Close Your Eyes and Picture This…

We sat at our table on the eve of arrival into Naples without a plan.  Well, we had a fuzzy one.  We were going to catch the hydrofoil over to Sorrento.  Sorrento is a beautiful cliffside city that looks down on a tiny harbor.  You catch the ferry over and then a local bus up to the top.  The problem is that the ferry “breaks” if there is not enough interest in taking it back to Naples 

Our dining partners from Dallas had organized a tour with a local company, CMT (Can’t Miss Tours), and they were going to see the Amalfi coast, visit Sorrento and then come back to tour Pompeii.  Steve and I had not been particularly keen to see the ruins at Pompeii but had always wanted to see the Amalfi coast.  There are two ways to see it: by the ferry which is really too far away and sometimes the sea is foggy or by driving.  

Driving sounds like such a simple solution doesn’t it?  But as you look at the options, they begin to disappear.  Renting a car and driving it ourselves was a definite no – cars are tiny, curves are hairpin, traffic is crazy, parking is nonexistent.  Taking a cab and riding it was not an option for the above reasons in addition to a high price.  A local bus was, well, local and would take forever.

So as we listened to our new friends talk about their planned adventure the next day, I got enough courage to ask if there was room on their tour.  She said to meet them at the port entrance at 8:00 and we would just see.  If not, Steve and I could still take the ferry.

Bright and early the next morning Steve and I walked through the entrance and waded through many tour operators and taxi drivers offering us the greatest deal we could hope to find.  We listened as we walked and found a group of four people who were taking the same tour we were hoping to join.  The meeting time was 8:00-8:30; so we all got acquainted and looked forward to the day.  Our table friends still had not joined us by 8:30.  This was a little disconcerting.  More so was the absence of the tour driver.  Steve and I were just enjoying the scenery and watching the people; the others were gathering a bit of steam because they had prepaid for the tour.

Another tour operator who was hoping to abscond with our group kept coming over and saying, “He hasn’t shown up yet?  He’s not coming.”  This would set off one of the husbands who would steam off muttering.  It was highly entertaining.  Steve and I weren’t worried.  It was Italy and they have their own timeline.  Finally the other tour operator placed a couple of calls to our tour manager and after much Italian told us they were on the way.  A man in a plain white shirt came to tell us the bus was a couple of blocks away and to come follow him.  We all looked at each other and said, “No.  Bring the bus.”  In Naples it’s not wise to just follow someone with no credentials even if you are six in number.  

Finally a big CMT bus came rolling up with our friends from Dallas and about 14 other people on board.  They had all taken a shuttle to the main terminal.  Everyone had a great laugh and we started our adventure.  The bus was big enough to hold twice as many, so we all got a window seat.  

Our guide’s name was Salvio and he was charming, a very expressive and sweet older Italian man.  He obviously loved giving tours and the subject matter as well.  Our driver was skillful and patient…good thing because the turns truly were hairpin and there were cars zipping around and honking.

The Amalfi coast was breathtaking – awesome mountainous cliffs on which hung colorful Italian villages.  And always the churches.  In Europe the town is always dominated by its church, usually a large cathedral.  

The vegetation caught my interest.  Lush green olive and fruit trees (Sorrento is known for its lemons and oranges) and beautiful evergreens that I had not seen before.  There were palm trees and flowers and wonderful smells.

The highlight of our trip, though, turned out to be the ruins of Pompeii underneath the shadow of Vesuvius.  Salvio would say, “Close your eyes and picture this…”  It sounds silly; but it was very effective.  He had a sense of drama and he knew a great deal about the eruptions of the volcano and exactly what would have happened.  

The ruins had been carefully exposed and reconstructed and, along with Salvio’s narration, we were able to get a remarkable sense of community life then as well as what happened on that dreadful day.  A 9,000 foot volcano lost half its mass and covered the city in poisonous gas and ash faster than a bird flies.  Only ¼ of the city’s population of about 20,000 survived.  

There were dishes and jugs and houses still standing.  There were plaster casts of people that they had reconstructed from their bones – people caught in the instant of a surprise death.  It was a chilling but amazing visit.

We basically crawled back to the bus after climbing hill after hill and walking for miles on uneven cobblestone.  Aware that this was what awaited us for the next twelve days, we ordered dinner in the room and fell into a deep sleep.

Random Observations: On Board Ship

• When did it become fashionable for men to wear capris?   I’m not talking about long Bermuda shorts.  I’m talking capris!   And some of the men I’ve seen are perfectly hardy, manly men.  I’m not sure if it’s a European thing (Steve thinks it’s Aussie) or perhaps someone from the U.S. in a tour group found them in a bazaar and the rest of the men in the group jumped on board.  I am unsettled.

• My least favorite part of cruising is the evening meal when I have to sit down to a fairly formal dinner (even on casual nights) with a group of strangers.  It’s the same group every night; so as the week goes on, you become more familiar with each other.  Sometimes, however, familiarity breeds contempt.  This cruise I rejoice.  Our table is filled with fun-loving, friendly people.  (You know they are approachable when I got the courage on our first night at sea to ask if we could join their tour the next day.)  We have a pair of Brits from Cornwall – so funny – and we had a lively discussion about Rosamunde Pilcher the first night.  And that first meeting could’ve been a touchy one.  They joined our table on formal night and Steve didn’t get the memo and went down in a polo.  Mike was in a tuxedo.  One night it occurred to me that this was my big chance to scoop you all on Downton Abbey.  Wouldn’t you know I’d meet the only couple from Cornwall who have never seen an episode!  I disowned them on the spot.

• I understand that we are too attached to our various technical toys.  The flashlight app on my iPhone has been a life-saver with our menus.  However, we have gradually been weaned from the internet over the last two weeks.  We have been able to access only for a few minutes at a time when we find places in port that will give us “free wifi” for the price of a couple of cappuccinos.  We cannot get email at all.  Facebook has been simply a way to tell our family and friends that we are still alive and haven’t “missed the boat.”  (So good to know; I always wondered.)

• Modesty is not a watchword around swimming pools and hot tubs on sea days.  This unhappily applies to men and women who are old enough to know better.  I’m not being judgmental… honestly… just aware that there are some things you cannot unsee.

• If they can charge you for it, you will not get it for free.  The food is generous, spectacular and beautiful.  And there is more of it than I can ever sample.  But I balk at paying two euros for a coke.  So I had my first one yesterday in over two weeks.  I’m glad I waited!  I enjoyed it.

• There are photographers everywhere.  They snap us when we’re watching the sunset, when we’re disembarking, when we’re returning, when we’re eating, when we’re just being.  It’s not an irritation to me; I just let them snap away.  However, even when I was young and should have craved the attention, I did not like having my picture taken.  And I especially do not like that, when we turn the TV on, there I am:  watching the sunset, disembarking, returning, eating and being.  It drives me back into my Kindle.

• We’re eating dinner at QSine tomorrow night.  It’s a specialty restaurant here on the ship and the interactive menu is on iPads.  I’m so excited about ordering that I just hope I’ll be able to eat all the food.

 

Random Observations: Italy

• A legging is not necessarily a legging.  Mode of dress for women here from teen to too old is skinny.  Don’t get me wrong.  They all have the bodies for it.  Two variations cover it, in a manner of speaking.  Tall beautiful boots go with tights and skirts.  I should just say sk… because that’s as much as there is.  Very short, very tight.  Leggings with a tee shirt and a short leather jacket.  No long tunics in Italy.  Leggings.  Geometric, animal, swirly, paisley, wild prints with short leather boots or extremely high platforms. 

• Young children are not taught not to stare.  How do I know?  Because they become adults who stare…openly and without apology.  As a dedicated introvert, may I just say how very uncomfortable this makes me?  I try to wait them out…I see that it isn’t going to happen.  So I become bold on the face of it and stare back.  But the southern in me breaks through and I can’t help myself.  I smile.  They stare.  And the eyes go back to the floor.  Where on earth did I leave my sunglasses?

• The moon is the same no matter where you go.  And it always figures in for me.  My first outstanding memory of Europe is from that wild original trip Steve and I took when we were way too many hours on military planes.  At about 2:00 AM in Rota, Spain, I was strung out, tired, and needing exercise.  I walked up and down the street outside the air terminal under palm trees and a beautiful full moon listening to “Cornflake Girl” in my earphones.  Vivid.  When we arrived in Aviano, there we stood at the base of the Dolomites under another full moon.  Then last night I looked out our stateroom door and there stood a beautiful full moon lighting a path straight across the ocean and onto our balcony.  La bella luna.  (No, I don’t speak Italian.  I learned that from the old grandfather on “Moonstruck.”)

• The bells.  They chime the hours, quarters and halves.  They sing.  They war with the protest chanters.  They overwhelm and linger.  

• I have finally figured out the process.  There is some sort of hidden laser that, as we go through customs, labels us “American” on the forehead.  But there is an additional one that they save for a very few of us.  That one says “Gullible American.”  Can I tell you how many times I was approached by panhandlers, people with causes, people selling any little thing?  I stood on the Popolo Piazza in Rome with a young man who thrust a bundle of roses in my hand on behalf of a cathedral there.  I assured him I had no money with me (I didn’t!).  I tried to hand them back.  I gave them to Steve who handed them over quite easily while the young man tied a bracelet around my wrist for some saint.  I’ve tried the “no eye contact” rule; but the laser tattoo speaks for itself.  By the way, if I’m arrested by Interpol, I haven’t really done anything wrong.  It may be because of the petition I signed.  I told them I had no money (I didn’t!).  I didn’t understand how my signature would help because I’m not even Italian!

• Pizza in Italy is a work of art.  So is the division of labor between spouses worked out over the years.  It is understood that I will pack for us, wash out clothes on long trips, take care of details and organization.  I will unpack and nest.  Steve is the hunter/gatherer.  That means pastry and coffee in the mornings and foraging for food when I reach a point where my legs refuse to work anymore (see the footnote on hauling heavy luggage between trains).    So Steve fetched us a pizza in Rome, a pizza margharita with only fresh basil, fresh whole-milk mozzarella and light fresh tomato sauce.  Thick, pillowy, slightly chewy along the edges, crispy and paper-thin on the inside.  A minimum char on the bottom from the brick oven.  

• Women in Italy are casual, beautiful and impeccably dressed.  Young men in Italy wear scarves.  Old men in Italy wear hats.  The young men are handsome and appear quite arrogant (with good reason, I admit).  The old men appear rakish.

• I love Italy.

Firenze

Our trip to Florence did not begin well.  Mountain View Inn.  Aviano.  No taxis.  We were told it was about a mile to the gate where our taxi would meet us.  So we set out, pushing bags over stone sidewalks.  Charming to look at – not so luggage-friendly.  We struggled our way to the gate, grateful for the sun.  As I have said, God has blessed us in so many ways on this trip.  I don’t know what we would have done with rain.  

Just outside the gate our cab pulled up seconds after we arrived.  The drive was exciting as always.  But we enjoyed it because we were not driving, nor were we hauling bags along the street.  The train station in Portenone was charming and filled with helpful, English-speaking agents.  We made our way into the small coffee shop to wait.  Steve got us cappuccinos and cornetti.  (A cornetto is the most beautiful, edible thing in Italy.  It’s large, much larger than a croissant, but shaped like one.  It consists of many flaky layers and is lighter than hot Krispy Kreme donuts.)  

Did I just call the train station charming?  It was, until we had to haul the luggage down a long flight of steps and under the tracks to the other platform.  I cease to be amazed at how fit Europeans are after I’ve shared living areas with them for a time.  Six months over here and I’m sure I’d be much more wiry.  After a beautiful ride through the Tuscan countryside, we arrived in the Venice station and more stairs but only a short wait until the next train.

The Florence station was busy and exciting and, being a hub, was all on one level.  We found a cab and rode to the Hotel Arizona.  Honestly.  This is a small hotel in the center of Florence that is run by three brothers.  We met the youngest one who was fun and delightful.  The only thing he liked better than talking about his city was learning about the United States.  

Our room was on the fifth floor, sloping roof, sky-light – no window.  We were staying in the attic!  But it was roomy, modern and thoroughly charming.  And it had a bed!  After a few minutes to catch our breaths, we set out to explore.  Beautiful and friendly.  And sculptures everywhere.  There is one area where an outdoor sculpture museum subjects the most beautiful works of art to the elements.  

Someday if I can figure out how to get my folding beach chair onto the airplane, I’m going back just to sit on a street corner and watch the traffic.  Tiny narrow streets converge sometimes four or five at sharp angles into a main thoroughfare.  And there are no stop signs!  So the bravest driver wins.  And there is no way for them to see if someone else is coming.  Very exciting.

We somehow found the Duomo Piazza.  It was, well you just run out of superlatives after a while.  Overwhelming, majestic, unphotographable because of its size.  This piazza was not a big open space like most; so we could not get far enough back to include all of the Duomo in the frame.  After we stood around with our mouths hanging open for a bit, we realized that it was getting dark and we were getting hungry.  

Did I mention that the streets converge at strange angles and run in no rhyme nor reason?  I’m still not sure how we made our way back to the hotel.  We had a map and we worked at it.  That’s all I have to offer.

We went to dinner at a restaurant recommended by the hotel, Accadi Trattoria.  We had heard that we should be prepared to invest a couple of hours in our meal.  Dinner is a relaxed social occasion.  The man who seated us was friendly and obviously had a vested interest in the place.  Neither he, nor the young woman who served us, ever seemed to stop.  As soon as an order would appear in the window, they would be there to serve it.  There was a big table with platters of the various ingredients for antipasta that she would organize into beautiful plates.  Our food was amazing and obviously native Florentine.
  

Our server was sweet and friendly and the couple at the next table were as well.  They were Finnish.  Suddenly the kitchen door swung open and a little, old, grizzled Italian man came out with two platters that he delivered out the front door of the restaurant.  Steve and our table neighbor both said at the same time, “Sushi?”  

We all looked a bit confused and continued to eat.  We were chatting with our server and asked her if she was the owner and was this a family business?  She said, “No, he’s the owner.”  She pointed into the kitchen at a Japanese man and his two Asian cooks just as the little old man brushed by with more sushi.  They delivered over a dozen plates out the front door over the course of our meal.  We still don’t know where they were taking it. 

 

Next morning we didn’t have much time.  We needed to be at the train station to get a train to Rome by noon.  I so wanted to go to the Academie Museum to see Michelangelo’s David; but my hopes were not high.  I had read about the great crowds and long lines.  We decided to try anyway.  By this time we knew our way around well enough to make our way straight there.  As we walked up, there were no lines but there were no people there either.  With a sinking heart, I found a man in uniform and explained that we did not have a reservation.  He pointed to an area marked off with closed tape and told us to stand there.  Less than five minutes later, we found ourselves standing in front of a ten-foot-tall David on an eight-foot pedestal.  Again, a blessing I would not have believed.  No crowds, no lines, no waiting, and not enough superlatives to explain what we saw.  We could see the veins in his arms and legs and the muscles in his neck.  There was seating – so we sat quietly and just stared, amazed.  When we finally left the building, the line waiting to go in was a block long!

 

 

Italian Chicken

Serene confidence makes for good waiting.  Steve and I ate yet more pastry and enjoyed another cappuccino before crossing the street through that beautiful fall weather.  We checked in for a flight to Aviano that would hold over one hundred and for which only about thirty people were waiting.  This not only gave us the secure feeling that we would go, but also that we would go in comfort because we could choose our seats once on board.

Always in search of a strong internet signal, we found the elevator and headed up to the USO.    We had grabbed a couple of those lovely European sandwiches, cold cuts and tomatoes and mozzarella on two different kinds of crusty bread.   We left messages and caught up with Facebook while we munched and waited.

Back downstairs at roll call time we were called in the second group of ten and started the check-in process.  Being the friendly, teasing sweetheart that he is sometimes works for Steve, sometimes not.  This time our agent was just as teasing and there was much laughing as we went through the process.  Steve asked for first-class seats; she replied something to the effect that all the seats were first-class.  We were just glad to be on the plane!

We moved upstairs again, happy to be free of those heavy bags.  After a short wait, we were allowed to board and found our seats.  We looked and each other and said, “There must be a mistake.”  We were in first class seats!  We sat down and began to play with buttons.  Our seats reclined; we stretched out our legs and still could not touch the seats in front of us.  It was a regular carnival!

The flight was short, only a little over an hour, and we were almost sorry.  We were flying above heavy clouds and at one point Steve remarked that he thought he saw snow-covered peaks poking up through them.  I smiled and thought, “Sweet man.  Wishful thinking.”  Suddenly just as we broke through the clouds, our plane tipped to the right on our side.  Displayed before us were the majestic and awe-inspiring snowy peaks of the Alps as far as we could see.

Flying Space A is convenient and the price is certainly right.  But we are never far from the fact that it is a privilege and that there are those who are still serving and working for our good.  We shared this plane with a large group of airmen dressed in desert camouflage and bound for Qatar.

Because the flight was delayed to begin with and then we had waited for over an hour on the tarmac in Ramstein, our flight into Aviano did not arrive until after 6:00 PM.  It is a small air base in Italy and there is only one hotel, the Mountain View Inn, named for the fact that it is nestled in the base of the Dolomites, beautiful Italian mountains.  Those of us who were staying the night found our way to a small, creaky blue bus and somehow managed to stuff all our bodies, bags and luggage into every last square inch of space.  

Checked in and refreshed, we realized that we were hungry.  The only restaurant on the base was closed and our only hope was a food court in the base exchange.  We found out that there are no taxis allowed on base (this did not bode well for the next morning, but we refused to worry tonight), so we started walking at a quick pace because we did not know when the food court would close.

We huffed and puffed through doors to the exchange and sighed relief that the restaurants were still open.  All but the pizza place.  So we had our choice between Taco Bell, Burger King and Popeye’s Chicken.  We were hungry.  Finally we sat down, grinning at each other, and toasted our arrival in Italy with a diet coke and a chicken leg.

 

 

Chasing the Sun

Traveling with Steve Horn makes me brave, delights me with unexpected surprises and tries my patience.  Please note that I did not say Steve tries my patience.  Our method of travel sometimes definitely does.  
 
However, we are determined to continue this way of getting around.  It keeps getting better!  Our first Space-A trip was too much of an adventure – from my going so long without sleep that I hit a wall and stretched out on the seats to sleep; to Steve’s inflating an air mattress and bedding down in the terminal.  

 

He has studied the Facebook pages of the travel hubs that we use and discovered the patterns of the chartered Patriot flights.  So for $36 total for both of us, we flew from Baltimore to Ramstein, Germany and from Ramstein to Aviano, Italy on a 767 for free.  We figure the $36 was because they served us both two meals on the flight!
 
Cory and Erika drove us to Union Station on a Monday and we sat and watched public service announcements about what to do in case of a terrorist attack while waiting for our train to Baltimore.  (What has happened to this world in which we live?  You can keep the soap box under the bed; that was rhetorical.)  
 
The train ride was short and we caught a shuttle to the airport.  We were high on the list and settled in to wait without a lot of anxiety.  There were many seats and not that many on the list.

After we grabbed a bite to eat, I went to check the waiting roster.  I heard cheering and applause; I had only eaten a chicken sandwich, so I knew it wasn’t for me.  I leaned over the railing to watch home-bound soldiers pushing their gear on carts through the customs doors to be greeted with signs, balloons, and hearty handshakes.  Boy and girl scouts in uniform at the end of the line handed them candy and held out plastic candy-filled pumpkins to little ones traveling with families. 
 

Our trip over was long; it always is.  The flight itself is eight hours and we lose six more crossing time zones.  We leave late afternoon and arrive in the morning with our bodies screaming, “It’s one AM!  Will somebody please put me to bed?”   We spend the last hour or so peering out the windows looking for signs of a sun rising.  Another hour in lines and going through customs (German customs officers can be a bit intimidating) and we finally walked out into a beautiful, crisp autumn day with bright red and gold trees.
 
I’ll pretty much always choose nature over anything manmade.  But between the trees and the new many-storied Ramstein Inn, it was no contest.  There were beds in there!  We were mentally ready to hunker down and sit, comatose, for hours in the lobby waiting for a room.  Steve walked up to the reservation desk, talked for a minute and turned around and grinned at me.  We were asleep by 10:00 AM!  We slept for a couple of hours and then got up so I could start planning when I could sleep again.  
 
Next morning Steve woke me with hot cappuccino and chocolate croissant.  Twelve hours of solid sleep and I was ready to fly again.  Next, on to Aviano and Popeye’s Fried Chicken!