Neurotic for nothing: Trip to Spain...wait, now Italy? Wha Happened?
Jan 4th, 2006, 07:36 AM
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Neurotic for nothing: Trip to Spain...wait, now Italy? Wha Happened?
For about 2 months I'd been writing on this board, seeking answers about Barcelona street crimes, Madrid weather, money belts and where to keep my passport. I had a detailed itinerary: knew where I'd eat dinner every night, what sites I'd see and where I'd spend new year's in Marbella.
But my hubby, the entire time, had no interest in going. But, wanted to make me happy, let me see the world. All the while he complained of no interest in Spain.
Then we got to the airport. JFK-London Heathrow - biz class. Got to sit around the swanky admirals club for a couple of hours before boarding. From London, we were to catch a plane to Barcelona.
But that didn't happen.
Instead, I sat in Terminal 1 of Heathrow, at an Internet stand, for 1 pound a minute, cancelling hotels (lost one night fee at the Claris in Barcelona, but got back all the other money - except in Marbella, because we still were going to go there. More on that later.)
And so, my fear of the unknown came true. No guidebook. No pre-paid tickets to museums. No clue about restaurants. No itinerary. It was like this trip was a sign for me: Stop trying to control everything, just let life flow, and see what happens.
So this is the story of where we ended up.
Hubby, where would you like to go? (Had been to London before and just used it as a jumping off point.)
"Rome. Let's get a flight to Rome." And so, to British Airways ticket desk I went. For 130 pounds each, we got a flight leaving the next day at 2.
So we then checked into the London Metropole - for 80 pounds, and near the Heathrow Express back to the airport the next day - couldn't be beat. Except public transport doesn't run on Christmas Day in London, and therefore staying here was moot. Had to hire a cab to take us back, at 90 US dollars. Ouch. But our night in London was wonderful. The neighborhood, Edgware, filled with Middle Eastern smells and interesting people, and near unfortunate train bombings.
But my hubby, the entire time, had no interest in going. But, wanted to make me happy, let me see the world. All the while he complained of no interest in Spain.
Then we got to the airport. JFK-London Heathrow - biz class. Got to sit around the swanky admirals club for a couple of hours before boarding. From London, we were to catch a plane to Barcelona.
But that didn't happen.
Instead, I sat in Terminal 1 of Heathrow, at an Internet stand, for 1 pound a minute, cancelling hotels (lost one night fee at the Claris in Barcelona, but got back all the other money - except in Marbella, because we still were going to go there. More on that later.)
And so, my fear of the unknown came true. No guidebook. No pre-paid tickets to museums. No clue about restaurants. No itinerary. It was like this trip was a sign for me: Stop trying to control everything, just let life flow, and see what happens.
So this is the story of where we ended up.
Hubby, where would you like to go? (Had been to London before and just used it as a jumping off point.)
"Rome. Let's get a flight to Rome." And so, to British Airways ticket desk I went. For 130 pounds each, we got a flight leaving the next day at 2.
So we then checked into the London Metropole - for 80 pounds, and near the Heathrow Express back to the airport the next day - couldn't be beat. Except public transport doesn't run on Christmas Day in London, and therefore staying here was moot. Had to hire a cab to take us back, at 90 US dollars. Ouch. But our night in London was wonderful. The neighborhood, Edgware, filled with Middle Eastern smells and interesting people, and near unfortunate train bombings.
Jan 4th, 2006, 07:48 AM
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We walked down quiet streets on Christmas Eve, and stumbled upon a Middle Eastern restaurant, with its signage not in English. There were 6 tables, a small kitchen in the back, and the proprietor enjoying a hookah. Two other women were in the restaurant, wearing headcoverings. I felt slightly uncomfortable, but we were welcomed with a smile. Turns out, the restaurant was run by Iraqis. The bread came out in a small dish even though it was shaped like a large frisbee. We dipped it in garlicky hummus and hubby had Tikka Chicken. For 22 lbs it was a cheap cultural experience, and in the end I enjoyed being out of my element. Now isnt that what travel is all about?
From there, we caught a taxi to the London Eye, which wasnt there on my last trip to London 10 years ago. The cab driver was very pro-american, pro new york (where we're from) and for 20 minutes proceeded to tell us his heartbreak over 9/11 and his feelings on the war. It was an eye-opening conversation. He then gave us a route to walk once at the Eye - which upon seeing how slow it moved (it was already 9 pm) decided to save our money, take some photos, and walk over the Waterloo Bridge, where we held hands and kissed in the twinkling lights of the city.
From here, we walked for miles - to the West End, to Trafalgar Square, to Picadilly Circus, to getting lost trying to find Buckingham Palace. Once we tired, we caught a cab back to our non-descript hotel. I hit an internet cafe across the street to find a hotel in Rome. Would this be difficult? It's Christmas in the holiest of cities? Expedia had a great rate on the Westin Excelsior, right on Via Veneto. I took it, and went to bed. Tomorrow - the Eternal City.
From there, we caught a taxi to the London Eye, which wasnt there on my last trip to London 10 years ago. The cab driver was very pro-american, pro new york (where we're from) and for 20 minutes proceeded to tell us his heartbreak over 9/11 and his feelings on the war. It was an eye-opening conversation. He then gave us a route to walk once at the Eye - which upon seeing how slow it moved (it was already 9 pm) decided to save our money, take some photos, and walk over the Waterloo Bridge, where we held hands and kissed in the twinkling lights of the city.
From here, we walked for miles - to the West End, to Trafalgar Square, to Picadilly Circus, to getting lost trying to find Buckingham Palace. Once we tired, we caught a cab back to our non-descript hotel. I hit an internet cafe across the street to find a hotel in Rome. Would this be difficult? It's Christmas in the holiest of cities? Expedia had a great rate on the Westin Excelsior, right on Via Veneto. I took it, and went to bed. Tomorrow - the Eternal City.
Jan 4th, 2006, 08:08 AM
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I'm choked up at the site of the Alps outside the plane window. It's like I can reach out and touch the snow capped peaks. Being from NY, and skiing only in Vermont, it was quite a sight.
We arrive at Fiumcino - and the airport is like a ghost town. It's Christmas - close to dinner time - will we be able to get a cab? No doubt had I known I was coming here, I'd have been on Fodors seeking answers, panicking I'd be stuck in the airport. But no need for that. Got a cab with much ease. And dinner? Won't everyone be in church? Across the street from the hotel, we popped into Cafe d'Paris (dont be fooled by the name, it's Italian food.) Hubby found what he called a shell-less snail winding its way through his salmon carpaccio. And my garlic and oil pasta was so spicy it was like eating a habenero.
When in Rome, especially after findng something slivery in your meal, one heads to a streetside cigarette vending machine built right into the wall - to drown the image from your mind and taste buds. After not smoking for months, he (and I for 2 puffs) had a smoke on the terrace in our room. Yes, a terrace! It had no furniture, and a slippery marble floor (raining)with views to nowhere. Still hungry, we ordered in room service - salad caprese and two slices of chocolate cake at 14E each. Not a good value! We plan on seeking out more authentic eating experiences the next day.
We came to the conclusion, over this chocolately cake, that I chose Spain over Italy becuase I overly romanticized this place. That if the conditions werent perfect - weather, for one - I shouldnt bother going. But now I see we are in Italy for a purpose. To see this beauty - in the rain, and rain it did, with a slight chill in the air, with barely a word spoken in Italian. Just a map and a desire to see some of the world's best sites - spontaneously.
No longer an itinerary or an agenda. I know the best times in my life have been unscripted, so I can only imagine this journey will be the same.
We arrive at Fiumcino - and the airport is like a ghost town. It's Christmas - close to dinner time - will we be able to get a cab? No doubt had I known I was coming here, I'd have been on Fodors seeking answers, panicking I'd be stuck in the airport. But no need for that. Got a cab with much ease. And dinner? Won't everyone be in church? Across the street from the hotel, we popped into Cafe d'Paris (dont be fooled by the name, it's Italian food.) Hubby found what he called a shell-less snail winding its way through his salmon carpaccio. And my garlic and oil pasta was so spicy it was like eating a habenero.
When in Rome, especially after findng something slivery in your meal, one heads to a streetside cigarette vending machine built right into the wall - to drown the image from your mind and taste buds. After not smoking for months, he (and I for 2 puffs) had a smoke on the terrace in our room. Yes, a terrace! It had no furniture, and a slippery marble floor (raining)with views to nowhere. Still hungry, we ordered in room service - salad caprese and two slices of chocolate cake at 14E each. Not a good value! We plan on seeking out more authentic eating experiences the next day.
We came to the conclusion, over this chocolately cake, that I chose Spain over Italy becuase I overly romanticized this place. That if the conditions werent perfect - weather, for one - I shouldnt bother going. But now I see we are in Italy for a purpose. To see this beauty - in the rain, and rain it did, with a slight chill in the air, with barely a word spoken in Italian. Just a map and a desire to see some of the world's best sites - spontaneously.
No longer an itinerary or an agenda. I know the best times in my life have been unscripted, so I can only imagine this journey will be the same.
Jan 4th, 2006, 08:14 AM
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We didn't go to Barcelona cause hubby just didn't want to go. Never did. I planned the trip. But for weeks said he had no interest. Didn't care about Gaudi, or Catedral or rip-off of Paris grand boulevards in the Eixample district. He wanted to go someplace that had meaning to him. Important lesson: Dont plan trips without hubby/wifey, especially when plane tix are non refundable!
Jan 4th, 2006, 08:22 AM
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Boxing Day: 12/26. We began the day sleeping. After all this traveling and, frankly, emotional drama, we needed to rest. I said to myself though that if 1 pm came, and he was still sleeping, I'd go out into the city myself. In Paris, 10 years ago with a friend who slept until 3 in the afternoon, I missed many sights as I watched her snore and the pigeons outside the window. Not going to happen again...
But he did get up, and by 2 we were out the hotel door. But what to see - first a restaurant - with hot torchieres to keep us warm as we ate outside staring at the Colisseum. Our first stop.
Found out that the Colisseum isn't even its real name. Our tourguide Roberto was quite funny - but for some reason referencing Chinese people and cats, seemed awfully irrelevant. But, for 18E, we got admission and a chance to skip the line which was quite long. Seeing something so very old really puts things into perspective. The history was so fascinating - except I didn't need to hear 3 times that Elton John had performed there a few years ago. With 1800 years of history, this is what Roberto feels the need to repeat?
Afterwards, another guide walks us over to the Roman Forum. We pass the world's first "shopping mall" now a shell of its former self. I just read how Rome's treasures are in decay - no money allocated to fix - and what a shame that would be. An empire widdled down to crumbling pieces of concrete.
The guide tells us all about how Julius Caesar died here - after 22 stab wounds, the final inflicted by Brutus. He may have orchestrated his own death to, as we say "go out on top." He dies with dignity. I loved the story, and the fresh flowers that lie where he rests, a telling statement of how beloved Julius still is.
But he did get up, and by 2 we were out the hotel door. But what to see - first a restaurant - with hot torchieres to keep us warm as we ate outside staring at the Colisseum. Our first stop.
Found out that the Colisseum isn't even its real name. Our tourguide Roberto was quite funny - but for some reason referencing Chinese people and cats, seemed awfully irrelevant. But, for 18E, we got admission and a chance to skip the line which was quite long. Seeing something so very old really puts things into perspective. The history was so fascinating - except I didn't need to hear 3 times that Elton John had performed there a few years ago. With 1800 years of history, this is what Roberto feels the need to repeat?
Afterwards, another guide walks us over to the Roman Forum. We pass the world's first "shopping mall" now a shell of its former self. I just read how Rome's treasures are in decay - no money allocated to fix - and what a shame that would be. An empire widdled down to crumbling pieces of concrete.
The guide tells us all about how Julius Caesar died here - after 22 stab wounds, the final inflicted by Brutus. He may have orchestrated his own death to, as we say "go out on top." He dies with dignity. I loved the story, and the fresh flowers that lie where he rests, a telling statement of how beloved Julius still is.
Jan 4th, 2006, 08:37 AM
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From here we walked to the Trastevere district. In the maze of small alleys and streets, we came upon what's left of the Jewish Quarter. A small group of people gathered around a large menorah to light it for the second night. It did my heart good knowing there was still a community here, and celebrating peacefully.
We found a small restaurant whose name I can't remember, and sat outside in a covered patio. I really admire how even though it was quite cold, the Italians treasure their outdoor eating - providing heated lamps to keep us toasty. For 40E we had quite a feast: Carafe of wine, 2 sodas, a bottled water, 2 pasta dishes and two tiramisu's the size of bricks. I see now that Pasta without tomatoes (which Im allergic to) is called Pasta White, or Bianca. What a relief as I no longer have to attempt to say Aglio y Olio (which is garlic and oil.) No one understands me when I say it.
We took a cab back to the hotel, as our feet were aching from the cobblestone streets. Upon exiting, the driver calls hubby "Rambo." We're not sure why but we laugh all the way to the room. And so, our first full day in Rome is complete, and I'm so impressed. And not feeling that I'm missing Barcelona, because it's still a new place, and a new experience.
We found a small restaurant whose name I can't remember, and sat outside in a covered patio. I really admire how even though it was quite cold, the Italians treasure their outdoor eating - providing heated lamps to keep us toasty. For 40E we had quite a feast: Carafe of wine, 2 sodas, a bottled water, 2 pasta dishes and two tiramisu's the size of bricks. I see now that Pasta without tomatoes (which Im allergic to) is called Pasta White, or Bianca. What a relief as I no longer have to attempt to say Aglio y Olio (which is garlic and oil.) No one understands me when I say it.
We took a cab back to the hotel, as our feet were aching from the cobblestone streets. Upon exiting, the driver calls hubby "Rambo." We're not sure why but we laugh all the way to the room. And so, our first full day in Rome is complete, and I'm so impressed. And not feeling that I'm missing Barcelona, because it's still a new place, and a new experience.
Jan 4th, 2006, 08:48 AM
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Italian men are staring at me. I thought this was just a stereotype. Growing up in Brooklyn, the Italian boys stared at every gal - cause watching your mother in the kitchen wearing a dirty apron and hairnet, slaving over lasagna, wasn't a pretty site. I wonder if it's the same here.
I want to see more of Italy. We ask the concierge about a day trip to Florence. As a lover of art, this has been a dream of mine to go. It's interesting, any time I hear of people taking just day trips to major cities, I think they are doing it an injustice. It's like going to NY for a day. How can it be done? And yet, I am off to Florence on a high speed trenitalia train, first class, where they serve me coffee and chocolate, and a newspaper I can't read. Didn't have the energy to ask for the english paper, and wanted to stare out the window. In 90 minutes we are there.
I want to see more of Italy. We ask the concierge about a day trip to Florence. As a lover of art, this has been a dream of mine to go. It's interesting, any time I hear of people taking just day trips to major cities, I think they are doing it an injustice. It's like going to NY for a day. How can it be done? And yet, I am off to Florence on a high speed trenitalia train, first class, where they serve me coffee and chocolate, and a newspaper I can't read. Didn't have the energy to ask for the english paper, and wanted to stare out the window. In 90 minutes we are there.
Jan 4th, 2006, 10:07 AM
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One immediately sees that the Medici family knew where to put down roots. Florence, even through its cold alleyways and Arno river bends is pure bellissima.
First we head to the Duomo - easily found by its meatball dome - its just the color of Hubby's mamas meatballs, especially under the dull grey sky. The facade looks good enough to eat - like little square Italian candies filled with liquid, ready to be plucked off.
The doors to the Baptistry - gilded and three dimensional came to life after seeing these "doors to paradise" in art history books. The campagnile and tower were each over 400 steps, and Hubby definitely wasnt up to it. I could have forced myself - but jetlag was really weighing on us. Instead, we stared up at Bruneleschi's dome, admiring the use of color and 3-d space. Below, I wanted to see the "crypt." I asked the woman at the help desk. "Crypt?", pointing aimlessly. She responds "blah, blah, blah, excavation site, blah."
"Crypt?" I say again. We just nod, completely not understanding each other. I turned to find Hubby in a belly laugh.
But then i found it - the little tomb, tucked in a corner. Poor Bruneleschi, stuck in a basement surrounded by plastic figurines of his great achievement, and tourists aching to buy it all.
First we head to the Duomo - easily found by its meatball dome - its just the color of Hubby's mamas meatballs, especially under the dull grey sky. The facade looks good enough to eat - like little square Italian candies filled with liquid, ready to be plucked off.
The doors to the Baptistry - gilded and three dimensional came to life after seeing these "doors to paradise" in art history books. The campagnile and tower were each over 400 steps, and Hubby definitely wasnt up to it. I could have forced myself - but jetlag was really weighing on us. Instead, we stared up at Bruneleschi's dome, admiring the use of color and 3-d space. Below, I wanted to see the "crypt." I asked the woman at the help desk. "Crypt?", pointing aimlessly. She responds "blah, blah, blah, excavation site, blah."
"Crypt?" I say again. We just nod, completely not understanding each other. I turned to find Hubby in a belly laugh.
But then i found it - the little tomb, tucked in a corner. Poor Bruneleschi, stuck in a basement surrounded by plastic figurines of his great achievement, and tourists aching to buy it all.
Jan 4th, 2006, 10:24 AM
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TWO HOUR LINE AND WE DON'T MIND.
Oddly enough Hubby isn't complaining. It's cold and windy, and he's wrapped in a scarf. Finally, a small entrance is seen behind a velvet rope. In we go, through a metal detector and signs begging no photos. We enter, turn right...
And there he is. A boy, muscled into a man, seeminly breathing from his finely sculpted nostrils. You resist running the 50 feet and slowly watch him come into view. David.
Visitors are like his goliath, we are slayed and in awe of him. This has to be one of, if not the greatest achievement in the history of art. It is beauty in its entirety. I weep.
Hubby walks alone, viewing all his sides, to the veins of his hands and back up to his heaving chest. Absolutely the highlight of our entire trip. My mind starts reeling: I spend my time with head in guidebooks, and reading posts, looking to see things and make notches in my travel belt. But not all of it has meaning. One has to discover what truly interests them, and seek them out for that purpose. On this day I did that, and am forever grateful.
Oddly enough Hubby isn't complaining. It's cold and windy, and he's wrapped in a scarf. Finally, a small entrance is seen behind a velvet rope. In we go, through a metal detector and signs begging no photos. We enter, turn right...
And there he is. A boy, muscled into a man, seeminly breathing from his finely sculpted nostrils. You resist running the 50 feet and slowly watch him come into view. David.
Visitors are like his goliath, we are slayed and in awe of him. This has to be one of, if not the greatest achievement in the history of art. It is beauty in its entirety. I weep.
Hubby walks alone, viewing all his sides, to the veins of his hands and back up to his heaving chest. Absolutely the highlight of our entire trip. My mind starts reeling: I spend my time with head in guidebooks, and reading posts, looking to see things and make notches in my travel belt. But not all of it has meaning. One has to discover what truly interests them, and seek them out for that purpose. On this day I did that, and am forever grateful.
Jan 4th, 2006, 10:37 AM
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I won't give details of my story, but on a similar note, back in 1997 my Mom and I were to fly standby to Italy. Books, notes, hotel reservations, etc. in hand, we couldn't get on board. Where to? France! Spent the night in Philly, shopped the next day for a France guidebook, language book and anything else I could find. Flew to Paris that evening and the rest of the trip was a go-stop-go: Go to one place for a few days, stop and figure out where to go the few days, then go. Being one who plans, plans, plans, I was very pleased with myself with this very spontaneous trip.
Looking forward to reading more!
Monica
Looking forward to reading more!
Monica
Jan 4th, 2006, 10:47 AM
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Afterwards, we walk across the Ponte Vecchio, each small stand like a little treasure chest of sparkly baubles, and we took photos overlooking the Arno. Hubby looks around and says, "I'm going to take you someplace nice." Well, I thought this was pretty nice. Anyway, he saw a restaurant from the bridge, and we went for a bite. Yummy Ravioli gorgonzola with a delicious view of the river. I can't remember the name of the restaurant, but it was very white and modern inside. If I had planned this trip, I could tell you the name, but as it is...I was just going with the flow.
I wanted to see the tombs of Santa Croce, but all the walking and the cold were making Hubby sick. We take a short walk, passing stalls selling leather and he doesnt stop. I want to, but I didnt want to ask for anything. We walk past buildings and fountains, unsure of its significance, but I take pictures anyway.
The line for the Uffizi was another 2 hours. And so, we missed out on this too. Had I planned to come, I'd have gotten tix online. Next time (and there will be a next time.)
We spot a tiny store selling leather goods and Hubby says let's go in. For 45E I bought a beautiful tan backpack, that smells so good.
Back on the train to Rome, I have visions of returning to Tuscany - on the back of a vespa, winding through olive groves and cypress trees, inhaling all its magnificence.
I wanted to see the tombs of Santa Croce, but all the walking and the cold were making Hubby sick. We take a short walk, passing stalls selling leather and he doesnt stop. I want to, but I didnt want to ask for anything. We walk past buildings and fountains, unsure of its significance, but I take pictures anyway.
The line for the Uffizi was another 2 hours. And so, we missed out on this too. Had I planned to come, I'd have gotten tix online. Next time (and there will be a next time.)
We spot a tiny store selling leather goods and Hubby says let's go in. For 45E I bought a beautiful tan backpack, that smells so good.
Back on the train to Rome, I have visions of returning to Tuscany - on the back of a vespa, winding through olive groves and cypress trees, inhaling all its magnificence.
Jan 4th, 2006, 10:57 AM
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I knew if we were to see the Sistine Chapel, we'd have to be there at 8 in the morning. Alas, we arrived at 11 to find a line snaking around 10 blocks. No Vatican and this was rather disappointing. Instead, we went for a bite to eat (more pizza, more pasta) and then braved teh cold to the Trevi fountain, where I forgot to throw in my 3 coins to guarantee return. But compared to Florence, I think Rome is like Brutus a bit. Still, I need to see the Sistine Chapel and will have to come back (oh the tragedy.)
Off to the Pantheon, with its 30-ft. skylight to let all the gods pour down. What an engineering marvel. From here, we walk to the Piazza Navona to see Bernini's Neptune Fountain. Everything in Italy seems crafted with pride and artistry, and it seems unfair to just walk on by and take a snapshot.
But none of it, to me, was Michaelangelo's David. It's like everyone else is Salieri, and he is Mozart.
Hubby goes for a massage at the Excelsior's spa, and I spend a quiet hour drinking cappuccino in the lobby, listening to my Ipod, and writing in my journal. This is La Dolce Vita.
But it is time tomorrow to leave, to go to Marbella, where we actually planned to go. I have restaurants and shops and New Year's plans.
And they went out the window too.
Off to the Pantheon, with its 30-ft. skylight to let all the gods pour down. What an engineering marvel. From here, we walk to the Piazza Navona to see Bernini's Neptune Fountain. Everything in Italy seems crafted with pride and artistry, and it seems unfair to just walk on by and take a snapshot.
But none of it, to me, was Michaelangelo's David. It's like everyone else is Salieri, and he is Mozart.
Hubby goes for a massage at the Excelsior's spa, and I spend a quiet hour drinking cappuccino in the lobby, listening to my Ipod, and writing in my journal. This is La Dolce Vita.
But it is time tomorrow to leave, to go to Marbella, where we actually planned to go. I have restaurants and shops and New Year's plans.
And they went out the window too.
