In the Beautiful Valdichiana

The second part of our vacation started early on Saturday, August 2. I left our hotel before 6 a.m. to fetch John’s sister and brother–in-lawn at Rome's Leonardo da Vinci Airport. The streets of Rome were quite at that hour save for a few merchants already setting up their stalls in the Campo de' Fiori for the daily market. On the way back to central Rome I gave the new arrivals a short driving tour of some of the sites like the Colosseum and the Forum. We made a fast pit stop at our hotel and showed them the market in Campo. Then began our Tuscan sojourn.

We'd rented a brand-new Opel Zafira at Rome's train station and it performed very nicely. It had a diesel engine with a 6-speed manual transmission. There was no problem keeping up with the others on the autostrada at 140 km/h (87 mph), although you didn't get to stay in 6th gear very long before you had to downshift or or brake. It was pretty good about fuel consumption as well. This was important since the price of diesel fuel was about $8 per gallon.

Arriving at the Azienda Agricola Il Pantano (aka Family Reunion) brought back so many memories of our first time here in October 2002. Some of you know that John rented the place to celebrate his 40th birthday--a very memorable week for all involved. On the Pantano Winery they produce the glorious Vino Nobile de Montepulciano and olive oil, among other products. The owners also rent vacation houses around the vineyard to supplement their income. For the most part, Family Reunion hadn’t changed. The collection of three houses was the same (except now there was AC) and the pool was open to us because of the season. The blue Tuscan sky and air of calm had not changed. We had a few hours at the house to get settled, go grocery shopping and have a swim before anyone else arrived. We had an afternoon of calm.

Shortly after 6:00 p.m. the other guests started to arrive. By nightfall the place was buzzing with 21 people who had gathered from 3 countries. John and his sister cooked a meal for the entire crew. Some wine was consumed and plans were discussed over dinner. The week was off to a good start.

In the following days in between spending time by the pool, we made excursions to hill town after beautiful hill town in Tuscany and Umbria: Assisi, Orvieto, Pienza, Montalcino, Montepulciano, Torrita di Siena, Sinalunga, Foiano della Chiana, Lucignano, Monte San Savino, San Quirico d'Orcia, and the like. We even made a 60-mile trek over the mountains to the seaside at Grosseto. All this was accomplished under the watchful eye of “Gretchen,” our friendly GPS device. We also got invaluable advice from guidebooks and www.commandatore.com. Others in the group spent their days visiting the same towns as us or journeying to the larger cities like Pisa, Siena and Florence. John and I had decided before the trip that we would avoid the larger attractions on this visit.

By the time the following Saturday rolled around we were, as it said in my previous post, a Tuscan kind of tired. I mean, how much good wine, good food, sunshine and fellowship can one person take? It was time to head back to Rome for one night and then to London.

We arrived in Rome around four on Saturday afternoon, in plenty of time to return the car. I navigated the crazy Roman streets pretty well and soon we were parked in front of our hotel on the noisy Piazza Venezia. I left John to check in and get our bags upstairs to return the car to the train station. While we started to have a few misgivings as we entered the hotel, things really started getting bad when John opened the door to Room 210. It was tiny, steamy and smelled like a mix of cigarette smoke and disinfectant. The hotel advertised itself as fully air-conditioned, modern and with no smoking rooms. This room clearly was not one that was advertised. John decided to wait outside, in the relative cool of the afternoon sun. I knew something was amiss when I phoned John from the station to say I was on my way back to the hotel. "How's the room?," I asked. "I'll see you when you get here," was his response. Getting an indirect response from John is never a good sign.

When I arrived, I saw the state of the room and knew this was not where we wanted to spend our last night in Italy. I calmly called the Hotel Campo de' Fiori, secured a room (at a discount), marched down to the lobby, bags in hand, and denounced the room as unacceptable. The front desk agent was unmoved, but he did ask us to write in a complaint registry why we were unhappy. So I wrote my name, the date, Room 210 and complained that there was no AC as advertised, the room was dirty and the toilet plumbing really sub-par. As I looked at some of the earlier complaints on the same page, they were almost all about Room 210 and its myriad of problems! Obviously this is a room they try to pass off on the one-nighters. So I warn all readers of this blog: do not stay at the Hotel Piazza Venezia in Rome. Surely you'll be disappointed!

Returning to the Hotel Campo de' Fiori, we were greeted by Emanuel at the front desk. The room was cool and comforting. We decided to hit the Campo for a light drink and followed by dinner. The Campo has come to symbolize Rome to us in so many ways. It is warm, friendly and full of good food and wine.

On Sunday we managed to jam six bottles of wine into our luggage (we'd had gone from 2 pieces to 3) along with our clothes (including new underwear). We got to the airport in plenty of time to shop, get to the gate and relax. Did I say shop? Yes, I did. We had managed little or no shopping for 2 weeks except for some wine. Well, what did we buy in the airport? Italian wine, naturally, and some virgin olive oil. We took off and arrived two hours late; I don't think we will fly Alitalia again if it can be helped. London was cool and damp. Never has rain been so welcome!

Click here if you wish to see our photos from Tuscany and Umbria.

(Writing credit: John and Peter)

Rome Part II

You haven’t heard much on this site for a few days. It has been difficult putting into words our two weeks in Italy.

The balance of our time in Rome was wonderful--HOT--but wonderful. We could spend much more time there and never tire of it. Every street offered a history, architecture or archeology lesson. All of Rome is built on something older so one discovers interesting tidbits everywhere.

This trip to Rome will be memorable partially because of the interesting people we met:

• A young Irish couple from Limerick with whom we sat up talking and socializing until the wee hours;
• The French woman eating alone at a table next to us with whom we struck up a conversation knowing how lonely eating by oneself can be;
• The Danish couple who had made a boodle in business and now occupied their time with their philanthropic foundation that helps less-fortunate Danes.
• Emanuel, a desk clerk at our hotel who was always so helpful when we were stressed out;
• The Australian with ADA and his Italian boyfriend who was constantly trying to get him "off stage."
  

I will also think of the gallons of delicious mineral water we guzzled in an attempt to fight the heat and dehydration. Every day the sun shone and the high temperature was in the mid- to upper-90s Fahrenheit. The cold bubbly water was a natural antidote.

On our last full day in Rome, we took our rental car on a trip to the sea side. We stopped in Ostia, ancient Rome's port. Apart from the sprawling ruins at Ostia Antica, the seaside city could have been almost anywhere in the world. We continued our drive down the coast to Anzio where the Allies landed in January 1944 during WWII in an attempt to circumvent the German lines. The area is dotted with war memorials, military cemeteries and centuries of history to put it all in perspective.

Click here if you want to see our photos of Rome. I'm still working on describing all the shots, but it will give you an idea of our week in the Eternal City.

(Creative credit: John and Peter)

A Tuscan Kind of Tired

Just a quick entry to let you know we're still kicking. John and I have just returned from a week on a vineyard near Montepulciano in southern Tuscany, and are spending one last night in Rome. There's much to discuss, but it will have to wait until I have some time to sit and think and not pay for Internet time by the minute.

I'll leave you with an aerial view of the place.

Hot Time in Rome

The past few days are almost too much to blog about, but we are going to give it a try. I say "we" since John is joining me in the editorial department since he is on holiday (that's vacation, if you are a yank).

When you fly from Heathrow Airport on an intra-European flight it’s a different experience than flying to the US. The shops are smaller and simpler. There really is no duty free. There also aren’t any lush spaces to relax and begin a journey. John likes to stop, have a nice meal and drink a glass of wine. He prefers a certain bistro in Terminal 3, but there is no branch in Terminal 2. As we wound our way through the airport we finally found luxury. It was ridiculous, but we decided to stop at a caviar-teria to have a nosh and something to drink. What better way to depart England for Italy?

Our Alitalia flight was uneventful. The airline and its planes are looking tired and worn. The flight was late and the supposedly "luxurious" in-flight service didn’t really materialize. When we retrieved our luggage, John’s bag had a strange tag on it. It said something along the line that the airline and airports take no responsibility for lost or damaged articles. More on this later…

We had arranged for a car to meet us and take us to our hotel. We booked a room at the Hotel Campo de’ Fiori online, sight unseen, and had no idea what to expect. It is hot in Rome and John does not tolerate the heat. He has more patience for Republicans! We were pleasantly surprised when we arrived to find a charming place with air conditioning and an elevator. The hotel continues to be pleasant, clean and well run. It is centrally located in Rome’s historical district, halfway between the Vatican City and the Roman Forum. And it’s just off a square that will play a central role in this blog.

Il brutto americano

Many Americans who travel come up against both the myth and the reality of the Ugly American. Americans abroad are often seen as unsophisticated, rude, arrogant and otherwise crude. This is somewhat unfair. Many Americans make their way through the capitals and small cities of the world with deference and appreciation while people of other nationalities often stand out as insensitive and rude. However, we cannot deny that the Ugly American exists and insists on being seen and heard. Over the years we have overheard phrases like: "How much is this in real money?" or "Who do you think invented democracy?"

On Monday evening we lived through one of the most shocking moments of Ugly Americanism possible. We were sitting at an outdoor table at a restaurant on the Campo de’ Fiori enjoying a wonderful meal. A very blond and very bland American family was seated near us. The father was immediately rude to the waiter, demanding water, olive oil and bread for his sons. As we heard bits and pieces of the conversation our ears became sharp as spears and the family didn’t seem bland any longer. At one point they were discussing Roman history and their single frame of reference was the movie Gladiator. While that film does a reasonable job of portraying the lives of gladiators and the bloody games the ancient Romans adored, it does take great liberties with history and has to be taken with a grain of salt. It was sad not to hear a single reference to a book, play, novel or historical document about Rome. The real shock came later as the family discussed their trip to the Vatican earlier in the day. One of the three sons asked his father (the mother rarely spoke up) if the Cardinals of the church still reported to the Jews. The father answered yes. He explained that the Catholic Church in Rome is and has always been a vehicle for the Jews to control the world and that is why the evangelicals left the original church. Who knew Hitler had spawn?

Sitting along side us was another American family: a father and daughter. They were clearly estranged by divorce or maybe separated by physical distance. Was he visiting her or was she visiting him? I don’t know. They tried, however. The father attempted Italian and the daughter tried to be interested in her father. They ate. They left. Nothing was settled. Location doesn’t always make a difference.

The Campo

The Campo de’ Fiori offers some great things. Six days a week there is a morning market with wonderful fresh fruit, cheese, meats, spices and oils. There are numerous cafes and restaurants lining the square. There is a wine bar called Vineria Reggio. Called "the coolest bar in the campo" by one of our guidebooks, this place has the most amazing collection of wines by the bottle or glass. You can also buy a bottle to take away. But you can’t buy drinks in bottles after 8 pm Friday through Sunday.

In the evening the campo is filled with street performers and musicians plying their trade. Some of the music is not bad, but the repertoire is a bit limited. One saxophone player only seems to know "My Way" and "Over the Rainbow." The star of the square was a teenage violin player with some skill and style. He was also able to belt a song (but day 3 of "O Sole Mio" was enough). We made sure we tipped him every evening and were soon greeted with a hello when we crossed the plaza.

Una donna perduta

All of our time in the campo has been shadowed by a homeless woman. She is perhaps around 60 years old, but might be younger. She is heavy set, gray, ruddy and dressed in a blue and white striped muumuu. She is in some strange way a personification of Italy. She doesn’t beg. She doesn’t perform. She is. People bring her food and water. We gave her water several times. We have seen her every day at different hours. I would never want to live her life, but I am happy that she actually smiles when you give her water or something to eat. She lives in this square and nobody disturbs her; amid all the commerce going on around her, she is allowed her space. We may not be able to learn from her as she is lost, but I can learn from the people around her.

L'intimo perso!

How do you explain that as you forage through your suitcase for some fresh underwear you suddenly realize you’ve been robbed? When you can, tell me how and I will do a better job than this! I know I packed at least eight pair--I remember counting. I had four in my suitcase when I got to Rome. Hmmmm. The only missing underwear was Italian. So I bought some new ones today. Let's see if they get stolen on the return trip.

This past week was a fairly quiet week. On Sunday John went down to Stratford-upon-Avon for a sales meeting so I was on my own until Wednesday.

One evening I went to the Old Vic to see a performance of Shaw's Pygmalion, or as it's known in some circles: My Fair Lady without the singing and dancing. Tim Pigott-Smith played Henry Higgins and newcomer Michelle Dockery was a riveting Eliza Doolittle. The theater itself is historic; the walls of the lobby and stairways are covered with photos of so many famous actors in productions going back to the last century: Peggy Aschcroft, Judi Dench, John Gielgud, Alec Guinness, Lawrence Olivier, Michael Redgrave, Ralph Richardson, Diana Rigg, Maggie Smith, etc.

Another highlight of the week was going out after work with John's colleagues. I'd heard a lot about them, but had never met most of them. As it happened, the chosen pub was Fifty-five Bar & Lounge near our flat that I mentioned in my blog on July 9. It was fun to put faces to the names I'd heard. Unfortunately, at 2:4:1 I had too many Manhattans and awoke with a groggy head.

Why is there a photo of the Roman Colosseum on the page, you ask? That's because we're going to Italy on Saturday evening for two weeks. A week in the Eternal City and a week in Tuscany. I will try to write some entries while in Italy.

Time Travel

I returned Sunday to Cambridge, England, for the first time in 26 years. In the summer of 1982 I was a naive 17-year-old who spent three weeks there with a group of high school classmates and an Anglophile history teacher chaperon. Our group was one of several that descended on this British Mecca of higher education every summer "to study" light subjects. Ours were Shakespeare, British geography and parliamentary debate, and I'm sure we were a constant pain to our teachers. On the whole, we were privileged American children with little world experience.

Our Shakespeare instructor was a young man trying to get us excited about Much Ado About Nothing and had the bad luck of teaching us first thing in the morning. "WILL YOU PLEEEEEEASE STOP YAWNING!" is the phrase I remember him uttering the most--much more than anything about the Bard. The geography teacher was a jolly Scotsman who preferred to talk more about golf than the origins of the River Thames. And the debate teacher a very colorful, degenerate Anglican priest who taught us the finer points of verbally tearing the opposition to shreds, with humor and sexual innuendo, if possible.

After my recent visit, I'm not sure what has changed more: the town or me. The ancient college buildings don't seem to have aged at all. But the signs that the university as a whole and the town had changed were everywhere. Cambridge has become modern with new shopping centers, chain stores and shiny new hotels. There's a Starbucks, for Pete's sake. And the tourists! The hoards and hoards of tourists! Had it been like that way back when? I don't think so.

The most striking change for me was the fact that all the colleges now charge an entry fee for visitors. In 1982 we strolled through the various college courts free as birds. We'd cut through one college to get to another. You could enter the magnificent Chapel at King's College whenever you wanted. No longer. Some colleges are completely closed to visitors and others charge anywhere from 2 GBP to 5 GBP to enter. I had to visit my old haunts at Clare College (2 GBP) and I coughed up the 5 GBP ($10) to get into King's College Chapel, but I rebelled at the others. So I missed seeing some of my favorite architectural highlights, like the Wren Library at Trinity College.

I commiserated with several university employees about these changes and they agreed that things were not as nice now as they were years ago. "It's just the way the world is now." I know it's a sign of the times, but it made me sad. You can't take one step in London, Cambridge and elsewhere without your movements being recorded on closed circuit TV. You see CCTV signs everywhere.

Still, I tried not to let it get me down. I visited the residence hall where we stayed and the Old Court of Clare College where we took our mediocre meals. I gazed at the beautifully manicured lawns, remembering that walking upon them was verboten. I spent a long time in King's College Chapel staring at the amazing fan-vault stone ceiling from the 16th century. The vaulting, stained glass windows, soaring spaces, make the Chapel one of the greatest wonders of architecture anywhere in the world. I watched people punting on the River Cam, enjoying the summer sun.

By then it was nearly 4 o'clock and I'd been walking around the town since 10 in the morning. I suddenly noticed I was 43 years old, tired and my feet hurt. So much for reclaiming my youth! Time to point my tired feet toward the train station and head back to Camden Town.

Click here if you want to see more photos of my stroll down memory lane.


Interesting Summer 1982 tidbits:

In the summer of '82 Ronald Reagan was President of the United States. Leonid Brezhnev led the Soviet Union...there still was a Soviet Union. Israel had just invaded Lebanon, sparking a war and the Lebanese Civil War. We arrived into a triumphant Great Britain: they had just won the Falklands War and Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher was riding high. Prince William, the heir to the British throne, had just been born and was baptized; an intruder broke into Buckingham Palace and sat on the bed of Queen Elizabeth II, chatting with her for 10 minutes before security arrived; and the Provisional IRA detonated 2 bombs in central London, killing 8 soldiers, wounding 47 people, and leading to the deaths of 7 horses. The first CDs went on the market.

The Man Who Was "Bond...James Bond"

The Imperial War Museum London has an interesting special exhibit right now on the life and works of writer Ian Fleming. The exhibit is irresistibly entitled For Your Eyes Only: Ian Fleming and James Bond. Being a major James Bond fan I could not help but go.

I knew the basic facts about Fleming's life and, as some of you know, I've been working my way through the James Bond novels, but this exhibit gave me a much fuller vision of the man.

Fleming had a lot of love affairs--a real playboy. He preferred older, married women with no strings attached. There were numerous photos of him with these women on the beach, on the ski slopes and at cocktail parties. He didn't marry until he was over 40.

Despite coming from a well-connected family (his father was a close friend of Winston Churchill), Fleming lacked direction in his life until World War II. His work in British naval intelligence was the making of him, and the making of James Bond, as it turned out.

The exhibit has great JamesBondania within. Original manuscripts of the novels, hundreds of examples of the novels translated into other language, posters of the movies, original movie production sketches, guns, gadgets and on and on. I particularly enjoyed seeing the shoes with the poisoned knife in the toe that Lotte Lenya tried to stab Sean Connery with in From Russia With Love.

The rest of the Imperial War Museum is amazing and daunting. I hadn't been there since 1995 and the place has been improved so much. The main hall displays airplanes, armor (armour), missiles, weapons, bombs and all that good stuff. There are extensive exhibits on the World Wars and conflicts post-1945. There is also a very sobering Holocaust exhibit. The place is worth a visit if you make it to London.

In the museum shop I was sorely tempted to relive my childhood by buying a Corgi model of the Q Branch Aston Martin with the ejector seat or the Corgi model of Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang (which Fleming wrote) with the wings that spring out when you move the gear lever forward...but I didn't.

If you want to comment on this post, send me an email.