Highs and Lows of a Family Trip to Italy
Mar 19th, 2011, 02:35 PM
#41
Queue design for Space Mountain has nothing on those inviting little arrows pointing you to the Sistine Chapel! Every time you think you’ve GOT to be almost there, you turn a corner to face another hall, another staircase, another massive collection>>
that's how we ended up finding the "willie room", wayfinder. don't tell me you missed it?
don't know why but our kids never got too worried about all the violence depicted; they became obsessed with the ugly babies and flying baby-heads you see in so many paintings. They even had competitions to see who could find the ugliest christ-child. [how come so many great artists suddenly turned into painters by numbers when it came to painting baby Jesus?] so far, the winner is in a painting in a monastery in siena - the baby in it is a corker.
looking forward to more!
that's how we ended up finding the "willie room", wayfinder. don't tell me you missed it?
don't know why but our kids never got too worried about all the violence depicted; they became obsessed with the ugly babies and flying baby-heads you see in so many paintings. They even had competitions to see who could find the ugliest christ-child. [how come so many great artists suddenly turned into painters by numbers when it came to painting baby Jesus?] so far, the winner is in a painting in a monastery in siena - the baby in it is a corker.
looking forward to more!
Mar 19th, 2011, 08:20 PM
#43
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After leaving the Vatican Museum, we catch a bus that dumps us at Piazza Cavour. We then cross the river and walk to Piazza Navona to check out the Christmas Market. There’s a festive, carnival like atmosphere with cotton candy, ciambelle (similar to sugared doughnuts), a band playing American classic rock, and rows and rows of vendors hawking trinkets, Nativity scenes, and of course, La Befana. There’s a merry-go-round which is a great thrill for DD3.
The stalls obliterate the marvelous view of the piazza, but we set up a base by the Four Rivers fountain and DH looks after our stuff while the girls and I wander around. I walk by a cowboy statue as I poke through the stalls. You’d think a little alarm bell would go off at the sight of a cowboy statue in the middle of Piazza Navona, but it isn’t until I’m sitting back at the fountain and see the statue stand up that I realize that I've been looking at a street performer. That guy was GOOD. In fact, there is some real living statue talent on display in Piazza Navona. There’s a lady with a bowl of goldfish on her head, and a mud-covered soldier behind the merry go round ticket booth who goes into an elaborate mime and gives DD3 a lollipop when DH tosses a coin in his bucket.
DD1 buys a squishy balloon head which is essentially a balloon filled with flour and glued on eyes, but it’s an object of fascination until it springs a leak the next day. I would think the girls would want to hang out for a while, but I can tell they’re ready to leave, so we decide to head over to the Pantheon. Just off Piazza Navona, we walk into a wall of police. There are several SWAT-type vehicles as well as police cars and motorcycles. This takes us by surprise as we didn’t see a sign of police presence in the piazza. We figure it’s a precautionary show of force since there had been large student protests the week before. When we get back to the hotel, we discover that bombs had gone off at both the Swiss and Chilean embassies earlier in the day.
After a short stop at the Pantheon – the façade of which is sadly covered in scaffolding – we’re ready for a gelato. DD1 and DD2 want to head back, however, so after making sure they have a map and the phone, they take off for the hotel. We get a gelato and sit in the square in front of the Pantheon listening to street musicians as dusk settles in. I’m not sure why gelato melts so quickly, but in no time, DD3 is covered forehead to elbow in chocolate ice cream.
We meander through the maze of streets, souvenir shopping. DD3 buys a replica of the Colosseum, the start her collection of cheap plaster molds that she picks up everywhere we go for a euro a pop.
After a little down time at the hotel, we all walk to a nameless trattoria on Viale Aventino. It’s a homey, family-run place and the food is very good. We’re passing around the guide book and enjoying some light conversation about what we’ve seen and done that day. And then it starts. The family dynamic that tends to be the most volatile is between DH and DD1. That’s because they are the most alike, but don’t try telling either one of them that. What starts out as a simple conversation about a political issue of singular importance to a college sophomore suddenly turns into a hostile confrontation, followed by tears and accusations of insensitivity. DD1 storms out of the restaurant. After DH’s usual protestations of “What? What did I say?”, DD2 storms out in solidarity. Well, DD3 still has her dessert to go, so we sit for a while as I try to explain just what it was he said.
Mercifully, this is the only ugly scene and, in fact, the rapport between the two remains notably positive throughout the rest of the trip. In thinking back on this, I realize that my oldest must have felt incredibly at home to play that scene out. There are many places you can visit and observe, but Rome is a city that gets in your blood. This may not make much sense, but I think it's the real reason why Rome is called the Eternal City. [DD2 just wanted to get back to her book].
The stalls obliterate the marvelous view of the piazza, but we set up a base by the Four Rivers fountain and DH looks after our stuff while the girls and I wander around. I walk by a cowboy statue as I poke through the stalls. You’d think a little alarm bell would go off at the sight of a cowboy statue in the middle of Piazza Navona, but it isn’t until I’m sitting back at the fountain and see the statue stand up that I realize that I've been looking at a street performer. That guy was GOOD. In fact, there is some real living statue talent on display in Piazza Navona. There’s a lady with a bowl of goldfish on her head, and a mud-covered soldier behind the merry go round ticket booth who goes into an elaborate mime and gives DD3 a lollipop when DH tosses a coin in his bucket.
DD1 buys a squishy balloon head which is essentially a balloon filled with flour and glued on eyes, but it’s an object of fascination until it springs a leak the next day. I would think the girls would want to hang out for a while, but I can tell they’re ready to leave, so we decide to head over to the Pantheon. Just off Piazza Navona, we walk into a wall of police. There are several SWAT-type vehicles as well as police cars and motorcycles. This takes us by surprise as we didn’t see a sign of police presence in the piazza. We figure it’s a precautionary show of force since there had been large student protests the week before. When we get back to the hotel, we discover that bombs had gone off at both the Swiss and Chilean embassies earlier in the day.
After a short stop at the Pantheon – the façade of which is sadly covered in scaffolding – we’re ready for a gelato. DD1 and DD2 want to head back, however, so after making sure they have a map and the phone, they take off for the hotel. We get a gelato and sit in the square in front of the Pantheon listening to street musicians as dusk settles in. I’m not sure why gelato melts so quickly, but in no time, DD3 is covered forehead to elbow in chocolate ice cream.
We meander through the maze of streets, souvenir shopping. DD3 buys a replica of the Colosseum, the start her collection of cheap plaster molds that she picks up everywhere we go for a euro a pop.
After a little down time at the hotel, we all walk to a nameless trattoria on Viale Aventino. It’s a homey, family-run place and the food is very good. We’re passing around the guide book and enjoying some light conversation about what we’ve seen and done that day. And then it starts. The family dynamic that tends to be the most volatile is between DH and DD1. That’s because they are the most alike, but don’t try telling either one of them that. What starts out as a simple conversation about a political issue of singular importance to a college sophomore suddenly turns into a hostile confrontation, followed by tears and accusations of insensitivity. DD1 storms out of the restaurant. After DH’s usual protestations of “What? What did I say?”, DD2 storms out in solidarity. Well, DD3 still has her dessert to go, so we sit for a while as I try to explain just what it was he said.
Mercifully, this is the only ugly scene and, in fact, the rapport between the two remains notably positive throughout the rest of the trip. In thinking back on this, I realize that my oldest must have felt incredibly at home to play that scene out. There are many places you can visit and observe, but Rome is a city that gets in your blood. This may not make much sense, but I think it's the real reason why Rome is called the Eternal City. [DD2 just wanted to get back to her book].
Mar 20th, 2011, 07:04 AM
#46
"There are many places you can visit and observe, but Rome is a city that gets in your blood."
Certainly is, wayfinder - thanks for your warm, amusing & interesting report. I'm enjoying it enormously & looking forward to the next chapters.
Certainly is, wayfinder - thanks for your warm, amusing & interesting report. I'm enjoying it enormously & looking forward to the next chapters.
Mar 20th, 2011, 01:30 PM
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wayfinder, I have to say how nice it felt to read that someone else could "cause a scene" in Rome and I'm not the only one. 
My DD#1 (31) and I were in Rome last year. She had been having some medical issues, she missed her kids and her SO and she was not feeling any empathy for anyone else. My DD#2 phoned her, to talk to me (since I did not have my phone with me) and was distraught about a situation with a beloved pet.
After 30 seconds on the phone, DD#1 yells something absurd about, "Remember, this is costing me $1.30/minute" or something like that. (Mind you... I have paid for everything for this trip for DD#1-everything.) I lost it. I started yelling at her right on the street (we were headed back to our apt for a nap after lunch). "You could tell when you answered the phone that your sister was upset about something, and you're going to talk to me about the cost of the call? I'll pay you for the G-D call!! God, you're such a bitch!!!".
I know, who says that to their own daughter? Well, I'd simply met my breaking point with her "it's all about me" attitude which I'd put up with for days.
Of course I apologized later, as did she, but it happened.
So glad I'm not the only American to have had a public scene with her kid.
Love your reporting style!
My DD#1 (31) and I were in Rome last year. She had been having some medical issues, she missed her kids and her SO and she was not feeling any empathy for anyone else. My DD#2 phoned her, to talk to me (since I did not have my phone with me) and was distraught about a situation with a beloved pet.
After 30 seconds on the phone, DD#1 yells something absurd about, "Remember, this is costing me $1.30/minute" or something like that. (Mind you... I have paid for everything for this trip for DD#1-everything.) I lost it. I started yelling at her right on the street (we were headed back to our apt for a nap after lunch). "You could tell when you answered the phone that your sister was upset about something, and you're going to talk to me about the cost of the call? I'll pay you for the G-D call!! God, you're such a bitch!!!".
I know, who says that to their own daughter? Well, I'd simply met my breaking point with her "it's all about me" attitude which I'd put up with for days.
Of course I apologized later, as did she, but it happened.So glad I'm not the only American to have had a public scene with her kid.
Love your reporting style!
Mar 20th, 2011, 07:39 PM
#53
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sarge, I can so relate. My older two are getting to that age when you begin to realize that, yes, this is the product I've created. There's lots of good, but the negative gets harder to justify away!
Mar 21st, 2011, 04:26 AM
#54
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Wayfinder (and Sarge)
Not proud of it but I remember a tantrum, mine, at age 30, that included slamming doors and unprintable language.
Actually, Way, if that was the trip's low point, you all did well.
Not proud of it but I remember a tantrum, mine, at age 30, that included slamming doors and unprintable language.
Actually, Way, if that was the trip's low point, you all did well.
Mar 21st, 2011, 08:45 AM
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We stayed at the Villa San Pio in 2005. What a gem! We were in transit for 24 hours due to delays and lost luggage. I remember wandering down the hill, looking for food and stumbling into a cafeteria which was actually owned by the salumeria next door that had just been featured in Gourmet magazine. I was near a meltdown after having forgotten all Italian that I had learned in my 6 month studies abroad stint in Florence 35 years previously. I heard a snippet of English behind me and asked for help. Turns out the husband was an American and a high ranking official in the WFO and the wife was from Buenos Aires. They took us under their wings and helped us order. My husband is a professor in French, so the men talked history over dinner (and wine) and then, despite being in an almost hallucinogenic state due to lack of sleep, we hopped into their car for a tour of Rome at night! The tour ended at the Maltese Embassy to look through the key hole at the vatican. What a memory!
Mar 21st, 2011, 05:41 PM
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It’s Christmas Eve and we have no place to eat. Although I had collected the names of several restaurants that were open for dinner on Christmas Eve from fellow Fodorites, I had not made any reservations. I guess I wanted to wait to have a better sense of where we might be and what we might be doing. Besides, the hotel had a restaurant. Since we were planning to attend midnight mass at Santa Sabina, perhaps that would be the best option.
Well, after the scene, I decide that, yes, a quiet dinner at the hotel will be best for everyone. So I ask the front desk clerk to make a reservation for us. He looks at me sympathetically and regrets to say that the restaurant is closed. In fact, it’s closed all week. How could I not know this?! I give an accusing glance at the leather covered menu on prominent display by the front desk. He graciously pulls out a list of local restaurants and offers to call the ones that have indicated that they’ll be open on Christmas Eve. My relief is fleeting. None of the restaurants will in fact be open (or if they are, he is too kind to tell me I have no chance of getting a reservation – I can’t quite follow the Italian). Time to dig out my list.
Then I have a better idea. I’ll hunt down a grocery store and stock up on provisions – we’ll have a family picnic at the hotel.
So Christmas Eve morning, after making sure a truce has been established, I head out to Via Marmorata in search of a supermarket. The streets are bustling with people running last minute errands to prepare for the holidays. I walk by a shop bursting with meats and cheeses and bottles of vino. There’s a queue out the door. There’s a pasticceria nearby with gorgeous cakes and sweets. I wander further into Rome’s Testaccio neighborhood – there’s a covered flea market, some fish and produce vendors, and a cramped variety store packed floor to ceiling with a stunning array of household items. Cars are parked every which way, and shoppers spill out over the sidewalks into the streets.
I find a supermarket. It’s a fairly large one, with about 5 or 6 aisles. I pick up some packaged prosciutto and cheese, bread, cookies and bags of popcorn. The produce section is intimidating because you have to weigh, bag, and tag loose items yourself, so I stick to pre-packaged bags of Clementines and bananas.
I spend a good long while going up and down the aisles looking for peanut butter and soy milk for DD2 who is vegan. In desperation I put soy baby formula in the cart, before spotting the regular stuff (I had walked by it at least 3 times). I can’t find anything resembling peanut butter – except for Nutella of course – but get her some peanuts and cashews. I buy the most expensive bottle of Pinot Grigio they stock – for 2.5 euros.
It must have poured while I was shopping because I have to navigate around huge puddles that weren’t there before, but at least I don’t have to handle four heavy grocery bags and an umbrella. I’m feeling quite pleased with myself until I idiotically turn up the wrong street and walk up a steep incline that nearly kills me. For some reason, I think backtracking will be worse, and by the time I get to the end of that eternal block, find that I am, indeed, on the wrong street. But I quickly get my bearings and cut down a side street to the hotel.
It occurs to me later (like while I’m writing this) that I’ve spent my first “me” time in Italy grocery shopping. What’s even more pathetic is that I had a great time.
Well, after the scene, I decide that, yes, a quiet dinner at the hotel will be best for everyone. So I ask the front desk clerk to make a reservation for us. He looks at me sympathetically and regrets to say that the restaurant is closed. In fact, it’s closed all week. How could I not know this?! I give an accusing glance at the leather covered menu on prominent display by the front desk. He graciously pulls out a list of local restaurants and offers to call the ones that have indicated that they’ll be open on Christmas Eve. My relief is fleeting. None of the restaurants will in fact be open (or if they are, he is too kind to tell me I have no chance of getting a reservation – I can’t quite follow the Italian). Time to dig out my list.
Then I have a better idea. I’ll hunt down a grocery store and stock up on provisions – we’ll have a family picnic at the hotel.
So Christmas Eve morning, after making sure a truce has been established, I head out to Via Marmorata in search of a supermarket. The streets are bustling with people running last minute errands to prepare for the holidays. I walk by a shop bursting with meats and cheeses and bottles of vino. There’s a queue out the door. There’s a pasticceria nearby with gorgeous cakes and sweets. I wander further into Rome’s Testaccio neighborhood – there’s a covered flea market, some fish and produce vendors, and a cramped variety store packed floor to ceiling with a stunning array of household items. Cars are parked every which way, and shoppers spill out over the sidewalks into the streets.
I find a supermarket. It’s a fairly large one, with about 5 or 6 aisles. I pick up some packaged prosciutto and cheese, bread, cookies and bags of popcorn. The produce section is intimidating because you have to weigh, bag, and tag loose items yourself, so I stick to pre-packaged bags of Clementines and bananas.
I spend a good long while going up and down the aisles looking for peanut butter and soy milk for DD2 who is vegan. In desperation I put soy baby formula in the cart, before spotting the regular stuff (I had walked by it at least 3 times). I can’t find anything resembling peanut butter – except for Nutella of course – but get her some peanuts and cashews. I buy the most expensive bottle of Pinot Grigio they stock – for 2.5 euros.
It must have poured while I was shopping because I have to navigate around huge puddles that weren’t there before, but at least I don’t have to handle four heavy grocery bags and an umbrella. I’m feeling quite pleased with myself until I idiotically turn up the wrong street and walk up a steep incline that nearly kills me. For some reason, I think backtracking will be worse, and by the time I get to the end of that eternal block, find that I am, indeed, on the wrong street. But I quickly get my bearings and cut down a side street to the hotel.
It occurs to me later (like while I’m writing this) that I’ve spent my first “me” time in Italy grocery shopping. What’s even more pathetic is that I had a great time.
Mar 21st, 2011, 07:54 PM
#59
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I make it back to the hotel to find a contented lot. DD1 is tackling her Creation of Adam puzzle from the Vatican Museum. She’s so excited about putting it together that I don’t have the heart to explain the futility of trying to put together a 1,000 piece puzzle in two days. DD2 is in the throes of Book 6. DD3 has figured out how to get Hannah Montana on Youtube. DH is just up from a nap.
Unpacking, I tell DH about the great wine and salami shop I saw, and as he eyes the packaged prosciutto and 2.5 euro Pinot Grigio, I can tell what he’s thinking. Sure enough, he suddenly remembers something he needs to go out and get, and it’s my turn to hang out with the kids.
The place is called Volpetti (Via Marmorata 47) and DH is notably impressed with the range and quality of food and wine on offer as well as the quality of service. He comes back with a variety of marvelous olives, two bottles of wine (in the 20 Euro range), some soft cheese, and much better looking prosciutto, I have to admit.
It’s raining again and it would be sooooo easy to just stay in the hotel, but I manage to galvanize the troops (at least some of them). DH and I set off with DD3 to tour the Colosseum. It’s scheduled to close early, so we hustle to the Circo Massimo metro and take it one stop to the Colosseum. We each have an umbrella, but that doesn’t deter the hoard of optimistic umbrella pushers who see no reason why we shouldn’t each have a spare.
As we walk toward the Colosseum, we can see people on the inside, but don’t see the infamous ticket line. We head right and walk all the way around the Colosseum and finally find the entrance – barred. If only we had veered to the left!
No matter. We walk around and look at bits of the Forum. We’re starting to get really soggy so we take the metro back, this time to the Pyramid stop (not sure why) and end up on Via Marmorata yet again (someone must have been having Volpetti visions!) We step inside an inviting bar for a cappucino and hot chocolate. The barista must have taken one look at our wet, bedraggled appearance and thought: Christmas bonus!
Our capuccini arrive in fancy mugs and DD3 is plied with truffles and biscuits. The panini and pastries look great, so we try some of those, and get a little something to take back to the girls. The tab was an astonishing 40 euros, but it had been a VERY pleasant hour.
A few doors down from this café bar is a profumeria. DD3 had been in Italy a mere 24 hours when she came to the conclusion that she just had to have red lipstick. Not cherry lip gloss, mind, but blood red lipstick. It was becoming a challenge to distract her from both this mission and the Disney store. “I bet they have lipstick,” she says. I take one look at the high-end cosmetics and perfume on display and know this isn’t going to end well. “But you said it’s my money,” she states. So I did.
As soon as we enter, a tall, blond, beautiful young sales clerk latches on to us. I figure as soon as she finds out it’s the 8-year old shopping, she’ll detach. But no. She spends a good 15 minutes exclusively with DD3, showing her different products, testing about a dozen colors on the back of her hand. I keep steering the two of them to the back of the store and the product line I figure is the cheapest: L’Oreal. DD3 gets the deepest red she can find (luckily L’Oreal, but it still costs close to 12 euros). DD3 uses her travel card and the sales clerk wraps the lipstick in shiny silver paper and red ribbon. DD3 is beaming.
DH in the meantime has been wandering the sidewalk, and as we come out, he asks us to wait outside as he’s gotten the lovely but misguided idea to get us all a “little something” to open on Christmas. I frantically try to signal that this is not the store for a “little something” but it’s too late. He crosses the threshold and the tall, blond sales clerk swoops in. Now, unless it’s a hardware store, DH is hopeless when it comes to gift shopping –he’s completely at the mercy of the sales staff. He’s the guy who buys the enormous, pre-packaged gift baskets at Bath and Body Works. He and our credit card don’t stand a chance. It doesn’t take long. He comes out with four brilliantly packaged gifts. I dread opening them.
Unpacking, I tell DH about the great wine and salami shop I saw, and as he eyes the packaged prosciutto and 2.5 euro Pinot Grigio, I can tell what he’s thinking. Sure enough, he suddenly remembers something he needs to go out and get, and it’s my turn to hang out with the kids.
The place is called Volpetti (Via Marmorata 47) and DH is notably impressed with the range and quality of food and wine on offer as well as the quality of service. He comes back with a variety of marvelous olives, two bottles of wine (in the 20 Euro range), some soft cheese, and much better looking prosciutto, I have to admit.
It’s raining again and it would be sooooo easy to just stay in the hotel, but I manage to galvanize the troops (at least some of them). DH and I set off with DD3 to tour the Colosseum. It’s scheduled to close early, so we hustle to the Circo Massimo metro and take it one stop to the Colosseum. We each have an umbrella, but that doesn’t deter the hoard of optimistic umbrella pushers who see no reason why we shouldn’t each have a spare.
As we walk toward the Colosseum, we can see people on the inside, but don’t see the infamous ticket line. We head right and walk all the way around the Colosseum and finally find the entrance – barred. If only we had veered to the left!
No matter. We walk around and look at bits of the Forum. We’re starting to get really soggy so we take the metro back, this time to the Pyramid stop (not sure why) and end up on Via Marmorata yet again (someone must have been having Volpetti visions!) We step inside an inviting bar for a cappucino and hot chocolate. The barista must have taken one look at our wet, bedraggled appearance and thought: Christmas bonus!
Our capuccini arrive in fancy mugs and DD3 is plied with truffles and biscuits. The panini and pastries look great, so we try some of those, and get a little something to take back to the girls. The tab was an astonishing 40 euros, but it had been a VERY pleasant hour.
A few doors down from this café bar is a profumeria. DD3 had been in Italy a mere 24 hours when she came to the conclusion that she just had to have red lipstick. Not cherry lip gloss, mind, but blood red lipstick. It was becoming a challenge to distract her from both this mission and the Disney store. “I bet they have lipstick,” she says. I take one look at the high-end cosmetics and perfume on display and know this isn’t going to end well. “But you said it’s my money,” she states. So I did.
As soon as we enter, a tall, blond, beautiful young sales clerk latches on to us. I figure as soon as she finds out it’s the 8-year old shopping, she’ll detach. But no. She spends a good 15 minutes exclusively with DD3, showing her different products, testing about a dozen colors on the back of her hand. I keep steering the two of them to the back of the store and the product line I figure is the cheapest: L’Oreal. DD3 gets the deepest red she can find (luckily L’Oreal, but it still costs close to 12 euros). DD3 uses her travel card and the sales clerk wraps the lipstick in shiny silver paper and red ribbon. DD3 is beaming.
DH in the meantime has been wandering the sidewalk, and as we come out, he asks us to wait outside as he’s gotten the lovely but misguided idea to get us all a “little something” to open on Christmas. I frantically try to signal that this is not the store for a “little something” but it’s too late. He crosses the threshold and the tall, blond sales clerk swoops in. Now, unless it’s a hardware store, DH is hopeless when it comes to gift shopping –he’s completely at the mercy of the sales staff. He’s the guy who buys the enormous, pre-packaged gift baskets at Bath and Body Works. He and our credit card don’t stand a chance. It doesn’t take long. He comes out with four brilliantly packaged gifts. I dread opening them.
