Roman (and Florentine, Venetian) Holiday with la Principessa
Apr 5th, 2017, 06:16 PM
#21
Original Poster
Join Date: Mar 2006
Posts: 5,613
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
ITALY!
VENICE
I was glad we spent the night at the Premier Inn before our 0930 EasyJet flight. Transit backups had abounded the night before.
I abandoned my Oxfam Shop wellies in the boarding area when told I could have only one bag, not carry my purse. (I miss those boots now it's spring garden season; may have to break down and spend real money on a pair.) Hannah had her suitcase jammed into the metal thing they use to measure maximum volume. She, a couple of EasyJet agents, and two young men worked hard on getting it back out. Room for improvement in that design and in both of our packing habits.
On arrival, the non-EU queue was short and painless. As we waited, a young Asian-looking man walked through the Do Not Enter doors to the outside and set off an alarm that no one in authority seemed to notice.
I'd stopped studying my Italian weeks before the trip, thinking we were staying in the UK, missed out on a crucial language-cramming period. When the handsome border control man waved us over, I offered a "buongiorno" and "madre e figlia" to break the ice and state the obvious. Was rewarded with a handsome Italian smile. This might work out after all, I thought.
We had bought shuttle bus tickets on board the plane, a good move. After customs and a quick stroll to the bus area we were shepherded aboard for the ten minutes, more or less, to the Ponte della Liberta where we could catch the vaporetto as our host had suggested. Hannah, phone GPS in hand, told me that our hotel was only a 20 minute walk, a phrase I was to hear more than a couple of times over the next ten days, and we should definitely walk. We were in Venice! Where else could we even take a vaporetto? I compromised by grabbing a restorative and delicious cappuccino at the little stand by the shuttle stop, then we set out on foot. It was a charming walk, really, until we got to steep bridges like the Rialto where luggage made it less fun.
VENICE
I was glad we spent the night at the Premier Inn before our 0930 EasyJet flight. Transit backups had abounded the night before.
I abandoned my Oxfam Shop wellies in the boarding area when told I could have only one bag, not carry my purse. (I miss those boots now it's spring garden season; may have to break down and spend real money on a pair.) Hannah had her suitcase jammed into the metal thing they use to measure maximum volume. She, a couple of EasyJet agents, and two young men worked hard on getting it back out. Room for improvement in that design and in both of our packing habits.
On arrival, the non-EU queue was short and painless. As we waited, a young Asian-looking man walked through the Do Not Enter doors to the outside and set off an alarm that no one in authority seemed to notice.
I'd stopped studying my Italian weeks before the trip, thinking we were staying in the UK, missed out on a crucial language-cramming period. When the handsome border control man waved us over, I offered a "buongiorno" and "madre e figlia" to break the ice and state the obvious. Was rewarded with a handsome Italian smile. This might work out after all, I thought.
We had bought shuttle bus tickets on board the plane, a good move. After customs and a quick stroll to the bus area we were shepherded aboard for the ten minutes, more or less, to the Ponte della Liberta where we could catch the vaporetto as our host had suggested. Hannah, phone GPS in hand, told me that our hotel was only a 20 minute walk, a phrase I was to hear more than a couple of times over the next ten days, and we should definitely walk. We were in Venice! Where else could we even take a vaporetto? I compromised by grabbing a restorative and delicious cappuccino at the little stand by the shuttle stop, then we set out on foot. It was a charming walk, really, until we got to steep bridges like the Rialto where luggage made it less fun.
Apr 6th, 2017, 09:53 AM
#22
Another play, another night: An Inspector Calls, down the block from Sherlock Holmes Pub near Charing Cross/ground zero. Inventive set, but the plot struck me as maybe a little safe and dated. It was fun, anyway. >>
Stoke, it probably is safe and dated now, but at the time it made a terrific splash, and was really quite subversive. JB Priestley has pretty well fallen out of fashion now, and this is about the only work of his that anyone can name. We saw it in Truro a few years ago with our kids and they were very impressed. Shame that the ROH performance did not impress over much, but I envy you having access to all that theatre, even for a short period. I never made the most of it when I lived there and have been kicking myself ever since. Also the chance to see the Emma Hamilton exhibition which I would be very interested in, and singing at St Paul's. Apart from a school friend getting married there [in the crypt] I've never been there for a service, worst luck.
please continue to call them Boris bikes [it sounds better than Sadiq cycles] and i admire you for using them. I've never cycled in London and wouldn't dream of starting now.
Shame about the wellies and the lugging of bags across the bridge. I hope that you didn't have to carry them up as many stairs as there were between ground level and my room, last time I stayed in Venice!
Stoke, it probably is safe and dated now, but at the time it made a terrific splash, and was really quite subversive. JB Priestley has pretty well fallen out of fashion now, and this is about the only work of his that anyone can name. We saw it in Truro a few years ago with our kids and they were very impressed. Shame that the ROH performance did not impress over much, but I envy you having access to all that theatre, even for a short period. I never made the most of it when I lived there and have been kicking myself ever since. Also the chance to see the Emma Hamilton exhibition which I would be very interested in, and singing at St Paul's. Apart from a school friend getting married there [in the crypt] I've never been there for a service, worst luck.
please continue to call them Boris bikes [it sounds better than Sadiq cycles] and i admire you for using them. I've never cycled in London and wouldn't dream of starting now.
Shame about the wellies and the lugging of bags across the bridge. I hope that you didn't have to carry them up as many stairs as there were between ground level and my room, last time I stayed in Venice!
Apr 6th, 2017, 02:20 PM
#23
Original Poster
Join Date: Mar 2006
Posts: 5,613
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Back to London culture -- and you're right, Ann, I felt lucky to have access to so much -- I want to do it all when I'm there, and regret what I can't squeeze in. There were a couple of alternative plays I thought I wanted to see, but they might have ended up being over my middlebrow head after all. Sunday night we saw such a fun band at the Blues Kitchen Brixton. Kind of rockabilly/Texas swing, and I never did catch their name. No cover charge. Next time we'll have dinner there, too.
Hannah had seen the You Say You Want a Revolution at the V&A, enjoyed it a lot, so she took me there on her work ID. Far out. I wanted to tell someone I was having an acid flashback, but it would have had to be just the right person. Exhibition was about the cultural upheavals of the 60's and 70's, with headphone music and commentary. Ended the day after we were there. Interesting concept, well done.
One culture-related luggage tip just between us, in case you ever find yourself checking out of an Earl's Court hotel in the morning and have an evening event at the House of Lords followed by a late evening train to Gatwick North and you're not certain whether it will be Waterloo Thameslink or Victoria Gatwick Express. It's possible to check a suitcase at the National Portrait Gallery cloakroom for the entire day, as long as you're actually in the gallery. I can easily spend a day. Nominal charge.
Hannah had seen the You Say You Want a Revolution at the V&A, enjoyed it a lot, so she took me there on her work ID. Far out. I wanted to tell someone I was having an acid flashback, but it would have had to be just the right person. Exhibition was about the cultural upheavals of the 60's and 70's, with headphone music and commentary. Ended the day after we were there. Interesting concept, well done.
One culture-related luggage tip just between us, in case you ever find yourself checking out of an Earl's Court hotel in the morning and have an evening event at the House of Lords followed by a late evening train to Gatwick North and you're not certain whether it will be Waterloo Thameslink or Victoria Gatwick Express. It's possible to check a suitcase at the National Portrait Gallery cloakroom for the entire day, as long as you're actually in the gallery. I can easily spend a day. Nominal charge.
Apr 6th, 2017, 06:12 PM
#24
Original Poster
Join Date: Mar 2006
Posts: 5,613
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
VENICE AT CARNEVALE
Our room was up several flights at Locanda ai Bareteri, but we had arranged a rough ETA and when we rang the bell we were expected. Our host Luca came down to meet us, and insisted on carrying both bags up. Our room was two floors up from the breakfast room and office, and was spotless, with modern bathroom, windows overlooking the quiet side street. The hotel is between Ponte di Rialto and Piazza San Marco, but could be a little tricky to find.
Well, almost anything in Venice could be tricky; our first night, in the San Lorenzo area, a young British couple heard us speaking English, asked for directions to Santa Lucia. They thought they were on the other end of the island. Hannah had her GPS, and I followed her like a puppy dog.
We wandered into the student area the first afternoon. Artistic exuberance, light reflected on water, atmospheric decay and refusal to succumb to decay. Romance and mystery in the air. It was the Thursday before what we'd call Mardi Gras, and every few minutes you'd see someone in an elaborate costume and mask. Some posing, some seeming to be hurrying somewhere.
Our room was up several flights at Locanda ai Bareteri, but we had arranged a rough ETA and when we rang the bell we were expected. Our host Luca came down to meet us, and insisted on carrying both bags up. Our room was two floors up from the breakfast room and office, and was spotless, with modern bathroom, windows overlooking the quiet side street. The hotel is between Ponte di Rialto and Piazza San Marco, but could be a little tricky to find.
Well, almost anything in Venice could be tricky; our first night, in the San Lorenzo area, a young British couple heard us speaking English, asked for directions to Santa Lucia. They thought they were on the other end of the island. Hannah had her GPS, and I followed her like a puppy dog.
We wandered into the student area the first afternoon. Artistic exuberance, light reflected on water, atmospheric decay and refusal to succumb to decay. Romance and mystery in the air. It was the Thursday before what we'd call Mardi Gras, and every few minutes you'd see someone in an elaborate costume and mask. Some posing, some seeming to be hurrying somewhere.
Apr 7th, 2017, 08:38 AM
#25
Original Poster
Join Date: Mar 2006
Posts: 5,613
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
We had two nights in Venice.
Thursday evening the air turned blue and then grey in a light mist. We bought glittery masks and put them on. I had been afraid that our last-minute hotel location would be too loudly central, and had originally booked a B&B in Cannaregio. But that night, as we walked down to an almost-deserted St. Mark's Square, I wondered whether Carnavale Venice was going to be too empty and quiet. The center of the Piazza held a temporary wooden stage that sprawled out into what looked like empty shops or displays. A few people drifted around the edges.
We headed over to what Luca said was the student area around San Lorenzo, and things got more lively. I think it was Campo San Lorenzo where an outdoor costume market was set up in extravagant variety. We found a bar, Margaret Duchamp, a duo called Black Coffee performing American oldies. Later we ran across Café Noir, with its casual young crowd, snacks spread out on the bar, beams, bricks, art. The barman made me a masterpiece Bellini, giving me a chance to cry Bellissimo. We decided this was our Venice local.
Hannah's just finished her master's studies and is pinching pennies to live in London, so the cheap, young and casual suits her just fine. She tends to eat a late afternoon apple and then not be particularly hungry for supper. Me, too, normally, but when in Venice I wanted at least one real Venetian meal. We had peeked into Luca-recommended Antico Pizzo, down a little side alley north of Rialto, Thursday a little too late for lunch, were waved away. Luca described it as looking bad on the outside and with a grouchy proprietor, so we decided to give it another try on Friday lunch. Loved it. The waiter's English was even more minimal than my Italian, but he won my heart even before he called Hannah "la bella signorina." I went for the pescato della giornata. He came back to explain they'd run out of the fish of the day, but would do their best.
Wow. Grilled monkfish, squid, shrimp with grilled vegetables, all so fresh and perfect. A couple of tables full of Italian families ordered course after course, and a northern European couple tried to bridge the language gap with English. A proprietress, young and friendly, came in later with her excellent English and made sure everyone was happy. I certainly was.
I like it that Italians don't bother to learn much English. They have a perfectly beautiful language.
I don't normally want things, particularly, but our first day in Venice I found myself craving some really beautiful shoes and a purse, plain but made of excellent leather. And a fine woolen coat. Could it have been the shop windows working on me? I didn't get any of those things, for packing among other reasons. By Florence the fit had passed.
Friday we toured the Accademia, found it beautiful, decided that the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian gave painters the excuse to depict a naked young body. Museums in Venice didn't seem necessary, with all the beauty on display outside. More -- and more elaborate -- costumes filled the streets and posed on bridges. Louis XIV, Casanova, Pierrot, immense skirts, huge beaks, an Ent, I think, walked among us.
Thursday evening the air turned blue and then grey in a light mist. We bought glittery masks and put them on. I had been afraid that our last-minute hotel location would be too loudly central, and had originally booked a B&B in Cannaregio. But that night, as we walked down to an almost-deserted St. Mark's Square, I wondered whether Carnavale Venice was going to be too empty and quiet. The center of the Piazza held a temporary wooden stage that sprawled out into what looked like empty shops or displays. A few people drifted around the edges.
We headed over to what Luca said was the student area around San Lorenzo, and things got more lively. I think it was Campo San Lorenzo where an outdoor costume market was set up in extravagant variety. We found a bar, Margaret Duchamp, a duo called Black Coffee performing American oldies. Later we ran across Café Noir, with its casual young crowd, snacks spread out on the bar, beams, bricks, art. The barman made me a masterpiece Bellini, giving me a chance to cry Bellissimo. We decided this was our Venice local.
Hannah's just finished her master's studies and is pinching pennies to live in London, so the cheap, young and casual suits her just fine. She tends to eat a late afternoon apple and then not be particularly hungry for supper. Me, too, normally, but when in Venice I wanted at least one real Venetian meal. We had peeked into Luca-recommended Antico Pizzo, down a little side alley north of Rialto, Thursday a little too late for lunch, were waved away. Luca described it as looking bad on the outside and with a grouchy proprietor, so we decided to give it another try on Friday lunch. Loved it. The waiter's English was even more minimal than my Italian, but he won my heart even before he called Hannah "la bella signorina." I went for the pescato della giornata. He came back to explain they'd run out of the fish of the day, but would do their best.
Wow. Grilled monkfish, squid, shrimp with grilled vegetables, all so fresh and perfect. A couple of tables full of Italian families ordered course after course, and a northern European couple tried to bridge the language gap with English. A proprietress, young and friendly, came in later with her excellent English and made sure everyone was happy. I certainly was.
I like it that Italians don't bother to learn much English. They have a perfectly beautiful language.
I don't normally want things, particularly, but our first day in Venice I found myself craving some really beautiful shoes and a purse, plain but made of excellent leather. And a fine woolen coat. Could it have been the shop windows working on me? I didn't get any of those things, for packing among other reasons. By Florence the fit had passed.
Friday we toured the Accademia, found it beautiful, decided that the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian gave painters the excuse to depict a naked young body. Museums in Venice didn't seem necessary, with all the beauty on display outside. More -- and more elaborate -- costumes filled the streets and posed on bridges. Louis XIV, Casanova, Pierrot, immense skirts, huge beaks, an Ent, I think, walked among us.
Apr 7th, 2017, 12:57 PM
#26
in case you ever find yourself checking out of an Earl's Court hotel in the morning and have an evening event at the House of Lords followed by a late evening train to Gatwick North and you're not certain whether it will be Waterloo Thameslink or Victoria Gatwick Express>>>>
should that eventually ever arise, I will be sure to bear that tip in mind, Stoke. lol! and lol the acid flashback, not to mention the Brixton Band venue! i assume that it was the principessa who found out about that event ...or?
i too have fallen foul of the craving you describe; I gave into mine and somehow managed to squeeze into my luggage a beautifully colourful and rather modern print of Venice which adorns the wall above our fireplace, and in Florence a purse [english meaning!] which i bought at the airport for ¼ of what I'd seen them going for in the city. but there is no way to compete with those beautiful carnival costumes, is there? I think I came across that square with all the costume stalls, though sadly I missed out on the Cafe Noir. Next time!!! One of my favourite paintings of all time is in the Accademia and I would happily pay the price of admission just to see Veronese's "Feast in the House of Levi" again, which I love even more every time I see it.
should that eventually ever arise, I will be sure to bear that tip in mind, Stoke. lol! and lol the acid flashback, not to mention the Brixton Band venue! i assume that it was the principessa who found out about that event ...or?
i too have fallen foul of the craving you describe; I gave into mine and somehow managed to squeeze into my luggage a beautifully colourful and rather modern print of Venice which adorns the wall above our fireplace, and in Florence a purse [english meaning!] which i bought at the airport for ¼ of what I'd seen them going for in the city. but there is no way to compete with those beautiful carnival costumes, is there? I think I came across that square with all the costume stalls, though sadly I missed out on the Cafe Noir. Next time!!! One of my favourite paintings of all time is in the Accademia and I would happily pay the price of admission just to see Veronese's "Feast in the House of Levi" again, which I love even more every time I see it.
Sep 8th, 2017, 08:50 AM
#28
Original Poster
Join Date: Mar 2006
Posts: 5,613
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Wow, yes, Ann. I have to admit I didn't pay special attention to the Feast in House of Levi, but hope to have another chance someday. Preferably in the week leading up to Carnevale, or better the few days before the weekend and the few days after Ash Wednesday, to watch the spectacle grow, flow, and ebb. I can see how people could become Carnevale junkies, come back every year, become amazing-looking and go to balls.
I have gathered courage to speed through this report, because she and I are thinking about our next trip, and I have many questions.
A BIT MORE VENICE
Mostly we wandered, looked, sipped aperol spritz, hung out and talked. I wanted to see the original Ghetto, now 501 years old and a quiet haven on the increasingly bustling Friday evening. We missed seeing a production of Il Servitore di due Padroni, the original of Richard Bean's One Man, Two Guvnors that we loved in London several years ago. I think it would be fun even without much Italian, and will insist if I ever get another chance.
The stationery shops are irresistible. Cards and notepaper, intricate scenes in lapis blue, gold on high quality paper. I bought my mother a birthday card that I wanted to get off right away, was told to buy stamps at one of the newsstands. Later, in Florence, I realized that the different privatized postal services require you to find one of their own mailboxes, which will be located at a newsstand several blocks from wherever you happen to be. I never did learn whether there's an Italian postal service anymore. 2.20 € for even a postcard stamp seems steep, and it took the birthday card close to a month to arrive in the US Midwest.
Saturday morning we enjoyed another leisurely breakfast at Locanda ai Bareteri, a family feeling sort of a place. I don't know whether the gentile Signora who made our cappuccino was Luca's mother, didn't want to ask. Luca's lovely daughter, maybe nine or so, was at breakfast dressed in a Spanish flamenco style dress, helping out with clearing tables. I took a cue from our Antico Pizzo waiter and called her "la Bella Signorina." When we checked out she insisted on carrying my bag down, which must have weighed half what she did. I would definitely stay there again, assuming can stay able bodied enough for steep climb to rooms. Quiet at night, tall windows with metal shutters against noise and light, everything done well.
I like to wake up early, go nose around when the city is waking up. I watched laundry boats with loads of dirty and fresh linens, boats with boxes of oranges and others with bags of garbage, speeding around tight corners and ducking under low bridges with reckless confidence. A short man walked by with a big white crate on his head. I headed north to Caffé Rialto on Merceria il Aprile, had gotten my cappuccino and started to write in my journal: "Venice 0720 Saturday. Drunken bum yelling at young Asian counter woman, demanding she put more Jack Daniels in his coffee -- they're arguing loudly. She goes to the door looking for Polizia -- he finally leaves after spitting in her face. She runs and hits him in the back as he leaves. I had been ready to intervene if necessary. She seemed so young and upset. They definitely don't pay her enough for that sort of thing.
On the way back to the Locanda, I followed a woman dressed all in pale fluffy blue like an American Southern Belle with wide ruffled hat, hoop skirts. I found her mysterious, never did see her face. Was she on her way home from the night before? She seemed confused, walking down dead ends and back, pausing as if perplexed in Piazza Rialto, finally faltered over the bridge.
After breakfast, Hannah and I made our way through the now packed streets to Piazza San Marco. One amazing costume after another. We walked along the waterfront past the Ducal Palace, watched more fabulous White Swans and Don Juans disembark from ferries. We sat in the sunshine, precious to Hannah after a winter in London, and listened to street musicians. Then elbowed our way back to the Locanda, rolled suitcases to the Rialto stop for our only Vaporetto ride -- full but not crazy crowded because going against the flow -- to Santa Lucia station and our Florence train.
I have gathered courage to speed through this report, because she and I are thinking about our next trip, and I have many questions.
A BIT MORE VENICE
Mostly we wandered, looked, sipped aperol spritz, hung out and talked. I wanted to see the original Ghetto, now 501 years old and a quiet haven on the increasingly bustling Friday evening. We missed seeing a production of Il Servitore di due Padroni, the original of Richard Bean's One Man, Two Guvnors that we loved in London several years ago. I think it would be fun even without much Italian, and will insist if I ever get another chance.
The stationery shops are irresistible. Cards and notepaper, intricate scenes in lapis blue, gold on high quality paper. I bought my mother a birthday card that I wanted to get off right away, was told to buy stamps at one of the newsstands. Later, in Florence, I realized that the different privatized postal services require you to find one of their own mailboxes, which will be located at a newsstand several blocks from wherever you happen to be. I never did learn whether there's an Italian postal service anymore. 2.20 € for even a postcard stamp seems steep, and it took the birthday card close to a month to arrive in the US Midwest.
Saturday morning we enjoyed another leisurely breakfast at Locanda ai Bareteri, a family feeling sort of a place. I don't know whether the gentile Signora who made our cappuccino was Luca's mother, didn't want to ask. Luca's lovely daughter, maybe nine or so, was at breakfast dressed in a Spanish flamenco style dress, helping out with clearing tables. I took a cue from our Antico Pizzo waiter and called her "la Bella Signorina." When we checked out she insisted on carrying my bag down, which must have weighed half what she did. I would definitely stay there again, assuming can stay able bodied enough for steep climb to rooms. Quiet at night, tall windows with metal shutters against noise and light, everything done well.
I like to wake up early, go nose around when the city is waking up. I watched laundry boats with loads of dirty and fresh linens, boats with boxes of oranges and others with bags of garbage, speeding around tight corners and ducking under low bridges with reckless confidence. A short man walked by with a big white crate on his head. I headed north to Caffé Rialto on Merceria il Aprile, had gotten my cappuccino and started to write in my journal: "Venice 0720 Saturday. Drunken bum yelling at young Asian counter woman, demanding she put more Jack Daniels in his coffee -- they're arguing loudly. She goes to the door looking for Polizia -- he finally leaves after spitting in her face. She runs and hits him in the back as he leaves. I had been ready to intervene if necessary. She seemed so young and upset. They definitely don't pay her enough for that sort of thing.
On the way back to the Locanda, I followed a woman dressed all in pale fluffy blue like an American Southern Belle with wide ruffled hat, hoop skirts. I found her mysterious, never did see her face. Was she on her way home from the night before? She seemed confused, walking down dead ends and back, pausing as if perplexed in Piazza Rialto, finally faltered over the bridge.
After breakfast, Hannah and I made our way through the now packed streets to Piazza San Marco. One amazing costume after another. We walked along the waterfront past the Ducal Palace, watched more fabulous White Swans and Don Juans disembark from ferries. We sat in the sunshine, precious to Hannah after a winter in London, and listened to street musicians. Then elbowed our way back to the Locanda, rolled suitcases to the Rialto stop for our only Vaporetto ride -- full but not crazy crowded because going against the flow -- to Santa Lucia station and our Florence train.
Sep 8th, 2017, 11:11 AM
#29
Later, in Florence, I realized that the different privatized postal services require you to find one of their own mailboxes, which will be located at a newsstand several blocks from wherever you happen to be. I never did learn whether there's an Italian postal service anymore. 2.20 € for even a postcard stamp seems steep, and it took the birthday card close to a month to arrive in the US Midwest.>>
I fell for that one too, Stoke, in a shop in Venice where I bought postcards and she sold me "francobolli". As I walked away from the shop something alerted my suspicions [perhaps the price was wrong, probably too high as you say] so i looked and just as you found, they were stickers for some "private postal service". So I went back and said I asked for stamps not these bits of paper and after a bit of protest, she refunded my money.
Yes the Italians do have a fully functioning postal service, with proper post offices, albeit some of their post boxes look as if they were last emptied before WW2. According to wiki a stamp for a postcard from Italy to the EU is €0.65 and to the US €0.85 so you were done.
Nice to see you back here. I too was fascinated by the revellers' comings and goings; I quite often got a vaporetto late at night so I was in company with many of the Carnival goers. The most noticeable to me were the couple who had a child's pram in which they transported their dogs, also in costume. Sweet!
See you in Florence!
I fell for that one too, Stoke, in a shop in Venice where I bought postcards and she sold me "francobolli". As I walked away from the shop something alerted my suspicions [perhaps the price was wrong, probably too high as you say] so i looked and just as you found, they were stickers for some "private postal service". So I went back and said I asked for stamps not these bits of paper and after a bit of protest, she refunded my money.
Yes the Italians do have a fully functioning postal service, with proper post offices, albeit some of their post boxes look as if they were last emptied before WW2. According to wiki a stamp for a postcard from Italy to the EU is €0.65 and to the US €0.85 so you were done.
Nice to see you back here. I too was fascinated by the revellers' comings and goings; I quite often got a vaporetto late at night so I was in company with many of the Carnival goers. The most noticeable to me were the couple who had a child's pram in which they transported their dogs, also in costume. Sweet!
See you in Florence!
Sep 18th, 2017, 04:59 PM
#30
Original Poster
Join Date: Mar 2006
Posts: 5,613
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
It would be a gas to reproduce your travels, Ann, since I can't invite very well myself along. You always do fun things.
I expected beautiful Tuscan scenery from the Venice to Florence train. Wrong! After Bologna, which I hear is a lively city to visit, it's almost all tunnel. I sat by the window while Hannah napped, and no sooner thought, "At last! Tusc....!" when we plunged back into darkness. A second here, three seconds there, of light Admittedly better and far faster then creeping up and down mountain passes, but still. One thing I craved on this trip was setting foot in the countryside. Next time.
Both of our intercity city trains were Italotreno. New trains, comfortable, cheaper than trenitalia. At one point I had to call customer service from the US because the website would not accept my US address or something, and was transferred to a man whose broken English was the best they had to offer. I was just starting basic Italian, and preferred a transaction that I could understand. I seemed to be the last person on earth he wanted to talk to, but, without hand gestures, we had our tickets.
Hannah had been to Florence as a teenager with her sister, and they stayed at the Hotel Bavaria, loved it. We disembarked at Santa Maria Novella and rolled through the gritty streets, taking a line through the Duomo to the hotel. Florence seemed gritty at first, compared to the watery streets of Venice.
We'd had an early breakfast and no lunch, so started considering light dinner options that would be open at 1700 or so. Hannah's boss had loaned her a DK Italy guidebook that mentioned Trattoria ZáZá, not too far away, so we gave that a try. Fun interior. We ordered pizza and zuppa di verdure, watched the wait staff set tables for evening rush. Our meal arrived lukewarm, having sat under lamps as our waitress folded napkins, and I would have been fairly satisfied. Hannah, having hostessed at good restaurants in college, was having none of that, politely sent it back. Apologies! from the manager and soon hot soup and amazing hot pizza. Since then I sometimes ask myself What Would Hannah Do?
I expected beautiful Tuscan scenery from the Venice to Florence train. Wrong! After Bologna, which I hear is a lively city to visit, it's almost all tunnel. I sat by the window while Hannah napped, and no sooner thought, "At last! Tusc....!" when we plunged back into darkness. A second here, three seconds there, of light Admittedly better and far faster then creeping up and down mountain passes, but still. One thing I craved on this trip was setting foot in the countryside. Next time.
Both of our intercity city trains were Italotreno. New trains, comfortable, cheaper than trenitalia. At one point I had to call customer service from the US because the website would not accept my US address or something, and was transferred to a man whose broken English was the best they had to offer. I was just starting basic Italian, and preferred a transaction that I could understand. I seemed to be the last person on earth he wanted to talk to, but, without hand gestures, we had our tickets.
Hannah had been to Florence as a teenager with her sister, and they stayed at the Hotel Bavaria, loved it. We disembarked at Santa Maria Novella and rolled through the gritty streets, taking a line through the Duomo to the hotel. Florence seemed gritty at first, compared to the watery streets of Venice.
We'd had an early breakfast and no lunch, so started considering light dinner options that would be open at 1700 or so. Hannah's boss had loaned her a DK Italy guidebook that mentioned Trattoria ZáZá, not too far away, so we gave that a try. Fun interior. We ordered pizza and zuppa di verdure, watched the wait staff set tables for evening rush. Our meal arrived lukewarm, having sat under lamps as our waitress folded napkins, and I would have been fairly satisfied. Hannah, having hostessed at good restaurants in college, was having none of that, politely sent it back. Apologies! from the manager and soon hot soup and amazing hot pizza. Since then I sometimes ask myself What Would Hannah Do?
Sep 18th, 2017, 11:33 PM
#31
Since then I sometimes ask myself What Would Hannah Do?>>
by the sound of it an excellent way to travel - just like a princess in fact.
I agree that Florence can seem gritty after Venice but IMO it has its own charms, which are not always to be discovered in the major tourist haunts. I hope that it grew on you!
by the sound of it an excellent way to travel - just like a princess in fact.
I agree that Florence can seem gritty after Venice but IMO it has its own charms, which are not always to be discovered in the major tourist haunts. I hope that it grew on you!
Sep 19th, 2017, 05:47 AM
#32
Original Poster
Join Date: Mar 2006
Posts: 5,613
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Yes, Ann, Florence did grow on me, but I really needed more time there. Three nights was not enough. I'd have ideally spent our ten Italy days in two cities at most. As my first visit there and Hannah's second after ten years, we settled on a buffet approach.
Later that evening we walked to the Oltrarno for apertivo at VOLUME. Lavish bar snacks with your drink. American 50's-60's cool music, young crowd. We were on the lookout for live music, never quite managed it even on a Saturday night. An Oltrarno coffeehouse seemed to promise music, turned out to be a political gathering for young people. We sat in a corner awhile with polite uncomprehending faces, then wandered on. Our first gelato tastes (another Hannah good idea) at a brightly lit gelateria just south of the river were a disappointment, so we decided to wait for the real thing.
Sunday morning we walked up to PIAZZALE MICHELANGELO, a warm hike even on a March morning. So worth it, especially fortified with a cappuccino at IL RIFRULLO, the sweet brunch spot at the bottom of the street. Climb the winding streets with staircase shortcuts to the plaza at the top. We sat on the steps taking in the view of the city, people watching as a bonus.
The UFFIZI was unlike any museum I've ever visited. Necessarily, probably, because of its popularity, you either book online, book a tour, or stand in an immense queue. We had prebooked tickets, so after trial and error I figured out where in the crowds to pick them up. Then, to go outside and join Hannah I took what seemed the most obvious way out. Wrong, forbidden from the crowd control point of view. A guard sternly asked what I thought I was doing. I'm afraid I blurted out a few times, in the stress of the moment, "Mi piace!" (it pleases me) instead of my intended "Mi dispiace!" (I'm sorry.) Here some pleading hand gestures might have helped. He let me off with a warning.
Entering the museum you're directed in a one-way river of humanity past the treasures. So worth it finally to see such long well-known beauty in person. I squeezed past the crowd up close to Primavera's dainty bare feet to admire the brushstrokes. Ah. Next time I'll keep museum fatigue in mind and breeze past works of lesser interest, saving my attention for the best. Still we got much delight from paintings we'd never seen reproduced.
Shopping at il MERCATO CENTRALE is a little like Borough: fun abundance but less hip, with just the right amount of crowds. We bought olives, bread and fruit inside, and then I got a pair of fine leather gloves in royal blue at one outside stall, a royal linen blouse at another. The leatherwork stall stitched up a small rip in the gusset while we sat in the sunshine.
We missed the start of a morning walking tour, wandered on our own.
One of my favorite finds was CAFFÉ VERONA, on the fifth floor of Museo degli Innocenti. Panoramic views above the city, Duomo level, sunshine, the hills beyond.
Later that evening we walked to the Oltrarno for apertivo at VOLUME. Lavish bar snacks with your drink. American 50's-60's cool music, young crowd. We were on the lookout for live music, never quite managed it even on a Saturday night. An Oltrarno coffeehouse seemed to promise music, turned out to be a political gathering for young people. We sat in a corner awhile with polite uncomprehending faces, then wandered on. Our first gelato tastes (another Hannah good idea) at a brightly lit gelateria just south of the river were a disappointment, so we decided to wait for the real thing.
Sunday morning we walked up to PIAZZALE MICHELANGELO, a warm hike even on a March morning. So worth it, especially fortified with a cappuccino at IL RIFRULLO, the sweet brunch spot at the bottom of the street. Climb the winding streets with staircase shortcuts to the plaza at the top. We sat on the steps taking in the view of the city, people watching as a bonus.
The UFFIZI was unlike any museum I've ever visited. Necessarily, probably, because of its popularity, you either book online, book a tour, or stand in an immense queue. We had prebooked tickets, so after trial and error I figured out where in the crowds to pick them up. Then, to go outside and join Hannah I took what seemed the most obvious way out. Wrong, forbidden from the crowd control point of view. A guard sternly asked what I thought I was doing. I'm afraid I blurted out a few times, in the stress of the moment, "Mi piace!" (it pleases me) instead of my intended "Mi dispiace!" (I'm sorry.) Here some pleading hand gestures might have helped. He let me off with a warning.
Entering the museum you're directed in a one-way river of humanity past the treasures. So worth it finally to see such long well-known beauty in person. I squeezed past the crowd up close to Primavera's dainty bare feet to admire the brushstrokes. Ah. Next time I'll keep museum fatigue in mind and breeze past works of lesser interest, saving my attention for the best. Still we got much delight from paintings we'd never seen reproduced.
Shopping at il MERCATO CENTRALE is a little like Borough: fun abundance but less hip, with just the right amount of crowds. We bought olives, bread and fruit inside, and then I got a pair of fine leather gloves in royal blue at one outside stall, a royal linen blouse at another. The leatherwork stall stitched up a small rip in the gusset while we sat in the sunshine.
We missed the start of a morning walking tour, wandered on our own.
One of my favorite finds was CAFFÉ VERONA, on the fifth floor of Museo degli Innocenti. Panoramic views above the city, Duomo level, sunshine, the hills beyond.
Sep 19th, 2017, 08:48 AM
#33
Perhaps we were lucky with the Uffizi, Stoke. We booked mega -early tickets by phone, endured the groans of our kids at being turfed out of bed at sparrow-fart [or stupid o'clock as DD would have it] and thus were inside the doors and well on our way round the treasures before the hordes caught up with us. Of course they did find us eventually, but their pace was faster than ours so they overtook and we had peace for a while before the next lot turned up. We rewarded ourselves with a late 2nd breakfast in the cafe, and then continued round the museum, our kids being rewarded for their patience by a wonderful temporary Leonardo exhibition in the basement.
Frankly, from what I have heard of the crowds I wouldn't bother again but would head for other delights such as the Museo degli Innocenti, of which I have never heard. Next time!
Keep it coming - I'm enjoying it very much.
Frankly, from what I have heard of the crowds I wouldn't bother again but would head for other delights such as the Museo degli Innocenti, of which I have never heard. Next time!
Keep it coming - I'm enjoying it very much.
Sep 19th, 2017, 08:50 AM
#34
Join Date: Jan 2008
Posts: 13,397
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
What a thoroughly lovely report. The play Art that you saw rings a bell, was it about a young man who buys a painting that he loves but his two friends see only a blank canvas? If it is, then we saw it many, many years ago here in Sydney and loved it.
Our local shoe repairer is a lovely chap whose business is called 'Pete the Pom'. I don't take shoes anywhere else. He's incredibly honest and will tell you, in a most charming way, if your shoes aren't worth repairing and hand them back to you. Or he'll say, "very tasty, my lovely, they'll be ready on (insert a day)". I would say that he has a cockney accent but I don't know which part of London that is.
Looking forward to the next instalment.
Our local shoe repairer is a lovely chap whose business is called 'Pete the Pom'. I don't take shoes anywhere else. He's incredibly honest and will tell you, in a most charming way, if your shoes aren't worth repairing and hand them back to you. Or he'll say, "very tasty, my lovely, they'll be ready on (insert a day)". I would say that he has a cockney accent but I don't know which part of London that is.
Looking forward to the next instalment.
Sep 19th, 2017, 05:44 PM
#35
Original Poster
Join Date: Mar 2006
Posts: 5,613
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
I'd say your Uffizi result was due to excellent planning and execution, not luck, Ann. Second breakfast in the café was the master stroke there, along with coaxing everyone out at an indecent hour.
Aw, thank you, cathies. Yes! that is Art, and it was so fun. My sympathies shifted from one character to another. I sure wouldn't have paid that kind of money for a plain white canvas. And yes, a good shoe repair person is a treasure. I'd love to have a Pete in my town.
The Museo degli Innocenti has Brunelleschi loggia crowned with della Robbia plaques visible from the plaza opposite, and well worth a visit. You can enjoy the Café Verona to refresh yourself after the Accademia maybe, or Ss. Annunciata as we did, then visit the collection with some fine pieces, even a Botticelli, and no crowds. People could leave babies in a kind of orphanage turntable without fear of being detected. Renaissance values in action.
Ss. Annunciata next door is an amazing church, with Medici tombs, gilt, silver, brilliant frescoes, side chapels in different styles. Check closing times to avoid disappointment.
Aw, thank you, cathies. Yes! that is Art, and it was so fun. My sympathies shifted from one character to another. I sure wouldn't have paid that kind of money for a plain white canvas. And yes, a good shoe repair person is a treasure. I'd love to have a Pete in my town.
The Museo degli Innocenti has Brunelleschi loggia crowned with della Robbia plaques visible from the plaza opposite, and well worth a visit. You can enjoy the Café Verona to refresh yourself after the Accademia maybe, or Ss. Annunciata as we did, then visit the collection with some fine pieces, even a Botticelli, and no crowds. People could leave babies in a kind of orphanage turntable without fear of being detected. Renaissance values in action.
Ss. Annunciata next door is an amazing church, with Medici tombs, gilt, silver, brilliant frescoes, side chapels in different styles. Check closing times to avoid disappointment.
Sep 20th, 2017, 01:13 PM
#38
I would say that he has a cockney accent but I don't know which part of London that is. >>
technically a cockney is a Londoner who is born within the sound of Bow Bells, those being the bells of St Mary-le-Bow Church, Cheapside, which is in the City of London and therefore in what may roughly be called East London, though it is very much at the centre of the city now:
http://www.stmarylebow.co.uk/#/bow-bells/4535373284
Mr Doolittle, as played by Stanley Holloway gives a pretty good impression of a cockney accent in My Fair Lady; Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins gets it hopelessly and disastrously wrong.
technically a cockney is a Londoner who is born within the sound of Bow Bells, those being the bells of St Mary-le-Bow Church, Cheapside, which is in the City of London and therefore in what may roughly be called East London, though it is very much at the centre of the city now:
http://www.stmarylebow.co.uk/#/bow-bells/4535373284
Mr Doolittle, as played by Stanley Holloway gives a pretty good impression of a cockney accent in My Fair Lady; Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins gets it hopelessly and disastrously wrong.
Sep 21st, 2017, 05:35 PM
#40
Original Poster
Join Date: Mar 2006
Posts: 5,613
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
As a little kid, Van Dyke sounded fine to me. I read that despite being surrounded by British people during filming, no one ever tipped him off that his accent needed work. Too polite? Someone should make a youtube video of him saying a few lines, followed by the correct delivery. I'm afraid my ear is still tin.
We had apertivo another evening at the SOUL KITCHEN, good deal for a light supper. €10 perfectly good glass of wine, hot buffet. The bar filled up quickly with the younger set who, like Hannah, watch their pennies. A student-looking German took up a 3-top table with his laptop and made many trips to the buffet.
We hadn't made plans that night, but walking past the TEATRO VERDI FIRENZE going back to the hotel we saw that Parsons Dance (NYC) was about to appear. We bought the only two remaining good €22 tickets, walked on in, found ourselves in a box with good sightline. There were some wonderful pieces (well, a few not much more imaginative than at the excellent COCA in St Louis where our daughters studied dance.) But the amazing ones! One had the theater completely dark, even exit lights off, and a solo dancer, long loose hair, dramatic lighting that became a strobe catching her at the height of her leaps so she appeared to fly. Blackness - jeté - black - jeté - black - pas de chat, etc. It was magical. Another humorous piece had darkened stage except spotlights on arms in a row; fun choreography. No intermission. As we left we saw several firemen in the lobby, I'm guessing as a precaution because of the darkened room. I'd love to see that show again.
We had apertivo another evening at the SOUL KITCHEN, good deal for a light supper. €10 perfectly good glass of wine, hot buffet. The bar filled up quickly with the younger set who, like Hannah, watch their pennies. A student-looking German took up a 3-top table with his laptop and made many trips to the buffet.
We hadn't made plans that night, but walking past the TEATRO VERDI FIRENZE going back to the hotel we saw that Parsons Dance (NYC) was about to appear. We bought the only two remaining good €22 tickets, walked on in, found ourselves in a box with good sightline. There were some wonderful pieces (well, a few not much more imaginative than at the excellent COCA in St Louis where our daughters studied dance.) But the amazing ones! One had the theater completely dark, even exit lights off, and a solo dancer, long loose hair, dramatic lighting that became a strobe catching her at the height of her leaps so she appeared to fly. Blackness - jeté - black - jeté - black - pas de chat, etc. It was magical. Another humorous piece had darkened stage except spotlights on arms in a row; fun choreography. No intermission. As we left we saw several firemen in the lobby, I'm guessing as a precaution because of the darkened room. I'd love to see that show again.
