Tom, have you been able to make the Singing Gondoliers at home? I have tried but failed miserably.

I have been able to make a nice Spritz con Aperol, though.

"I read once that they do horrible things to the horses to make them do that stutter step, and I don't think it involves Slivovitz."

digbydog - After posting my last installment, Mary e-mailed saying I had forgotten one thing I did after the Lipizzaner performance. After relating it to you, you'll realize why it slipped my mind.

Obviously I had been a little bored at the show (ok, it was really boring), so to wake myself up for the drive to Rovinj, as we all made our way to the car (with many of those in the audience walking right behind us), I suddenly went into a slapstick Lipazzaner routine by side-stepping back and forth along the path while making horse noises.

You've heard of The Ugly American, well I was now The Crazy American.

Albeit, it was no Tina Fey imitation of Sarah Palin, but there was laughter and a smattering of applause. No one offered me any hay. By the way, I was slivovitz free at this time and no travelers or horses were injured during my performance.

Gosh, I guess I did leave out the apartment name in Rovinj. Tracy's right, I am an idiot. They were the Apartments Porta Antica. Great location. Recommended!

"Tom, have you been able to make the Singing Gondoliers at home?"

bfrac, yes we have, but they are kind of a pain to make.

Singing Gondolier (aka Sgroppino)
2 cups (16 oz) lemon sorbet, softened
*2 Tbsp vodka
1/3 cupProsecco
4 Tbsp cream or half-and-half

*I can't just put two Tbsp of vodka in anything. You don't want the vodka to overpower either. I used four Tbsps. and one more tablespoon of cream (if not a vodka person, it is not mandatory to put it in, but what's the point?). You really shouldn't taste the vodka anyway (I just like knowing it is there).

Melt the lemon sorbet until soft, and put ingredientsl in a blender. Blend until it becomes somewhat liquidy (I don't think that's a word, but who cares). Then comes the maitaitom method to make it frothy.

As it blends, open the little top of the blender and add the white of one egg as the mixture continues to blend. Blend a little longer until it looks frothy or all the egg white and Vodka has exploded on to your face.

Pour immediately after blending or the mixture will separate faster than Pamela Anderson and her latest husband.

I promise I am trying to end this long international nightmare of a trip report, so please hang in there.

((H))

maitai,

I remember the 'Singing Gondoliers' from your Tuscan Tours trip report. Although they are a bit of a pain to make at home, they are worth it!!

And as you know, I currently have plenty of free time on my hands, so I was kind of hoping you could speed things up. Just kidding. I'll take as it comes.

Tom

Thanks for the recipe Tom. I will try again to make them, I think I had lousy cheap sorbet the last time I tried.

BTW, I can open a bottle of prosecco with a sword and don't charge monk rates of 15 euro. Actually, the reward is the open bottle of prosecco...

Tom, those Singing Gondoliers will make that leg feel better. Wishing you good thoughts from So. Cal.

bfrac, if you are ever in Pasadena, we actually have a sword (long story). For the excitement of you opening the prosecco bottle with it, Tracy and I will make Singing Gondoliers. Love the "Monk Rate," I might have to steal that line when I put this all in my blog with pictures.

((H))

Tom,

I just returned form Central (don't call it eastern) Europe and found another place you can get the fabulous kremna rezina; however, where I ate them they are called kremes, kremeschnitte or Ruszwurm Cream Pastry. Next time you are in Budapest, go to the Ruszwurm Cukrazda, a tiny, venerable bakeshop with a handful of tables in the Castle District. As I was staying a block or so away at the Hilton, it couldn't have been more convenient.

I had read your praise of the pastry and looked in awe at the photo. These triggered a memory of reading a description of the famous Ruszwurm kremes. I decided to find out if they were one and the same. Bingo! In this case, a rose by any other name did smell (and taste) as sweet. To my delight the Ruszwurm kreme is a kremna rezina in Hungarian disguise. I had one on my first day in Budapest. Since I had to take it away and eat is as I walked (there were no empty seats), I decided to try again for the perfect experience on the second day and eat one at an empty table with a Ruszwurm coffee. It was even more perfect the second time around. Had I not known they would be flat and creamless, I would have had a case shipped home. I even took a photo to commemorate the bliss.

You can check Ruszwurm out yourself at www.ruszwurm.hu.

My GOD, Delaine! (This from an atheist, no less) What have you done to me? Just the Pictures of the cakes on that site have brought tears to my eyes, and made my cholesterol climb 12 points!

:-)

Maitaitom, if my football team ever makes it back to Pasadena, will you come to our tailgate and demonstrate the 'sword technique' ??? We usually throw fab tailgates, although being on the road is a little tougher...

Between business trips, a very bad cold and a computer getting a new hard drive, I have not been able to finish this report yet, but will get back to Rovinj and finally Venice this week.

delaine, thanks for the info on your dessert. Looked great!

surfmom, if your team makes it to the Rose Bowl (which team?), I'd love to come to your tailgate. Tracy will be wielding the sword, however, as I am not allowed around sharp objects.

((H))

Great report! Can't wait for the finale.
We're planning a similar trip next spring, so I'm taking notes. Which car rental agency did you use?

you can finish it. you can do it. you can do it...

I'm a Penn Stater, so honestly, if we are at the Rose Bowl this year, it will be a disappointment. However, based on the amount of respect (none!) we are getting from the polls, I should get prepared for it. I know I'll be blasphemed for this, but we hate the parade. Too hard to watch it and then get across town for tailgating. We've done it and it was crazy. Next time, it is straight to the stadium for a tailgate!

Tom, as I said earlier, this really has been like a terrific book you don't want to put down.

But <i>please</i> don't make it a book without an ending!

&quot;But please don't make it a book without an ending!&quot;

Yes, there will be an ending, I promise. I am hoping to finish the report this weekend or early next week. I'm almost done with Day 2 of Rovinj. Busy times.

Surf Mom, I think either Alabama or Texas Tech will lose b4 it's all over, meaning Penn State will play in the National Championship (unless Iowa or Mich. St. pulls off the upset.

The secret to the parade is getting grandstand tix on Orange Grove and Colorado. The parade ends a little b4 10 a.m., then a 15 - 20 minute walk to the Bowl, which gives you 3 1/2 hours to tailgate.

((H))

<b> DAY TWENTY FOUR – TRACY GETS IN HOT WATER, SCARY STAIRS, ALLEY OOPS, TRUFFLE TIME, THE GLASS BOTTOM BOAT AND WINE TIME </b>

Let’s see. Where was I? Worried about Cupid, we didn’t sleep too well, but it was not the fault of our apartment (Porta Antica) or it’s location (quiet). We both looked forward to a nice hot shower the next morning, and being the consummate gentleman (ok, I was just trying to get an extra ten minutes of shut eye), I let Tracy go first.

Tracy put her Invisalign braces in a cup of hot water to soak and hopped in the shower. “Whoa,” I could her blurt out from the shower. By the time I had gotten my tired body out of bed, she was fine.

“What happened?” I asked.

“That water really gets hot fast,” she answered. We didn’t know how hot for a few more minutes.

After getting out of the shower, she went over to the cup where she had her braces soaking…or what was left of them. If those braces could have spoken, they would have been like the Wicked Witch of the West and yelled, “I’m melting! Melting!” Yep, they were goners.

Hey, who needs straight teeth anyway?

Obviously, I took a very careful shower, and then the two of us met Kim and Mary in front of the apartments, and we went in search of breakfast. If anyone would like an entrepreneurial idea, I suggest opening a breakfast place in Rovinj. There were opportunities for ice cream sundaes, but not a lot of spots to find a croissant and an espresso, but, of course, we eventually did find a little bakery.

It was a little overcast, but the sun was making its move early, so we were confident it would be a beautiful Rovinj day. We meandered through some alleys and streets and reached the Sv Eufemija (Church of St. Euphemia), the large, landmark church in Rovinj that you can see from just about anywhere in town or on the sea.

It’s campanile rises nearly 200 feet and is a replica of the one we would see at St. Mark’s Cathedral in a couple of days. Having had the most caffeine, I was the designated climber and started up the 192 stairs (after paying 1.60&euro;). As stated in previous installments, I don’t shy away from these things, even though I do get a little edgy about high places. The last part of this trek up the campanile was among the scariest stairs I have climbed.

Although never fearing I would fall to my death, the steps were treacherous, so much so that a number of people turned back. Knowing I would never hear the end of it had I attempted to wimp out, I made my way onto the skinny, wooden stairs that lead to the viewing platform, and the vistas from here were well worth the vertiginous climb. I waved to my three companions who seemed content sitting outside enjoying the now gloriously sunny morning.

After rejoining everyone, we went back inside the church to find the sarcophagus of St. Euphemia. So the story goes, as a young girl, Euphemia was arrested by Diocletian’s henchmen and brutally tortured. They even put her on a wheel and broke her bones, but she would not die.

Ticked off by her refusal to expire, Diocletian then tried to feed her to the lions, but miraculously the lions did not devour her, instead talking some playful nips at her arm. Unfortunately in those times, becoming a saint meant a premature death, and, sure enough, the Romans finally managed to kill her.

Many years later, a huge, marble sarcophagus containing her remains washed up in Istria. People wanted to transport it up to the Church of St. George (this church’s name at the time), but the damn thing was too heavy.

But the happy ending (well, except for the broken bones, drowning and death thing) occurred when a kid with two calves appeared and dragged her relics up to the church. There is also a fresco of the lions playfully nipping at her arms.

We walked back down to the harbor along Grisia Street, which I believe means “a street where tourists are quickly parted from their hard-earned cash by numerous shopkeepers.” A couple of missteps on this alley street almost had me going head first into the pavement, but my deft 56-year-old reflexes saved me from certain scoffing by the others.

We nearly made it to the end of Grisia Street, but a wine shop loomed directly ahead and, mesmerized by the call of the vineyards, we stepped inside.

Not only were there a number of various wines, but also numerous bottles of truffle oil lining the shelves. We had happened upon the “Gifts For Family and Friends Back Home” Emporium (the actual name of this great wine bar/store is Piassa Granda).

After assuring the proprietress we would stop back for an early evening wine sampling, we walked over to Scuba (to eat, not dive), a restaurant next to our apartment building. Kim tried the fried calamari, Mary had a hamburger and fries, Tracy gobbled down a Greek salad and small crunchy pizza, while I was tempted by the gnocchi Gorgonzola, which was terrific.

Kim and Mary went off to walk the streets of Rovinj, while Tracy and I, savoring the beautiful weather, caught a boat and departed on a one-hour tour of the harbor and nearby islands. Although it had a glass bottom (the boat, not Tracy), we opted to sit out on the deck and enjoy the sunshine.

This was another picture taking bonanza; with spectacular views back toward Rovinj beckoning me to take one photograph after another.

Upon our return, we hit one of the many spots along the harbor where you can grab a gelato. We liked the one where the Gelato Guys flung scoops of gelato in the air and nabbed them in their scooper, never missing a beat.

By now it was late afternoon, so we phoned home and got even further distressing news about Cupid. It didn’t look good that he would survive the rest of the week.

Now this will sound crazy to many, but Tracy wanted to find a flight home in the next couple of days thinking that maybe if she got home, there could be some kind of miraculous recovery. I didn’t disagree, and we went on online and purchased the least expensive non-refundable, non-exchangeable, non-cheap flight out of Venice on Thursday morning (it seemed like a good idea at the time).

Although saddened by our news, it was time to meet Kim and Mary back at Piassa Granda for our early evening vino. After (carefully, very carefully) taking a shower, we met the two, who had started without us (we quickly caught up). The owner (Helen) was still there. She and the amiable sommelier suggested some various Istrian wines for us to sample.

Our notes from this night are pretty weak due to how upset we were. We dined at a restaurant on the water that had an outdoor patio, but we had to dine inside because of a heavy mist that had shut down the patio service. We did not write down the name of this restaurant, but I will see if Mary and Kim remember it (it was the last harbor-side restaurant on the left as the walkway winded up toward the church).

Despite our deepening sense of foreboding, I had an appetite and started my meal with prosciutto and melon followed by an unbelievable gnocchi with truffles. Kim enjoyed an almond-crusted turbot and Mary continued her fishy behavior by downing the fish platter that included grilled squid and turbot. Tracy did not have much of an appetite and just had prosciutto and melon.

As the two of us were not very fun traveling companions on this evening, we gave Kim and Mary our cash and let them enjoy the rest of the night away from the weepy “Black Cloud of Tom and Tracy.”

Tracy and I stopped at a little outdoors bar for a nightcap and discussed our options. It was then back to the apartment for a restless night’s sleep.

<b> COMING UP - DAY TWENTY FIVE – WHERE’S THAT HILL TOWN, THAT DROP OFF FEE REALLY HERTZ, A LAKER FAN IN POREC, BUS STOP AND A TONI RESTAURANT</b>

Tom, at last. Thank you.

Please let us know when your blog and pictures are up.

I'm glad I checked in before toddling off to bed.-:)

bookmarking - thanks!

Now I really want to go to all the places you described!

<b> DAY TWENTY FIVE – WHERE’S THAT HILL TOWN, SOMEBODY’S GOTTA GO BACK AND GET A SHITLOAD OF DIMES, THAT DROP OFF FEE REALLY HERTZ, A LAKER FAN IN POREC, BUS STOP AND A TONI RESTAURANT</b>

We awoke to a slightly overcast day, found some croissants and espresso and made our way to the parking lot. We had to return the car to Porec, but before we hit that coastal town, we had decided to travel to one or two of the Istrian Peninsula’s hill towns. Number one on our list was Motovun.

Lady Garmin was having a bit of problem in Croatia (perhaps all that recalculating had taken a toll on her brain), so we tried to rely on our map and road signs. As we headed north, there was our sign to turn off for Motovun. So far; so good.

We traveled for a short distance until we came upon a “T” in the road. One small problem; there was no sign pointing us in the direction of Motovun. There was only one way to decide. Since we were all going to vote for Obama, we decided to head left.

We traveled on…and on…and on. We whisked through a couple of villages that were not on the map and none of the road signs read “Motovun.” Our official keeper of the map, Mary, said she was certain we were traveling in the correct direction; so on we went.

There were still no road signs, so at the next sign of humanity Tracy and Mary said we should ask someone for directions. Even though we are guys and asking for directions is a no-no in the Official Guy Handbook, Kim and I reluctantly agreed.

Shortly, up ahead in the distance was a small parking lot congregated with a group of guys who looked like they were part of a construction crew or a group of felons. It was hard to tell, but we stopped anyway being the confidently ignorant tourists that we are.

Before you could say, “Prison break,” Mary bolted from the car to ask them directions. I asked Kim if he was going to go provide Mary protection. “No,” he said, “by the time Mary gets through asking all her questions, if they’re prisoners, they’ll want to go back to jail.”

We saw the guys pointing and Mary nodding her head, so we all felt confident she had the information when she returned to the car. Mary got in, and we asked if they had given her directions. “Yes, we go to the next town and turn left at the first road we reach. They said Motovun was near.”

Obviously “near” in Croatian is a little further than in English. We quickly reached the town, made a left and drove for quite a distance through very scenic, town-less countryside. Persevering, we finally came to a sign pointing us again to Motovun, and in a few minutes we were winding up a narrow road to this hill town.

Motovun is closed to cars (except for locals), so parking on the narrow road nearest to the town proved to be quite a challenge, but eventually we made it (park as close to the town as you can get because if you park in the allotted parking lot, it is quite a hike).

We started the ten-minute walk up to Motovun. About the only facts I knew about this place was it was the birthplace of Mario Andretti and it is the most visited of all the Istrian hill towns. In the fall, they get 20,000 for a film festival (parking must be fun for that event). On this particular day, it was pretty quiet.

We walked past an old man who was working on some spectacular woodcarvings and contemplated a purchase on the walk back. After passing through the gateways, the panoramic views of the valley below are fantastic.

Our first stop was going to be St. Stephen’s Church, but for some reason it was closed (maybe they couldn’t get a parking space). Then we took the 10 to 15-minute walk around the town ramparts.

We made a quick refreshment stop and started the walk back down to the car, stopping in a few of the very cute shops selling lavender, truffle oil and olio. We also decided not to get the woodcarving, but it was beautiful.

As we continued our stroll down the narrow road out of town, suddenly, in a Blazing Saddles instant, a red and white striped object swung down in front of us, impeding our walk for the moment. It was if we had been transported to the Governor William J. Le Petomane Thruway.

“What will that asshole think of next?” Kim said, right on cue.

I added, “Somebody’s gotta go back and get a shitload of dimes.”

Only our respective spouses knew what we were doing and, for once, they were laughing with us and not at us. Other people in the vicinity, visitors and locals alike, just stood perplexed and bewildered, wondering what was wrong with these crazy Americans. Mary then took a quick picture of Kim and me “stranded” at the “toll booth” until the gate went back up (to let a local driver go though, we assumed).

We were supposed to drop off the car by noon in Porec, but our longer-than-we-thought drive (plus that damn toll booth) had put us behind schedule. We got to the outskirts of Porec, and since Kim and I had already broken the “Guy Code” once, we decided to stop at the TI to get exact directions to Hertz. After getting a lecture about saying petrol and not gas, we were on our way.

The directions were perfect. I parked the car, ran inside and looked for the Hertz guy. A woman (who did not work for Hertz, but seemed to be having a bad day judging from the tone she was using in a phone conversation), looked up at me after getting off her call and basically said, “What do you want?”

“I am returning our rental car to Hertz. I’m about an hour late.”

“Well,” she said. “The man from Hertz has left, and he is not coming back today. You should have thought of this before returning the car late. You will just have to keep the car until tomorrow.”

Since we were taking a ferry from Rovinj to Venice the next morning, that was not exactly the answer I needed to hear.

Fortunately, before I had to listen to any more of her shrill voice (I think she might have been my fourth grade teacher reincarnated), a young guy walked in and asked, “Are you Late Returning Tom?”


“Yes, I am very sorry.”

He said, “Hey, no problem, I just went out and got something to eat, but I do have to charge you for an extra day.” I had no problem with that.

It was about 1:30 when we walked over to the nearby bus station to see what time the bus from Porec to Rovinj left. The next bus left at 3:10, and it was fortunate we got here in time for it because the next bus after that didn’t leave until 9:30 p.m.

Porec is a cute, seaside town, but not nearly as charming as Rovinj. We ate lunch at a restaurant not too far from the bus station (I have the name, but it is on another computer, so I will share later). It was quite good.

After ordering a fuzzi stew (a traditional Istrian dish with pasta), the waiter asked where we were from. When I said Los Angeles, the waiter’s eyes lit up and he said, “The Lakers won last night against the Celtics. Kobe made some big shots.” It is definitely a small world.

The air-conditioned bus ride cost 27kn, took about 50 minutes and soon we were back at the apartment.

Now for a little bit more on the Porta Antica Apartments. As stated, the location is fantastic. It is a short 5-10 minute walk to the car park. If you are taking the ferry to Rovinj, the dock is only 200 yards from the entrance of your apartments.

The steps are a little steep to the rooms, so if mobility is a problem, that could cause difficulty. Both our rooms (we had Room 3) looked out onto the harbor. They had kitchenettes, a television and very hot water. There is also a Bank-in-the-Box directly across the street. The apartments don’t have phones, but there is an internet caf&eacute; a couple of doors down.

After a little nap of about three minutes (no rest for the weary), we all headed back to the Piassa Granda for more wine. Our favorite on this night was a Ros&eacute; sparkling wine from the Istria region. If you are in Rovinj, stop in and see Helen at this place. She even let me pick out the tunes. I was in the mood for a little Dean, Frank, Sammy and the gang, and she had the right mix for us.

Helen had told us about her restaurant in town named Toni. She even called and made reservations for us.

Although Toni has a patio on one of the squares in Rovinj, we decided to eat inside in the charming yellow dining room with pastel-striped curtains and family photos adorning all the walls.

There was only one waiter, but this young man was the James Brown of waiters (the hardest working man in the serving business). Food here was very good from my beefsteak with truffles and homemade pasta to Kim’s ravioli with truffles and Mary’s Greek salad with Mussels.

Tracy went outside her comfort zone and after having a delicious arugula salad, decided to try the black risotto with seafood, which temporarily caused her lips to turn blue. Luckily, they turned back to their normal color before we called paramedics. I would definitely recommend this restaurant if visiting Rovinj.

We had after-dinner drinks with Kim and Mary at our harbor side bar, and then went upstairs and made a quick call home. Cupid was still laboring, but had eaten that day, so we had a slight glimmer of hope. Since we had a very early morning trip to Venice, Tracy and I packed for the long day ahead. At the time, we didn’t know just how long a day it would really be.

<b> COMING UP - DAY TWENTY SIX – VORTEX OF SORROW, THE COFFEE COMEDY CAPER, BEAUTIFUL VENEZIA, FLIGHT PLAN, PLEASE DON’T HAVE A HEART ATTACK HERE, UP ON THE ROOFTOP, SHE’S GOT PANNA COTTA THIGHS AND SHINE ON HARVEST MOON </b>

Ah, Tom,

&quot;No,” he said, “by the time Mary gets through asking all her questions, if they’re prisoners, they’ll want to go back to jail.” and again I laughed out loud.

But this time I'm in a hotel room with my husband and he cannot get away from me, so he gave me a glare and told me to get away from the computer. I'm ignoring him.

I'm enjoying your report so much!

and your comment about going to the left...yes, we'll all be wandering for some time to come!