climbing further, I reached the road and viewing area packed with buses and tourists enjoying the views of the city. Above that, I climbed one of mountain's high point to reach TV transmission towers before following the trails running along ridge line that provide marvelous views of downtown Montreal.

After checking the Kondiaronk Belvedere view and visting the chalet, I climbed down the many flights of stairs to the gravel road. McGill University sits below this part of the mounain. The heart of the campus is a beautiful green space with buildings of various ages and styles clustered around it. Leaving the campus, I walked through severl blocks of tall office buildings until I reached Centre Eaton and Rue Sainte-Catherine, Montreal's busiest and most colorful street for shopping and people watching.

It was time for lunch, and I found a great table at
Les 3 Brasseurs with a view of the street, the bar and the arriving patrons, who crowded in shortly after I was seated. With three locations in the city, this microbrewery restaurant is a must for anyone looking for a casual meal and great beer.

Following lunch, I re-entered the underground city, bought a coffee in Les Halls de la gare, and caught the Metro back to Place d'Armes just in time to dress for my afternoon meetings.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/montreal-2007/1184774400/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/montreal-2007/1184774400/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/montreal-2007/1184774400/tpod.html Mon, 13 Aug 2007 22:16:31 -0400 Montreal: Renewing an Old Love

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Omaha, Nebraska, United States

I've loved Montreal from my first visit. It was around 1981 when my wife and I drove up the Wisconsin and Michigan lake shores to Sault Ste. Marie and across to Montreal. Being from L.A. and San Francisco, we figured we knew big cities, but Montreal was refreshing. The underground city was expanding, stores were closed on Sunday, and separatism was the hot topic on the city tour and with my wife's "English" relatives.

When we returned by air in 1992, for our 20th wedding anniversary (and Montreal's 350th birthday), we experienced a different city. We stayed at Le Chateau Champlain, rode the Metro, and walked extensively. We discovered Rue Sainte-Catherine and Rue Saint-Denis, ate at an Italian restaurant on Duluth Avenue, and were enchanted by Old Montreal, especially Place Jacques-Cartier.

During a business trip about ten years ago, I stayed at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel, revisited familiar locations, and discovered the Stewart Museum located in the Fort de l'Île Sainte-Hélène.

I returned to Montreal on business in July and fell in love all over again.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/montreal-2007/1184796000/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/montreal-2007/1184796000/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/montreal-2007/1184796000/tpod.html Mon, 13 Aug 2007 22:15:26 -0400 Montreal: Renewing an Old Love

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Montreal, Quebec, Canada

When I arrived at Hotel Place d'Armes, I felt Montreal welcoming me after my long absence. Combining three restored buildings, this hotel is on Rue Saint-Jaques at the Place d'Armes. It is ideally located for exploring Old Montreal, the historic city center bounded by the old city walls. The rooms are charming, the staff attentive, and the continental breakfast complementary.

To reorient myself, I walked through Old Montreal and along the St. Lawrence River promenade, until I came to Place Jacques-Cartier, a wonderful rectangular "square" that slopes down from the Nelson statue. The sides of the square are lined with café terraces, and tourists pack the area on summer evenings. As I entered, I heard musicians playing Andean pipes. It was uncanny. I stood on that very spot 15 years ago and heard a similar group playing the same haunting music.

The cafes were packed, and I kept walking to the Bonsecours's Market and then up to Hotel de Ville. Suddenly, I was overtaken by an irresistible urge to find the Champ-de-Mars Metro station and ride to Rue Saint-Denis to look for dinner, as my wife and I did in 1992.

The Montreal Metro is a jewel. After 40 years, it remains clean, bright and efficient. Remembering the Champ-de-Mars station from prior trips, I walked across the park behind the Hotel de Ville, between the foundations of the old city walls, and through the tunnel under the expressway. I quickly relearned that I could buy six tickets for the price of five and figured out which train went to Rue Saint-Denis.

The Metro line runs through the Berri-UQAM central station and up Rue Berri. (UQAM is L'Université du Québec à Montréal, une université francophone, publique et urbaine.)
I began my walk up Rue Saint-Denis at Sherbrooke. When we strolled up Saint-Denis in 1992, we only found a bakery until we came to Duluth Avenue and several restaurants. Now there are dozens of sidewalk cafes with something for every taste.

The cafes all looked attractive, but I kept walking until I saw Mount Royal looming to my left. Then I turned back and began hunting for dinner. I walked all the way back to check three interesting looking cafes but selected a fourth. Café Cherrier has a long terrace where I enjoyed a well prepared, well served dinner sitting by the flower boxes.

With a full belly, I rode the Metro back to the Place d'Ames station, and after a final stroll through Old Montreal, I went to sleep, happy to be reunited with Montreal.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1181480400/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1181480400/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1181480400/tpod.html Sun, 12 Aug 2007 14:36:17 -0400 The Lighter Side of Rome, Tuscany and Venice

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Rome, Italy

Two Quick Passes at Roma

Our belly-belts were stuffed with documents, currency and credit cards for our first to Italy (and Europe). We'd planned for months: airline tickets in December, hotels in January, train seats in February, guide books, maps, and traveler's Italian. Rome, Tuscany and Venice were everything we'd hoped they'd be, and much more.

Our mantra was, "If you don't want adventure, stay home." Part one of our four part story recounts our two short, but memorable, passes at Rome.

Rubbing Romans on the Metro

When we arrived at Fiumicino (da Vinci International) Airport, we were surprised when our plane parked on the tarmac and we boarded buses to the terminal. We claimed our luggage, cleared passport control and customs, and after I located my first Italian toilette, we hailed a cab.

I handed the driver the paper with our hotel's name, address and general location (vicino la Piazza Barberini), and we were off. We traveled along an expressway full of the smallest cars I had ever seen, though agricultural lands and past grazing sheet. However, the tranquility quickly turned into an Italian traffic jam at the first major interchange. After more stop and go, we reached the outskirts of Rome, and soon exited the expressway.

Besides the endless scooters (of all sizes and descriptions), we were immediately impressed by the ruins of ancient Rome, as the route to and from our hotel led directly past Palatine Hill. After we reached Piazza Barberini, the driver turned up a hill into the narrowest of streets. This was Via della Purificazione, and Hotel Modigliani was in the middle of the second block.

Although the building exteriors looked a little shabby, the hotel lobby was modern and bright and the staff attentive. They took our passports for the nightly police report, and the clerk said our room would not be ready until 2:00, at least four hours later. We asked about lunch and were told there were three bars on the piazza.

We picked the closest one. It was a narrow space with a high display case full of panini and dolci. We ordered due panini, fruta e acqua naturale. The food was excellent and much appreciated. While I went back to the hotel to get our hats and cameras, Bettie had a real caffè, the only one during the trip, as we always ordered caffè Americano (excellent and strong).

We only had one afternoon to "do Rome," and I had my heart set on riding the Metro to il Colesseo. Rome only has two Metro lines for its 2.5 million people, and the stations make the New York subway system look pretty.

We boarded the modern line at Piazza Barberini and rode to Termini, the central train station, where we boarded an even more crowded train to il Colesseo. Upon exiting the station, we faced one of the most familiar landmarks in the western world. Leaving il Colesseo for later, we walked up Palatine hill and marveled at the ruins and the views.

After resting in the shade on the way down, we walked around the north side of il Colesseo, watched the tourists, noticed a photographer taking pictures of a bride and groom in the park across the street and saw a dozen expensive Italian cars pull up for an impromptu auto show. From a distance il Colesseoo looked big, but up close, looking into the interior, it was even bigger.

After two more hot, smelly (up-close and personal) Metro rides, we emerged at Piazza Barberini and found Pepe's Bar where we watched the people, cars and scooters as we sat outside eating gelato. By the time we climbed back to our hotel, we were hot, tired and thankful that our room was ready. Our first afternoon in Rome ended as our heads hit our pillows for four hours of much needed sleep.

Roma Reveals Her Charms

After my nap, I was up and ready to explore. I headed up the street and turned right. I was seeking three sights: Fontana di Trevi, the Spanish Steps and Villa Borghese. After several lucky turns, I arrived at the "Aurelian Walls," (built by the emperor Aurelio in 271 a.d.) and the Porta Prinicana entrance to Villa Borghese.

After spending a few minutes admiring the open space of Villa Borghese and wishing I could explore further, I walked back until I reached Via Sistina and saw a sign pointing to Piazza di Spagna. Standing at the top of the Spanish Steps, I looked down at the two terraces and the piazza and out at the view of Rome. The steps were full of people, and the piazza was even more crowded.

Having reaching two of my objectives, I walked down Via Sistina to Piazza Barberini and then up Via Vittorio Viento. Along "our" side of the street were a series of bars and ristoranti. The fancy ones were in glass houses built on the very wide sidewalk. The diners could look out at the people and cars without having to listen to the noise, and the poorer folks like us could gawk at the rich.

That evening we returned to Via V. Viento and ate at the Suggestum Bar. The service was fine and the food OK, but we were both too tired to fully enjoy it.

After dinner, we walked up Via Sistina to the Spanish Steps. As we arrived about 9:30, "blanket vendors" started to appear. They spread blankets on the terraces and arranged their goods. First, there were leather purses, then other tourist items. I was amazed that they kept coming, until sellers far outnumbering buyers. By 9:45, there were at least 40 vendors, but during the 20 minutes we watched, there were only 10 lookers and no sales. Maybe it was an off night, but sellers are not supposed to outnumber buyers.

Having found the Spanish Steps with ease, I was overly confident that I could find the hotel. Wrong! Our street only ran two blocks up from Piazza Barberini, and one wrong turn took us far around, along dimly lit streets. At one corner, Bettie said, "I'm not walking down any more dark streets." OK, I said, "Let's follow the light." Wrong again. The lighted way led to stairs that descended to Via V. Viento, above where we ate, and another loop to reach our hotel.

Waking up with Roma

I have always enjoyed cities as they awaken, and after a fitful night's sleep, I was up, dressed, and out of the hotel in time to join the early Roman commuters. Eight streets led off Piazza Barberini at different angles, and after counting carefully, I picked the wrong one. I should have taken Via del Tritone to reach Fontana di Trevi, but I walked up Via Delle Quatro Fontane, headed way off course.

After a pleasant stroll up the hill, I came to Via del Quirinale, a major thoroughfare. I turned right and watched cars and scooters zoom past in both directions. There were no stoplights, but policemen stepped out holding up paddles to stop the traffic. Not trusting my Italian for "Help me cross the street," I kept walking until I came to an official building guarded by armed sentries.

I watched the changing of the guard and the arrival of high ranking official who parked, fastened on his pistol belt and was saluted by the officer at the gate. Later, I realized the soldiers were guarding Palazzo del Quirinale, built in 1573 on one of the seven hills of Rome and now the official residence of the President of the Italian Republic.

I kept walking until I reached Via Nazionale where I finally turned back through the tunnel under Quirinale. As I emerged, I saw a sign for Fontana di Trevi, which is hidden among several narrow streets. The fountain was lovely in the early morning light, and there were few tourists to obscure my view. By the time I returned to Piazza Barberini, I had walked two miles and had a good idea of how Rome wakes up.

When Bettie was ready, we went down to la colazione, our first Italian breakfast. The breakfast room was pleasant with a coffee bar along one wall, and the buffet set at a right angle. Beyond the buffet, the room opened enough to accommodate eight small tables.

The buffet included croissants, sweet rolls, ham, cheese, a delicious granola, yogurt, juice and caffè Americano. The food was excellent, and after finishing, we walked out into the small patio that was also set for breakfast. What a joy to awaken in Rome with Tuscany and Venice ahead of us.

Scent of the City

After returning from Venice by train, we walked outside Termini and caught a taxi back to our hotel. The clerk welcomed us and gave us a room with a balcony exactly two stories below our first room. The hotel only had two rooms with balconies, and we were one lucky couple.

We walked up our street and over a block to La Scalla Ristorante. All of the tables on the terrace, built out level over the narrow, sloping street, were full, and we stood at the other side to wait. First, we heard a rumble, and a minute later another. Then we noticed that we were standing above large grates in the street. That's when we caught the unmistakable scent of the Metro, many meters below our feet. Yes, the owner said, we were on top of a ventilation shaft.

At first we wrinkled our noses, but when we were seated, the rumbles and the smell magically disappeared. It was our last night in Rome, and we were determined to enjoy it. For the first time, we ordered full Italian meals, complete with primi, secondi, vino, dolci, e caffè Americani. The pasta was tasty, the meat course well prepared and the desert delicious. As we lingered over our coffee, we celebrated our adventures (and silently thought about our long flight home).

After seeing Bettie to our room, I headed back to the Spanish Steps for the last time. I counted turns, memorized landmarks and arrived about 10:45. There were knots of people on the terraces but no crowds. A couple of people were playing guitars and softly singing American songs. I stood by the railing looking out over the city, until I noticed a street sweeper appear at the bottom of stairs.

Next I saw a pair of polizia begin politely asking people to leave the area. It was 11:00 and time to go. That's when I overheard the following exchange between two young Americans:
She: "Where are you staying tonight?"
He: "In Pensione...."
She: "Are there any rooms for tonight? We don't have a place to sleep."
He: "And you're sitting here on the Spanish Steps?"
She: "We have to finish our alcohol."
He: "Wow! That's some dedication to alcohol."
With that, the group stood up and starting walking up the stairs singing an old Beach Boys tune as the police kept encouraged the stragglers to move along.

I turned left, right and left and reached the hotel in record time. Roma and I were at peace.

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1181908800/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1181908800/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1181908800/tpod.html Sun, 12 Aug 2007 14:18:52 -0400 The Lighter Side of Rome, Tuscany and Venice

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Venice, Italy

Trust Your Imagination

The citizens of Venezia inhabit a real city. They live in real buildings. The sweepers clean real "streets," and the trash collectors push real garbage through the city in carts. Although we experienced this solid reality, our imaginations were overwhelmed by the architecture, canals, crowds, walkways, campi and history that are Venezia.

Venezia is the world's most unlikely city: unlikely that it was built and unlikely that it survives. First settled in 452 by people who were fleeing Attila the hun, "modern" Venezia began with the completion of the Basilica of St. Mark in the 11the century. Trying to grasp the reality of Venezia overloaded our imaginations, and after two nights, our vivid memories included: riding on the Canale Grande, entering Piazza San Marco, staying at Antico Panada, crossing
Ponte di Rialto and discovering new sights (and smells) at every turn.

Lasting First Impressions

As we exited the Santa Lucia train station, Bettie waited at the top of the steps while I scouted the Vaporetto. We never figured out the north-south directions of canal travel but were soon aboard the public water taxi bound for San Marco. The Canale Grande winds through Venezia switching back twice during the 35 minutes from Santa Lucia to the Piazza.

Water taxi #1 docks first on one side of the canal and then the other and provides close-up views of all nine stops. When we reached Salute, we got ready to disembark at the next dock, Vallaresso. We hauled our luggage off the water taxi in a crush of people and made for the side of a building to check directions. Up Calle Vallaresso, right at Ala Napoleonica, and all of a sudden we were standing in the entrance to Piazza San Marco. The first sight of the large, lop-sided square, the architecture, the people, and the pigeons took my breath away.

Our instructions were to head for the clock tower. I headed for the bell tower, much easier to locate, until Bettie saw the clock tower, and we walked under it into another sea of people filling the narrow street. Directions? Forget them. Street signs? Occasionally, but there aren't any streets, just walkways of various widths and lengths, most of which curve or stop and start for no apparent reason.

After we registered at Antico Panada, the bellman crowded us and our bags into a tiny elevator and took us up two floors. It was down a hall, around a corner, through a connecting passage to another building, up a curving staircase, and down another hall to our room -- a true Venetian hotel. We never learned the meaning of Panada, but Antico was common in shop and hotel names, hardly surprising in an antique city.

Dining in the Campo

During my late afternoon walk, I found four, sometimes helpful, signs intended to guide confused tourists: Per Rialto (to the bridge), Per San Marco, Alla Ferrovia, (to the train station - a long way on foot), and Alla Piazzale Roma (to the car park). Unfortunately, these "marked" routes zigzag, turning right and left until the signs end abruptly. We always knew (too late) that we had made wrong turns when the pedestrian traffic thinned out rapidly and we found ourselves walking alone. Unfortunately, following the crowds didn't work. People were walking in all directions.

Later, Bettie and I set out together to cross
Ponte di Rialto and to find a place to eat. We found a nice outdoor ristorante in Campo San Polo. Venezia only has one piazza, and campi are former agricultural fields for grazing livestock, with San Polo being the largest. After dinner, we strolled for awhile before finding our way back over the bridge to our hotel.

Eating and Shopping

Our hotel breakfast room branched off a central serving area into several small seating areas, reflecting the city's layout. We arrived around 10:05. I had been warned that colazione was only served until 10:30 and to arrive no later than 10:00. Unfortunately, after passing the central fish and produce markets, I had over extended my morning walk following the Alla Ferrovia signs.

Breakfast included the full spread of cheese, ham, croissants, bread, yogurt and caffè Americano, plus an excellent packaged granola. At 10:20, we were asked if we wanted anything else, and promptly at dieci e mezzo, we were asked to clear out. With full tummies, we left our hotel and entered the shopping world of Venezia.

Venezia is known for Murano glass. Bettie bought bracelets for herself and her friends. We found a necklace for a special gift, and we bought ourselves a clock. The merchants also capitalize on Carnevale by selling all sizes of exquisite carnival masks. I bought three "hand-painted" miniatures for the girls next door who looked after our yard.
The two outdoor cafes on the Canale Grande that I had selected for lunch had stopped serving when we arrived. Instead, we found a bar up a side street on the way to Campo San Polo. The food was OK, and we enjoyed watching the other diners and the folks who ran the bar. We were surprised to see our 16 year old waitress smoking by the door after she served our lunch, but we saw many women and men smoking on the streets of Venezia and Roma.

After eating gelato seated on a bench in the campo, we started back. We found the post office by
Ponte di Rialto and bought francobolli to send postcards. It should have been easy to get home from there, but we ended up at Campo Santa Maria Formosa northeast of San Marco. We had taken the long, scenic, circular route to our hotel.

After walking Bettie to the hotel, I looked for a restaurant that that took Visa, had outdoor dining, was off the main tourist paths, served fish, and that I could find again. I found a small place that advertised un giardino interno with a pleasant waiter inviting customers to enter. It was down the street from our hotel, to the left across Campo San Zulian, over a canal, and up a street. I drew a map.

The interior garden turned out to be the common area once shared by several buildings but now used by the restaurant. We dined under a very large umbrella, but we could hear children crying, dogs barking and a television. The food was excellent, the wine good, the service attentive, the desert tasty, but the prices high for dining with the neighbors.

We made friends with a German couple at the next table. It was their first trip to Venezia, a two night get-away from Hamburg. The man explained in limited English that they were celebrating the 40th anniversary of when he had first seen her at 7:00 PM. He had been a policeman and "watched all the girls, until he fell in love." The woman spoke no English, but nodded affirmatively, as her husband told their story. After dinner, we retraced our step and found our hotel without using my map.

Our Final Morning

I began my early morning walk watching the sweepers cleaning Piazza San Marco. The Piazza was nearly empty, hardly a human or a pigeon--what a wonderful time to sense the history of the place. Next I strolled along the shoreline enjoying the view across Canale della Giudecca. My plan was to return to the central produce market to buy food for our train trip, but it Sunday. The markets were closed, and the area was deserted.

After sharing the walkways and bridges with the few residents who were stirring, I found a fruit stand before returning to our hotel in time for a leisurely breakfast. Then we hauled our bags across the Piazza and boarded the Vaporetto. I was all ready to sail until I realized that I was standing on the floating dock not in the boat. Back under
Ponte di Rialto and around the curves we went stopping at each dock until we reached Santa Lucia in plenty of time to catch our train.

Reflecting on the Maze

As I look back at my map, I wonder why I got lost in Venezia. The Canale Grande and the smaller Rios are clearly marked; the calli (lanes) have names; some even appear to run straight. However, on the ground, surrounded by five story buildings, order disappeared. Many calli changed names or had no names. Others curved, ended at Rios or ran into buildings. Stopeggi ran under buildings to connect calli. Campi suddenly appeared, and the same churches seemed to be in multiple locations. My advice is: relax, love Venezia, and let your imagination find the way.


]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1181649600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1181649600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1181649600/tpod.html Sun, 12 Aug 2007 14:10:56 -0400 The Lighter Side of Rome, Tuscany and Venice

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Cortona, Italy

The Lighter Side of Rome, Tuscany and Venice - Part 2: Villa di Piazzano and the Three Walled Towns

Card Players

Finding our way out of Arezzo was challenging, but we escaped and drove through countryside and small town and before driving up to Cortona. The views of the valley were increasingly beautiful, but Bettie didn't enjoy the hairpin turns and was glad when we finally stopped at Hotel Cory's, above Cortona. The ristorante was closed, and we were directed to a bar down the street.

We arrived as it began to rain. We badly needed food and la toilette. We were greeted by the woman who ran the bar and ignored by several older men playing cards. We bought gelato and settled in to watch the card players as the storm roared outside.

There were two tables, with about six men each. In between, one man sat alone at a third table with a deck of cards in front of him. We never knew if he was a stranger, an outcast, or just a lone-wolf, but a woman came in and bought him a drink that consisted of acqua gasata and red flavoring, something like a Shirley Temple.

The new woman chatted with the owner; the thunder peeled outside; the rain fell in sheets; and the card players slapped their cards on the table and shouted emphatically. We were the lone Americans. No one spoke a word of English, and although we felt welcomed, we were ignored. Bettie remarked that it felt like a scene from a Fellini movie.

When the rain let up, we headed back down to look for Pergo, a tiny hamlet, and for Villa di Piazzano. After two benzinaio stops, I learned that Pergo was "over there" toward a notch in the hills. I followed my instincts until Bettie saw a sign for Villa di Piazzano. Before long, we drove down a long cypress-lined lane and entered the villa's gate. We had arrived, and I was an "experienced" Tuscan driver.

La Colombaia e La Tufa

We were greeted by a gracious young woman who allowed me to say, "Abiamo una prenotazione, a nome Adams," before she responded in perfect English that we were expected and our room was ready. She showed us the reading room, the lounge/bar and the breakfast room and invited us to take the tiny elevator up two floors.

She met the elevator and showed us to our room, La Colombaia (pronounced col-um-buy-ya). After indicating the spacious bathroom, she led us up narrow square stairs to our sitting room, a bright airy room with a large picture-window view of the Tuscan hills.

I carried my books and journal upstairs to "my reading and writing room," but Bettie wasn't sure about staying. The sleeping room was a bit gloomy; the villa was half a mile from its nearest neighbor; and it was old enough to be haunted by five centuries of ghosts.

The Villa di Piazzano (residenza d'epoca) originated in 1464 as the hunting manor of Cardinal Silvo Passerini. Later, it served as a convent for nuns and a tobacco and vine growing estate. The first floor included the kitchen, reception hall, two common rooms and the dining room. Two curving staircases led to the upper floors, and our sitting room was the only fourth floor room.

There was a formal garden at the front and a spacious terrace beyond the dining room. Down the stairs from the terrace was a sparking swimming pool. To the side and back of the villa, the Tuscan hill rose green and inviting. From the entrance, we could see the hills of Cortona to our right and the plateau sloping away to the valley directly ahead.

When I asked about dinner, our hostess suggested La Tufa in Ossaia. We dined on the partially covered terrace and enjoyed a grand view of the valley.

We were hungry and ordered grigliata misti (mixed grilled meats), with a side of verdure Toscano (mixed veggies) plus un mezzo litro di vino rosso della casa. The grilled meats included beef, pork, lamb and sausage, salty but excellent. The veggies were overcooked, but the wine was excellent. When we ordered desert and coffee, I asked how to say "half liter," but the waiter thought I wanted more wine and brought another pitcher. Luckily, he didn't charge us for it.

It was pleasant dining outside at sunset among a local crowd, and that night, I slept soundly. No Tuscan ghosts haunted my dreams, and I woke to admire the hills bathed in a low hanging mist. Yes, I decided, I could spend the rest of my days at Villa di Piazzano, at least until my credit ran out.

Our First Walled Town

Before breakfast, I explored the grounds and walked down a farm road. The hills rose hundreds of feet to my left and even higher before me. Eventually, I came to a sign that read "Vietato Accesso -- Attenti al Cane" (keep out -- beware the dog), and I saw two large private villas nestled in the hills.

After I returned, Bettie and I went to the dining room for an excellent Tuscan breakfast of ham, cheese, fruit, juice, rolls and caffè Americano. Following breakfast, I walked out the entrance drive, up a hill to a small parish church, and along the road above a number of farms and private villas. The views of the hills and the valley were beautiful.

For our day trip, we drove across the valley to Montepulciano and were awed as we stepped through the lower gate into our first walled Tuscan hill town. Our main stop was lunch at Caffè Poliziano. The style was described as Art Nouveau but looked more Victorian; nonetheless, the view of the Valdichiana (Valley of Chiana) from the balcony was glorious.

That night, our hostess suggested we dine at Pane e Vino in Cortona. By the time we entered the city through one of the lower gates, it was getting dark. There were few lights, and we were confronted by two sets of steps leading to a dark, steep, narrow street. Bettie said, "Enough!" and we drove back down to Camucia where we found a bar/pizzeria.

I ordered due pizza con quattro formaggi, an acqua naturale for Bettie and
La Biere du Demon for myself. I wanted a local beer, but all I saw were Bud, German beer and one Italian beer that turned out to be heavily fortified with alcohol - "La plus forte du monde."

By the time we finished, the staff was setting the tables for the next day's lunch. Bettie saw a montage of photos of a young child and asked the waitress if it was her bambino. Certainly not, she replied. It was the owner's son who was now twelve. Bettie was certain the child looked like his father, but I was too full of pizza and strong beer to notice.

Breakfast on the Terrace

Our second breakfast at the villa was served on the terrace surrounded by a magnificent Tuscan morning. We found a table under a large umbrella with an excellent view of the hills, but the villa's large calico cat sleeping on one of the padded chairs. As I considered tipping it out, a friendly waitress picked up the chair and gently moved the sleeping cat to an adjoining table.

When we arrived, two mature American women were enjoying a quite cup of coffee. When a third arrived, the conversation became more animated. Shortly thereafter, the fourth woman arrived. She was in wore dark glasses, a panama hat, and a full length white terrycloth robe. "Anyone for the pool?" she said as she approached. Finally a fifth woman arrived, and they carried on a spirited conversation about their travels and the people they had left at home.

They were traveling separately and spending a few days together at Villa di Piazzano. They talked about how to spend their day. One wanted to go to Siena, another to shop at the outlets, a third to go to San Gimignano, and a fourth didn't care where they went as long as they made a plan. All the time, "Panama Hat" stood with an unlit cigarette trying to decide whether to go to the pool or stay with her friends.

They talked of their exploits the night before, and agreed that it didn't matter where they went at night as long it involved alcohol. After a few somewhat negative comments about Italian cooking, one woman remarked, "I can handle the alcohol, it's the lard that's killing me." About that time a British couple arrived with their two small children. It was a very entertaining start to the day.

Cortona for One

After our fruitless attempt to dine in Cortona, I returned alone the next morning. At the first hairpin turn, a bus almost ran me into the rock wall. Lucky for the driver, I didn't know any Italian curses.

At mid-morning, the parking lots were full, but I found a space on a road below the town and walked up the hill until I came to a pedestrian path leading up into Giardini del Paterre, a cliff-side park with a small outdoor cinema, a beautiful fountain and great views of the valley.

The park opened on to Piazza Garibaldi and Via Nazionale, the only level street in the entire town. I was in heaven. I had 90 minutes to scramble over as much of Cortona as my legs could endure. By the end of that time, I had climbed up and down the city's 330 meter elevation change and seen all five of the Piazzi, several of the gates, and the magnificent views on three sides of the city's ridge line. I had even located two WC publici, no small feat in a foreign, medieval, walled town.

After exploring Piazza della Repubblica and Piazza Signorelli, I poked around the narrow lower streets above the western gates and followed the city wall up to Porta Montanina, the north-eastern gate. After descending to Piazza San Cristoforo, I climbed back across the ridge to enjoy a breathtaking view of Lago Trasimeno, 17 km away in the valley below. Finally, I descended more or less "straight" down Via Berrettini and Via Santucci to arrive back at Piazza della Repubblica.

It was a perfect short visit, and my only regret was not reaching Fortezza di Girifalco, situated well up the ridge above the city.

Fortezza on the Lake

Bettie and I selected Castiglione di Lago, a walled town atop a limestone promontory on Lago Trasimeno, for our afternoon outing. The city is of Etruscan origins, and its fortezza, Rocca di Leone, was built in 1247.

The promontory is only a little above the valley floor, but water protected this town on three sides. Unlike Montepulciano, the street beyond the city gate led to a level piazza.

We were hungry, but neither of the bars on the piazza served pranzo. As we crossed the square, a woman caught our eye with a plate of cheese. Soon we were sampling several cheeses, all made by her famiglia. Then she invited us to sample the wine, also from her famiglia. How could we refuse? Not having a place to drink the wine, I bought pane e formaggio that she sliced into three big hunks in response to my hand gestures.

Bettie didn't feel like goat cheese, and not far up the street, we found a bar with pizza and a terazza. There were with a dozen umbrella-shaded tables on the terrace that afforded a wonderful view of Lago Trasimeno.

After lunch, we walked to la fortezza, situated on highest point on the promontory. Rocca di Leone measures about 100 ft by 50 ft. Its walls are at least 30 high, and its single tower rises another 20 feet. The fortress shows its age (750 years), but the citizens of Castiglione di Lago were using its open interior as a summer theater.

That evening we dined on the villa's terrace and enjoyed our best dinner since arriving in Italy. Villa di Piazzano and the three walled towns fulfilled all our fantasies.

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1182175200/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1182175200/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/pergo/italy.2007/1182175200/tpod.html Sun, 05 Aug 2007 10:42:19 -0400 The Lighter Side of Rome, Tuscany and Venice

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Chicago, Illinois, United States

The Longest Miles

After 11 hours in the air, we were thrilled to approach O'Hare International Airport, but as the plane landed, our joy turned to dread. A thunderstorm was approaching. I prayed silently, "God, get us out of here before the storm hits." It was not to be. As we boarded the inter-terminal train, the skies turned black, and the rain fell in sheets.

The sign at our gate said the plane was delayed ten minutes. Ten minutes after scheduled departure, we were told our plane was in route, and we'd be delayed another 15 minutes. I spotted friends from Omaha and learned they were returning from Ireland.

At the exact moment of the delayed departure time, we heard the words all air travelers dread, "Your flight has been cancelled. Please proceed to the red courtesy phones for rebooking." "No," the rebooking agent said, "all American flights are full," but we could fly to Detroit the next morning on Northwest and then catch a mid-day flight back to Omaha.

My friends found a morning flight out of Midway, and I found a $200 hotel room. Neither sounded appealing. Fortunately, my friends were able to rent a car. By then it was 2:30 am Rome time, and I said, "I'll drive until it gets dark. Then I'll disintegrate." Fair enough, my wife and friends agreed. They'd drive after I crashed.

Seven and a half hours later, at 10:00 am Rome time and 25 ½ hours after we left our hotel, we were finally home. The trip had surpassed our expectations, and the final miles nearly killed us.

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