Vita Sotto il Sole

Longboat Key - the arrival.

2010-07-08T09:58:00.021-04:00

The plan: take the Autotrain down (I need my car), Matt arrives later, and then we take a couple of days to drive home.

The autotrain was pretty nice, in the sense that I didn’t have to pack to fly; I stuffed everything and anything I wanted into my car. Then my car was stuffed on the train. And by every/anything I wanted, I mean exactly that. I took a case of wine, spices/oils/vinegars and such for cooking, Matt’s fishing rod/tackle box, just about all the clothes I own, 417 pairs of shoes, all my jewelry, 327 books, 4 purses, and toiletries over 3 ounces and more than fit into a quart size Ziploc. Ha, suck on that airline liquids rule maker!!! Now, the downside to the train situation is that it took as long to get to Sanford on the rails as it would to drive there, maybe a couple hours longer, actually. I’m not really sure why this is the case, but it is. The seat was super roomy and comfy since I had to be on it for 17 hours, minus the loud, rude, kinda low rent clientele that kept walking up and down the aisles yelling and acting generally retarded at 5am. Positive, I was one car from the lounge car, aka pharmacy for liquid self-medicating; negative, see previous low rent clientele statement. Matt called it Walmart on rails . . . pretty accurate! Once in Sanford, I had about a 3 hour drive southwest to get to Longboat Key. Drove right past Disney World and thought about nipping into Epcot, just to feel like I was in Europe for a little while. Alas, I just kept going.

Longboat Key is a barrier island that is made up of mostly residential properties. There is big money on this little island, some of the houses are unbelievable. I’m staying at a great little property that is made up of 2 little cottages and then 3 villas. There is a big pool for all the houses and then a private little garden/pool for just the cottages. Since the Jasmine cottage is empty, I pretty much have the little slice of heaven all to myself. I will be most un-neighborly if someone arrives to that cottage in the next 2 weeks. The beach is right across the street and is great. No crowds, since it’s all residential and there is no public parking, clear water that just rolls in across the sandbar, great sea shells to collect, and awesome sunsets.

The first 3 days were a little touch and go. It rained, and I mean poured, for 3 solid days. There isn’t much to do here other than be on the beach or at the pool, so I was seriously considering saying fuck it, and heading home. The weather forecast was exactly the same for the next 10 days; mamma can’t have that! Fortunately, the weather people were dead wrong and it’s been beautiful for the last 3 days. My days pretty much look like this: wake up, have coffee on the beach and try to beat the blue hairs to the best shells that have washed in overnight, have breakfast, make sangria for later in the day (gotta let the fruit soak for a couple of hours), go to the beach, have lunch, lay by the pool, get sangria for sundowners on the beach, drink sangria until the sun goes down. Sometimes I have to decide between sangria and gin&tonics. It’s exhausting :-)

the cottage

outside the front door

entrance to private garden and pool

seriously, a little slice of heaven

a quick swim in between rain showers on my first day

So, I woke up from a little nap to find this beastie about 5 feet from me. Clearly his beach.

friend on the front steps seeking higher ground from all the rain.

sunset after the rain

another friend on the front steps. She tried to follow me in one day.

storm coming in

see . . . pouring!

and then the sun came out!!

sundowner sangria!
lovely no?

great sunsets

Summer 2010 Can Officially Suck Tyrannosaurus Rex Nuts!

2010-07-08T09:00:00.001-04:00

Why Tyrannosaurus Rex nuts? Because the chance of successfully orally manipulating their nuts without being shredded is virtually 0%. Clearly, I am not a fan of Summer 2010, and its only early July. This past month has been just about the worst one in the history of ever, for my friends and myself. Without hashing out the details, let's just say that a loss from cancer, a benign brain tumor, the loss of an infinitely loved dog, another negative on an IVF pregnancy test, retaining wall issues because of douchebag neighbors, being, well, douchebags, and a suicide all occurring in the last month, makes for a shit start to summer. Oh, and I'm not going to Europe either (my decision and made long before the bottom fell out this past month). Compared to the list I just made, being stateside is not exactly a huge tragedy, but I am a spoiled snotface, so I am a little bitter. Please feel free to criticize away.

Since I grounded myself from a European boozefest this summer, I decided to go to a quiet little place in Florida, Longboat Key. Its off the coast of Sarasota, in the Gulf of Mexico. Yes, I booked this long before the armageddon that is the oil spill. A bright spot in this saga is that the oil has not yet affected the beaches in southwest Florida, so I'm good on that account (fingers crossed it remains that way). Being that I am in America and on an island with just about nothing to do, except swim, tan, read, and drink (not in bars, there aren't many of those), I don't see this blog being updated with many "stories." I'm pretty much here to try to stop grinding my teeth, and relax before returning to the unfinished business Summer 2010 has for me . . . the stupid whore.

40th birthday + Liz + Montreal = Hip Hop Hooray!!!!

2009-11-03T17:34:00.040-05:00

Well, I would like to be able to say that turning 40 has been a time of reflection, growth, gratitude, and understanding of how I want the remainder of my life to unfold. But I cannot. It was none of those things. It was better! Liz and I both turned the big 4 0 this year and decided to take a trip to celebrate, in addition to her killer boat party and my booze soaked dinner party. We would have liked to have taken the show back to Europe, but doing that over a long weekend was just not feasible. So we decided to terrorize Montreal, Canada. Neither of us had ever been to visit our neighbors to the north; they may be wishing we still hadn’t.

We discussed how we would like to see our 4 days unfold. Websites were visited, “best of” books bought, cuisine investigated, and decisions made. Pretty much, we both decided the goal of this trip was to shop, drink, eat, people watch, walk around, drink, eat, drink, and drink. Lofty goals for such sophisticated women as ourselves, but we figured we could sacrifice museums and cultural centers this one time. We also looked into trapeze school, but in the end hangovers made that decision for us.

While we may have missed out on the cultural gems of Montreal, we did maximize our time and explored a vast array of liquid offerings as well as some kick ass food. By 10am on the morning of our arrival we were on a 2 mile trek for what are billed as some of the best bagels in Montreal. Not sure which way to turn on the street, we asked a girl walking towards us for directions. Well, well, well, didn’t that turn into a fabulous decision. Instead of just telling us where to go, she said “come, we will go together.” Um, ok. Turns out this girl is a serious career woman. Follow if you can: she is a trained professional dancer, a nightclub promoter, a clerk at a Zen tea shop, a tour/travel operator, a graphic designer, and a thoracic surgeon. Ok, I made that last part up, but you get the point. We learned every damn detail of this chick’s life in the block she walked with us; plus we got invited to the opening of one of Montreal’s newest most hip Restobars. And I became friends with her on Facebook. What a shitshow. Needless to say, Liz and I did not bring our finest slutwear and we weren’t sure if we would have to make out with her to gain access to the party, so we passed on attending. Sweet start to the trip!!!!!

the invite to the club opening. Enuff said.

We decided to take it easy on Thursday night, as getting up at 3:30am for our flight was exhausting. Please do not judge us for our choice, we more than made up for our easy Thursday night the following two. In spades. We had dinner at great place called Bieres et Compagnie a block or so away from our hotel. They have an enormous menu of microbrews and this is where we found the oh so delicious St. Ambroise Pale Ale brewed right in Montreal. Mmmm . . . good beer!!! The other outstanding feature of this restaurant and Montreal in general, is their love of the frites. Their French fries are not just a side dish, they are THE dish. And they have, wait for it . . . a MAYONNAISE MENU to accompany the fries. As a diehard fan of mayonnaise products, I thought Liz was going to shed tears over the choices.

Bagel shop worth the 2 mile trek!

giant ass hunk of dough the bagels are cut from

menu of mayonnaise!!

So after laying down a base of about 800 pounds of French fries, we headed to a great little bar right beside our hotel called L’Barouf. It was low key, full of tables of people having microbrews and chatting, served our new love St. Ambroise, and had a really fun bartender, shame we never learned his name. Somehow we started talking about the iTunes playlist for the bar. It was all low key, jazzy, bluesy type music. I decided he needed to kick it up a notch with some O.P.P as performed by Naughty by Nature. He actually had it in his library, but couldn’t program it into the playlist. Blood oaths were made to play it the next time we came in, which was hilarious considering playing that kind of music would be as appropriate as Frank Sinatra doing a Tupac cover. With that kind of commitment on the table, you know we were coming back. Yet, I digress. As Liz and I sat there swimming in beer and laughing, we made a new friend. In all honesty, I should say Liz made a new friend because she had the misfortune of sitting behind him. To this day, I still cannot remember his name; I know it had about 17 letters, started with a B, and was Moroccan. I simple chose to go with B Diddy. This guy was a certified nutjob who was insulted by just about everything we said (funny how that happens) but wouldn’t go away. He also had a serious drinking problem. And that’s saying a lot coming from us! And he stunk . . .bonus! To his credit, he did want us to enjoy ourselves while were in his adopted home town. The recommendations we gleaned from him were to go to some nail salon that served drinks and may or may not give happy endings and then to the strip club around the corner. ALLLL RIIIIIGHT! When we left L’Barouf, we did so Mission Impossible style, for fear of him following us and killing us in the middle of the side walk. Loved that guy!

Nothing says crazy like this guy!

L'Barouf with great bartender and B Diddy.

Friday was raining and cold, but we were not to be discouraged. We took off for the Latin Quarter and Old Montreal. The Latin Quarter is as expected, full of bars, restaurants, cafes, funky stores, a High Times, and a sex shop. Classy! Old Montreal was amazing. While the rain kind of sucked, we decided that the gray day added to the old world feel of that part of the city. It was full of cool little shops, ridiculously good looking restaurants, boutiques, art stores, etc. One of the several memorable quotes of the trip came as we walked into Old Montreal. There were two men dressed in beautiful suits, taking things from the trunk of a black BMW. The really really good looking one of the two looked at his friend and said in all seriousness, “I’ve never smoked pot in my life, and I’m kind of embarrassed about that.” The timing was perfect. Liz and I were right beside them on the sidewalk as he said this. She and I looked at each other, back at them, and then fell apart laughing.

We actually held off on beginning our drinking until noon and we visited the cathedral. See, the whole trip wasn’t spent face down in a glass of booze, ok most, but not all. After the cathedral, all bets were off. As we walked home we stopped at a bistro in the Latin Quarter where I discovered another tasty Canadian beer, Sleeman’s Silver Creek. Yum! We also witnessed the craziest OCD bartender known to humanity. She cleaned that place so well I would have sipped my beer off the counter. Everything was squared off, ordered, and sparkling. Even her lemons and oranges were perfectly arranged in their containers. Because we are essentially assholes, we put all of the coasters on the bar in off center positions. We didn’t want her to get bored later in her shift. Once we got back into our neighborhood of Mont Royal, we popped into a very cool café for more beverages. Stop judging, it had been at least 10 blocks since our last refreshment. Café Cherrier is a classic Montreal style café. It was very cool and served a rather gross apple pie. We mostly just laughed at it and stuck our fingers in it. You know where that discussion went . . . the movie “American Pie.” Fill in the rest for yourself, if you dare. Fortunately for us, Montreal also embraces gourmet chocolates in addition to beer and frites. It would have just been rude if we didn’t pop into Studio 88 for some tasty chocolate treats on our way back to the hotel. Shitgodamn, was that good chocolate. And in the spirit of drinking our way through the city, we indulged in “shooters”, cups of chocolate filled with Absolute Citron. BRING IT!!!!

funky bars/restaurants in Latin Quarter

Rue Saint-Paul Est in Old Montreal

Notre-Dame-de Bon-Secour Chapel

inside the chapel

beautiful lights inside chapel

cool restaurant in Old Montreal

Old Montreal

The Cathedral

main alter of the cathedral

Saint's head carved in the end of a pew in the Cathedral

notice the squared off citrus in the background. Crazy!

Cafe Cherrier

Not so delicious apple pie.

yummy yummy chocolate.

Because the writing was on the wall, we had to stop at a wine shop for a bottle to see us through the clothes change for our night out. Yup, if we stopped at that point, the day would have been over. It was so far from that!!!!! So one bottle of wine down, we headed to the Downtown area on Crescent Street for a good old fashioned boozefest. Liz heard about a nice little bar called the London Pub that became our first and last stops of the night. The place was tiny and the bartender was friendly and generous. Um, a little too generous, I might add. He learned it was our first time in Montreal and gave us a proper welcome with some maple syrupy shot thing. Very hospitable of him. Then he heard us mention something about a birthday and believed we needed another shot for that occasion. We then asked him what we got if we told him we were pregnant. Seriously, what is wrong with us! So after too many shots chased by beers we headed off to another recommended place. I no longer remember its name and barely remember being there at all. It was a huge cheesy clubby kind of place that merits a mention because of the delicious sandwich we had there. This sandwich will be important later. Remember it, because I really didn’t. From the bar whose name I cannot remember, we headed to Thursdays. As Liz put it when we walked in “It’s like Union Street, only bigger.” And so it was. Somehow someway we had four Canadian men, who were in town from somewhere (you can see I really cared about their details), join us. They decided we needed to go downstairs to the dancing part of the establishment. Down the stairs we go, check our coats (because in Montreal this is some randomass mandatory rule in some bars), and let our freakflags fly with the rest of the cheeseballs in the place. This part of the night becomes a bit hazy for me, but I do clearly and distinctly remember the dance floor. It, wait for it, . . . . revolves. OH HELL YEAH. The thing spins in a circle. I held our drinks while Liz boogied down; each time she passed me I handed her a glass for a sip. It was like handing water to runners in the New York Marathon. I’ve never loved such a cheesy venue so much in all my life. It screamed 2 dollar hooker with big hair and shiny shirts. LOVED IT!!!! After what seemed like 36 years of beer consumption and nonsense we made the excellent decision that we should cap off the night back at London Pub. It is at this point that I must point out that while we turned 40 and should know better, we just cannot find the discipline to walk away. When I arrived at the bar, there was yet another shot from Nick, the generous bartender, waiting for me. And did I turn it down, oh no, that would just make me a rude American. And, while I may be a lot of things, rude I am not. Sweet mother of god!

Finally, and I really don’t even know how it happened, we got into a cab back to the hotel. Our driver either didn’t speak English or decided we were not worth speaking it to. He was nice enough, though. Until Liz flipped a shit because she didn’t recognize the road we were on. Really? How is that possible? We have never been in the city, all of our blood has been replaced by booze, and we don’t recognize where we are. Go figure. The poor guy finally pulls over, takes Liz’s map from her, and starts trying to explain where we are going in French. I, mainly due to high levels of liquid confidence, decide I can have this conversation in French. Sadly, I use a mix of Italian, French, and Drunk to conduct the dialogue. No clue what we finally decided, but we made it back to our hotel. And then passed it. And then Liz told him to keep going. And then she told him to let us out. 8 blocks past the hotel. Huh. Ok, let’s get our walk on. And walk we did. Then it happened. I snap back into consciousness in a pizza place, with slices in our hands. Then. . . .fade back to hazy.

The next morning was epic. After getting our croissants from outside our door, we both break out our cameras for a recap. Sometimes the recap is better than the actual night, especially when you look at pictures and say “Who the fuck is that?” “What the hell am I doing and where the hell am I?” As we are discussing our bad decisions, I make a point of saying that NOT eating all night was our undoing, as one should always lay down a base. That’s when Liz says “yeah, laying down the foundation after you’ve already put the roof on is not the best way to go.” Huh? What foundation? She would be referring to the delicious sandwich we had at the bar whose name I cannot remember. Wait, what? What sandwich? Oh holy shit, I absolutely forgot about that sandwich. This never happens. I am the keeper of the memories and now I had forgotten about a piece of the evening. Damn that Nick and his graciousness! And someone in our group may or may not have woken up with pizza still in their mouth. Aaaaaahaaaaahaaaaaaa!!!!!

Welcome to Canada! Happy Birthday! Really Nick? Really?

Who the hell are all of you? Oh, Canadians!

I so sleepy.

some things have no explanation.

no words . . .

Hey look up; the ceiling is all mirrors. Let's take a picture.

Me: Is your name Pepe Le Pew? I know we are not actually in France, but you stink!!!

Mais si/oui! Nous andiamo alla Via/Rue St. Denis. Grazie/Merci. Shit!!!!

Saturday we walked around the Plateau neighborhood and down Mont Royal Street. It was funky little area with lots of people out on the street. We got to see the best named Basset Hound in the world get all badass on some fluffy white dog passing by, to which her owner said, “Jesus Lola!” Great name for a Bassett. The highlight of that day was discovering the best little piece of heaven to put in one’s mouth, at G Point. Drum roll please . . . the French Macaron. Sweet baby Jesus were these things perfection. People lined up out the door of this little bakery to fork over $1.50 a piece for these silver dollar sized cookies. And I was right there with them. They also served a bowl of hot chocolate that was like an opiate. I have never in my life been defeated by chocolate until that day. Liz is pretty sure she developed PTSD from her experience with the chocolatiness of that bowl. These little “wads of heaven” (name pending copyright by Liz) were so magical that we made the cab driver stop off on our way to the airport on Sunday. And, we have begun work on making our own through secret Macaron labs. We will be ready for retail by early 2010.

By about mid-afternoon, we have sufficiently rebounded from our huge Friday to start the nonsense all over again. We found this great little bar on the second floor of a restaurant with an outdoor balcony that was just about perfect for people watching. Several beers later we were ready for dinner and then a quick change of clothes and out for the night. Because we had set a precedent the night before, we headed to wine shop for a bottle to see us through the wardrobe change. Upon arrival at the shop we were greeted with a sight I’ve never quite seen. There was a line to get IN THE LIQUOR STORE. What the hell!!!

"Wads of Heaven"

The bowl of hot chocolate that defeated me. Who knew it was possible!

Awesome afternoon of people watching on Rue St. Denis

Before we really got on with our night, we had to make a pit stop back at L’Barouf. Someone had promised to shake things up with a little Naughty By Nature; no way was letting him off the hook on that one. As soon as we walked in, the bartender knew what we were there for and was ready to make good on his promise. Sadly, when he was looking for O.P.P to add to his night’s playlist, he discovered he didn’t have that one. But he did have another Naughty By Nature song, “Hip Hop Hooray.” It ain’t O.P.P., but it’s a good second. When the first beat blasted out of those speakers I was all arms in the air and white girl rappin!!
“I live and die for Hip HopThis is Hip Hop for todayI give props to Hip Hop so Hip Hop hooray...Ho...Hey...Ho”

Ok, so were in the cab headed back down to Crescent Street making all kinds of agreements about what we will and won’t do. I mean, seriously, we have to check out of the hotel at noon, entertain ourselves until about 5pm, and then head to the airport for our flight home. That kind of day leaves no room for ridiculous hangovers. I somehow survived the flight home to Rome from Dubrovnik the previous summer in Croatia; I don’t think luck will be that kind to me and allow for a second showing. So, the deal is no shots (ok maybe 1, but only 1) and we are going home at 1am. And we meant it. Until we landed back at the London Pub and met Chris Miller. A friend of Nick the bartender. And the wheels came off. This guy was one of the funniest people I have ever met and will drink until he literally falls down. He began his conversation with us by telling the story about how he shit himself while trying to open a checking account at the bank. I mean really? If that’s the introduction can you imagine how it ended? There was so much ridiculous conversation and tear soaked laughter that I had pains in my side. Sadly, we broke all of our promises but ended up with a new Facebook friend. Well worth it!

Remember, we agreed, just this one.

Oh really, Nick? You want to give us a shot? That's shocking.

We never knew why or how . . . but this is how he introduced himself to us. WTF!!!!

Chris Miller and Nick the Bartender

And so another international trip comes to a close. There were no police involved in this one, but that was only because we had just the right combination of American and Canadian money to pay the exact cab fare to the airport. That ride was a nail bitter. We both left that country with not a penny on us. The lovely bartender at the airport refrigerated our Macarons for us while we shoveled drinks in until the last minute of that trip. All in all, it was fabulous. And, as Naughty By Nature would say, “Hip Hop Hooray . . . ho . . . hey . . . ho . . . Smooth it out now!”

and this is what you get when you sit at a cafe drinking and people watching before you head to the airport. HILARIOUS!!

Modeling firetruck underwear at the airport bar. Nonsense to the bitter end.

Home Again

2009-07-19T08:00:00.015-04:00

I'm back in VA, where everyone but me seems to think I belong. Actually, it's nice to sleep in my own bed and be in a place where I can understand what's going on if I choose to. I'm also incredibly grateful that I, and my luggage, made it when and where we were supposed to. The return travel, 18 hours worth, was definitely the longest route I 've ever taken from Europe: Sevilla to Barcelona; Barcelona to Paris; Paris to Dulles. For a girl terrified of flying, that was a lot of take offs and landings. Also probably the reason I drank a significant amount of gratis Champagne from Air France. Or I just love booze. Either way.

So, Liz picked me up at the airport, as has become our tradition; and, after about 2 hours of trying to clear customs and immigration, we hit the road for trouble. Being the most excellent friend she is, Liz had bottles of Vinho Verde and some snacks on hand to ease the pain of being home. We dropped my stuff at my house, cleaned up (meaning I brushed my hair and put on some makeup . . . no sense in scaring the villagers immediately upon my return), and headed to O'Connells. And, the rest is pretty predictable. I made bad choices by drinking Irish Car Bombs and Magners Cider on minimal food and no sleep for over 24 hours. But it was fun as hell and great too see everyone! In fact, one of the best statements ever, came from our collective bad behavior, in an email yesterday morning. To protect the not so innocent, I'm keeping the author of this line anonymous "My head is about to explode, I think I might ralph and my upper lip smells like man. It must have been a good night, though I don't recall much."

I spent most of yesterday asleep; in fact I think I was only really awake for about 5 hours total. I LOVE SUMMERTIME!!!!!!!!!

Merrin, me, Haley, and Loralei at O'Connells

Liz, honoring the "french fry incident" of last year's return home outing.

Liz wearing my friend's extra outfit that was stuffed into the smallest purse, ever! Kelly looks on with horrified amusement.

another Irish Car Bomb seems like a good idea . . .

on second thought, maybe not!

Alex, Liz (doing what, I'm not sure), me at Union Street

the beginning of the end, bar #3 Bayou Room

self-explanatory

"do whaaaaa!"

Alex, me, random guy at Bayou Room just before we all pour ourselves into cabs.

Bullshit . . . I mean Bull Fight

2009-07-16T17:59:00.012-04:00

WARNING: this post is going to have the “F” word in it about 752 times. Click away if foul language is a problem.

WHAT. THE. FUCK. Ok, I try to be culturally sensitive when I travel. And I went into this bullfighting thing with an open mind. You know Hemingway wrote about it and made it sound so artistic and almost existential. Man against beast, the poetry of the matador maneuvering the toro around his body. What fucking ever. I made it through one dead bull and one possibly dead matador before I had to get the fuck out. I’m not going to lie. The costumes are fancy, shiny, and colorful. And, watching the bull coming charging out into the arena is really impressive. I will even go so far as to say that watching the matador simply maneuver the bull around with his cape is pretty and courageous and intriguing. And that’s where it ends. Once they start punching the banderillas into the bulls back to weaken its muscles and piss it off, now you’re just being a fucking douchebag. Let’s also be clear about something else. It’s not man against beast. It’s the bull against the goddamn swaying colored cape. That bull couldn’t have given two shits about the matador; he was naturally responding to the movement and color of the cape. Um, much like a kitten with a moving string. How the fuck is that man against beast. You’re the dumb shit waving the cape so close to your body, hoping he doesn’t get too close and gore your ass. At some points, the bull even stopped caring about the cape. The matador had to taunt it by waving it harder and even walking over to the bull and putting it directly in its face.

The first matador I saw apparently was not very good. He didn’t make a killing stab and the bull had to stagger around before it bled enough to fall down and then he could kill it. I stopped watching until I heard the crowd cheer and knew it was dead. Then the most fucking ridiculous portion of the event took place. Three beautiful horses all decked in red sashes, bells, and a yoke are paraded out to the dead animal. The carcass is hooked to their yoke and they drag it across the arena while some retard guys crack whips and yell shit. The crowd stands as if in honor of the dead bull. Unfuckingbelievable. I decided that I’d seen enough and was going to leave right after the second bull did the whole cape charging thing, but before they started hurting it. And, lo and behold the matador fucked up and got himself gored and trampled on. I had even just muttered, as the bull came charging into the ring, “I hope he gores your stupid ass.” I didn’t really mean it. Ok, I kinda did; but I didn’t necessarily need to see it. I’m pretty sure that guy was fucked up. All the little picadors, sort of rodeo clowns if you will, came running out to distract the bull with their capes and carry the wounded guy out. That’s when I picked up my stuff and beat it. As far as I’m concerned, that bull is still alive because I never saw differently; and, that matador got what he deserved for engaging in such a barbaric, pointless, and cruel event. And, the crowd . . . well I’m sure they are lovely humans, but what the fuck! I was the only person around who seemed in the least bit horrified. Everyone was all dressed up, snacking on nuts, drinking Cava, and otherwise acting like they were at Gold Cup. I just couldn’t believe it. I’ve asked several people, now, if they go to see the Toros. The answer is mostly a definitive no! Several times I’ve been told it is a “spectacle” that only the rich go to. If that is the case, the rich are some seriously fucking bored ass people if this is their version of entertainment.

I know I voluntarily went to this thing; and, I know I read about the how they wounded and then killed the bull, but I was still stunned and horrified. Pageantry, courage, and passion my fucking ass!!!!! I am less of a human for having watched this. I gave a homeless man some euro on my way home; hopefully that will balance things out!

liquid courage did not help when it came right down to it!

entrance to the shitshow, notice the man with a cooler of drinks and snacks.

the arena is really pretty when no animals are being killed in it

cape work is cool to watch; they should just leave it at that and not harm the bull. FUCKERS!

yeah, that bull is no longer interested, oh but let’s taunt it and then kill it anyway

the banderillas may be colorful and pretty but they are still cruel

the matador who got gored and the bull who won, as far as I’m concerned

civilized video I took on my way home to make myself feel better. No idea why its sideways.

Final Day inSevilla

2009-07-16T13:26:00.020-04:00

I am, as usual, incredibly sad to report today is the last day of my trip. I’m especially heartbroken that this summer’s adventure was only half of what I normally do; it feels very strange to be coming home in July. Yeah, yeah, I know . . . I am lucky to be able to do any of this at all. And, I truly do feel fortunate, in addition to the spoiled bratty sadness that it’s coming to an end. Leaving also has a different feeling to it since I have been travelling in places that I am not familiar with. It has been quite a few years since I have travelled in countries that I have no familiarity with. I was truly a tourist and it was a huge amount of fun. My summers in Italy haven’t had that quality since I’m so used to the culture, language, trains, people etc. I am grateful for having had the opportunity to visit Portugal and return to Spain, to a region I had not been in before. Europe fucking kiss ass, plain and simple! Alright, on with a story . . .

Because I am a planner, when I’m not lounging about being a drunkard in Roma, I left today free to do some shopping (not under the influence of Sangria this time) , have a nice long walk in the park, and tapas bar hop for some final snacks, cerveza, sangria, and manzanilla (yes I am mixing). I’m also still planning on going to the bullfight tonight, against my better judgment.
Anyway, the day has been fabulous. The Maria Luisa Park is huge, beautiful, and awesome. It was the sight of the Iberoamerican Exhibition of 1929. Because of this they built some seriously impressive national pavilions, the best of course is Plaza de Espana. It’s so expansive, as a matter of fact, I couldn’t get the whole thing into a picture. The rest of the park is full of fountains, sculptures, green space, and thankfully shade. It’s hot as hell today!

This last bit of information will be especially meaningful to Angela. She is a huge fan of my alter ego, “Summer,” who made her first appearance in Spain. I stopped at a recommended tapas kiosk in the park for food and cerveza. The bartender/cook was this old man who made fun of every single customer at the place. He also sang your order, threw napkins at people standing around, and yelled nonsense at anyone who walked by. He was hilarious. When he realized that I had no game in Spanish and he couldn’t speak English, he took to whistling, pointing, and making assorted noises to get his point across. Apparently, instead of just swatting at a fly that was pissing me off, he wanted me to squash it with his menu. Um, yeah no. Not on the bar, thanks. So, I was quietly eating and watching him give these 3 guys, standing near me, massive amounts of shit. One of them returns an insult and he responds by grabbing his junk and pretty much telling them to suck it. I just happened to look at him at this exact moment and burst out laughing. Both the bartender and 3 guys thought my laughter was even funnier than the exchange they were having. It was also, apparently, an invitation, for the only one of them who spoke English, to come over and talk to me. At this point, I would like to be able to tell you that I met the modern day Don Juan of Sevilla, but that would just be an enormous lie. I did, however, meet a rather chatty, pushy, Spaniard who was also very attractive. Until he opened his mouth to reveal his ONE TOOTH. Holy. Shit. Looking into that pie-hole was like staring into the sun. I’m not sure if it was the spell of his dental issue (notice I used the singular of issue, not issues, because of his 1 tooth . . . get it!) or the muchas cervezas he bought me, but I revealed a little too much about my intentions for this evening. Since I was still deciding between a Flamenco bar and the bullfight, he decided he would accompany me to the bar; and, he wasn’t taking no for an answer despite my best efforts. Ok, let’s just put this out there, I am that shallow, that I can’t get past the missing 27 teeth. Thus, “Summer” arrived. She gave her name, the neighborhood where she was staying, and the time she thought she might be at the Flamenco bar. None of which remotely resembles me or where I will be. I love that girl!!!!

So, I may or may not be able to post about the bullfight tonight. I guess that will depend on whether or not I’m in the fetal position from all the inhumanity and bloodshed. If I don’t, be warned. Liz, per tradition, is picking me up at the airport tomorrow evening and we will be out terrorizing the citizenry of Alexandria until I pass out from exhaustion; join us if you will. That is assuming that I make all my connections in Barcelona and Paris. Oy!
Flamenco costume store; or what I envision and LSD trip would be like.

midget nuns who kept popping up while I was shopping. Yeah, I know this will land me in hell.

just for more perspective on how small they really are

Queens Sewing Box, former garden lodge of the Palacio de San Telmo

Plaza de Espana, right before I dropped by guide book into that stagnant water belonging to the fountain that is not running. Seriously??????? Good thing its my last day and I no longer need it. I think it might have Hep C.

one of 4 sets of bridges

each province in Spain is represented

province of Cadiz

pretty pretty fountains

Frog and Swan fountain

the Lions fountain

these things are all over Sevilla, on statues, fountains, the tops of buildings, and staircases

Museo de Artes y Costumbres Populares

statues everywhere

nasty post-park feet

Cordoba

2009-07-15T11:35:00.010-04:00

Took the train out to Cordoba today to see what I like to call the Mosquedral. It’s this ridiculously awesome combination of a former Christian basilica turned Mosque, when the Muslims conquered, that the Reconquistadors took back and decided to build a cathedral in the middle of. Seriously, it’s crazy. The cathedral pushes right up in the middle of a forest of Moorish arches. The doors from the outside still retain their very Muslim architecture, with some statues and such to Christian saints too. The former minaret has been turned into a bell tower, as they all have in Andalusia. And, the courtyard used for ablations during Moorish times was full of palm trees that the Christians ripped out and replaced with orange trees. I have decided that I really do like Moorish architecture; there is just something about all the arches and smooth lines that is really nice. Baroque style can go f*uck itself; I had bad dreams, last night, about all those creepy cherubs, saints, and plaster doodad ornamentation covering every inch of some of these churches. Or maybe the bad dreams were from too much sangria? No. . . . because at this point, I am a professional!

Oh, and I have now run into my American friends from Massachusetts, for the 3rd day running, in odd and random places. They were in the Mosquedral in Cordoba today too. I met them in the square in front of the Cathedral three days ago, and then saw them while we were both buying water at some random shop the same day, and then again in the Cathedral the following day as well as while having drinks that night. And, I still don’t know what their names are. Nice, huh! This simply reaffirms my philosophy that you should never take the attitude of, “whatever, I’ll never see these people again.” Because you will; and they will bring back up how you tripped over your own flipflop and made a loud smacking sound on the floor of the cathedral while it was all quiet and such. And then made it that much worse by laughing out loud. Not that I did that. As far as you know.

Bell tower, previous minaret

Door of Forgiveness

along the outside walls

forest of arches in every direction you looked

Muslim influence infused with Christian symbols

you can see the main alter and nave area smack in the middle of the arches

Orange tree courtyard

Centro, Triana, and Arenal

2009-07-14T10:59:00.026-04:00

Centro is the shopping district of the city. Pretty much anything you could want is here: designer clothes, ceramics, Flamenco costumes, custom made hats, Sephora, H&M, etc. There are a couple little churches tucked into the mess and of course little bars. Because the sun is so hot, they string these massive canvases across the streets so the pedestrian shopping zones stay in the shade. Very clever, these people.
Ayuntimiento, city hall whose frieze wasn’t finished because the city ran out of money. It sits on Plaza de San Francisco, the sit of public trials for heretics during the Inquisition.

a 1924 tile ad for Studebakers in the shopping district

La Magdalena church

Casa de la Condesa Lebrija, the home of a single countess who traveled the world in the 1800’s collecting Roman ruins, etc. She remodeled her 15th century house, often, to fit the antiquities she collected from her travels. Bitch, I can’t even afford to have a vase shipped home, much less move entire mosaic floors.

the glassed in porch leading to the summer dining room

some of the mosaics she had salvaged and moved to her home

the summer dining room. I want seasonal dining rooms!

the grand staircase

Baroque architecture officially freaks me out, Iglesia Del Salvador

restored courtyard of a bank. . . awesome!

Triana is the neighborhood across the river from Santa Cruz, Centro, and Arenal. Its known for being the home of most of Sevilla’s top Flamenco perfomers as well as the city’s ceramics producers. It definitely still has a working class vibe to it and is not as touristy as Santa Cruz. No English gets spoken on this side of the river. I’m still not sure if the way too expensive ceramic bowl I bought can actually be used to hold anything. And, I have no idea how I’m going to get this thing home in one piece. Good move on my part. I should have had my Tinto de Verano after I went shopping.

Rodrigo de Triana Monument; he was the lucky guy assigned crow’s nest duty on Columbus’ La Pinta when they were close enough to see land. His words “Tierra,” marking the first person to lay eyes on the Americas, are on the bottom of the monument. That’s just funny.

Iglesia de Santa Ana, legend has it that children baptized here are given the gift of Flamenco singing and dancing

Pila de los Gitanos, the baptismal font, I was going to take some holy water for my sister but didn’t want to curse myself

the underside of all the balconies have amazing ceramic tile work

statue honoring Traina’s many reknowned Flamenco dancers

Capalita del Carmen, random little chapel that sits at the end of a bridge into Triana

the passageway from the river, through which suspected heretics were dragged into the headquarters of the Inquisition
fresh food market of Triana

Ceramica Santa Ana, scene of expensive impulse buy

Arenal is between the Cathedral and the river. I walked back through this part of the city to find the Plaza de torros de la Maestranza, otherwise known as the Bullfighting Arena. I’m going to put on my big girl pants and go on Thursday night. I don’t know if I will stay to watch all 6 of the bulls be “dispatched,” (that’s the Spaniards’ polite way of saying they kill the bull by putting a sword between its shoulder blades to pierce its heart, in the ring, IN FRONT OF YOU), but I will at least be there for 1 to say I’ve done it. I may need therapy after this.

tile ad for Manzanilla, chilled sherry Hospital de la Caridad, founded in 1674 as a charity hospital; it stills cares for the elderly and sick

random traffic circle

Torre del Oro believed to once have been covered in gold

Tapas, Booze, Bars, and Flamenco

2009-07-14T10:42:00.012-04:00

I know I’ve said this about a thousand times since I started writing this blog three years ago, but I seriously love café culture. People said spending 6 days in Sevilla would be way too long; it’s a pretty small city as far the historic part goes. I, however, have managed to fill my days just fine with about 6 hours a day walking around to see assorted whatnots and then another 6 spent at tapas bars and cafes. I would be eternally grateful if one of you could arrange to get this vibe going back home. You only have a few days until I come home, so you might want to get on with it. Please.
Sangria with tapas of roasted eggplant and mini-hamburgers in a garlic sauce

most squares have tables set up in them to hang out and have a drink or tapas

Sevilla’s oldest known coffee shop, with a Starbucks on one side and a McDonald’s on the other side. Seriously?

endless homemade candies & pastries . . . declicious café con leche!

classic tapas place, Bar Estrella. Covered with old photos of Sevilla and tile work.

best tapas so far, shrimp & fish flakes in an avocado with yummy sauce, stuffed mushroom caps, and cerveza

Bar Santa Ana in Triana, a seriously local bar with pictures of bullfighters and saints on the walls. I ordered a surprisingly delicious Tinto de Verano, red wine & lemonade.

I’m also enamored with Flamenco. My sister has been dancing and raving about the art for years; I just never really got into it. Last night I went to a show at Casa de la Memoria, an old palace that has been converted into a cultural center. They have a Flamenco show in the courtyard each night, featuring some of Sevilla’s newest up and coming talents. Last nights’ show featured a guitarist, singer, and female dancer. She in particular was spectacular. I know see why my sister loves this art so much; it is muchas muchas sexy stuff. I hooked up with both the singer and the dancer. Haaaaaa, no I didn’t. Or did I. . . Unfortunately, we were not permitted to take photos during the performance, only the last 5 minutes. So mostly, my pictures of the performance suck, but the venue kicked ass too!

Casa de la Memoria

the last few minutes of the show

taking a bow

Sevilla & the Barrio Santa Cruz

2009-07-13T11:10:00.023-04:00

Sevilla is one of the prettiest cities I’ve ever been in. The architecture is amazing; in fact, I think I’ve taken the same picture about 15 different times. My hotel is right around the corner from the Cathedral and I feel the need to take a picture of it every time I come out in the morning. What? You don’t think it’s changed overnight? Whatever.

It’s hot as the sun here so I have fully embraced the Sevillian custom of siesta. There is nothing better than pulling into a tapas bar for snacks, cerveza, and sangria for a couple of hours in the late afternoon. After that, you have plenty of time to head back to the hotel, shower up, and head out into the cooler night. Dinner doesn’t really even begin until 10-11pm and after that its drinks. Really? This is soooo my kinda town!

Tonight I´m going to a Flamenco show and tomorrow I´m headed to Cordoba to see the big mosque there. A British guy almost has me convinced to go to a bullfight on Thursday night. I was dead against it, but now I´m strangely intrigued. . . and it´s a very Sevillian thing to do. Apparently.
outside walls of the Alcazar, the royal palace that is heavily influenced by Moorish architecture.

Cathedral of Sevilla . . . and this is only half of it!

amazing architecture in Sevilla

The white building was the setting for the opening scene in Cervante´s play, Don Juan, which he wrote while in prison in Sevilla.

The cloisters of Hospital de los Venerables, a nursing home built for old and sick priests in 1676. The sunken fountain in the middle was very cool.

This balconey was the inspiration for a scene between two crazy kids hooking up in Rossini´s opera, The Barber of Sevilla

Jardines de Murillo, part of the old orchards and vegetable plots of the Alcazar

Plaza de las Cruces

classic tapas bar in Santa Cruz with pork legs hanging from the ceiling, lots of them have these things.

the main courtyard that whole palace is built around

the colors and gold are just beautiful

The Doll Room (called this because there is a little doll head on the left arch in the corner set.

more amazing Moorish plaster work

Gardens of the Alcazar

Legend says this is the tomb of Christopher Columbus in the Cathedral

Plaza Virgen de los Reyes from the top of The Giralda (church tower)

Cathedral at night

Sangria face by the Cathedral

The entrance to the Alcazar at night

Last Day & Night in Tavira

2009-07-13T10:48:00.008-04:00

The last day was a perfect finale to a fantastic time on the Algarve Coast. We finally bought a Bolinhas. Its this little slice of heaven in the form of a doughnut rolled in sugar. The best part of this snack are the two men who walk up and down the beach with baskets of them yelling Boooooooliiiiiiiiiiiiiiinhhhhhaaaaaaas, ALL. DAMN. DAY. It’s a running joke for most people who spend any time on the beach. Every now and then you randomly hear someone in town making fun of them.
Bolinha video I found on Youtube, it's perfect!!

After dinner, we went back to the scene of the crime the night before, The Mad Hatter. We had a minor drink up with our Brit friends one last time. I call it minor because “Rude” and “Delightful” weren’t there and no passed out in their clothes with snacks in their hand.
And I fed the most tame turtle known to humanity his final meal of bread, from me. Maria’s husband found him under his car at their farm; and, now he lives in the garden of the apartment. When he sees you, he follows you so you will give him bread. And, he only takes it from your hand. If you put the bread on the ground, he just crawls over it and keeps coming at your hand. He’s cute, but not seriously bright.

Bolinhaaaaaaas!

Ok . . .

Jill, Ian, Kisha, Me, and randoms at the Mad Hatter

ciao turtle!

The Algarve Roundup

2009-07-10T07:09:00.038-04:00

So it’s been an incredible week; I have fallen in love with Tavira. This little town has such a laid-back, yet international ex-pat community that it’s difficult to not feel like you belong here. I would like to say that I saw everything there was to see on the Algarve coast, but mostly I laid in the sun, drank things I probably should not have, and ate lots of good seafood. In fact, I’m in such a relaxed state of affairs, I’m having hard time even considering I need to pack my stuff to leave for Seville tomorrow. Rough life I got going here. Typing this post is also requiring more energy than I’ve expended in the last 10 days. I might need a sangria and a nap after this; it’s only 10:30 in the morning here. Stop judging me; I can feel it!

Maria, the lady I rented the apartment from, took us out to her farm in Manta Rota. This place is absolutely unbelievable. I have no idea how much land they own, but the farm is a working business with groves of orange, fig, and olive trees. The house is HUGE and old and typically Mediterranean and a place I should live in dammit. It’s been in her husband’s family pretty much forever and when his parents were alive, all the brothers & sisters and their kids spent 3 months of the summer there. To get to the beach, you go through the orange grove and then walk through a little bit of estuary and pop out on a private beach. I gotta find a way to make this mine . . . all mine!!!

The House!!!! I must begin the planning of the takeover, immediately.

covered patio of the farmhouse

standing in the driveway

walking out to the beach from the farm

getting closer to the beach

almost there

my view from the sand

the beach with Spain behind me!

Kisha getting Maria to hold her hair. It was a running joke all week.

We also did the required Rick Steves walking tour of Tavira, which took all of 10 minutes. This place is not big.

church clock

garden inside old castle walls

old castle walls

And then there is the eating and drinking we’ve done. Portuguese food is definitely not in the same category as Italian food. As my mother so astutely pointed out, do you ever see Portuguese restaurants back home? Smart one, that lady is! They do however have kickass fresh seafood and mostly yummy drinks. I say mostly because there was an incident with what we now know as Fig Firewater; in my attempt to swallow a mouth full of it, I ended up spraying much of our table. Firewater is a decent description for this stuff. If it’s true Firewater, it’s also about 50-75% alcohol . . . niiiiiiiiice. No wonder the stuff burned all the taste buds out of my mouth and made me blind.

cider on the beach

dinner by the river

squid at lunch with the biggest bottle of hot sauce on the earth

all you can eat fresh fish

fresh squeezed orange juice . . . the best I have ever had

lots and lots of olives

Cataplana . . . seafood stew!

funny waiter with his deathly Fig Firewater

EVIL!!!!!!!!!!!!

the table after I spit the Firewater across it. Head hung in shame. . .

Thursday, we took a minibus tour of the western Algarve. I despise being on a tour and being shuttled around like cattle, but it was the only way to get out to Cape Sagres. The inexpensive cars were all rented, so cattle we became. We went to a town called Silvas which was cute with a cathedral, now that’s shocking isn’t it . . . a cathedral in a European town, and some Moorish castle. Fine and good, but I wanted the cliffs of Sagres. Next was a stop at a craft market to buy shitass made in that part of the Algarve. You know stuff like cork cutting boards, pottery, sweaters, eucalyptus oil, and firewater made from some other heinous fruit. I bought regular water, cause I learned my lesson. Then we had lunch and a little walk around Lagos. I made a good call when I chose Tavira over Lagos; it felt an awful lot like Nice and was just a big resort with bars and shops. And then finally, what I’d been waiting for, Sagres and Cape St. Vincent, “the end of the World.” The cliffs were AMAZING and I look 20 years younger from the facelift I got from the wind. Up until Prince Henry the Navigator convinced his explorers to get a move on and head further towards Africa down the Atlantic coast, the Portuguese thought this point was the end of the world and that sea monsters lived in the waters. They also thought that since it was so close to the equator that the sun would burn up the ships and turn them black. Standing on the edge of those cliffs was soooooooo worth being part of the minibus herd! We celebrated our victorious sightseeing day with a royal drinkup at a British pub. I made a friend, Harv a British expat in his 60’s, who gave me his contact info so that when I’m ready to join their expat community, I will have a resource at my disposal. I could see this happening; I might be in serious jeopardy of betraying Italy. We also ran into the British couple, Ian and Jill, we met on Kisha’s first night in town. Jill started talking to 2 twenty year old Brit boys who were on holiday with one of their parents. She named the pair “Rude and Delightful.” “Rude” played rugby at some college and “Delightful” had red hair and was a bit shy. All the old fuckers in the pub wanted Kisha to hook up with “Delightful;” it’s safe to say the night was a shitshow with too much sangria, vinho verde, and beer. It finally concluded about 3am with someone completely trolley-eyed and someone passing out with pizza in their hand.

Moorish castle in Silvas

castle walls

Silvas cathedral

Lagos

trail leading to edge of cliffs

Kisha and I at the end of the world

cliffs!

strongest lighthouse in Europe

walking out to the edge of the cliff

cafe with waves blowing back out

self-portrait, again!

view from a cafe in Sagres

windsurfing in Sagres

Tavira

2009-07-06T07:06:00.009-04:00

Tavira is a pretty quiet town and really a place to just hang out in the sun, eat, drink, and people watch. Really, it’s what I’m all about. Kisha arrived on Saturday after a horrendous 24 hours of traveling full of customs lines, missed trains, etc. She was a total trooper when we finally met up at 8:30 that night. We promptly cracked a bottle of wine then headed out for dinner. The wait staff was hilarious and the outside tables were in front of an Irish karaoke bar. Too funny!!!

So we’ve just been drinking lots of wine, eating seafood, laughing on the beach, and getting numb in the frigid Atlantic. And Adonis apparently lives right next door to us. As we were heading back to shower before dinner, this blue-eyed specimen of deliciousness walked out his door and we both stopped and said “Whaaaaat!” Oh yes, he will be OUR husband!

Oh, and someone might have made out with a German at the train station, but I'm not saying who.

caipirinhas on the beach

some giant nasty faced fish in the case outside of a beach restuarant. An octopus' tentacle is on it's eye. . .nasty.

sign into the park

I love this park with all its guady nonsense

yay bandstand

yay bandstand at night with its green fountains

village streets

The Algarve Coast - Tavira

2009-07-03T06:58:00.005-04:00

Some pictures from Tavira!
where the magic happens in Tavira (again kidding, M and D)
huge living room with french doors to the garden

gigantic kitchen with a marble topped farm table. I tried to move it. . . impossible!

the garden with a giant window from my bedroom

more garden; its gorgeous

main street and more plastic garland. I´ve become a fan!

entrance to the riverside park

bandstand in the little riverside park

old Roman Bridge over the river that divides the town

water taxi to Ilha Tavira

walking from the water taxi to the beach

laying on the beach

walking back to the water taxi

The Algarve Coast, or what I’ve seen of it so far, is beautiful. The weather is ridiculously awesome, sunny days, strong ocean breezes, low humidity, and cool nights with lots of ocean air moving around town. My apartment in Tavira is also another winner; it’s huge. The garden is perfect for outdoor drinking, which I plan on doing a bit of. Tomorrow, my friend Lakisha, who I met through writing this blog 2 years ago, arrives from outside Philadelphia. She will be here through the 11th; after which, she goes to Lisbon and I, to Sevilla.

So, I’m off to the beach. It’s on its own little island that is gotten to by a water taxi. There are restaurants and little bars right there on the sand. Seriously, why am I ever going to leave! Oh, and I don’t have internet at the apartment; I have to go to the town hall to catch a wireless hot spot. So, the updates may be a little delayed until I get to Sevilla on the 11th. And I’m about to have a partner in crime. And, I’m busy getting a tan. And drinking caipirinha.

Sintra

2009-06-30T17:40:00.027-04:00

Sintra is an adorable medieval town about 40 minutes west of Lisbon. Its got an UNBELIEVABLE castle the "Pena Palace" with acres and acres of amazing gardens. From the terraces of the palace you can see all the way across Lisbon to the mouth of the Tejo River and the Atlantic. The palace was actually occupied by Portugues royalty as recent as 1910, when they had to flee the country because of the revolution. It was awesome!!!!!

walking up to the palace

the gates

the right side only

part of the right side and middle

a monument to the designer of the palace

looking out to the river

the Tejo River in the distance

view from a guard tower

looking down into the entrance

the Alligator Gate

really?

the gardens cover something like 212 acres

lavendar beds. . . smelled niiiiiice!

Palm garden

They have tree specimens from all over the world. This thing is some kind of a red cedar from the US that uses the ground to reroot itself and start a new upward growth. It was huge. There was also a giant Redwood.

flower and a fish

the lakes with medieval duck houses

Moorish Castle. I walked those walls!

Moorish Castle ruins. They date back 1000 years. The climb was ridiculous, but the views totally worth it.

Pena Palace from the castle ruins

Pena Palace

Ola!

Now I know how I got my sunburn

Pena Palace & ruins, just for some perspective

And since tonight is my last one in Lisbon, I had to choose between getting torn apart on Ginjinha (which would certainly result in my waking up without the little dignity & self-respect I have left) or spending more time in the Port Wine Institute. I went with the second option; and, discovered a new and delicious summer time beverage. . . White Port with tonic and orange slices. Oh it's good. . . it's very very good. I suspect I will be inhaling many of these during my next 2 weeks on the Algarve Coast.

3 words for this libation . . . De. Li. Cious!!!

The Alfama & Cascais

2009-06-29T18:05:00.017-04:00

It rained its ass off until about noon today. That put a crimp in my plan to go to Sintra; it’s been rescheduled for tomorrow. So, after a leisurely coffee in my neighborhood bar, yes, I now have a neighborhood bar in Lisbon, I walked through the last big neighborhood, the Alfama. It’s the only neighborhood (could I use the word neighborhood one more time) that wasn’t destroyed by the earthquake, so it still has that medieval tangle of narrow streets. They also really really really like floral streamers; they are everywhere. History also still reigns in this part of Lisbon. When a woman’s husband dies, she wears black for the rest of her life; yup, saw some. I would do well as a widow here; black is my go to color! They also don’t seem to have private bathrooms or laundry facilities; communal baths are still common. Imagine spending your life in the shower flip flops we all wore in college. Nasty.

That's a lot of festivity

That's even more festivity

awesome terrace that looks out over the city and river

ooooh

aaaaah

flowers and such

Ok, I get all the streamers around the Alfama, but this, I have no idea. Take a closer look. . . there are a few of the seven dwarves hanging to the left of the window and a plastic leg with flowers sticking out of the top to the right. This might actually classify as swag!!

this square is a restaurant at night

more streamers and a random old woman on the steps. I'd take a load off too with all the hills and steps in this neighborhood.

you can NEVER have to many streamers in a Praca!

Gorgeous building at the bottom of the Alfama

I also took the train west to the beach town of Cascais. It’s a quaint and allegedly upscale resort town. There were lots of designer boutiques and Brits, posh indeed!

one of the beaches

tiled street signs

oceanside square

another beach

private residence . . .damn!

Bairro Alto, Chiado, and Belem

2009-06-28T16:03:00.037-04:00

Yesterday, despite the weird stuff I saw, was pretty awesome. I spent most of the day on one of the hill neighborhoods of Bairro Alto & Chiado. This area is known for its Fado bars and Bohemian vibe. Its also got one of my new favorite places, ever. . . the Port Wine Institute. Its got about 300 different types of port for you to try. I only got through 150 of them. I really didn’t know if I was a fan of port, UNTIL NOW!!! Loved the stuff I tried. I also kept running into the same couple, first at the Port Wine Institute, then the convent ruins, and finally at this funky old café. They were using the Rick Steves book, too. Knowing they were probably Americans, I asked them where they were from. No doubt, Sarah was from D.C. and Mike was from Arlington. We had some drinks, shared info on the places we’d been, and went on our separate ways. Sarah left for home today; I may run into Mike next week on the Algarve. I had dinner at a restaurant that specializes in Fado, Portugal’s version of the blues. I didn’t understand a damn thing they sang about (most of it’s about loss at sea and shit like that), but the music was beautiful!

Elevador da Gloria. . . thank god for these funiculars!!!!

view towards the river

view over Lisbon

Miradouro de Sao Pedro de Alcantara, Bairro Alto

Port Wine Institute

Port, Port, Port!!!!

Largo do Carmo, outside the convent ruins

Convento do Carmo, ruined in the earthquake and never rebuilt. Its gorgeous!

Lisbon's cathedral. . .pretty much the only church that didn't crumble during the earthquake/tsunami/fire

Canto de Camoes restaurante for Fado, where I ate a traditional dish of pork chunks & clams. Odd, but pretty good!

Today I went to Belem, a suburb about 3 miles down the river from Lisbon. It’s the place that the royalty fled to after the earthquake/tsunami/fire of 1755. Word on the street has it, the first earthquake conscious building took place here; the royalty built wooden palaces instead of stone. It's really cute and has an AMAZING monastery, tower, and pastry shop. The only downside. . . it rained like crazy later in the afternoon. Not good when you don’t have an umbrella and are wearing a white shirt. I got my lunch for free ;-) Oh, and I saw a Starbucks. I realize that I’m not in Italy or France, but seriously?????

very cool south entrance to the monastery

inside the Monastery with the tomb of Vasco de Gama

black and white photo of the monastery

"faces of the new world" conquered by the Portuguese; these were carved around a confessional door.

awesome cloisters

Monkey gargoyle

Monk gargoyle

Kitty cat gargoyle

self portrait of me meditating in the cloisters. . . ha!

Cloisters

Monastary of Jeronimos

Monastery of Jeronimos

South Africa gave the Portuguese a giant marble map in the sidewalk to commemorate their taking over of the world. This is a sea monster the Portuguese explorers believed lived around the Cape of Good Hope.

part of the marble map honoring the winds the Portuguese DIDN'T think existed around the coast of Western Africa. They also thought the sun would burn the ships up. Ok. . .

another part of the map showing a Portuguese ship sailing towards more foreign lands they intend to colonize

25th of April Bridge and Lisbon's Christ Rei. The locals are more likely to call it Jesus about to jump in the river. Nice!

The Monument to the Discoveries. . . the Portuguese are not letting go of their Age of Exploration easily. Shame they couldn't hold onto those colonies and fortune.

Prince Henry the Navigator and some ass-kisser hanger on. . .oh sorry, I got him confused with all the Michael Jackson coverage on BBC World.

King Manuel I with his ever famous armillary

Tower of Belem. . . used to be in the middle of the river. It was the last thing sailors saw before an expedition and the first thing they saw if they made it back. . . awesome!

self portrait!

You've got to be f*cking kidding me. . .

Lunch = Seabreem with potatoes and salad, Yum!!

Pastel de Belem and cafe com leite!

Casa Pasties de Belem, open since 1837

The Underbelly of Lisbon . . . it Didn’t Take Long

2009-06-27T21:33:00.001-04:00

Well, I’ve been here 2 ½ days and I’ve already seen the dark side. Mind you, most of the things I’m about to describe occurred in broad daylight; and, I wasn’t looking for crazy, but sure as hell found it. I’m just lucky that way!

First, I was feeling rather confident in my ability to navigate the Baixa and did not rely on my map to get me to the elevator to take me up to the Bairro Alto. . .mistake number one. I rounded the wrong corner and ended up on “porno street.” Some guy whips back a heavy curtain to reveal 2 mostly naked chicks doing “things” to each other and asked if I wanted to see the peep show. I was pretty sure I just had.

Second, I’m just about to finish my very civilized Bairro Alto & Chiado stroll, as dictated by the very reputable Rick Steves, when I look down the hill of this busy and trendy shopping area to see what appears to be a shirtless man, with his pants around his ankles, squatting with his back against a very expensive clothing store, taking a dump on the sidewalk. I briefly consider taking photographic evidence of this, but decide you will judge me too harshly. So I cross to the other side of the street and ignore him, as is everyone else. What. The. Fuck.

Third, about an hour later and 8 blocks away, I see the aforementioned homeless street pooper bitching out a trash can. He had the lid off and was really giving whatfor to that garbage receptacle. I have no idea what it did to him, but he and that trash can were definitely breaking up. The homeless people here are far fewer than in Rome, but definitely crazy as shithouse rats.

And, finally the only event to occur after dark: I had a Angolan Portuguese guy tell me he was a chef by education, a musician by passion, and heading BACK to Salt Lake City to convert to Mormonism to attend Brigham Young University. Oh, but if I would meet him “to take a beer,” (this may prove to be a problem once he’s a Mormon) , when he was finished dragging people into the restaurant he worked for, he would discuss coming to the part of the United States I lived in and staying with me while he launched his music and cooking careers. He even produced evidence of his culinary skills. Wait for it. . . the guy took out his RAZR cell phone and showed me a picture of the sushi he made for lunch today. Hm, the photo looked exactly like the stock photo that comes as wallpaper on the damn phone. I should know; I had one. Good times.

The Baixa

2009-06-26T17:04:00.025-04:00

Lisbon has 3 downtown neighborhoods. I intended to cover 2 of the 3 today, but since I didn’t wake up until 1:15pm, that didn’t happen. I stayed awake until about 11pm watching BBC news coverage of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawsett’s deaths; even overseas I’m a gossip follower. Pathetic! Anyway, I haven’t slept for 14 solid hours since college. And no, it’s not because I consumed a bottle of wine; it’s because I was dead ass jet lagged. So shut it!

The view out my window at 1:30pm

The Baixa is the neighborhood in the valley between the two gigantic hills that the rest of Lisbon sits on. And by gigantic, I mean HUGE. They’ve even built elevators to take people up to the tops of the hills so you don’t have to climb a million steps. Nice! It’s also the downtown shopping district; lots of Italian stores here, weird. It was an awesome day and the people reaffirmed my opinion of them, super friendly and willing to work with you on the nonPortuguese speaking thing. The waiter at dinner even offered to marry me and teach me the language. Too bad he was about 80 and looked a bit like Mr. Roper from Three’s Company. Our kids are gonna be gorgeous and multi-lingual.

LOTS of steps leading up to Bairro Alto

I began my afternoon with another tasting at the Wine Center. You can only taste a total of 4 wines per visit, so I may have to go everyday to make sure I sample them all. Whatever, don’t judge me. And, I stand corrected on yesterday’s statistic; Portugal is the world’s 6th largest producer of wine, with the most indigenous variety of grapes, over 200 to be exact. See, educational as well as hydrating!
you have to fill out a survey with every tasting.

Then I did some real sight-seeing. Apparently, anything in this district is post 1755 trifecta of natural disasters. The earthquake (estimated to be about a 9.0) hit on All Saints Day when most of the population was in mass. Almost all of the churches crumbled on the people in them. Those who got out ran for the river and boarded boats to escape the city, which turned out to be a bad decision. A 20 foot tsunami came up the river, capsizing boats and crashing about 800 feet into the city. As if that’s not bad enough, all of the cooking fires and candles that were overturned by the ground shaking started a massive city wide inferno that burned for 5 days. It’s estimated that 90,000 of the 270,000 people living in Lisbon died in that mess. I’m not just being a history dork here; it comes into play when you look at the architecture of the city. The guy who took charge of rebuilding used military engineers and everything is very squared off and military-like, even the few churches that were permitted to be rebuilt; they are almost impossible to find on the street. Apparently, some thought the earthquake may have been paybacks for the mass killings during the recent Inquisition.

aaaah, artistic sepia photo of Praca Municipio

entrance to parking in Praca Municipio

Arch of Triumph leading onto main street of Baixa

view back to the river

cool crystal lamp caught in the sunlight in Church of St. Nicola

monument to honor the city's tile makers

Elevador de Santa Justa up to Bairro Alto neighborhood

Praca da Figueira (Fig Tree Square) site of huge hospital destroyed in trifecta natural disaster, that was not rebuilt. Now home to skate boarders planning anarchistic revolution around the monument to Portugal's King John I. Whatever.

Traditional salted cod fish shop. That smells soooo bad.

Inside of Church of Sao Domingos, rebuilt out of the ruins of the church from the earthquake in 1755. Its crazy how much of that church came down on people attending mass.

Outside of church and Largo de Sao Domingos, the square that housed the palace that functioned as the headquarters of the Inquisition, and also the site where locals massacred the town's Jews in 1506. The Star of David monument, on the left, was erected in 2008 to mark the massacre. Good times in Largo de Sao Domingos.

crazy tile work in Rossio that makes the pavement look rippled. Its perfectly flat. Trippy!

Rossio, Lisbon's historic center with the National Theater at the far end and a column that honors Portugal's King Pedro IV and emperor of Brazil.

Statue of King Sebastian on the front of Rossio Train Station. The young soldier king was lost during a crusade in Africa in 1580. Since Sebastian left no direct heir, the crown ended up with Philip II of Spain, who became Philip I of Portugal. He promised to return the crown to Sebastian if he ever turned up. Ever since, the Portuguese are hopeful of his return and their restoration to national greatness. Even today he is their symbol of being ridiculously hopeful!

Casa do Alentejo, cultural & social center for people from the traditionalist southern province of Portugal. Very Moorish!

After all the educational sightseeing, I was parched. So, I decided when in Rome (or Lisbon, whatever, you get the idea). . . Ginjinha is a favorite libation in Lisbon. It’s sweet liquor made from sour cherries, sugar, and grappa; and, sold for 1 euro a shot. There are all these little holes in the wall where you just rock up and order one with or without berries. I went to the original one across from Lisbon’s most active church. Makes sense in my world. I’m not gonna say I’m a fan of this stuff, but I will say it’s get you stupid pretty quick. The guys serving the stuff found my solo self interesting and each bought me a shot on top of the sample I bought myself. Then the local guy joined the fun. None of these guys spoke English, so I can only imagine the conversation they had at my expense. Whatever, I was warm and fuzzy and headed down Rua das Portas de Santo Antao, otherwise known as “Eating Lane.”

The original Ginjinha joint in Lisbon

Let's give her another one and see if she falls down!

Escaping outside with shot #4

After being accosted by every waiter from every restaurant on this street (can you say tourist area), I settled on Restaurante Milano. Don’t be fooled by the name, nothing on this menu was Italian. In keeping with the spirit of doing all things Portuguese, and mostly because I was marginally plastered from the 4 shots of Ginjinha, I ordered a plate of little snails. The waiter had to show me how to get them out of their shells using a toothpick. He pulled the first one out and handed it to me with its little snail face staring right at me. Thank god my brain was doing the backstroke in booze or I would have had to leave. I forged ahead and actually enjoyed the slippery little suckers, as long as I didn’t make direct eye contact with them. After that, my waiter took me in the kitchen and explained all the desserts and let me pick the one I wanted. It was after dessert that he proposed to me, which was so appropriate since I stumbled across my wedding dress on the Rua Augusta!

A shitload of tiny snails that have faces & Vinho Verde

My wedding dress. In addition to lots of heinous whatnot all over it, it is SEE THROUGH on the top. There are strategically placed feathers to cover necessary naughty bits. All for the low low price of about 2900 euros! Now that, that is classy!

I Made it. . . .

2009-06-25T14:47:00.020-04:00

Despite the odds being against it, I’ve made it to Lisbon. That outcome was in question, beginning with my washing machine dying on Tuesday morning (I’ll be buying a new one upon my return . . .shit!) and then my luggage being put on the conveyor belt, at Dulles, without a destination tag. The guy at Air France promised he would go find it and tag it; and well, he sure as hell did!! I even made my tight connection at hell on Earth, Charles De Gaulle – Paris. The sweet Frenchman, Guy, that I rented the apartment from was waiting on me, at the airport, with a sign bearing my name. For you guys who read last year’s post about Liz and me in Croatia, you will understand why I started laughing when I saw him. He just thought I was either drunk at 9am or retarded.

The apartment is cute and exactly like he said. It’s in the center of Lisbon’s historic district with lots of cafes and restaurants around it. I haven’t done much, other than just wander around for a few hours and get the general layout of the city, and fight the jet lag that’s kicking my ass. Of course, I did happen to wander up on the Wine-Tasting Center that is entirely FREEEEEEEE. I mean Portugal is the 7th largest producer of wine in the world; I wouldn’t want to belittle that fact! And, I have also decided that I will NEVER be able to understand Portuguese. Because of my basic comprehension of French and Italian I can read some of it, but pronouncing it and understanding people when they speak . . . forget it! So now, I’m enjoying a glass, or bottle, of Vinho Verde for dinner (just too damn tired to go out tonight) and heading to bed to try and get myself on Portuguese time.

Apartment

Where the magic happens in Portugal (kidding Mom & Dad)

Apartment

Seriously???

Praca Municipio

HUGE tapestry on the Municipal building

Wine-Tasting Center!

Weird-ass seating/planter pods on the riverfront

riverfront square on Tejo River

Praca do Comercio: Man on the horse is King Jose I stomping the snakes, which represent trouble making-noble families. The arch is Lisbon's Arch of Triumph with Vasco Da Gama on the left and Pombal (the guy who rebuilt the city after the giant earthquake/tsunami/fire of 1755) on the right.

Don't know if you can read the name of the statue below her feet, but its a shrine to St. Maria Goretti. . . .shout out to high schooooooool!!!

Oddness under construction

Lisbon

Praca D. Luis I

lots of buildings have amazing tile work

My street

Dinner

Things I learned at Psychology Camp (aka, AP Reading, 2009)

2009-06-16T13:22:00.006-04:00

These are in no particular order:

1. When you have an imaginary relationship with the “File Guy” eyecandy, it takes on a life of its own if enough people are in on the stalking. And, yes, you do have to have the imaginary breakup your last night. Long distance relationships just don’t work.

2. Finding out your favorite bar, “The Cashew,” has 2 for 1 martini night will result in missing the closing night celebration, despite your best intentions.

3. Sheron with an “e” has a sure fire organic anti-aging face care regimen. “Next time don’t swallow, just rub it in.”

4.“Barbaraisms” mean that no matter what you say, have, or do, she will one up you . . . oddly enough this included venereal diseases.

5. “It's probably a bad idea to put something in your mouth that has been on your bum all day.” Words to live by from Angie of Question 2 to Mike the guy who kept blowing up the donut he sat on all week.

6. The guy at the baseball stadium that sells “pop” in the stands is called the Mixer Man, if you’re from New Jersey. Apparently, the sole purpose of soda is to mix with booze.

7. Canadians believe that having the best time at Psychology Camp requires you to find a “group of freaks” to hang out with. One particular Canadian called me a freak often; this was because we were having fun!

8. It has been determined that my obsession with people watching and making up back stories for everyone is not a bad thing; it means I am very observant and will make a good diagnostician . . . . thanks Melissa ;-)

9. If you are from New York, a social psychologist, worked with the likes of Stanley Milgram & Philip Zimbardo, and spent 6 hours in the KCMO airport with me last year, you have a song for EVERYTHING.

10. “Friends are still friends and mistakes are still mistakes”. . . Shimon Peres via Carol Tavris (Social Psychologist).

11. Using the numbers 143 is how you text “I love you” if you are from Tallahassee.

12. Before one gets on a raised stage that is underlit and makes you stand so people on the sidewalk are looking at your backside, put on decent panties and wear a skirt long enough to cover your body flaws. My vision is still in the process of recovering.

13. Riding a mechanical bull in a strapless mini dress will only result in an unfortunate display of skin.

14. Wrestling in Jell-O in front of 300 guys with camera phones does not make you sexy. It only results in your slutty shame being splashed across the internet.

15. Laughing right in the face of a drunk skank who trips on the stairs may get your ass kicked if her friend is witness to your ridicule.

16. If we don’t know your name, you will be given a nickname that will never go away. . . “4 Kids No Cell Phone,” “Nekkid Guy,” “Clark Kent. . .my Superman,” “The shusher,” etc.

17. “In a world of strife, there’s peace in beer” . . . Boulevard Brewery sign.

18. “Going Indian” is what you do when you’ve broken the strap of your gold wedges and have 10 city blocks to walk in bare feet.

19. A Razr is not considered a big girl phone and finding the punctuation for a text message can be the biggest challenge in any given day. Shawn and I will have big girl phones before Psych Camp next year!

20. Kansas City can be ridiculously fun when you have an awesome group of friends like I have!!!!!!!!

Eye Candy! Yay for beer!!!!

Sweet Jesus!

It's On. . . .Portugal!!!!!

2009-05-24T12:00:00.004-04:00

Out of the ashes of what first appeared to be a summer stuck state-side (I rock at alliteration), comes a month in Portugal. While my heart will always belong to Italy, I figured I should probably get to the last remaining country, in Western Europe, that I have not been to (excluding Lichtenstein, because really, do I even have to address that?).

So, on June 24th I'm flying to Lisbon for a week, followed up with almost 2 weeks in the beach town of Tavira, and completing the trip with a week in Sevilla, Spain. Vino Verdhe, Port, Cava, seafood, sun, sand, and a language I have no understanding of whatsoever. . . .hell to the yeah!!!

Georgia On My Mind

2009-03-29T17:00:00.021-04:00

I found myself having to go to southern Georgia for a family funeral (I’m not writing about the funeral; too personal for this here blog). Because of how quick things happened and the closest airport was an hour away in Jacksonville FL, flying was just too expensive. So, there I was driving 11 hours to St. Simon’s Island with my parents. While I was initially NOT looking forward to a work day’s worth of time in the car, each way, it ended up being rather pleasant and I always like hanging out my parents. Who knew there was another way to get south besides I-95? My dad, that’s who. We went I-something or other until we got to Columbia SC, then cut over to 95. It was really pretty. And, I have discovered that North Carolina is now my favorite state in the Union. Because, wait for it . . . there is a Chick-Fil-A at EVERY SINGLE EXIT on all interstates. I know for a fact that God created Chick-Fil-A. One, because it is so tasty and delicious; and two, because they are closed on Sundays. Ok, two just annoys me sometimes, but whatever. Chick-Fil-A is heaven sent!

My great Aunt and her family lived in Brunswick , on the southern coast of Georgia; we stayed on a pretty little island called St. Simon’s. My cousin booked a block of rooms at a Methodist retreat place. I got a little weird about that concept, but upon arrival I was ridiculously impressed. Apparently the place, Epworth-by-the-Sea, was an estate of some rich somebody or other and then became a place that is run by the Methodist church but open to anyone. The place is right on the water with hotel rooms, conference rooms, a dining room, chapels, and GORGEOUS GROUNDS. The place was loaded with Live Oaks dripping in Spanish moss, palm trees, pretty paths, and benches. The only downside is they request that no alcohol be brought into the rooms. As far as I’m concerned, what they don’t know won’t hurt them. Don’t judge me!!
A meeting cottage that was an old "tabby" slave cottage at Epworth-by-the-Sea

the grounds where we stayed

this place had the best Live Oaks

a 300 year old Live Oak in Brunswick near my aunt & uncle's house

I want Spanish Moss to grow at my house!!!

the view from out hotel room

We decided to take two days to drive home, as opposed the one we did it in on the way down. On Sunday we drove to Savannah and spent a few hours checking out the historic district. As the timing would have it, we arrived during their St. Patrick’s celebration. Apparently, Savannah has the largest St. Patrick’s Day celebration behind NYC. Did not know there were that many people from the Emerald Isle down south. It was awesome. The whole city is amenable to open containers. And by open containers, I mean you wander the streets with tasty refreshing alcoholic libations. A police officer even saluted me with “Cheers” as I was walking about with a beer taking photos! They dye all of the water in the fountains of the historic district green, River Street gets shut down to traffic, and live music is performed all day in the City Market. Because we had so little time in the city, we decided to take a Trolley tour of the historic district and then return to the squares, etc that we wanted to really see. Our trolley driver was hilarious and yelled at pretty much everyone we passed. After the tour we headed to River Street for baked oysters, shrimp, and beer. Delicious, but annoying to shuck the damn oysters ourselves. I then took off to see as much of the historic district as possible. I hit the big stuff and got some great pictures before meeting back up with Mom and Dad.

Green Fountains. . . yaaaaaaay!

City Market

River Street

Getting beers for the walk is serious business!

getting ready for oysters and beers

I beleive this one speaks for itself

Colonial Park Cemetary

you gotta be really bombed to pass out on a bench in a cemetary in one of the most haunted cities in the country!

cool street sign at corner of Jones & Lincoln Sts

House from "Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil"

Forsyth Park

On Monday morning we reached Nirvana of the south. . . South of the Border. That place is still chocked full of crap and I still love it as much as I did when I seven. I bought magnets and a bumper sticker; it was too early in the morning to go to Pedro’s X-rated shop. That will happen next time!!!!!!

Pedro says "buy more crap!"

this is how you know you've arrived!

So, in summary, I am now in love with Savannah. I will be taking a month off of work next year to embrace their St. Patrick’s Day celebrations (ok, not a month, but you get the idea). You are all invited to join me. And, we are driving so as to hit EVERY Chick-Fil-A between the Commonwealth and South of the Border. Yeeeeehaaaaaw!

Allora . . . il tramontare del sole su Italia

2008-08-15T07:35:00.001-04:00

For me, the sun sets on Italia for the final time this year. My taxi is picking me up to go to the airport very soon. This is one of my favorite pictures of the entire summer. I think it says it all. Arriverderci Roma!

My time is ending. . .

2008-08-14T16:14:00.000-04:00

It has been another spectacular summer; I do realize that I am one lucky girl to pull this off twice in 2 summers. This summer was particularly nice because I had so many people from home pay me a visit: Liz, Traci, and the Kables (my parent’s friends from home). With the trip to Lake Como and over to the Tuscan coast, I have officially covered this country end to end and side to side. I have hit almost every province as well. Along the way, I have met some really great people, imbibed delicious and abundant wine, eaten food so good it brings tears to my eyes, learned a bit more of a very cool language, grown as a person, seen some of the most beautiful places in Europe, laughed like a fool, and of course put the hurts on my liver. I’m also thankful for not having things go pear shaped when August rolled around this year. That’s not to say I didn’t see some seriously weird shit. . . it is Rome after all. I just didn’t get accosted or see some guy treating his body like an amusement park in public; and, that’s a good thing!

Without hesitation, I also have to say that going to Croatia was probably the highlight of the summer. I know I already said how much I laughed during that week, actually the full 2 weeks Liz was here, but really, it was just ridiculous! I’ve gotten so used to traveling by myself and just hooking up with random people for a few days here and few days there, I’d forgotten how much traveling with a good friend can enhance the experience. I’m hoping that we can continue to wreak havoc on foreign destinations for many years to come. A-geedy-up-a!! I am not sure if I will be able to continue my summer’s abroad; however, I do know without doubt that I want to live here some day. Everyone should have a place they feel so in tune with! And so, at this time tomorrow, I will be sobbing into my crappy airline lunch somewhere over the Atlantic on my way back to VA. Expect one more desperate gasp of a blog post before I get on that plane. You know me, I just can’t let go that easily.
As with last year, Liz is picking me up and has organized apperitivi at Villa della Carrie and then we are off to relive our Croatian bad behavior at O’Connells. If you should find yourself free, or just want to have drinks (rumor has it they now serve Peroni, that will lessen the pain of being Stateside) get your ass there!!

A final photo roundup. . . .Baci!

my favorite fountain in Rome off Piazza Farnese

cool face on a fountain

final gelato from Della Palma, mango and fragola (strawberry)
I've walked by this giant ham a million times over the years. Now that's SOME meat!

Campo Di Fiore's daily market

I love the fresh vegetables and fruits at Campo's market!

and the spices too!

inscription above the door to my building

my street and house number
Piazza Trilussa, constantly filled with drinking Romans at night!

Rome's official symbol

Lake Como

vino in Korcula

Dubrovnik Bosnia, dee-li-cious!

how I spent the summer

Scary nipple man, they looked like tic-tacs

the ho of Pompei!

the direction I don't want to fly

Doing what we do best, drinking wine & laughing!

view across Roma from Gianicolo Hill above Trastevere

Roman Forum and back side of Vittorio Emmanuel Monument

the Roman Forum
in front of Trajan's Forum

Vittorio Emmanuel Monument, or the Typewriter as the Romans call it

Piazza Argentina, the cat sanctuary

Buon Anniversario Madre e Padre!

2008-08-14T16:11:00.000-04:00

Again, I miss my parent’s anniversary by 1 day. So, a Prosecco toast on the blog will have to suffice until I get home to do it in person. Salute e cin cin. Baci e un abbraccio!!

Monte Argentario

2008-08-13T15:36:00.013-04:00

Today was spent out on the Southern Tuscan coast of Monte Argentario. I went to both Porto Santo Stefano and Port’Ercole. They are both very cute little port towns on what used to be the island of Monte Argentario; it’s technically not an island anymore because a causeway now connects it with Orbetello.

The day was a bit of a comedy of errors. I’ve been feeling pretty confident with my increasing language skills, and decided I could figure my way out to the little beaches along the Panoramic Road. Um yeah, that wasn’t exactly how things went. Who knew that pretty much no one would speak any English, but they did speak some Tuscan dialect that completely destroyed any comprehension I had. The people were really nice and patient with me and eventually things got figured out. And by eventually, I mean it took me about 3 wrong buses and 2 hours, once I got on the island, to find the beach I wanted, Le Viste outside of Port’Ercole. I only cursed a little bit, ok, A LOT. Once there the view was gorgeous, although mostly cloudy, and the climb down and back up, frightening.

The trip back to the train station was also quite the adventure. Since I took the longest route ever, to Port’Ercole, I needed directions on how to get back to the station without circumnavigating the globe. This took massive effort and brain cells, but netted me a new hot Australian friend. I was working on things when this guy came over and introduced himself. He heard me using English and Italian and decided I would be his savior; he spoke no Italian. I got us both back to the train station and we hung out having beers until my train for Rome came. He was heading over to the Adriatic to catch up with some friends. Turns out, he’d spent 10 days surfing with some “mates”, and was now heading to the Adriatic to hook up with some different ones. I gave him all the necessary knowledge I had on Croatia, especially getting shitcanned at Pupo. Just my luck; hot Aussie who is going in the exact wrong direction I’m going. We did exchange contact info, though; and, if I find myself in Australia, I have a place to crash and free surfing lessons. That ticket would be booked by now, if I was 25 again, since that is his age. Damn these hot young’uns!!!

On the causeway from Orbetello

part of the port in Port'Ercole

under La Rocca, a huge fort on the cliff. This is someone's private yard. Hate them!

at the top, I need to be down below where all the umbrellas are

off I go

on my way down the "hill"

climbing down

and finally, pretty water

view to the left from my towel

view to the right from my towel

crazy clouds kept blowing through

La lezione numero cinque d’Italia. . .

2008-08-12T13:11:00.001-04:00

While I have learned many lessons during my travels in Italy, I have not learned that a farewell gathering consisting of 3 people does need to result in the need for a liver transplant by the host (and by host, I mean me). This is the morning after picture; I think its self explanatory.

Orvieto

2008-08-12T12:08:00.021-04:00

On Tuesday, I went out to Orvieto, in Umbria, for the day. It’s a really cool walled town that sits up on a cliff of Tufo. The main attraction is the ridiculously awesome Cathedral, the 1200 caves that are under the entire town, and of course the wine. It was an easy 1 hour train ride from Roma and then a 5 minute trip up the cable car to the top of the cliff and the walled city. Intending on checking off all the tourist boxes, I did it all. Cruised all over the town, climbed the Torre del Moro (too many damn steps), visited the theater & cathedral, took a tour of the caves (dumbasses dug so much out the town started to sink and they had a massive land slide in the 70’s resulting in them needing to reinforce the ceilings of all 1200 caves with cement), and yes, surprisingly, did a wine tasting. Delicious white wine, that places ferments!

the front of the cathedral was just gorgeous. The remainder of it is white and black striped marble.

inside the Cathedral; its very impressive.

Corso Cavour with the Torre del Moro above. I climbed; it was painful.

reception hallway of Teatro Mancinelli

a learning studio

main theater of Teatro Mancinelli

the piano salon

Piazza della Repubblica with the flags of Orvieto's contradas

Chiesa di Sant'Andrea and its decagonal bell tower

Piazza della Repubblica from the top of the tower

the town from the top of the tower

the cathedral from the top of Torro del Moro

the clock of the Torre del Moro from inside the stairwell

little street of the sweets

it was a sweet street

Piazza Duomo

cool bell tower in Piazza Duomo

a castle built in 1000AD, now renovated into a hotel

The Fountains of Tivoli

2008-08-10T12:47:00.021-04:00

Yesterday, we went out to Tivoli to visit Villa D’Este where the famous fountains of Tivoli are. It was spectacular. The villa is a former Benedictine convent that was transformed into a palace in 1550. All of the fountains (and they are EVERYWHERE) are powered solely by gravitational force. At one of them, where you can drink from the fountain, plugging up one spout results in the other one shooting higher into the air. I was so tempted to plug my side when a little kid bent down to drink from the other side; he would have gotten water blasted right up his nose. I behaved, though, dammit! There is a fountain designed by Bernini that used its water pressure to play an organ that was hidden in the top of it, and another imitated a bird call. It really is a must see if you’re in Rome.

I want a sign like this one for my house, I mean villa
the view from one of the villa's terraces

there were potted citrus trees all over the gardens and villa

path of the Hundred Fountains; its incredible!

Fountain of Tivoli

the Fountain of Tivoli

in front of the Fountain of Tivoli

on top of one of the fountians

Villa D'Este on the hill

one of the faces in the path of the Hundred Fountains

So disappointed that its nips were turned off.

The fountain of Rome at the end of the path of the Hundred Fountains

amazing sculpture at the end of the path of the Hundred Fountains

Bernini's fountain is at the top

one of many reflecting pools; the water circulates between them all

grapes!

while one would think those are extra boobs, one would be wrong. They are bull testicles as a sign of fertility. Ok. . .

a rainbow across a fountain

you find faces carved into edges of fountains all over the place. They're really awesome to find.

cool clouds over a castle in Tivoli

Traci’s in Roma!

2008-08-08T08:48:00.007-04:00

My friend Traci, who married a guy from Belfast and moved to London 2 years ago, and I were chatting on Skype late one night and decided she needed to come visit me in Rome for a few days. I applaud her spontaneity for getting a ticket right then and there as we talked. She arrived on Monday and went back to London on Wednesday night. It was great seeing her, it had been almost 2 years, and we ate and drank our way across Roma; in fact, we broke the 5am mark after apperitivi at Café della Scala, a fabulous dinner with the BEST tiramisu ever made, drinks at Sperm Café, and Peroni’s on my patio. Now that’s something different, isn’t it!

Traci, Naz, and I at Della Palma, neither of them had been before. Their lives are so much improved because of my efforts to feed them Gelati goodness.

Oh. . .my. . .god!

in front of the Trevi. Yeah, I know, I missed most of the fountain.

creepy/disturbing store window near Piazza del Popolo. Its an artist's space. . . um, ok.

Ristorante della Scala makes the best Tiramisu ever. And I've got the recipe!

Sperm Cafe, for those of you who followed this blog last summer; Good Cafe to you new comers.

I looooove this stuff. Rumor has it, they are selling it at O'Connells now. That should ease the pain of coming home a bit!

The Scavi and Ostia Antica

2008-08-08T07:27:00.019-04:00

It appears that living in Roma for the summer has more advantages than the usual endless consumption of vino, pasta, pizza, and gelati; there is also ample opportunity to check out some amazing history. I was fortunate enough to get a ticket to visit the Necropolis that has been excavated under St. Peter’s Basilica. . . you know the one with the tomb of St. Peter!!!! Getting this ticket is no small feat. Because they only let 150 people a day into the scavi, you have to contact the office, tell them a range of dates you are available and then they will email you back with your assigned day and time. If you can make, great; if not, well too bad. When I got home from Como last Friday, my ticket had been assigned for the next morning at 9:30am.

The ticket into the Scavi includes a guided tour of only 10 people in your language of choice. Our guide was fabulously dramatic in her presentation of all the historical and religious information. The place is so deep down in the ground under St. Peter’s that the humidity is about 1000%. It was cool, but my face was totally wet because of the air. I was just awestruck that so many of the frescoes, sarcophagi, funeral urns, and tile work were still in tact. Many of the crypts were pagan and dated well before Christ. And seeing the “Graffitti Wall” that intersects the place where St. Peter was buried was truly a highlight. Unfortunately, they are military strict on their rules about taking photos and video, so I’ve had to “borrow” published photos from the web. Mi dispiace!

part of a street in the Necropolis, original bricks!

the entrance down into the scavi. . . it was very tight

one of the tombs

St. Peter's after the scavi tour

I also took advantage of Rome’s proximity to one of the best preserved ancient cities, Ostia Antica. In addition to location, I also took advantage of the blistering ass heat and humidity of a Roman summer, and went on one of the hottest days of the summer. I never claimed to have the most common sense. Anyway, it was well worth my almost deadly dehydration and heat exhaustion; the place is fantastic!

Ostia was founded by the Romans in the 4th century BC and was originally a major port, strategic, and defense town. Barbarian invasions and that pesky disease malaria caused the city to be abandoned in the 5th century AD. Flooding and changes in the river caused the city to be buried, up to 2nd floor levels, in river silt. Its been mostly excavated and is really in great shape, for ruins. There are still very obvious remains of a bar/restaurant, laundries, public toilets, baths, houses, shops, and an amiptheater. Lots of the mosaic floors are also intact.

Rome's official slogan

the road leading from the Necropolis into the city

a mosaic in the Terme di Nettuno

the forica, public toilets, still pretty much exactly as they were a gazillion years ago!

Palaestra, used for training athletes

ampitheater buildt by Agrippa, can hold 3000 people

ampitheater

pretty much just like today, a view from the street into the Thermopolium a shop that sold hot food and drink. The main bar is right at the entrance, the arch in it is where a wash basin is for glasses.

inside the Thermopolium. There is still a fresco with menu items on the wall

outside the bar/restaurant was a courtyard with tables surrounding a fountain. So very civilized.

one of the few buildings with both stories left intact

the bakery

dirty dirty ruins

Como, Bellagio, and the others

2008-08-02T13:37:00.041-04:00

Lake Como and the little villages along it are all that everyone said they would be. It really is gorgeous on the lake! I spent a great 5 days there gawking at the villas, staring at the endless scenery of mountains, water, and sky, chatting with super friendly people, and of course drinking ridiculously good wine.

I found a great little enoteca in Como, very close to my hotel. The owners are an awesome couple who serve bruschetta with various toppings (pumpkin salsa, cream of salvia, pancetta, salami, sun-dried tomatoe) with each glass of wine you drink. They didn’t speak English, but were only too happy and patient to let me use my crappy Italian. I had, hands down, the best Prosecco with them every evening and promised to send my parents to them if they make it to Como in the fall. I also had perhaps one of the best pasta dishes, EVER. It was at a pretty restaurant right on the lake in Como. Giacomo, my new best friend waiter, highly recommended the Risotto with Strawberries; yeah, I was resistant at first too. So glad I listened to him. It was delicious, as was the steak in a porcini mushroom sauce.

Risotto con fragole. YUM!

stop reading and go get a bottle of Prosecco di Valdobbiadene. You will thank me!

I also made a complete ass of myself while at dinner on another occasion. I was quietly eating my gnocchi when I noticed the man sitting with his family at the next table over. He looked me square in the eye and cut loose with a huge smile. I swear to god he looked pretty much just like Austin Powers, horrifying teeth and all. I actually burst out laughing and the harder I tried to stop, the harder I laughed. In fact, it was a tears running down my cheeks kind of belly laugh. I even went so far as to take a couple of photos of him. Now before you judge me, I was kind enough to turn the flash off so he wouldn’t know what I was doing. I totally sacrificed a clear and award winning look-a-like photo so as not to hurt his feelings. Yeah, I know. As I’ve said, not for the first time on this trip, I’m going to hell.

its blurry, but you get the idea.

And before you think completely ill of me, I would like to say I made some wise choices while on my little vacation from Rome. I was talking to a really friendly American couple, from Brooklyn, one night at a lakeside café. They had a car and were going to drive up into Switzerland and hike around in the Alps. After a few vinos, they kindly invited me to come along with them one day. I did consider their offer for a minute or two, but then had flashbacks of almost being killed and having my corpse molested on the Appian Way by the not-so-fabulous Fabbio. Thus, I declined. See, Mom and Dad, I do learn!

While the entire trip was perfect, I do have to say I was disappointed to not run into Senior Clooney. I did, however, go right by his villa on one of my ferry trips. The place is a total dump, or not. There were 4 women, probably in their 70’s sitting in the front of the boat with me. All of a sudden they all stood up and starting fluffing their hair and waving at his villa while yelling, “Ciao, George, ciaooooo”. I laughed out loud, as did they.

these two women are going to be Liz and I when we are older travelling through Italy. They laughed and made fun of people for the entire 4 1/2 hours to Milan.

a little piazza in Como

Cathedral in Como

Como

view from Como's waterfront

a private villa in Como. . . this place oozes money.

A villa at the end of the road in Como.

Lunch!

Tempio Voltiano, a museum to Alessandro Volta, the guy who invented the electric battery.

sunset in Como

Prosecco by the lake in Como

Villa Erba in Cernobbio. Part of Ocean's Twelve was filmed here.

little village on the lake

on the ferry in the middle of Lake Como

a little villa on the lake outside of Tremezzo

crazy gorgeous villa on the way to Tremezzo and Bellagio

on a balcony at Villa Carlotta in Tremezzo. That's Bellagio across the lake.

view, from an upstairs window, of the entrance to Villa Carlotta

nuff said

Bellagio

shopping in Bellagio

Bellagio's lakeside promenade

Bellagio

waiting for the ferry in Bellagio. Damn good Mojito!

leaving Bellagio

waterfall in a small village on the lake

looking at the lake in Cernobbio

house in Cernobbio

Villa d'Este at 700 euro per night, its the lakes most expensive hotel. I only stayed 2 of my 4 nights . . . pfft!

view from Cernobbio's waterfront

signs on the side of a truck in Cernobbio

the main piazza on the waterfront of Cernobbio

an enormous succulent growing out of the wall in the little village of Moltrasio

cemetary in Moltrasio where Gianni Versace is buried. The dead have one of the best views across the lake.

exactly what one needs after scouring a cemetary for a fashion designer's grave

view of Como from the Funicolare heading to the hiltop town ofBrunate

This is exactly the kind of place I want to live in. Sunflower fields, olive and Cypress trees. Perfetto!

Sunflower and wheat fields in Tuscany

Lake Como

2008-07-27T07:26:00.004-04:00

I'm headed up to Lake Como tomorrow for 4 days. I haven't given up on trying to get to Sicily, but it was taking me forever to piece together hotels in the towns I wanted to go to; and I need to get out of the city for a couple of days. I'm staying in Como and definitely spending a day in Bellagio and a couple other of the lake villages. And, if I happen to run into George Clooney and he happens to invite me to live in his villa forever, I'll be sure to send invitations to come see me.

Frascati

2008-07-26T09:48:00.010-04:00

I made the executive decision that I needed to do something other than la dolce niente (sweet nothing) while I am in Rome, so I headed out to Frascati on Wednesday. It’s only about 30 kilometers from Rome and a quick 20 minute train ride. The town is very small and not that interesting; however, it is the home to what now runs through my veins, Frascati wine! We hit a couple of enoteca’s for wine sampling and wandered around a pretty little park. And of course, drank too much vino.

Pretty park right outside the center of Frascati

a statue in the park that had seen better days. Not sure where the rest of him went. . .

stairs leading up to a little chapel

Villa Tuscolana, beautiful hotel and restaurant

view from one of the gardens

You can see Rome. That's St. Peters dome in the middle.

driveway of Villa Tuscolana

gorgeous private villa on the hill over the town

gardens around villa

Monument to vino at the train station

Recovery and Relapse

2008-07-26T09:39:00.004-04:00

I spent all day Saturday and Sunday after Liz left recovering from 2 solid weeks or nonstop laughter, drinking, eating, and more laughter. I did some laundry, wrote a couple of blog posts, and watched English-language TV at my friend’s flat. But sobriety doesn’t seem to last long here.

Naz returned from Positano and we went out for a drink on Sunday, that turned into 2 bottles. Seriously??? Then on Monday we had plans to go to a restaurant near the Spanish Steps. That was all very sophisticated until the vino started. We finished a litre at the restaurant and then headed across the street to Enoteca Antica, the nice little wine bar Liz introduced me. You know the one with Gulliver/Massimo. . . Geedyuppa. And, yes, he was working again. And yes, I got him to say “geedyupa”. And yes, I had to call Liz in the States so she could enjoy the nonsense too. And finally, yes, we had at it until 3am when I crawled into bed oozing vino. Tuesday was a lost day to sleep and liver rejuvenation. I finally used the pool; it was the perfect day to just lay there, get a tan, and cool off in all 1 metre of water. It was actually very very niiiiiiiice!
Gulliver!

lunch on the patio

recovering beside the pool

Liz’s final day

2008-07-26T09:14:00.008-04:00

Friday was a clean up day; we wrapped all the loose ends we hadn’t attended to before Liz flew home on Saturday. We met Naz for lattes and then lunch at Siciliainbocca, a restaurant Liz and Fred ate at when they were here in October. They went to the restaurant in Prati, over by Vatican City, and yet with a touch of research I found they also had a restaurant right here in Trastevere. And when I say right herein Trastevere, I literally mean right here, about 100 metres away from my front door. What a great find. The food was ridiculously delicious and the décor was very Mediterranean.

just a few of the many salads that make their way out.

Liz, Naz, and I

homemade prickle pear brandy

storm clouds gathering as we walked across the river

After lunch we finished off the shopping requirements, marshmallow candy for her son and pope bottle openers for a friend from work. And one for each of us, of course (that is just too funny to pass up). Liz also finally got a gelato from the BEST GELATI PLACE ON THE EARTH, Della Palma, near the Pantheon. We also got reservations at a restaurant on top of Castel Sant’Angelo near St. Peter’s. In the summer, there is a festival with jugglers, musicians, flamenco dancers, skits, etc all over the fort, as well as a makeshift restaurant with a very cool vibe to it. So, we had a couple of drinks by the river then a nice dinner outside on one of the battlements of the castle. It was a great way to end Liz’s two week trip.

drinks outside Castell Sant'Angelo

candle lit restaurant on top of Castell Sant'Angelo

Liz's view from her seat at the restaurant

Random Liz and I in Rome stuff

2008-07-26T08:35:00.012-04:00

I would have made a whole lot more sense to post these little stories before leaving for Croatia, but not having internet in the apartment made that pretty much impossible. Whatever, better late than never.

We did have that dinner at Pizzaria Baffetto off Piazza Navona; it was really good pizza. But more importantly, we ended up sitting beside two Roman guys named Massimo and Paolo. They were really nice and very informative about many things. I think my favorite part of the night was when they wrote down the best curse words to use in Italian and Liz kept screaming cazzo (fuck) to make sure she was saying it right. Poor Paolo looked like he wanted to be swallowed up by the side-walk. It finally hit home when I told her, “stop yelling that so loud; it would be like me sitting at the Majestic Café and repeatedly yelling FUCK”. Hilarious!!

cursing in Italian. Not sure why the picture has rotated itself.

Tuesday night, before we left for Croatia, we went to a great little wine bar on Via delle Croce near Piazza Spagna. Liz and Fred found it when they were in Rome in October. It’s really cute inside, serves delicious olives and cheeses, and has a great selection of vino. Our bartender’s name was Massimo; however, he told Liz it was Gulliver, so Gulliver it has become. He was hilarious and was willing to joke around with us. In fact, we taught him one of the best all time American phrases that Liz and I use often. . . . giddyup (Loralei, I know you appreciate that one) There are no words to describe how hard we laughed when he said it with his Italian accent and then got one of the other waiters to say it too. . . .GEEDDYUPA. I think that word became the catch phrase for the entire trip. All over Europe, people are using GEEDDYUPA as the American way to say cheers. God, we are such assholes.

geeddyupa!

fromaggi

olives!

the start of a lot of laughter

fun, fun

haaaaaaa!

molto vino at Enoteca Antica

Buon Compleanno, mia sorella!

2008-07-24T14:04:00.004-04:00

Happy 40th sifister!!

Pompei

2008-07-24T11:31:00.015-04:00

I’m not exactly sure how, but we managed to get home from Dubrovnik Wednesday evening and get ourselves out of bed for an early train to Naples, Thursday morning. I looooove sleeping on trains, so it was a nice 3 hours in my world. We then got on the scary nasty subway train out to Pompei. I’ve got to say, the archeological site was about 100 degrees cooler this time, than when I was here 4 years ago with Joey. Our feet, however ended up just as nasty and the priority of finding the whore house and Man weighing his junk fresco was just as high. Did you really expect more of us?

Really? That's a fresco you want in your entrance hall? Haaaaaa!

now you know you're near the whore house!

and now you know you're in the whore house because this is part of the menu.

volcano!

a delcious beer after wandering around Pompei

those feet are so naaas-tee!

Playing with the Mariachi Band

2008-07-24T07:58:00.003-04:00

The video is really dark, but if watch towards the right side, you can Liz's white pants wiggling around.

Pupo. . . the grand finale

2008-07-24T07:03:00.014-04:00

After such an enormous day on Monday, we decided to take it easy on ourselves Tuesday. We returned the car to a rental agent who couldn’t be tossed about the “accident” and was puzzled as to why we would return it early, and we then hit the beach on the Lapad Peninsula. Two lounge chairs and an umbrella by the water later, we spent a lazy day in the sun. It was definitely a nice second to the who knows what misadventures would have happened in Montenegro.

the view from my lounge chair at the beach.

For dinner we finally ate at Tony’s Spaghetteria, which we had walked by about 100 times since it was right outside the door of the sobe. Every single time we went by, someone was eating creamy, cheesy, scrumptious looking pastas; now it was our turn, and it was gooooooood! As was the ½ litre of wine that accompanied it. Please do not judge us for only ordering a ½ litre; we knew we were headed back to Pupo, (apparently, I say apparently because I had no memory of it, we made plans to meet up with Jared, Tim, the Swiss Couple, Martina, and the waiters about 8:30). And so we did.

Yum: tortellini with gorgonzola and walnuts, green linguine with chicken, and VINO!

When we finally got to Pupo Jared and Tim were a few shots of grappa in and had been waiting for us. The situation was definitely different than the night before. Ivan was not in the same form he had been on our previous visit and the two kids from California kept calling me “Teach”, touching my shoulder, and actually broke out the Mrs. Robinson fantasy on me (I wanted to punch them, but didn’t because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep drinking if I did). In all fairness, it was really only the one with the long hair that was UBER annoying. So annoying in fact, Liz got up and left to go hang out with the wait staff inside. Martina and her sister Nicola had joined us by that point and were also irritated with Jared. An Irish couple who were sitting next to us also put a bit of a downer on the start of the evening. While Ivan was waiting on them, he was taking the piss out of them about being from Dublin. He must have gone too far and not noticed they were getting angry because the guy had a complete melt down and made it clear he would never come back, blah, blah, blah. Martina, the owner’s wife, of course heard it all. She told Ivan who then pouted a bit, and I just kept sucking down vino (can’t let a little bit of discontent get in my way).

Eventually the California kids left, after I promised to meet them at an Irish pub around the corner (yeah, that didn’t happen) and went inside to see what Liz was up to. And this is where things take an upward swing and start to get a bit hazy for all involved. To my best guess, the kitchen had closed because I know the guys were washing dishes and cleaning the burners etc. It would be at this point that I noticed Chris, the chef, was wearing latex medical-like gloves and I commented on such gloves. He then made a reference towards me and the gloves; and I, simply because I could, shrugged in agreement, turned around, and bent over ever so briefly. Why you ask? Alcohol and I’m pretty much in the gutter 23 of 24 hours a day, I answer (again). The whole place lost it, including Ivan who is resistant to real laughter. And so it went. I then found myself behind the counter shoving the dishwasher out of the way and taking over the task. Chris gave me my own pair of gloves, instructed me on how to spray the anti-bacterial spray on the glasses and the sponge, and then wash away. While one would think it’s not rocket science to wash some dishes, and its not, Chris came over and corrected my spraying of the glasses. I found this totally hilarious since I pulled a glass out of the glass rack and asked who had washed the nasty thing. They all laughed and said it hadn’t been touched in about 6 months. Yeah, and I needed instructions on how to was a damn glass. I was a washing fool; there wasn’t a glass or litre carafe left un-scoured. And, more importantly, I had paved the way for Liz and I to practically take over the joint. We just started pouring our selves wine and wandering around like we owned the place. At some point the Swiss Couple showed up and because I had no more dishes to wash, I started serving drinks too. I’m telling you, next year I will be running the show at Pupo.

With all of the chores completed, Liz, Ivan, Chris, Martina, the Swiss Couple, and I all took our places around the tables outside for more wine and fun. As we were hanging out, a Mariachi band came down the sidewalk (they were there from Andalusia for the music festival) to play and sing; they were really good. Due to high quantities of alcohol and well, just because, we got up and started playing their little percussion eggs with them. I can honestly say that I have never been a dishwasher, waitress, and member of a Mariachi band all in one night. In fact 2 of those three were brand new endeavors all the way around. Ivan brought out rounds of drinks and we all got started again. To my best approximation, the Mariachi band drifted off about 1:30 and I then proceeded to wash up all the newly dirtied glasses so the restaurant could officially be closed. I know, I know, there is no good reason for all the dishwashing; but it was damn funny!

While I wish I could end the post here and say we went to bed at a reasonable hour, I cannot. We went to the Irish bar, thankfully after California kids were gone, to hang with the Mariachi band. That bar closed at 2am, so Chris, Cutie Waiter (can’t remember his name but he’s the guy who gave us our first grappa the previous night), Liz, and I proceeded to a locals bar just outside the Pile Gate. That needed to happen; not so much! We hung out there for an hour or so; Chris and I talked about the war, and we had more unnecessary wine. Finally at 4am we staggered back to our sobe for 5 hours of drunken sleep. Wednesday’s hangover goes down as one of the legendary ones. We had to be out of our place at 10am, but weren’t being picked up for the airport until a little after 1pm. Wandering around Dubrovnik nauseous, tired, headachy, thirsty, and hot is no way to live; and I was almost positive I wouldn’t survive it. What seemed like an eternity later, we boarded our flight back to Rome, where I promptly passed out and slept through takeoff and the entire flight. Even feeling envious of the dead due to my hangover, I would not have traded a single minute of my time in Croatia!

Really? Your teaching me to wash dishes?

So, its spray glasses, then spray sponge, then wash? Ok, I think I can handle that.

seriously? You're correcting me again?

Ivan serving me wine as I wash dishes. If my parents would have taken this approach to dishwashing when I was a kid, I wouldn't have fought it so much.

must spray antibacterial on everything even though they did not have a scrubber to fit inside the carafe. Hmm. . .

serving drinks with a smile

Liz and Ivan

cutie waiter practising saying, naaas-tee

the whole gang: Martina, Liz, Ivan, Swiss Couple, Me

Liz gettin' it on with the Mariachi band as Ivan brings out more drinks.

the day after; now I know what I will look like upon my own death. It ain't pretty!

Bosnia & Herzegovina, and Monte-No-We-Did-Not-Go

2008-07-22T11:44:00.043-04:00

WARNING: this post is War and Peace length, but to break it into separate ones would make it even harder to try to get across how shitgodamn funny this day turned out. I’m going to give it my best, but my writing skills will in no way come close to capturing the humor. Allora. . .

Monday morning we picked up our rental car in Dubrovnik and headed out to Bosnia. Since Liz had her international driver’s license, I didn’t bother to get mine; thus, Liz was the official chauffer of the trip. I navigated. We’d met a couple on the ferry to Korcula who had driven to Mostar in Bosnia (technically Herzegovina, confusing shit) and said it was easy, two turns. In fact, it was just that simple. We never made a wrong turn the entire way there and back; we are impressive! The drive was beautiful along the coastal road that clung to edge of the mountains, if not somewhat freaky because of the people’s willingness to pass on blind curves without the safety of a shoulder or guardrails. I believe douchebags would be the correct term for these kinds of drivers.

Liz doing an excellent job of driving!

beautiful drive

Croatian and Bosnian flags at the border crossing.

So, three hours later we arrived in Mostar. It’s a predominately Muslim city that still has a very European feel. There are 10 mosques and a huge Catholic church. Interestingly enough, few people heed the call to prayer that happens 5 times a day, none of the women cover their heads, and you can take pictures in the mosques. We chose Mostar because it’s easy to get to and it really does give a real look at the devastation of the 1990’s Balkan Wars. While Dubrovnik made it a point to rebuild ASAP, Bosnia, 15 years later, has not fared as well. Along the roads and especially in the town there are lots of bombed out buildings and memorials to the people who died fighting. We were told that the main bank that held the mortgages/paperwork on many buildings in Mostar went under after the war, so no one really knows who many of the buildings belong to. Because of this, they haven’t bothered to spend the money to repair them since ownership is questionable.

Mostar is not as beautiful as Dubrovnik, although there are some very pretty parts, and certainly has a much more subdued tone to it. Laughter wasn’t heard much and the people just seemed to be more worn by life. After seeing what happened to their town during the war and the constant reminders on most streets, it’s understandable. I’m really glad we went into Bosnia; it was depressing, moving, enlightening, and fascinating all at the same time.

The return trip to Dubrovnik was just as easy as the outbound one; no wrong turns, no traffic accidents, and no problems even finding the parking lot we needed to use for the car over night.

And then, shit fell apart.

a mosque

Inside one of the 10 mosques

On top of the hill you can see a large cross. That marks the place where the bridge was shelled from.

The Old Bridge that is very symbolic to the people of Mostar. It was bombed until it finally fell into the water. They rebuilt it using the same methods and materials as the original one.

grilled steak with mushroom cream sauce, yum!

the view from the top of the bridge where the divers go over.

Divers will go off the bridge into the freezing cold river when they've collected enough money. We actually got to see one of them do it. 75 feet is a long way down.

Mostar

bombed out building in Mostar

machine gun damage to a building on the main boulevard that became the front line in Mostar. Bodies had to be left in the street for months because snipers made it too dangerous to retrieve them.

minaret over a Mosque

on the Old Bridge in Mostar

bombed out building with an amazing star pattern from a shell hitting it.

Bosnian or Turkish coffee

Let me set the scene, here. The particular car park we were using was just outside the Old Town walls, and is called the Tennis Court by the locals. It’s usually full (parking around the old town is a royal pain in the ass) so people form a line of cars; one comes out and then one goes in. Get it? Cars volley back and forth like on a tennis court. We figured this out and got in the line of cars on the gently downward sloping hill. The downward slope becomes of the utmost importance here in a second. So Liz turns the car off and we are thinking it may take us ½ hour to get our turn to go into the lot. She suggests I go to the little café beside the car park and get us some beers. I veto the idea because I know there is 0 tolerance on alcohol in the system if you are driving in Croatia. Granted we only have about 50 feet to go, but why take the chance. I can’t imagine Croatian jails are good times. This turns out to be a very wise decision. Anyway, at this point a car comes out and everyone needs to move forward one space. Now you have the scene set up and its time for me to provide both of our perspectives on what happens next.

Carrie’s view: I’ve got my Rick Steve’s book in my hand and I’m looking for, well who the hell knows what. I glance up and see the car in front of us move up. I see Liz release the emergency break and our car starts rolling, it’s not turned on. She starts making sounds that indicate a problem; I see the car in front of us getting closer and closer. I yell, “hit the breaks”, Liz erupts in a scream. Knowing what is next, I cover my eyes with my book, feel and hear the impact of us hitting the car in front of us, and then hear her car hit the one in front of her. My immediate thought, “oh, fuck!” Liz and I looked at each other, I looked back down at my book, and she got out to deal with the accident.

Liz’s view as written by her: “ I had my bare feet propped-up on the dashboard and my left arm hanging out the window, as if I was being driven (rather than being the driver). When it was our turn to move up, I took the parking break off and basically, forgot to tell the rest of my body that it was time to drive. I literally forgot that I was driving a car and by the time I realized it, we were rolling down the incline, on our way to a hilarious, yet
scary, few hours with some sweaty eastern European police.”

So, to summarize so far, we drove 6 hours to a third world country and back with not so much as a wrong turn only to get into a 3 car pileup while sitting still. That is some classic shit right there!

The last thing the guy at the rental car company told us was we absolutely had to get a police report if anything happened to the car. We were pretty sure that nothing was wrong with either car (the car in the front was not hurt and those people just drove on in to park) but rules were rules and we needed the police report. Mary, the woman we hit was as nice as could be and called police for us. After about half an hour they showed up and the real fun started. There were two of them. One was fat, old, and sweaty; the other was young and cute. Neither spoke English, so thank god for Mary’s ability to translate. Throughout the entire debacle with the cops I sat on the stone wall and watched the show. I’m telling you, it was hilarious.

It starts out with the old cop taking random pictures of the NON DAMAGED cars. Both Liz and Mary agreed that her car was not hurt at all and ours just had a crack in the plastic that held the license plate. Then the young guy says that if Liz gives him 150 kunas they will just go away and not file a report. Do What? He wants a bribe to go away when we are the one’s who need them there to fill out the report? Seriously??? So, after not getting the bribe money, the filing of the report commences. There are pictures drawn of both cars; these drawings were about the equivalent of what I would draw if I was blind drunk using my toes to draw with a stick of butter. There was also A LOT of discussion between the young cop and Mary. At this point they start drawing damage onto the picture of her car. Mary, at what I believe to be the young cop’s suggestion, has now decided her car is damaged and wants to get money from the insurance company. At the same time, Old Fat Sweaty Cop is standing by our car holding the rental agreement and starts yelling at Liz (please read the quotes with a broken Croatian accent; its not nearly as funny as actually hearing it, but it may help you understand how funny this was) “dis eez YOUR car, no rental” To which Liz replies back, “no, it’s a rental car”. He yells even louder “no rental, dis eez YOUR car!” She looks at me; I look back at her and shrug. I have no earthly idea what the hell is wrong with this guy, but he just keeps screaming this at her and getting himself all worked up.

So, back and forth everyone goes with paperwork, translations, random drawings, schemes to get money, etc. Liz walks over to me every now and again just to update me on the nonsense. At one point, just as randomly as before, Old Fat Sweaty Cop starts yelling at her again with his hands flying all over the place (use the accent again) “yooor GUILTEE, yooor GUILTEE”. I’m telling you, this guy was working himself into a proper lather, and I had a brief moment where I was wondering how I would get Liz out of the jail he was going to haul her off to. It was also the point at which I made the decision NOT to take pictures of this debacle, so as not to accompany her to prison. I’m truly sad I have no visual documentation of this event. He eventually stopped yelling just as abruptly as he had begun. My best guess is that is the only English he actually knows and just wanted a chance to use it. There is no other explanation that makes sense.

So, one more time Liz walks over to me to let me know how things are progressing when she is summoned back over by the young cop. Actually summoned is not the right word, she was cordially invited (employ accent again with a hand motion that points to the ground at your feet) “Meez Eee-liss-ah-bet, plees to come here”. He then asked her “what eez your fader’s last name?” Liz answers “Weisz". He then rolls his eyes, gives a huge sigh, flings his arms out and says “because eets protocol”. Liz says, “no, that’s his last name W-E-I-S-Z.” Everyone at the same time realized his mistake in thinking she asked “why” and started cracking up. I was laughing so hard I almost fell off the wall.

After that it was pretty much over with an exchange of paperwork and finally getting the car into the parking lot. While it was ultimately funny as hell, Liz was shaken enough that she decided she could not drive to Montenegro the next day and I didn’t have an international license, thus Monte –no-we-did-not-go.

sunset over Dubrovnik. I took this while Liz talked her way out of Croatian jail. Sadly, its the only footage from the accident; I was a chickenshit and wouldn't take pics of the cops.

One would think that would be the end of the day, well one would be oh so wrong. Knowing that I was disappointed at the decision to return the rental car and not go to Montenegro, Liz thought that going to a restaurant I wanted to try would help. This restaurant is called Pupo (which means belly/stomach in Croatian). I know of this establishment because of a show called Three Sheets. If you’ve never had the pleasure of watching this gem, you are missing out. Go to their website immediately then come back and read the rest of the story. In a nutshell, the host, Zane Lamprey, travels the world getting drunk on local alcoholic specialties and eating local fare. Its pure brilliance and I’m quite frankly pissed that I didn’t come up with it first. I mean really, it’s all my passions in this life: traveling, drinking, eating, acting like an ass. Perfect description don’t ya think! Anyway, Pupo was the restaurant on their Dubrovnik episode and the owner of the place got Zane completely shitcanned. I had to go.

We get to Pupo and take a table outside. Our cute waiter comes over and I asked him if he had any pictures inside of Three Sheets. He did and waived me in. In a corner is a little photo shrine and the stuffed monkey Pleeplius that he has with him on the show. What happened next is history making stuff. Liz wrote it best in an email to me the other day “cutie waiter came out of the restaurant with a big shit-eating grin on his face, shots of grappa in his hands, screaming "Three Sheets!!!" while you walked beside him with an equally large shit-eating grin on your face. As if you two were both saying to me "get ready sista ......this is going to be a long night!". And a long night it was. The owner, Viktor came out, had a drink with us, and explained how he and his restaurant ended up on the show. A different waiter named Ivan got in on the act and officially declared war on our sobriety, bringing us, by final count, 5 different types of shots/drinks on top of the litre of wine we ordered. Thank god we had the sense to order food before the nonsense started.

As the night progressed Martina, Viktor’s wife, and a Swiss couple, who knew one of Viktor’s friends, joined us as well as two American kids (Jared and Tim) from California who were also there because one of them was a fan of Three Sheets. It turned into a royal party at Pupo. Viktor and Martina lived in Dubrovnik during the war and Ivan actually fought in the conflict. They were willing to talk about their experiences and how they view things now; it was fascinating to hear people my own age discuss something so very foreign to any experience I know. With the serious conversation concluded, we turned to more trivial things, like cursing. Because we had learned to properly curse in Rome, we asked Martina to help us learn the same in Croatian; she willingly obliged. I think the restaurant officially closed at 11pm, but I know Liz, Ivan, Jared, Tim, and I were there until at least 1:30. As Ivan was closing up, I decided he and I needed to act like we were cooking in the little restaurant kitchen. Why you ask? Alcohol, I answer. The evening ended with all of us agreeing to meet back at Pupo the next night for Three Sheets Re-enactment Round 2. And oh my god did we ever!

Restaurant Pupo of Three Sheets fame

We had no idea what was about to happen to us

food, wine, and drink #2

Viktor the owner and drink#2

Ivan with drink #3

drink #4

drink #5

random British guy who walked by and Liz took his picture. Funniest t-shirt ever!

cursing in Croatian

Shrine to Three Sheets and Pleeplius the monkey

Jared, Tim, and Liz

Cooking seemed like a great idea at 1:30am

What can I say. . .

Ivan actually hit me with that thing. . . that shit hurt!

Weird Ass Weather

2008-07-21T08:29:00.003-04:00

The weather in Rome is so different this year. Its been hot but not tragically so during the day and actually cool in the evenings. I had on jeans last night. . . unheard of! Today I had to move inside the cafe because a thundering rain broke out. I'm not complaining; I did not dig the heat last year. Hope it stays this way!

Nudie Beach, here we (Liz, actually) come!

2008-07-20T09:37:00.013-04:00

Sunday was dedicated to hitting the beach. We began our day with crazy good pastries from a little bakery called Niko, around the corner from our sobe. Those ladies could crank out such good sugary yumminess we went there EVERY morning we were in Dubrovnik (with the exception of the day I was wishing for death due to outrageous hangover, more on that later). With sugar and caffeine contents high, we went to the Old Port to catch a little water taxi to Lokrum Island. It’s an uninhabited little island about a 5 minute boat ride from the Old Town. This is where the Nude Beach is located; yes, we went. Having experienced such things in the south of France during my post college European extravaganza, I had no real need to go; however, Liz still had a box (pardon the pun) to check. So, we walked to the end of the island and out onto the rocks that constituted the area dedicated to the “naturalists”. Desiring a touch of privacy, Liz wanted to walk around until she found a relatively isolated spot to get into her birthday suit, count to 100, dress, and go to the clothed beach. I decided to just wait where I was for her to take care of business. Apparently, they take the whole you HAVE to be naked thing very seriously. I was told by 2 people to either strip or beat it. Seriously? I gotta say, it was a very odd experience. The first man who explained the rules was about 75, bare-assed-naked, and wearing ORANGE CROCS. I was torn between laughing out loud, crying, and running away. I also couldn’t look the man in the face and sure as hell didn’t want to look at him anywhere else; most awkward! So as I was standing there waiting for Liz and trying not to look at anyone’s “privacies”, I began to wonder about the academics of sunbathing in the nude. Most of the people out there had visible tan lines, meaning their “special” places were not accustomed to the sun’s rays. Especially for the mens on the beach, what are the implications of putting SPF on wee willy winkie? And more importantly, what are the implications of NOT putting SPF on it and burning the sucker. Gooooodamn, that would hurt (or so I imagine).

Lokrum Island

I've been thrown out of bars, classes, and churches. But being tossed off a nude beach is a first for me.

With the nude thing taken care of, we went to the regular part of the island and found some flat rocks right by the water to hang out on. Swimming, eating watermelon, drinking beers, and reading for hours in the sun equals FABULOUS! Once the sun dropped behind the trees it was time for some post-beach drinks. There was a super cute bar set up just above the boat dock in the shade of the trees. They served drinks, snacks, and had a guy playing guitar; big surprise we hung out there for a while. We even had our first Croatian brandy there; Croats are known for their brandies and liquors as well as their wines. I was a bit nervous about it, but after a little sip it was decided that it was NOT so naas-tee

the ladder needed to get in and out of the water

swimming in the Adriatic

Whaaaahaaahaaaaaa. . . he's my boyfriend. That is so naas-tee.

my view from the rock I was laying on. Very nice!

the trail down to the rocks and sea

after beach beers

Croatian brandy, not so naas-tee!

After getting cleaned up and prettified, we headed over Gil’s for a sundowner. This place sits over the Old Harbor and is very posh and chic. The prices match! It’s a beautiful view and a gorgeously designed bar & restaurant. One drink later, its time for food. Dinner that night was OUTSTANDING. We went to a place up the stairs in Prijeko called Wanda. It’s run by a couple who actually ran a restaurant in Los Angeles and have brought back the slickness of serving that type of clientele and blended it with Croatian style. The food was delicious; I had a fettuccine with chicken in a light creamy tomato sauce and Liz had tortellini in a similar sauce. I think her tortellini is best I’ve ever had in my life. The salads were also huge, fresh, and delicious. The staff was extremely nice and the owner offered us a complementary after dinner drink. You’re not going to believe it when I say this, but, we declined. I know, I know, it’s disappointing but we were stuffed to the gills. No worries though, we are going to make up for this about 10 times over in the next two nights.

Gil's for sundowners

the restaurant at Gils'

Back to Dubrovnik

2008-07-20T08:19:00.024-04:00

After another relaxing 2 hour ferry ride with the exact same perfect deck seating as on the way over, we got back to Dubrovnik and returned to the same Sobe where we spent the first night. We also figured out how to lower the temp on the AC. . . . icy is nicey, especially after climbing the city walls around Old Town Dubrovnik. The view was gorgeous, but man was it hot! And slippery! Those beautiful cream colored stones are lovely to look at but one misstep and your going down. It’s just a matter of time until one of us ends up on our asses. The walk around the walls was also interesting from the perspective of the war in the early 1990’s. About 2/3 of the roofs in the Old Town were damaged and had to be replaced. You can easily see which ones are new and which ones escaped harm due to the color of the terra cotta; bright orange is new. Amazing!

waiting in Korcula's harbor for the ferry back to Dubrovnik

city walls

old versus new - easy to see where the damage occured

a street sign with shelling damage

looking a of the guard towers on the city walls

a bar outside the city walls with a great swimming spot

on top of the city walls with Lokrum Island in the background

church bell tower

the city from the walls

the courtyard inside the Rector's Palace

St. Blaise (Vlaho) on top of the church

Sponza Palace housing the Memorial room of Dubrovnik Defenders, a picture memorial to the men who died defending Dubrovnik from the Serbs as well a photos of Dubrovnik under seige. Very moving.

Orlando's Column with St. Blaise's Church behind it

stained glass window of St. Blaise's Church

Pile Gate leading into the Old Town

the city walls from outside the town

St. Vlaho (protector of Dubrovnik) over the Pile Gate, notice he is holding a model of the city

So what are two girls to do when they’ve spent an hours walking/sliding around a wall city in the blazing Adriatic sun? Get drinks of course! We headed back to the street our sobe was on, lined with pizza and spaghetti joints; it was literally possible to walk 10 feet out our front door and sit down at a restaurant. We chose Barracuda’s that sat at an intersection of one of the larger streets, Od Puca, better people watching that way. As has been the theme of our time in Croatia, this place took cash only, so AFTER we ordered our beers this fact became evident. One would think we would learn our cash vs. credit lesson after finding the perfect Konavoske puce, (a gorgeous gold filigree style button that hangs on a gold chain), in Korcula, only to discover the jewelry shop took cash only. Maybe the intense consumption of alcohol was impacting our mental functioning? Naaaaaaah! Anyway, a trip to the ATM later we had more Ozujsko beers and pizzas.

Not being nearly “refreshed” enough, we found a very cool café, Caffe Bar Nonenivia, beside the Cathedral; it had loads of cushioned wicker adirondack chairs with foot stools looking onto the square. Excellent for people watching under the watchful eye of the saints on top of the Cathedral. We spent quite some time sipping on mojitos, gin & tonics, and beers while laughing at people almost busting their asses on the super slick stones of Old Town. It was hysterical to watch girls all dressed up in their sky high heels try to navigate stone worn to a high luster; in flip flops it was dicey, in heels it was just stupidity! The Dubrovnik Music Festival began the day we arrived here, so there were tons of people wandering around to hear the different musicians set up in various corners of town. With all this activity, the people watching (ok, making fun of) was at its best!

Drinks and people watching under the gaze of saints. Yikes!

Korcula Day 2. . . I have fallen in love and I’m prepared to cheat.

2008-07-19T14:02:00.021-04:00

After having approximately one week to think about this emotional betrayal on my part, I have come to the conclusion that I am prepared to publicly address my infidelity. As everyone is disgustingly aware, I have a long standing love affair with Italia, well I have strayed. Croatia has romanced me off my feet and I feel my love for Italy slowly being replaced by this Adriatic nation. In fact, if I can whore myself out enough to scrape together the resources to spend yet a third summer overseas, I may very well find myself kicking it in Korcula/Dubrovnik. This place really has almost everything Italy offers me plus some other treats. Almost everyone here speaks Italian, excellent English, and of course Croatian. Its clean in unprecedented ways, the people are over the top friendly, the sun shines all the time, its on the beach, its laid back, its way cheaper because they are not on the Euro yet, the vino is DELICIOUS, and they do have much of the same Italian foods. Really? Do I need to say more? Ok, I will.

Our second day in Korcula was epic; although that was not really the plan. We decided to rent bikes and ride to a little beach village, Lumbarda, about 3 miles away at the end of a little road. Well, apparently 3 miles in Korcula is actually about 100 miles in my world. It was damn far, but a pretty ride through forests and along coves. We got to the beach and it was perfect, a little café serving cheap and delicious beers right beside the very empty beach. We partook of both beers and beach, until “the group” arrived. About 75 kids between the ages 8-12 rolled in and took over. As it turns out the group is a peace initiative started by a woman from Hawaii, named Bambi (no I’m not making that shit up, its her name). She brings volunteers from the US to run camps for very poor kids from Bosnia, Croatia, Serbia, and Montenegro. The purpose of the camp is to help teach these kids that the hatred from the Balkan Wars of the 1990s can be overcome. They never discuss the war, unless a kid specifically brings it up, but they do ethics, morals, and humanitarian activities. Almost all of these kids were orphaned by their parents who were too poor after the conflict to care for them. The people we met that day were incredibly giving and inspiring. I’m hoping to get some of my students involved as volunteers next year. I also decided through my beer induced haze that I needed to move to Hawaii and teach at Bambi’s school, Punahou Academy, obviously it’s the name that caught my extremely immature attention. I know I promised to try to keep it more sophisticated this year, but really?

This is where it all began

Perfect peace when we got to Lumbarda

Perhaps the best photo I've taken this entire trip!

The invasion of the kids

our 8,000th Ozujsko

So after about 8000 tasty Ozujsko beers, no food, swimming, and getting sun burns, Liz and I had to ride our bikes back to Korcula town. Sober, this was a mess, especially because my bike was not healthy and would only operate in 1 gear. That made bigass hills fun. Drunk, this was anyone's game. Liz took the lead and I swear to god she almost ran into a kid sitting in a chair and then actually did run right over his flip flop (thankfully it wasn’t on his foot). The ride home went much quicker, I can only assume because we were bombed. Once we returned the bikes, a miracle in itself, we were starving. There was a great little pizza place in the middle of the square in front of St. Mark’s Cathedral; we housed 2 Hawaii pizzas. I’m not really sure if the pizza was so damn good because it was just so damn good or because we were so damn drunk, but it gets recorded as one of the best pizzas I’ve eaten; and I’ve eaten a load of pizza! As Liz would later quote from Animal House, “fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life,” we fully disagreed and decided that our day of all of the above was AWESOME!!!

Moments before almost killing a kid and maiming a flip flop

We made it back after too many beers. It was not a guaranteed outcome. . .

St. Mark's Cathedral

Square where we ate damn fine pizza.

Korcula!

2008-07-19T13:00:00.023-04:00

Liz and I got up early and took the packed smelly bus (seriously people, deodorant ain’t that expensive) to the Jadrolinija Ferry dock in Dubrovnik. We booked deck seats for the 2-3 hour trip to the island of Korcula; it was spectacular. These car ferries are really like small cruise ships, with cabins, a restaurant, bar, and outdoor café. Nice! We totally scored the best chairs on the upper deck right against the railing of the back of the ship. For the entire trip we sailed right up the Dalmatian coast passing gorgeous scenery. Of course, we got tans, had a cappuccino, and yummy delicious beers. I even had my personal space royally violated by a German woman who did not see a problem putting the back of her chair right up against the back of mine, so we could bump heads when I sat back down. Seriously??? Eventually, I made my needs clear and she backed away. Nuff said!

Sailing along the Dalmatian Coast

Croatian flag

Sweeeet!

Arriving in Korcula

When we got to Korcula, which is like a miniature Dubrovnik, we figured Edita, the woman whose sobe we were staying in would meet us at the dock; that didn’t happen. I was supposed to text her and let her know what ferry we were coming in on; however, my stupid adapter is for Italy and not Croatia or the rest of Europe apparently, so my cell battery died. We emailed her, but as she informed us later, “pfft I don’t check email that often”. Ok, whatever. We had a map of where her joint was so we started walking off. As we realized we needed to head through the old town gate and were walking in that direction, I heard someone call my name. A freaky thing when you are on a tiny ass Croatian island. Lo and behold, Edita spotted us, somehow, and rocks up to take us to our sobe. That place kicked ass: super clean, perfect location, ridiculous view when you poked your head out the window and looked right, and air conditioning that made you wish for a nice wooly sweater. Edita was equally impressive. She got her degree in London, so had mastered all of the sarcastic nuances of the English language and used them well. She was a riot. When she heard the Italian adapter story she made sure to let us know we didn’t “organize” ourselves very well, but then she took us to the lady next door’s house to see if she could help us. When that failed she showed us where a hardware store was that should fix us right up when they opened after siesta. I’m telling you, the people of Croatia are quality people, Edita at the top of the list. She even asked some Canadians who checked in after us if they had the proper adapter and could we borrow it for the night. Excellent! In the meantime, we found what we needed at an internet store; however, Liz blew two of them out with her hairdryer. I was blownout when they just kept exchanging them for us. That would NEVER happen in Italy. The Canadian family is worth a mention as well. They were from Victoria and were traveling for a month. Their 10 year old son told me his most memorable experience in Rome was watching a seagull attack, kill, and eat a pigeon at the Trevi Fountain. I guess Rome is different for all people, GROSS!

Edita, we loved her!

Looking our of our sobe window

Main gate to the old town of Korcula Town

After dropping off our stuff in the sobe, and finding the adapter we headed out for lunch. We went down the stairs to the right of our sobe and found a seawall loaded with restaurants. Since credit cards are not something many places take and the menus were all the same, we chose the one that did take visa and parked it by the water. The view was silly pretty. Lunch was good: spaghetti with pineapple and red sauce (sounds odd but was shitgodamn good), cheese, mussels, salad, bread, and no shock here. . . a litre of wine! Properly lubricated we then wandered around the tiny Old Town of Korcula town. We found the alleged house of Marco Polo’s family (he was from here), went into the cathedral where I took forbidden photos, and checked out all the views from the town walls.

Lunch on the sea wall. Perfetto!

Cutest dog ever. Liz pulled burrs out of his fur.

Inside St. Mark's Cathedral

That's just funny.

Alleged home of Marco Polo.

If it isn't confirmed to be his house, I'm not sweating to climb the tower.

Me with Marco Polo and Ghengis Khan

Because the whole 2 days was marked by a game of what else? Marco (Liz). . . . Polo (me)

Bell tower of the cathedral

Our first dinner in Korcula was most excellent. It was at a place called Adio Mare on a terrace right next to Marco Polo’s house (which by the way may or may not be the actual house of Marco Polo, um ok!). The food was excellent, shrimp risotto, beef marinated in Prosecco and slow cooked with prunes, mixed grilled veggies, and of course a liter of fine fine Croatian white wine. Oh, and our waiter was equally as tasty!! Killer first day in Korcula.

Ajvar for Liz's husband Fred. Its delicious!

Flickr Pictures

2008-07-19T12:33:00.003-04:00

I'm getting all the pictures from the summer, so far, uploaded onto Flickr. If you're interested, use the link on the left to find the sets from this year :-)

Croatia and back. . . we made it. The first of MANY posts.

2008-07-18T04:39:00.020-04:00

This past week has been a truly legendary week. I have not laughed so hard, met such great people, or seen so many beautiful sites in a very long time. There are such an incredible amount of stories to tell that I’m going to have to break them up into separate posts. I’m also still without internet at my apartment so I’m forced to go to a café and post for the hour and a half my battery will last. So let’s begin at the beginning.

Getting to Croatia from Italy is a snap. We got to Fiumincino with plenty of time to knock back a couple of vinos at a wine bar and still hang around the gate. As we were sitting beside the window watching the ground crew load luggage onto our flight, I noticed one of the guys ready to load what looked like packaged tent poles onto the belt in the belly of the plane. While that in and of itself is not interesting, it did get funny when he held all 8 feet of them up to his crotch like it was his big old junk and was stroking it for his buddy in the plane. Liz and I cackled like fools. I swear to god timing is everything. So we board the plane and of course I start taking pictures. When we get into our seats I turn to take a photo of Liz and notice who will be her background. Liz notices my face, turns to look, and starts laughing so hard tears were literally squirting out of her eyes. I’m pretty sure we belly laughed for 45 of the 60 minutes it took us to fly to Dubrovnik. I’m also well aware that we are going to hell for being shallow and mean. No shock there, really.
Our plane

oh the tears of laughter, shameful!

yay, andiamo!

The mountains leaving Italy

The Dalmationa Coast arriving in Dubrovnik

In Croatia, baby!

The son of our sobe owner met us at the gate, holding a sign with our names on it, which of course made us laugh all over again. It probably wasn’t that funny except we were primed to laugh at pretty much everything. Vlaho, the son was awesome. He drove us to the Old Town and then his mother Neves met us and walked us to our apt. It was great, in a 17th century building with AC, charm, and a load of stairs. We dropped our stuff and headed out to wander the Old Town and find dinner. We ate a little place right on the old port; it was delicious. Croatian white wine, risotto with cuttlefish, olives, cheese, and bread.
At the old port for dinner.

Dubrovnik's Cathedral at night

View out of one of our bathroom windows.

Since it was late and we were getting up early to catch the ferry to Korcula in the morning, we headed off for an ice cream and then to bed.

Rooftops of Dubrovnik

Heading out the Pile Gate on the way to the ferry dock!

Off to Croatia. . .

2008-07-08T12:14:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow Liz and I are off to Croatia. We fly out at 6pm and land in Dubrovnik at 7:10. After one night there we're taking a ferry to a little island called Korcula for 2 nights, then back to Dubrovnik for 4 more nights. Somewhere in there we have rented a car to drive into Bosnia and Montenegro for one day each. Oh god, wish us luck. And if any of you have friends who can get 2 American girls out of eastern European jails, leave a comment on this here blog. Haaaaa!

Jesus and the Jukebox!

2008-07-08T11:30:00.016-04:00

Oh boy! That’s about all I can say of the last 24 hours. Liz arrived at my apartment exactly on time …… a little bit early to be exact. I was getting ready to walk out my front door and meet her at the security gate when I heard and Italian man yell through my bedroom window and then was pretty sure I heard Liz’s laugh. And to my surprise, there she was, suitcase in tow. Her flight was a little early and she ran into the guy who lives in the flat across from mine. She showed him a picture of me, from her phone, and he said “yes, the American girl staying across from me.” I’ve NEVER seen the man in my life, but I guess people know when the Americans have arrived.

So, Liz drops her stuff, changes into shorts, and off we go. Yesterday turned into quite the blur due to all the drinking, but I’ll give the rundown a good go. We walked to Piazza Navona and found Liz’s favorite pizza place from her visit in October. In true form, her favorite pizzeria was closed until dinner with a sign on the door that said “Fuck You.” We’re going there for dinner tonight, by the way. We then proceeded to a little trattoria for fried zucchini blossoms and the first of much vino. Note to all, we started drinking about 2 hours after Liz landed, and we never stopped. The winning picture of perhaps the trip (time will tell) is this one of the make-shift shrine to Jesus and the Jukebox. It’s across from the trattoria we were at and above the door of a home. The altar is made of tin foil, there is a huge plastic jukebox behind the nativity like scene, and sadly Mary has fallen partially through (ie, her feet were dangling from the underside). The piece di resistance were the 2 plastic race cars flanking this nod to the baby Jesus. HILARIOUS!!

Unbelieveable!

From there we wandered over to St. Peter’s Square to gawk at the Vatican/Basilica because we knew our souls would be in need of some help based on how the day was unfolding. After kicking it with Pope Benny-Raz, we made our way back to the Jewish Ghetto and plopped down for some much needed birre. Ok, I knew to order beer, but Liz needed to get fancy and order a Campari Gin Martini; just typing it makes me want to hurl. It was sooooooo nasty it burned the hair off her chest (didn’t know she had that did you? No worries, it’s gone now). With saner beverages in front of us, we put back and enormous amount of beer. Naz came over to join us and then Liz proceeded to kick the table …………. twice. Not since crystallnicht has the Jewish Ghetto seen so much broken glass. Again, HILAROUS!!!
Now thats a picture for all time. Liz and I in front of the Vatican, and lightening did not strike!

The start of the beer extravaganza in the Jewish Ghetto

Now, you would be thinking that this day has got to be coming to close. Wrong answer. We went home, showered, drank some vino, got fancied-up, and headed out for appertivi and dinner in Trastevere. We hooked up with Naz again at Café Artu. Liz brought us all red, white and blue candy necklaces to celebrate a belated July 4. So appropriately jeweled, we sipped Prosecco until our table was ready. I’m not gonna lie, we got shitcanned; it was tragic. Nonetheless, we powered through and ate an amazing dinner of Spaghetti cacao e pepe and arugala salad with asiago and walnuts. At this point, jet lag and hours of drinking took its toll on Liz. She looked at me with her huge doe eyes and begged “PLEASE, can we go home?” so we started the trek home. Somewhere in the middle of Trastevere, I felt an arm link through mine and a sad little voice asks “can we just walk like this for a little while?” I was pretty sure I was going to end up carrying Liz the rest of the way. To try to make the walk more pleasant I bought her a slice of cocomero (watermelon). About 30 seconds later I looked at her and the watermelon was gone. I didn’t inquire into the whereabouts of said watermelon until this morning. Apparently she was “too weak” to carry it and left it on a scooter for someone else to enjoy (she’s nice that like). It was a seriously spectacular first night in Roma with one of my longest standing friends. HILARIOUS!!!

Prosecco!

American girl arrives in Roma

Candy necklaces and Prosecco, what could be better.

I’ve moved apartments now and I’m quite pleased with my pool, mini patio, and garden. Unfortunately, as can happen in Italy, I don’t have internet access even though I was promised it. I think if there are secured wireless networks around, the Italians consider that “having internet”. Now, I’ve got to get ready for dinner at Pizzeria Baffetto and Liz’s favorite enoteca (wine bar) in Piazza Spagna. Hopefully, the pizzeria won’t tell us “Fuck Off”.

Looking straight out my front door.

Standing in my front door and looking to the right at the POOL!

Liz having apperitivo on my piccolo terrace.

View from Gianicolo Hill over Roma

St. Peter's from "the hill"

monument to Garibaldi.

Someone in the Garibaldi clan. Just a cool photo!

Monument and graveyard.

Dammit!!

2008-07-08T10:17:00.001-04:00

The new apartment does not have internet connectivity; I'm seriously pissed off. I'm going to try to get to an internet cafe later to update with pictures. All very disappointing, I know. Bare minimum, Liz and I off to Croatia tomorrow for a week. That will be awesome!