Ceb1222's "Every Last Detail" Italy Trip Report - Spring 2007
 

This trip report is a long time in the making: about four years, actually, which is how long I've been lurking around this forum. This is a long, detailed report, written more in story fashion, so for those who don't like details, you may want to skim and scan or skip altogether! And, of course, it is written in the clichéd present tense voice of travelogues, but how else can I take everyone along for the ride?

Background info: My sister, last spring, spent the semester of her junior year of college living and studying in Florence, Italy. As soon as she was accepted to the program and she and my mom were arranging her flights there and back, I was online searching for the best airfare for the rest of us. We found great airfare roundtrip from Philadelphia to Rome on US Airways, and were able to schedule the trip for 9 days in March.

I work weekends, with Tuesdays and Wednesdays as my days off. Although it can be a pain, it's ideal for air travel because you can get significantly lower fares surrounding those days. Tuesday, March 20, was a travel day, which got us into Rome on Wednesday the 21st for Day 1. We departed bella Italia the following Wednesday afternoon. That left us with seven full days to see everything we possibly could.

In those seven days we managed to make our way from Rome to Florence to Venice to San Gimignano to Pisa to Cinque Terre to Rome. Now I know this will have many loyal Fodorites cringing and wincing at the whirlwind. And I know we have many firm believers of the "three days minimum in each of the Big Three" philosophy when it comes to Italy. But let me soften the blow by telling you that we originally were going to try to get to the Amalfi Coast as well.

I have to say, after this trip, I may be a convert to slow(er) travel, at least when it comes to Italy. It got a little crazy. However! This was how I introduced myself to Italy six years ago when I made a three week trip through Europe after studying for a semester in Sevilla, Spain, and I wouldn't change a thing. I think for first-timers, it's OKAY to see everything you possibly can. I think it gives a good overview of what you might want to see again in depth. Last time, for me, and this time, for my parents, we operated on a "this may be the only trip" basis, so we wanted to see everything we could. While I probably won't do it that way again, they also said they wouldn't change a thing.

The Players: I'm in my mid-twenties and have been haunting this forum, living vicariously through others, and trying to get back to Europe for six years! Mom and Dad are in their early fifties, and my sister is a hospitality major studying in Florence. The four of us can usually have fun together sitting around the dinner table at home, so the goal was to extend that into Italy.

We enjoy good food and drinks and our favorite way to travel is to walk around to get the "feel" of a place. We didn't want to spend hours touring museums or monuments; we'd rather hang out at a street-side cafe with a bottle of wine, or wander around side streets until we get lost and then found again.

Day 0 - March 20, 2007 - Italia, Here We Come! Las Vegas to Philadelphia to Roma!

I am up and out EARLY to check in at airport for flight. I have managed to fit everything for the trip in a carry-on, complete with a smaller empty duffel inside in anticipation of possible purchases. The flight from Las Vegas to Philadelphia is pretty uneventful. I try not to sleep too much because I want to be able to sleep on the upcoming overnight flight.

I arrive in Philadelphia on time and find Mom and Dad easily in the international terminal. We had been concerned about logistics and the layover time between flights, but everything is running more than smoothly. I am checked in through to Rome and so do not have to go back out to security.

We have lunch at - where else - an Italian restaurant in the airport. Our outbound flight is running a little late and we end up departing at 6:30 instead of 6:10, which isn't bad at all for PHL. The advantages to traveling on Tuesdays include the fact that things just seem to go more like they're supposed to. I guess that's due to lower volume through the airports?

The flight to Roma is also pretty uneventful. The flight is about six hours and fifteen minutes long and then we have a six hour time change, so we will, in theory, "wake up" in Roma "tomorrow morning". To facilitate this plan, I pass out some over the counter Tylenol sleep aids. Since no one has given these a test run, we start with a half dose. I end up doubling the actual dose; Mom sticks with the recommended dose. I'm not even sure if Dad takes them. I sleep. They do not.

Day 1 - March 21, 2007 - No Sleep, Tired Feet, and... The Pope? Roma!

I wake shortly before landing to look out the window over the Mediterranean. We curl down the coast and inland towards Roma (I have been driving on my mom to get used to the Italian spelling and pronunciations, so it's sticking with me). Easy landing, and we follow the throng to the baggage carousel. Mom has ordered an Italian cell phone before leaving the US, so we proceed to turn it on and call my sister. She is barely coherent. It's 7:45 in the morning and she likes wine.

Our driver is supposed to be waiting for us with our names on a sign, but we don't see him. After wandering past all the other chauffeurs with signs for other people, the bags start pouring onto the conveyor. We find mom and dad's bags, then call the number we have in case we don't see our driver. A few calls and minutes later, and our driver is leading us to the Mercedes (gotta love Europe!). I get the front seat.

Of course, it is rush hour, so we receive our first introduction to Roman driving. I can hear my dad chuckling from the back seat every time our driver creates his own lane. Drivers are charging forward, sideways, cutting across lanes, creating their own lanes, and then there is the ever-present buzz of the swarms of mopeds. EVERYone has a cell phone attached at the ear. Turn signals are a feature that no one seems to know about. It is pure, mad chaos, but somehow, it works. We only see one fender-bender.

One thing I love about Europe is that often you happen on the major sites accidentally. We buzz right around the Colosseum and practically drive through some ancient ruins on our way to the hotel. An ancient Roman city wall divides the train station from the university neighborhood where we’re staying. It’s been there for centuries, but it’s just part of daily life.

The sun is fighting with the clouds and the clouds are threatening to dump rain, so there is a chill in the air. The clouds will hover all day, which keeps the weather cool but makes for some dramatic photo ops!

We are staying at the Casa della Palma, near the University, a few blocks east of the train station. We realize this is inconvenient to the main sites, but it gives us the opportunity to wander into the city on foot, and we will be leaving tomorrow via the train station. Less than an hour after leaving the airport, our driver squirms the car into an alley, parks haphazardly, and helps us to the door, which is an unlikely entrance. Through the door, we pass through a foyer of sorts to some double glass doors, which lead to a courtyard filled with plants. Then up a tiny flight of stairs to the office, which is sort of on the roof. Our room is ready and we pile into our triple. One queen bed for Mom and Dad and a pull out bed for me. The bathroom is large and marble clad. There is a flat screen TV, a DVD player, a mini fridge, and some other nice amenities, all of which we won't use.

We freshen up and by 10:30 am immerse ourselves immediately in the city. The area surrounding the hotel is described in some reviews as having a rough appearance, but it reminds me of the neighborhood in which I lived in Sevilla. What sometimes appears rough can often times be a normal working-class neighborhood. We see nuns wandering along the sidewalk and an ecstatic, bubbling parade of school children, lined up for their trek from school to a movie theater. Our first mission is to stop at the train station to buy our tickets for tomorrow. We find the train station pretty easily but can't buy our tickets at the machines for some reason. No problem, I head to the ticket window and we are ready for Firenze tomorrow. Next order of business is to pinpoint a major icon and find it. Trevi Fountain it is.

And so we wander along the streets of Rome, acclimating ourselves to the city and stretching our legs after hours on planes. We purposely have structured this day to get us on permanent track with the time zone, so no sleeping for us. It will be a long day.

Roma is confusing. I'm normally really good at reading maps, but I can't get my bearings. We miss the Fountain by a couple of blocks, but that brings us through some quaint smaller streets. We can hear the water but we can't see it. Suddenly the street spills into the piazza. Hoards of people are crawling all around the fountain, which isn't surprising, since it's just before noon. We manage to get some unpopulated photos from the right side of the fountain as you look at it, heading up the hill (a tip if you, too, want pictures without strangers!).

And now we're hungry. It's only a little after noon, which is NOT lunch time in Rome, but we are tired and getting a little cranky. We find what looks like a more "local" eatery called "Birreria" (which pretty much means "beer place"). The staff speaks little English, there aren't many patrons in the restaurant, so it MUST be a local place! As we eat, the place starts to fill up, and we continue to hear mostly Italian. Service is gruff and we don't know if that's because we're pretty stupid from lack of sleep at this point or not. We share an antipasto misto, Mom has lasagna, and Dad and I both have spaghetti pomodoro. Nothing spectacular, but it does the trick. 31 Euros with tip.

From here we wander towards the Forum. Nothing funny happens on the way. The sky looks like it's going to dump on us any minute, but it never does. We wander through the Forum, taking pictures and trying to figure out on our own what each ruin is. When I was here previously, there were students doing impromptu guided tours for an optional (expected) gratuity, but we don't see that this time. I think the Forum is incredible, and I love to imagine what it must have been like when it was an actual city. Also amazing is the scale and the detail involved in these buildings.

I try recounting stories I learned last time: the one about the martyred saint who was sentenced to be roasted over an open fire and who told them to flip him over because he was "done on this side", the punishment for a vestal virgin if she um... sullied her position (death by entombment in a temple without food or water). I remember the cheerful stories, of course.

We climb up and over the Palatine Hill and descend on the Colosseum. Here, we are, of course, bombarded by tour guides extolling the virtues of their tours and pulling hard on the idea that they bypass the line for tickets. We ALMOST sign up with one but don't really want to be committed to anything - we are on vacation - so wander into the ticket area on our own. Yes, we stand in line, but no, it's not that bad. I call upon my patience and accept that the concept of the "line" isn't the same everywhere in the world. I don't really mind, except for the fact that it's not one of those things where you can shrug your shoulders and go with the flow. To go with this flow, you have to PUSH! Fifteen minutes later we have our tickets, and thirty minutes after that we've toured the building and are back on the ground. So much for a guided tour. Although, the disadvantage to being unguided is that you're not really getting any information. I mean, we all know what went on at the Colosseum, but sometimes it's fun to get those details and interesting stories.

We take some good pictures, though; spring is springing and there are flowers and flowering trees everywhere. What I didn't notice last time is that the view of the Forum and of the city itself is great from inside the Gladiator Dome. I also get a great pic of Dad pretending to be a tiger and attacking Mom, presumably the gladiator. Doesn't take much to amuse this group.

More aimless wandering ensues, and we stop for a quick "NOW what do we do... pout, pout... we are tired... who's idea WAS it to stay up all day?!" session. We are all hitting the proverbial wall and we are tired of walking. So we attempt the next challenge: public transportation. After wandering along near the thoroughfare that runs past the Vittorio Emanuel monument, we finally figure out a route number that will take us to San Pietre. Now. I have read plenty on this forum (not the Roman one) about taking the bus, particularly in Rome. But we STILL don't have a clue if we're doing it correctly. Fortunately, no one yells at us or kicks us off the bus, and we do our part by paying for the tickets and pushing through the crowded bus to validate them. But we don't see one other person validate their tickets upon boarding. Are they wearing wristbands or something that we are missing?

We step off the bus shortly after crossing the bridge into Vatican City and walk towards the Big Church. There must have been a visitation of the Pope earlier because there are hundreds of folding chairs in front of the basilica. We are totally amused by the signs warning potential visitors not to enter in certain types of clothing, or lack thereof. Of course, I take pictures of the signs. At this point, the sky is a stunning pre-storm dark blue, which makes for great photo ops as well.

We meander through the basilica and we think we see the Pope. We're not sure. There is a service going on at the front of the cathedral and the person officiating is in a purple robe. Two little Italian girls bounce up next to me at the barrier and squeal "Il Papa! Il Papa!" I take a picture with the camera zoomed way in, but it comes out blurry. Hmmm...

We search for the entrance to climb up to the top of the building but can't find it or signs directing us. That's okay because we're not sure we'd make the steps at this point. I know there's a ticket you can purchase to do this because I did it last time, but we are approaching closing time, which may be why I can't find it. We marvel over "La Pieta" for a few moments and wander around, taking in the ornate decor and smell of incense.

Eventually, we amble out of the Vatican City area and cross the Arno via one of the bridges. Once "back in Rome" we buy more tickets from a tobacco shop and hitch a packed bus to the train station. From the train station, we walk back towards the hotel and seek out a nearby recommended restaurant.

It's starting to drizzle and Il Gatto e Il Cane is still fairly empty. The staff is watching TV. We walk in anyway, knowing full well that's it's early for dinner in Rome. Our waiter is very friendly, though, and we enjoy a leisurely dinner as the restaurant proceeds to fill. We share a bottle of still water, the house red, and the focaccia della casa with mozzarella, prosciutto and salume, recommended by our waiter. Dad has the bistecca and Mom and I each have spaghetti carbonara. Our second meal in Italy, our first REALLLY good one! 70 Euros with tip.

Outside it's COLD and Mom is of little faith that I have any idea how to get back to the hotel. Nothing looks familiar to her. This is because we haven't walked through here yet! We round a corner or two, find the camouflaged door, and heave ourselves up the stairs. I smush my earplugs into my ears in anticipation of a night sharing space with the captain and co-captain of the varsity snoring team and it's lights out. The rest of Rome is just getting going, but we have had an eternal day in the eternal city.

Enjoying your report. Looking forward to more.

Ceb, What a wonderful first report.

I hope you don't take this in the wrong spirit, but it is SUCH a delight, and such a rarity, to read something so literate, and so evocative, from someone in her mid-twenties. Thank you!

waiting for the rest of the story . . .

What St. Cirq said. Loving this trip report. More! Soon!

=D>

St. Cirq, and others, thank you for the compliments. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Day 2 - March 22, 2007 - The Blond Commotion, Wandering through Firenze, and... Part One of The Anatomy of a Scam - Firenze!

I am wide awake and ready to go before everyone else. I stay in bed until the alarm goes off and everyone else wakes. Mom and Dad are on a six hour and I'm on a nine hour time change, but none us seems to have any problems readjusting to the new zone (Travel solution number one: to avoid jet lag, get up earlier than normal on travel day, take a mild sleep aid on the plane, and hit the ground running on the first day). Everyone showers and dresses and repacks bags and we are ready to start the next part of the adventure. We walk to the train station, this time with bags in tow, which makes it slightly more difficult. We pass several great photo ops along the way but my camera is buried inaccessibly. We also pass a few breakfast ops but want to make sure we're where we need to be when we need to be there.

We arrive at the train station with plenty of time to spare. In fact, our train's platform isn't even listed yet, as there are too many leaving earlier in front of it. There is nowhere to sit in the train station. It's a work day morning and the place is packed, so we stand in the middle of the station in everyone else’s way where we can keep an eye on the board.

The first major challenge of the day approaches. Breakfast. It's not as easy as you might think. After observing for a few minutes, I bravely venture into the stand-up bar area of a cafe in the train station and wait for someone to acknowledge me. It takes a while, but finally a barista looks at me quizzically. "Tre capuccini..." I start, but the barista is shaking his head. He's pointing at the register and saying something I can't understand. Oh. I order over here...? I go to the register and order, pay and get a receipt. Then I put the receipt on the bar. Bingo. Tre capuccini. It's that simple.

Dad, hardened coffee drinker that he is, shoots his like the Italians do. I dump half a jar of sugar in mine and sip it. Mom falls somewhere in between the two of us. I am feeling pretty smug at this point. We have attempted and conquered not only the bus system in Rome but the breakfast system as well!

Eventually, our train platform clicks onto the board and then it's a mad dash. We charge down the platform with everyone else, trying to anticipate if car 1 will be closest to the station or farthest from it, and then trying to judge where to stand so we get in the right car. Minutes later, the train glides into the station, passengers rush off, and we can't find the car numbers. I don't know why, because they're printed clearly on the cars. I think we're just trying to create more excitement for ourselves.

We board the train and find our seats with minimal drama and then we sit back for one of my other favorite things about Europe - trains! To me, there's nothing more relaxing than speeding over land to the sway of a train. And there are trays and drinks and snacks and comfortable seats... you just can't beat it. The countryside between Roma and Firenze is, of course, beautiful, and we're starting off to a partly sunny day.

As this is the hi-speed train, we're slowing to the station in no time at all. We pile out onto the platform and start the walk into the station itself. Mom's leading the charge. We're all three scanning the station. Then Mom spots her. "There she is". Me, confused, "Where?" "Right there!" I think I actually perform one of those cartoon eyes-bugging-out double-takes. "Wow. She looks weird. She looks old. She looks hot!" I just saw the kid at Christmas. But she is in Italy now. She's wearing stiletto knee-hi boots and leggings and a big scarf, big, dark sunglasses on her face. She looks Italian. Except she's blond (more to follow).

Greetings over, we saunter out of the train station and into the street. My sister parades us to the hotel like a swan leading goslings. En route, a city bus slows as it passes us and actually STOPS so the driver can yell to my sister. It's hysterical. My dad will tolerate this for about three more minutes before the grumbling starts.

Finally, amidst more stopping cars and yells and gestures, all from males, we find the Hotel Azalee and its welcoming front desk clerk. Our rooms are out the side door, around the corner, through the BEAUTIFUL garden and into the building behind us. Mom and Dad's room has a marble bathroom that could house an SUV and a four poster bed. Our room, down the hall, has two twin beds and a substantial bath. Flowers and pink (Azalee = azalea) are definitely the theme here. It's very clean and charming. The gardens are gorgeous. It looks to be a former villa and carriage house of sorts.

After checking in and dumping bags, we're back in the direction from which we came, towards town. We walk through some beautiful streets and into the Piazza della Repubblica, my sister leading the pack and Dad shaking his head at the back (he is afforded, from this position, perhaps the best view of the commotion among males my sister is causing). From the hotel, it is a fifteen minute walk. It is now that we are struck with the quietness and relative lack of chaos compared to Roma. Firenze seems peaceful and intimate and we are all immediately struck by the contrast. We walk around in front of the Duomo, taking pictures of its details against a brilliant blue sky. The art and architecture of this building is staggering.

We head down a side street towards the San Lorenzo market to a corner cafe where my sister often eats. I didn't write down the name, but from pictures, I think it's simply "Wine Bar". She orders panini and wine for us, and we sit at an outside table to enjoy lunch. We... are... in Italy. Wine, delicious sandwiches, outdoor seating... She has to go to class, so she leaves us at the cafe. We finish lunch and wander the half block into the market.

We are still not in "buying" mode, so we cruise through the wares, trying not to look too interested in anything to avoid harassment by the vendors. It's all good-natured, though, and makes the experience more interactive and livelier. Mom and I wander into a tapestry shop, which is floor-to-ceiling bolts of cloth and ribbon and trim in every color combination. Two Italian women ask us to take their picture in the store and then offer to reciprocate. This is one of those moments where the language barrier doesn't matter.

An hour is up quickly, so we walk back towards the cafe to meet my sister. We sit on a round stone bench in the piazza, on the other side of which a guy is sleeping. There is an empty beer bottle next to him, so whether he is drunk and passed out or not, I take an incriminating picture of his leg and the bottle. He gets up and walks away while we're not looking. A waiter outside a nearby restaurant is bored and strikes up a game of catch with a passing friend's dog. We keep ourselves entertained watching them play. Everyone seems so happy.

My sister rejoins us and we return to the market for another stroll. We continue to wander. We are proud of ourselves so far for not yet getting ripped off, so what do we do? Buy the world's most expensive gelato. We're not sure how it happens, but all of sudden we each are enjoying a 6 Euro gelato. Oh well, we're eating gelato in Italy, right?!

We trek past the Duomo again and it is here, in a narrow alley, that we have our second "Wow, we're in Italy" moment. An accordionist has set up shop and is playing a tune that reverberates through the dim alley. We pass a warehouse behind closed doors with an actual sculptor working on some statues. Cool.

We work our way into the Piazza della Signoria, where all the "outdoor" statues are. I take a compromising photo or two of David (hey, it's ART!) and regular photos of some other statues. We direct ourselves towards the Arno and wander past the Uffizi, where there are street musicians and artists still working in the late afternoon. Of course, we have to stop to buy some street art (that's a favorite souvenir of my Mom's, and consequentially of mine - it's beautiful, unique, and takes up hardly any room!). Eventually, we end up at the Ponte Vecchio.

While standing on the bridge overlooking the river and the countryside in the distance, a well-dressed duo strikes up a conversation with Dad and my sister. Mom and I step closer to join the chat. He is telling us, complete with quintessentially Italian gesture, that his family owns a villa "out there", that he is a designer, and we must stop by his shop. We make no promises and wave goodbye to them after a few minutes (remember this - more to follow).

We wander along the Arno - it is a beautifully clear, if cool, afternoon, and the late sun is perfect for pictures of the bridge. We stop to puzzle over the otter-like critters zipping in and out of the water until an older Italian man stops, follows our gaze, and offers a simple “Nutria”, delightfully rolling the r, then continues on his way. We amble along to my sister's apartment to grab some overnight items for her - she's staying with us. Onward to the hotel, where we change for the evening and start raiding the minibar. I know we have a small bottle of champagne but I'm not sure what else is consumed... We are waiting for appropriate dinner hour, and then we will leave.

We walk to a local pizzeria that my sister frequents very... frequently... called Al Pinolo. We create a stir with the locals when these obvious tourists get somewhat priority seating, at which the waitress rolls her eyes and even apologizes to my sister! The food is delicioso: shared antipasto misto, tagliatelle ai funghi for me, and various pizzi passed around the table. And, of course, wine. 74 Euro with tip. It is some time during dinner, I think, that we decide to adjust our loose itinerary and stay in Firenze for another day.

Stuffed to the gills, we amble back to the hotel and fall into our beds to sleep.

Great trip report!!

Day 3 - March 23, 2007 - Browsing, Boboli (Not the Pizza), and Part Two of The Anatomy of a Scam. Firenze!

We have a slow start on Friday because the beds are so dang comfortable. Or because we're exhausted. Or because of last night's vino. Eventually, we proceed to the breakfast room with it's pink and white striped quilted walls and collect our food from the buffet table. We wander through the hotel after breakfast, exploring the several floors of the main house.

And then we're off again, back to the center of the city. Suddenly, I am discovering the unusual urge to shop. Side note: I HATE shopping. I’m very indecisive and could spend hours at stores and come away with nothing. But here, in Italy, surrounded by stores of all shape and size, I want to shop (hint). We wander through alleys and side streets and I eventually make a purchase - two champagne flutes in a glass store. They're beautiful and I'm stoked. Just a few more little souvenir purchases and I'm done (hint).

Apparently I'm not the only one afflicted by this ailment, and Mom, my sister and I pore over some hand-embroidered tablecloths before Mom settles on one that is likely to incite a redecoration of the dining room at home.

The weather is chilly but warming up, slightly cloudy again. We cross the Arno via the Ponte Vecchio and continue to stare into windows as we walk. Our destination is the Boboli Gardens, because we know that any more shopping, window or otherwise, is likely to provoke a Dad revolt (which consists of eye rolling and exaggerated starts and stops - he's pretty patient, actually - but has been known to result in Igor of Notre Dame fame lurching, which typically occurs when Mom drags him to Wal-Mart). We squeeze in a little more street-art browsing but eventually arrive at the entrance to the Gardens.

The scale of Boboli is incredible, and touring the gardens is not for the faint of heart. We hike up the hill on gravel walkways, stopping to take pics at the corridor of cypress trees and ultimately reaching a garden at the top of the hill. We pause here for a few minutes to soak in the view of the surrounding countryside, and then attempt to follow the ridge so we can get some good city views. Eventually, we find them, but not without some backtracking and a little confusion. We are starting to feel hunger pangs, and this is the clock on which we base all scheduling.

Finding our way back out to the main entrance is no easy feat. We stop to explore a side grotto near the exit, which seems out-of-the-way and possibly often overlooked? but it is very unique and beautifully done. The gardens are beautiful, but we are slightly disappointed in the lack of flowers. However, not having read up much on the gardens, we had no expectations going into it.

We wind our way back into town, our search for food now becoming slightly more intense. That doesn't stop us from pausing to decide on some more artwork. It is late for lunch, even by Italian standards, and if we don't find something soon... We settle on The Golden View, and it is: a riverside restaurant on the Boboli side of the Arno with a short-distance view of the Ponte Vecchio. Lunch is exceptional. A bottle of white wine, selected by my wine student sister, gnocchi with sausage, porcini, cream & gorgonzola (awesome) for me, calzone for Dad, tagliolini ai funghi for my sister, and tuna salad for Mom. And then dessert: a bottle of dessert wine, torta frutta di bosci for me, cheesecake with chocolate (out of this world) for Mom and my sister, and tiramisu (ridiculously good) for Dad. 112 Euro with tip.

We stagger out of the restaurant to resume, you guessed it, window shopping. I am amazed at the selection of colors of menswear and finally settle on a silk tie for the poor guy at home who couldn't come to Italy. I want to buy 10 shirts and 10 ties, but I refrain.

[Family, if you’re reading, skip the next few paragraphs. You will thank me. You have suffered enough on this front.]

And now is where the fun starts. As we're walking along, minding our business, no goal in mind, who pops out of a storefront but Giorgio, half of the designer duo from the Old Bridge. "Come into my store!" he bounces. So we, innocently enough, follow him into his leather shop. Instantly, they descend on us, offering wine, telling us what would look "fabulous" on us in their Italian-glamorous accents. They play good cop/bad cop, Filippo flouncing off after declaring that he is a designer, not a therapist! and leaving Giorgio to pick up the pieces. Someone, subtly, turns up the music and suddenly, Mom and sister having gracefully declined, I am strutting around to a techno beat, thinking, yeah, this coat DOES look fabulous on me! "And for you, we give you half price, no! Even less!" So low, in fact, that Giorgio must show it to me on the screen of the calculator and "Uncle" must reluctantly approve the price.

So I, the person who hates to shop and doesn't really go for leather when I do, find myself caught in the ego and the excitement and whip out my American Express and BANG! I am the bewildered owner of a black suede/leather reversible "antelope skin" jacket, the total astounding price more than I've ever spent on any single item of clothing by a large percentage. I won't divulge the price because it's embarrassing; suffice it to say I could be walking out of a "real" designer shop with one to three items, depending on what they are.

I walk in a daze, unsure of what I've done and feeling the effects of the wine I've been drinking since the inception of lunch begin to wear off. I'm even more unsure when we arrive at my sister's apartment to meet her roommate's mother, who loudly announces that she, too, met Filippo and Giorgio and so have a few other Americans and SHE did not succumb to their charms because they are rip off artists. "Did you meet them on the Ponte Vecchio?" she chirps.

She prattles on to my parents and sister about their trip to "San Jimmy" but I am not listening. Dread is settling in pit of my stomach. Have... I... been... ripped... off? I will return it! We're going back tonight! I pull out the receipt, and there, across the top... "ALL SALES ARE FINAL - NO RETURNS". Cue the "Psycho" music - reeee! reeeee! reeeee! In a red haze, I notice things unforeseen until now: the jacket has been folded in half and tossed in a shopping bag. It's not wrapped in tissue, it's not boxed. There is no tag on the jacket (because it's reVERSible!) This is no designer leather, and I am a sucker!

Unfortunately, this is the overriding topic of conversation for the evening, and the ultimate result is that I must learn to accept it for what it is: a beautiful, soft, leather jacket that I bought in Italy. The experience, the entertainment, the thrill of the purchase, all MUST justify the cost. My sister is ready to kill me because I am monopolizing the evening with my stupidity. My parents are getting tired of listening to it. We change for dinner and walk back out into the night and into town, where we meet my sister's roommate from school in the US - she is also studying in Firenze.

We find a restaurant close to the Piazza della Republica, which is pretty touristy, but we are not in a gem-finding mode. Prosciutto e melone, bistecca fiorentina (my first!), and wild strawberries with cream for me, bruschetta and sole for Mom, a pasta dish and strawberries for my sister, and avocado salad and bistecca fiorentina for Dad. Somehow, dinner for five with a couple bottles of wine results in 250 Euro. It must be the day.

We say goodnight to my sister's friend, who is meeting other friends at a bar, and although it's cold, we sit outdoors under a heat lamp in the Piazza della Repubblica and have a nightcap. Afterwards, we trek back to the hotel. One of the three buttons on my new jacket falls off. It's time for bed.

bookmarking for weekend reading.

What a well-written and extremely entertaining trip report! Looking forward to every last remaining detail . . .

Are you teasing us about the button??

Giorgio and Filippo. I will have to remember those names for my trip in December. Two people to avoid.

Great report!

Love the report... I travel with snorers too! :D

NOT joking about the button. I was livid. But, ironically, I brought the stupid thing out this morning to wear tonight, for the first time since returning from Italy, and... in the pocket, there was a spare button! I swear I went through that thing thoroughly and couldn't find one... Very strange.

I do have to caveat the story with the fact that these two do have a legimately running store, so they can't be total scam artists. I don't want to ruin anyone's business. I just think I overpaid, big time!

ttt

Really enjoying this report! Keep up to the "last detail"!

This is a fantastic report---thanks for writing it! I'm looking forward to the rest.

I'm loving your report! You have such a great way of writing that makes me feel like I am right there with you.

More, please! :)

Very interesting report!!! Bookmarking for the next installment.

Thanks, everyone, glad you're enjoying!

Day 4 - March 24, 2007 - Vaporetti, Vessels, and Vin Santo. Venezia!

It's another day to sleep in after our late-ish night last night. I start feeling mysteriously nauseous, which dampers breakfast for me. But the others enjoy, and after showering and packing up, we check out of the hotel and embark on the walk to the train station. Today we are going to Venezia.

The train ride to Venezia is relaxing, as expected. We purchase our tickets from a machine in the train station without a problem, the train is there, we are on it, and onward we roll. The ride is somewhat scenic and goes by fairly quickly. Somewhere on the train ride, my nausea goes away, and with it, the regret over yesterday's purchase. It's not going to ruin Italy for me or anyone else!

Upon arriving to a grey day in Venezia, we purchase 24-hour vaporetto passes in the information kiosk at the train station. Figuring out the Vaporetto station is no easy task, as the validating machine won't validate our tickets. It takes us about ten minutes of attempts before the machine will stamp one ticket. We still have three left to do. We enlist the help of an Italian girl who shows us that you have to insert the ticket only about half way for it to "take", rather than insert it all the way to the back of the slot.

We board the vaporetto and I get distracted. We pass the stop at which we're supposed to debark and get off instead at the San Marco stop, only to march right back down the ramp and wait for a boat going back the way we came. Oops. The very detailed directional map leads us to our hotel, the Ca' Angeli, and we are in our room by about 3:00. Our room, a suite, appears to be on the top floor of the hotel, and while we have no views, we do have two bedrooms, a kitchenette, a sitting area, and a nice, big bathroom with a skylight. Honey wood paneling and royal blue EVERYTHING is the decor.

We dump our stuff, ready our cameras, and meander down and out of the hotel into the cloudiness and cold of Venezia. Our first stop is a corner panini shop, where we stand at the bar and order beers and panini for a quick snack. As we eat, watching Venezia swirling by outside the door, three gondoliers come in for a quick drink as well. Great atmosphere!

And so we set about wandering around the city with no agenda other than soaking in the energy and "feel" of Venice. Window shopping along the way, half-heartedly looking for a Furla store, we make our way to the Rialto bridge, then into the Piazza San Marco. It is a Saturday in Venice and there are mobs of people in the square, feeding pigeons, running away from pigeons, looking on in disgust at pigeons... And doing other things too. Eventually we meander out onto the main waterway next to San Marco and find ourselves a gondola. We are in Venice, we are going to ride in a gondola.

Under bridges, through narrow passages, we receive our first, official or unofficial, guided tour since arriving in Italy. Our gondolier gives us some trivia, points out important features, and insists he only sings in the shower. Until now, I had thought of this has a tourist trap, but it truly is a unique and relaxing way to see the "back streets" of Venezia. The city is just crumbling and rotting, which I find fascinating. I take pictures of random doorways, water gates, windows, to the extent that our gondolier turns around at one point to see what the heck I'm photographing. I don't think his backward glance did anything to provide an answer.

Our cruise lasts about forty five minutes, which is enough, because it's freezing. We head back through the Piazza San Marco and find an awful, tourist-geared cafe in which to warm up. We share a half carafe of wine and Dad has a beer or two. This place has no atmosphere whatsoever, so we plunge ourselves back into the cold. I decide I have not obtained enough Italian leather goods, designer or no, and we hunt in earnest for a Furla store and then the right purse for me. I decide in record time because the store is closing.

Dinner time, and we go in search of a restaurant my sister wants to try. She has been here for a weekend trip and ate at a neighboring restaurant that was very good, and noticed that this particular one was incredibly busy. And it is again. It's tiny and narrow, as are most things in Venezia, and we wedge ourselves into the foyer, in some semblance of a line, to wait for a table out of the cold. The waiter stationed towards the front begins handing out glasses of wine and calamari to keep us occupied.

After about ten minutes, a table clears, and he seats us, family style, against the wall. He brings seafood salad in scallop shells to us, unrequested, but we do know we'll get charged for this, and they're so good, we're okay with that. I have gnocchi with meat sauce, Mom has ravioli with meat sauce, my sister has spaghetti with clams, and Dad has veal. Dinner is okay. We think we're overcharged, and the waiter gives Dad a non-itemized receipt, which is a big no-no, but Dad doesn't realize this until it's too late. So much for us being the smarties we thought we were. This dinner is disappointing - we feel rushed and the food is only decent. Dinner with wine is 115 Euro.

Stomachs full, at least, we walk back towards the hotel, through Piazza San Marco and over the Rialto. We stop for dessert and wine in a pizzeria place, although it's late. Panna cotta for me, tiramisu for Dad, and vin santo for the three of them. We are tired and chilled, so we wander back to the hotel to sleep.

I'm really enjoying this ceb, can't wait for the next installment.

Day 5 - March 25, 2007 - From Canals to Castle Walls, Venezia to Firenze to San Gimignano (pronounced "jee a mahn jo" by my Mom)!

My goal today, as it's our only morning in Venezia, is to be up early to take pictures before the throngs swarm canal-side. My alarm rings and it is still pitch black in the room. I crack the shutter and take in the dark gray morning, rain falling on rooftops. Back to bed. Two hours later, we are all up and readying for breakfast. We wander, separately, into the breakfast room, which is so full we have to sit separately, two to a table. Breakfast is good, with fresh squeezed orange juice, fresh fruit, and the typical European breakfast assortment. The breakfast room overlooks the Grand Canal, which, even in the rain, is beautiful. This is city that can be enjoyed in all weather.

We check out of the hotel and pack up the mule (Dad) with the gargantuan backpack holding everyone's belongings. My sister buys, after some deliberation, a carnaval mask while I take pictures in the store. We continue to wander through the city, still glancing in windows and "taking it all in". My sister buys a statue from a glass shop, and I am tempted to look in earnest, because I love glass, but I train my eyes elsewhere. We stop for a while in the Piazza San Marco, Mom looking for a Christmas ornament (another favorite souvenir of hers) and I looking for various small souvenirs for those at home. After finding nothing, we wander through the Piazza, taking pictures and people-watching.

Eventually, it's time to board the vaporetto to the train station. The ride itself, although chilly today, is a great way to absorb the city and see the architecture, which is, really, what Venezia is all about. I take tons of pictures, and tease Mom because she is taking the exact same pictures I am. We must have a similar eye for photography. It is freezing, windy, and raining, and we are on the outside deck on the boat, but I can't stop taking pictures, and apparently, neither can Mom.

After a half hour ride, we land at the train station at noon and stand in line at the ticket window only to find that the only option is to buy first class tickets on the 2:30 train because everything else is sold out. The spring time-change has occurred, and apparently it has fouled up everything. We wander around the train station for an hour and a half because it's cold and rainy outside. There is nowhere to sit.

Finally, we get close to 2:30 and see that our train is pulling into the station. We head to the platform and get ourselves situated on the train. We are all split up due to the ticket shortage. Our car is mostly Americans, and one couple has not purchased their tickets because they were told somewhere along the line that they could just purchase them on the train. I think you can, in a normal situation, but this is sold out and they're trying to sit in first class. Not surprisingly, some drama ensues that leaves the girl in a seat and the guy sitting on his suitcase in the middle of the aisle to prove a point. We're not sure what that point is, exactly...

After another fast train ride, we walk from the station to home base - my sister's apartment - to repack. Eventually, we have everything set and we turn around and walk back towards the bus station, which is right next to the train station. We can't find it. We actually walk right past it and into the train station to try to get information, and basically walk half way around the bus station. This creates a little stress, as does figuring out the stops the bus makes. We are nervous, because it's a Sunday, and sometimes the schedule differs on a Sunday.

We hold faith in the travel gods and board the bus to Poggibonsi. The bus pauses to drop off a special request stop before the actual bus stop, and we almost get out there, thinking that's us. Instead, we stay on the bus and wind up at the right stop, a quiet train/bus station in Poggibonsi. It looks abandoned. We are scared. Did we get off on the right stop? Are we stranded in Poggibonsi? Eventually, a bus pulls up, but he has a different destination listed in his window. After a mix of Italian and English, we think we understand that yes, he is going to San Gimignano. That's us.

We board the bus, still a little nervous, but we prove to be on the right track. After wending our way through the countryside, we start climbing a hill towards San Gimignano. The bus drops us off just outside the town walls, and we follow our map up a steep hill. Dad is lugging the half-ton backpack, and my sister and I are both, intelligently, in heeled boots. We are happy to see the hotel, La Cisterna.

Check in is a breeze, and the hotel is charming. Our rooms are comfortable, if a little stark, but the view that we can’t see is the key. It is fairly late, especially for Sunday evening in a small town, so we're fortunate that La Cisterna has a very good restaurant. We settle ourselves at a table and order a bottle of wine. Dinner is excellent, but rushed. We like to take our time and have leisurely meals, and so far, for Italy, this has not been encouraged at all times.

The food, with menu focusing on wild game and seasonal food: pappardelle in wild boar sauce, rabbit with artichokes for me, tomato and mozzarella salad and filet for Mom, artichoke salad, ravioli in consommé, and pork chop for Dad, and ravioli in saffron sauce and pork chop for my sister. Then dessert: panna cotta for me and Mom, tiramisu for Dad. We have an interesting situation when my sister orders a bottle of vin santo for dessert. The waitress is shocked and questions our desire for a bottle, not just glasses. We are not sure if it really is faux pas or abnormal to order a bottle, or if she just wants to go home. My sister is taking a wine class with a Fiorentine professor and this is the first she's heard this. The food overpowers all, though, and Dad sums it up, when asked how he enjoyed his pork chop: "If I were a dog, I'd eat this bone".

So we sign off on the bill (dinner plus two hotel rooms for one night is 353 Euro) and take our drinks to finish them in the lobby. It is VERY quiet, both in town and in the hotel. We drag ourselves up the stairs to our rooms, my sister and I joining Mom and Dad in their room to watch a movie on my laptop. We all fall asleep before it's even half over, so my sister and I head back to our room.

Hi ceb1222. Just curious what your thoughts are, now that you are at home, about the pace of your travel experience. If you were to do it again, would you stay longer in places, or still do it the same way?

Just a note to let you know that I am very much enjoying your trip report. Please keep it coming . . .

Thanks, LC!

Rick... I probably won't do Italy at such a fast pace next time. This is the second time I've "attacked" Italy in a whirlwind, and although I feel I've gotten a good overview, any more trips will be devoted to relaxing in and enjoying a particular region.

For my first trip through Italy, fast-paced was okay, and my parents insist that it worked for them, too. So, will I travel to a city a day in ITALY again? Probably not. But will I do a city a day in some other locale? Possibly. I think Italy was a special case for me because there was SO much I wanted to see and then wanted my parents to see. I don't feel that way about anywhere else. Yet.

Day 6 - March 26, 2007 - Porn Stars and Train Platforms... But I got drunk instead! San Gimignano to Pisa to Cinqueterre

My family has a running joke regarding "porn star pigeons", and apparently these same pigeons reside in Italy, not just the US. When I moved to my last apartment, my roommate and I both thought that we had very "active" neighbors who preferred morning hours for their "activities". Eventually we realized it was the cooing of the pigeons that resided in the eaves. I have realized this phenomenon in several locales since then, the latest of which - San Gimignano, Italy! And so I awake at 7:00 to the sound of the Italian porn star pigeons outside our window.

I am AWAKE this morning and ready to go, so I jump in the shower. Mom calls my sister's cell phone to tell her what a fabulous view of the sunrise they have in their room. We have a view of an inner air-shaft space and said pigeons, so I run, camera in hand, towel on head, to their room to take pictures and then to the end of the hallway on our floor. The sunrise view IS fantastic - we're high on a hill overlooking what seems like all of Tuscany. Rolling hills rising above morning mist, valleys hidden from view, and the sun, pulling itself up and out from it all. I take plenty of pictures.

We eat breakfast in the same restaurant, less hurried this morning with a buffet. What we couldn't see last night is that the restaurant has that same sweeping view of the valley, and we drink it in with our coffee. It is finally sunny and we are anxious to get out into the beautiful weather.

We venture out into the morning and wander the stone streets with no direction in mind. Eventually, we come to the edge of the high stone wall that surrounds the city and find a walking path along the outside edge of the wall, circling the city and overlooking the valley. We pass an older gentleman who offers a chipper "Giorno", and the sun begins to release some heat. We walk about 180 degrees around the city, climbing back into the streets just below our hotel where we arrived last night.

From here, we do some gift shopping: Mom buys a hat (for PopPop), some wine (for themselves), pasta (for coworkers), jewelry (graduation present for niece), and a ceramic bowl and Pinocchio ornament for herself. Dad and I amuse ourselves people watching, because my shopping urge is shot and he never had one. We walk back to our hotel to check out, take some pictures of the well in front of our hotel - I'm sorry, but the thing makes me think of a gallows rather than a cisterna! - and meander down the hill.

We walk to the bus stop at the "entrance" to the city after buying bus tickets at a shop near the hotel. We take the bus to Poggibonsi, which is considerably livelier this morning, and buy train tickets for Empoli. We have difficulty with the ticket validating machine, which, again, creates some stress. The train is practically pulling into the station as we figure out the delicate balance of the machine on the last ticket.

We chug through the countryside, and it starts to get cloudy. From Empoli, we travel to Pisa. The regional trains are not nearly as nice as the high speed trains, but they're also a lot cheaper. We enjoy the ride anyway. Upon arriving in Pisa, we set off in search of The Tower. The one that leans. Now, I have seen this, and although iconic in a pizza-place menu type fashion, it wasn't on my list of highlights. But Mom and Dad do want to see it for themselves, and I can't argue that. So we walk. And walk. We're hungry, so we stop at a gelateria, each get pizza-type pastries that, although require a warm-up before we get them, are surprisingly good. We get some water and each order a gelato to go, chocolate for everyone except Dad, who gets pistachio.

And we walk. The city is not exceptionally scenic; in fact, the walk from the train station to the Leaning Tower is pretty gritty. We certainly don't feel endangered in any way, it just isn't the prettiest place we've seen on the trip. Eventually, we make it to the Piazza that houses the Tower and do what everyone does: take pictures, especially those "holding up" the Tower. I get a little carried away with this and my sister refuses to have her picture taken. I don't know why. We don't look foolish at all. I also take a picture of all those tourists who either cannot read the signs printed in both English and Italian or who choose to ignore said signs and are crawling all over the grass they're not supposed to stand on, taking pictures. I make sure I frame the "keep off" sign in front of them. I have pictures of Mom, Dad, and me each flexing and holding up the tower, but none of my sister; I do have a picture of her scowling up at the tower in apparent exasperation and confusion, which is almost as good.

We have some general idea of the following train schedule, so we realize we have to race back in order to NOT have to sit around the train station. We have to pick up the bag we're storing, buy the tickets, get to the platform and get on the train. We just make it. As we're boarding, a guy tries to pickpocket Dad, but my sister spots him and yells "HEY!" He disappears. (Travel solution number 2: to scare off pickpockets, just yell something, anything, really loudly).

We take the train to La Spezia, with no reservations or concept of time, really, for arrival in Cinqueterre. We pass through the marble region of Carrera along the coast, which is interesting to see. There is really no other scenery whatsoever, and you glimpse nothing of the sea. From La Spezia, we train to Monterosso al Mare, the northernmost town in Cinqueterre. It's not until we pop through the other side of the tunnel from La Spezia that we actually see the sea. But it is beautiful when we do see it, on the verge of cloud-cast sunset.

Mom and I leave Dad and my sister at the train station to scope out a hotel, but since it's off-season, there is basically nothing. Monterosso is, in my opinion, the least scenic of the five towns, and nothing looked available or appealing. We decide to take the train to Vernazza. Upon arriving back at the station, however, we discover that the other two have decided to pass the time by ordering a bottle of wine. They are sitting outside the small station cafe, wine bottle and two glasses between them, looking pretty pleased with themselves.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em; the next train doesn't leave for an hour, so we order another bottle. It is cold and rainy but we are pretty warm from the wine. We finish up and saunter to the platform. Everyone is feeling pretty good at this point. We board the train to Vernazza, the next town to the south, and three minutes later, upon arrival, can't get off the train because we don't know how to open the doors. So we decide to continue on to Corniglia. It's not really a decision. We do somehow figure out the doors in Corniglia and end up watching the sunset from the train tracks in Corniglia. We wait for a train in the other direction and board it back to Vernazza. The doors, or maybe we, work as they should the second time.

Vernazza is quiet and dark, and we wander aimlessly down into town, without even the name of a hotel to look for. There are signs for "rooms", but we push on, and farther towards the harbor, we find the Hotel Gianni Franzo, with signs in the bar of a restaurant. The bartender directs us up the flight of stairs just around the corner, follow the signs, and into the door with our room number. Okay. We leave the bar after reserving a table in the busy restaurant (probably because it's one of the ONLY restaurants open right now) for 30 minutes from now, round the corner... and look up.

Vernazza is built into the cliffs along the Mediterranean, and the cliffs are steep. So between tiny buildings are tiny but steep staircases. We walk up one of these, switch-backing several times while following signs for Gianni Franzo. We are all tired, the wine is wearing off, and Dad is carrying the backpack that ate Italy. We don't count the stairs because we're too busy trying to maintain balance, but there are a lot. Eventually, we come to our door, open it, and look up. Again. We are in rooms numbered in the 300's and the first floor shows numbers in the tens. The spiral staircase winds upwards for what seems like miles. I run up ahead to see how far we have to go, anticipating a ten-flight trek, and by some miracle of mis-numbering, we're actually only on the second floor.

Once settled in our rooms, we have a moment to catch our collective breath and look around, and we discover that it is truly adorable. The hotel is possibly an old castle, but everything in Vernazza looks like it could have been part of a castle once. We freshen up and descend into the depths once again for dinner.

This may be our number one meal in Italy. The restaurant is built into a grotto in the cliff and seems to be seated by a mix of tourists, locals, and maybe an expat or two. The food and the service are both excellent; our waiter is an older gentleman who probably speaks a little English but doesn't share any with us if he does. My sister tells him, in Italian, that she's studying in Firenze and he lights up and we know for sure we won't hear any English from him. Food, however, has a language all its own!

We have an antipasto misto for the table of whole anchovies, whole fish fried (I'm a little squeamish, but try them and enjoy it), and seafood salad, all fresh, foglie al pesto (a local specialty, and was it ever) for me, Mom and my sister, veal for me, baked anchovies for Mom, cheese croquettes for my sister, spaghetti alla vongole and then prawns for Dad. Then dessert: tiramisu for me, sponge cake for Mom and Emma, and Grand Marnier for Dad. Of course, wine with dinner and vin santo with dessert. Yum.

We can finally relax after a somewhat harrowing search for a hotel, and this spawns a discussion regarding travel styles and points of concern. I like the “unknown factor” hanging like a question mark over the day because I think half the fun of "traveling" is the adventure of discovering things. My sister did not find the day quite so adventurous and was pretty stressed out for a while. Mom, in her response to the stress factor involved in not having lodging arrangements before 8:00pm, wins the debate: "I WOULD have gotten frustrated, but I got drunk instead!"

After a dinner like that, we need to walk a little, and there's nowhere to go but up. We walk out onto the sea wall that surrounds the harbor and then up the hill through the center of town, past the train station. Beyond the train station is even quieter and seems to be mostly residential, with little or no activity after dark. We walk back downhill and then start the climb up to our loft. We follow signs to the castle at the edge of the promontory, but find it closed. So we settle for the garden terrace, marveling at how pitch black it is, with little artificial light in sight. We wander back to the hotel and call it quits for the night.

Day 7 - March 27, 2007 - Herculean Hiking, Train Travel, and Dad’s Important Date - Cinqueterre to Firenze to Roma!

Again, my goal is to be up early for photo ops, but again, the weather is non-cooperative. I sleep anxiously, waking up at 4:45, 5:45, and then 6:45 with the alarm. It is cloudy and freezing cold, but I drag Mom out to see what we can see. Early morning is my favorite time of day when traveling, although I'm not a morning person. Even with the bluish light of cloudy predawn, I take tons of pictures. We walk around the sea wall and crawl along the rocks at the edge of the harbor, up to a statue posed above the church in the center of the harbor. We walk through town and capture more pictures. Eventually, we run out of things to photograph in this light and climb up to the hotel.

After showering and packing up again, we check out of the hotel in the bar and leave our luggage there. Although everyone is not as enthusiastic as I am, I insist that we must do some hiking. The sun has broken loose from the clouds, and it's warming from the morning. We wander through town and then up a set of stairs, following signs to the trail that leads to Corniglia. What I never realized before is that there are a number of trails, some closer to the sea, some higher up the mountain, some easier, some harder. I have taken this same trail before, but it's harder than I remember. We're all breathing pretty heavily along the way (an excerpt: Mom, to Dad, strong measure of concern in her voice: "What's WRONG?" Dad, exasperated, bluntly: "SWEATing."), but the views are incredible and totally worth the effort. There are some surprises along the way, with vineyards, olive groves, and even a tavern popping up along the trail.

Despite complaints, everyone enjoys the daily constitutional, for the most part, as we stumble into town, looking for the way to the train station. I forgot this part, also - from town, it's a tight twist of switchbacks with wide steps down the train station. Hey, at least we're not walking UP them. Again, we can't be bothered to count, and again, there are a lot. Eventually, we find the bottom and the train tracks there and board the train back to Vernazza.

In Vernazza, we pick up our luggage at the bar and stop for a quick lunch at the Blue Marlin, which appears to be a pretty happening place during tourist season, judging from the scrolling pics on the internet access computers' screen savers. The food was very good: salame panino for me, pizza Napoli for Mom, gnocchi with pesto for my sister, and ham and mozzarella focaccia for Dad. We share a carafe of wine, which puts us in good spirits and makes us sufficiently sleepy for the upcoming train ride.

We take the train from Vernazza to La Spezia, La Spezia to Pisa, and Pisa to Firenze, where we trek, yet again, back to my sister's apartment. Here we reorganize our belongings for the last time; we are taking the train to Roma, staying there overnight, and then Mom, Dad and I are flying home and my sister is flying to Paris for the weekend. Lucky. After moderate packing drama, we trudge back to the station, full baggage in tow. We buy our high speed tickets to Roma with ease and board the train in short order.

The train ride is, as always, enjoyable, and we arrive in Rome, map in hand, in search of our hotel, which is near the opera house. We don't know where the opera house is, so that doesn't help. We do find the hotel pretty easily and check in without any difficulties. Once again, it's relatively late and we are hungry, so we make necessary adjustments and wander back out into the city.

We have no restaurant recommendations on hand, especially not for those open this late, and as is the fashion when trying to find a restaurant when everyone is hungry, end up wandering all the way into the Trevi Fountain area again. I have concern with this, considering most restaurants surrounding the fountain are probably very touristy. But they're OPEN and that's all that matters at this late hour.

Today is Dad's birthday, and we are hoping for a decent dinner with which to celebrate. And we get one. If this is a "touristy" restaurant, more should be like it, because the food is very good. Again, we share our prerequisite bottle of wine, share a mix of antipasti, and order a mix of pasta and meat dishes. My sister, en route to the restroom, informs the waiter of Dad's birthday.

It is LATE at this point, about 11:00. There are still other diners eating in the restaurant, so we don't feel rushed. The waiters are cleaning up in general, and then, suddenly, a waiter turns out the lights. One waiter cries out in disgust for them to turn them back up and gestures to us as if to say, "They're still eating!" We think the same thing. Then music comes up, loudly: "WHENNNNNNN THEEEEEEEE moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie..." And the waiter comes dancing and singing over to our table with a huge candle-studded dessert... We are all stunned. Mom will swear later that she saw tears in my Dad's eyes; it was definitely a great end to the trip and a great birthday acknowledgment.

After we do what we can with what turns about to be a big pile of éclair-type pastries, we pay the bill and wander towards the fountain, only steps away from the restaurant. We are trying to convince Mom to kiss Dad in front of the fountain for his birthday, and she does, but she's not being very romantic. There are tons of people at the fountain again, and she's embarrassed. We each toss a coin into the fountain to ensure a repeat visit, and then we get carried away for a little while, chucking coins into the water viciously. We have to get rid of our Euros some way, right? We stick with smaller denominations. We catch all on video.

We wander around some more, soaking in our last minutes of Italy, but nature is calling my sister. It's 11:00 and everything is closed. We venture on to the Spanish Steps, where we're confronted by the peddlers we'd so carefully avoided. My sister gets the rose deal and, more concerned with her bladder, takes it from him, then realizes and insists on giving it back. Finally, he takes it back, cursing at her in Italian. That's enough of the Spanish Steps. We walk up them, stop at a hotel lobby for directions, and walk back to the hotel. We inadvertently walk through the piazza with the four corner fountains, so I get a few bonus pictures of those as we charge onward.

The hotel spells relief in more ways than one, and we organize everything for tomorrow's early departure, falling into bed.

Day 8 - March 28, 2007 - Planes, Trains, but no Automobiles - Roma to Homa!

This is a quick summary, because it's really a boring day, in terms of a trip report!

The alarm rings early to start the shower cycle. Breakfast is eaten standing the lobby because the room is packed with a student trip. Off to the train station, where we take the 30-minute airport train. We say goodbye to my sister earlier than expected because we have different security points to go through. Security is relatively easy but more thorough than the US. The flight attendants even perform random carry-on searches as we're boarding.

The flight is uneventful, and we split up upon landing for my mad dash through customs and another security check point, where I get pulled aside for a more thorough search. I end up missing my flight to Las Vegas, but I switch to a later flight with minimal drama, although it is full and I wind up with less than ideal seating. I arrive in Vegas hours later, exhausted but thrilled at our recent adventure.

Observations:

My family travels REALLY well together, all things considered, and I'm anxious for our next trip.

Impressions of places, to me, are so strongly affected by weather. It sets the tone for the energy of the locale and colors your experiences. Venice, on this trip, equals grey and rainy, which is fitting for Venice.

Our next trip will be a little less ambitious and focus on a smaller region.

The first time I traveled through Italy, it was raining and miserable in Florence, and then we went on to a sunny, warm day in Rome. I liked Rome better. This time, I like Florence better and finally understand all the hype!

Knowing just a few words or phrases in Italian can get you a LONG way.

What seems confusing and daunting at first (bus schedules, ordering breakfast) isn't usually that scary. It's just new and different.

Trains are great.

I thought I packed "light"; next time, I will pack even less.

Writing this trip report was wonderful, because I relived the entire trip, six months later, in glorious detail.

Thanks to everyone on Fodor's who, for four years, supplied me with hotel, restaurant, and transportation tips. Hopefully my next trip won't take so long!

Thank you for a delightful trip report. I love reports of families traveling together. (My sisters are the best travel companions.)

What a wonderful birthday for your dad.

Best wishes to you and please take another trip soon so we can have another trip report :)

I loved this report and your writing of it. I can just picture your father on his birthday. Speaking of pictures, are you going to share with us? I would love to see some of the dawn photos.

What a great way to end your Dad's birthday dinner and your trip as well. Thanks for your wonderful report and do hurry and take another trip with your family.

Great report. I would also love to see some pictures...

Thanks for the responses! I hadn't planned on posting the pictures... I don't even have a photo sharing website account! Let me see what I can do, although it took me six months to post this report, so I can't make any promises! Any suggestions for an easy, free one?

Yes, please do, you have us all interested now!
Some of the ones I know of are:

webshots.com
shutterfly.com
ofoto.com

pbase.com

Ceb -

A wonderful report. Although I have no clue what you or the rest of your family looks like, I could somehow picture the four of you in virtually every tale you told us. That's the mark of a superb author I think.

Next time, take me with you? Rather, take my wife and me and my daughter (possibly about your age) and my sister. Why? Because you apparently had SO much fun! Yes, as a slow traveler I might get frustrated with the indecision and uncertainty and stress - on the other hand, your mother's solution seems perfectly reasonable to me ("... I got drunk instead").

Travel again soon. And give us another report.

KC

I have enjoyed reading about your adventures so much that I think you should go ahead and make up a few more days so I can continue to secretly check this site at work to look for more installments. I wish you would have made it to the Amalfi Coast just so you could keep this going. Thanks for sharing this with us.

Thanks so much for the compliments! Trust me, I wish I could have more days to write about! I'm sure I could make something up...

We do have fun with pretty minimal drama, as far as family travel goes, I think. We try to just enjoy the ride.

I'm actually considering writing a trip report of my last European travel experience, which was six years ago... outdated, but it's fun to relive the experience and then get it out there and share it!

great report! bookmarking

bookmarking