We woke up a little more bright and early this morning (for me way to bright and way too early due to my 4am alert state). Off to Lake Garda. A quick little bus and train jaunt and 14 minutes later we are walking toward the gorgeous lake. I wouldn't have put this Lake on my to do list if Martina and Claire hadn't been so keen on it. I'm glad they were.
We were quite surprised to find that the ferry we wanted to take to the nearby stopping point only ran a few times a day. We had four hours to wait. So, we scrapped that plan and decided on Bardolino instead. To prepare ourselves for the arduous 45 minute boat ride :), we had to seek sustenance from a 'very Italian' restaurant near the harbor. We ordered and the waiter looked at us and said, 'I don't think that will all fit on the table.' We are three women without fear of food.
Martina's tuna and roasted rosemary potatoes. Claire's ceaser salad and chips (french fries). My beans and onions, roasted vegetables and roasted rosemary potatoes. Bread Basket. Water. It was a delicious meal. Please note: no spaghtetti marinara to be found.
Bardolino proved to be a stunning choice. A few photogenic stops on the ferry ride and we disembarked. We window shopped, Claire and Martina ate gelato, and finally we sat by the lake for at least a good hour. They jumped into the water for a little dip, while Juni and I sat in the shade. She tried to eat leaves. I tried to write and read poetry. Neither of us were very successful.
Then, back to the ferry, back to Peschiera, then back to Verona. Then the hunt for food. 8:30pm. Last night in Verona. Walking up and down streets trying to find an acceptable restaurant. Acceptable: not touristy, Moe friendly, and pizza (for Claire). We were on the edge of giving up, when suddenly, out of the fog (okay, no fog in sight) we stumbled across a cute little restaurant along the river and looking very friendly. We sat down and didn't get up for two hours.
It was a last night in Verona meal made for the gluttonous. When we placed our order, the waiter smiled and said, 'Okay, we need anther table.' He scooted over a second table so that it could hold all our food. Twice in one day. This takes real skill and culinary dedication. Three courses, a bottle of wine, and dessert + dessert wine later, and we left three very satisfied women. A truly decadent and wonderful meal. To top it off, Juni slept the entire evening. Walking home was almost bittersweet.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Verona, Day 3: Church Pinball + Operatic Tragedy
A lazy morning in Verona thanks to good sleep and happy Juni. We finally leave around noon in search of our opera tix and lunch. The crowds around the Arena are thick, perhaps due to the evening or just the awesome imposing nature of the historic building.
We hunt down lunch off the Arena because 2 hours after breakfast it's definitely time for lunch. I had risotto with porcini mushrooms (yeah for no spaghetti marinara), while Martina and Claire dove into gorgonzola and walnut pizza and salad. No afternoon wine today due to leftover headaches from yesterday's one glass indulgence. Margaret's cousin Dave and his wife Marlena joined us, so it was a very merry lunch indeed. We heard their travel adventures and mined them for good stops on our afternoon meander.
Meander we did in a game of church pinball: San Lorenzo, San Anastasia and the Duomo. From the simple Lorenzo to the ornate Anastasia. From the quiet, serene music in Lorenzo to a shock of history (three churches in one) at the Duomo. The pinball of taking cameras out, putting them in, taking shawls off, putting them on.
I've just gone through the day's photos. I really am obsessed with Italian windows and fading frescoes. I could make one of those cheesy posters of 'Italian Windows' like you can find the 'Doors of Ireland' posters everywhere. Why are balconies and shutters and plants so captivating?
It amazes me how nonchalant Italians can be about frescoes indoors and out. Age, time, weather, pollution--all indifferent to the fading paint. I wonder what this city must have looked like with all its facades vivid and fresh, telling stories and histories. There's such texture to these buildings as colors and layers of paint and plaster fade.
We eat sorbet on stone steps and wait for a church to open. We watch as a hearse passes and mourners in smart business attire kiss each other and smile. We hope the rain stays away.
Then, the Opera. We leave Juni with a babysitter and off we go. The arena is crowded at every entrance. We stand in the long line for the cheap seats, make our way up the ancient stone steps, buy our cushions, and find our space. We pack in like sardines, and we try not to kick the butts of the people in front of us or lean longingly back on the knees behind us (oh, too have something to lean on!). We watch all the posh people meander into their reserved seats. Except for the cramping back and fidgety legs for a few hours, our seats really are the best seats in the house. The whole arena lies before us.
We buy wine from the vendor and he pours it into paper pepsi cups. I buy a souvenir libretto. There are no names of performers, no list of the various movements/arias/etc. But a line by line translation is not so bad! We wait for the gong and the opera to begin. The sky is a perfect blue, the breeze crisp but comfortable.
What a spectacular performance from the simple but intricate set design to the setting to the orchestra to the voices. I will post photos, but what a sight. Soon we sit in plitch black, and everything focuses on the stage. At one point, at least 60 people weave on the three different interlinked stages. Through my binoculars I watch as the heroine belts out her last words, falling to the stage in a heap. An unexpectedly moving death, since it took a whole act to happen...
One of those evenings I will always carry with me. Good friends, gorgeous weather, stunning music.
So I sign off with an espresso buzz still going at 4am, 14 hours after dosage. Tomorrow, Lake Garda.
We hunt down lunch off the Arena because 2 hours after breakfast it's definitely time for lunch. I had risotto with porcini mushrooms (yeah for no spaghetti marinara), while Martina and Claire dove into gorgonzola and walnut pizza and salad. No afternoon wine today due to leftover headaches from yesterday's one glass indulgence. Margaret's cousin Dave and his wife Marlena joined us, so it was a very merry lunch indeed. We heard their travel adventures and mined them for good stops on our afternoon meander.
Meander we did in a game of church pinball: San Lorenzo, San Anastasia and the Duomo. From the simple Lorenzo to the ornate Anastasia. From the quiet, serene music in Lorenzo to a shock of history (three churches in one) at the Duomo. The pinball of taking cameras out, putting them in, taking shawls off, putting them on.
I've just gone through the day's photos. I really am obsessed with Italian windows and fading frescoes. I could make one of those cheesy posters of 'Italian Windows' like you can find the 'Doors of Ireland' posters everywhere. Why are balconies and shutters and plants so captivating?
It amazes me how nonchalant Italians can be about frescoes indoors and out. Age, time, weather, pollution--all indifferent to the fading paint. I wonder what this city must have looked like with all its facades vivid and fresh, telling stories and histories. There's such texture to these buildings as colors and layers of paint and plaster fade.
We eat sorbet on stone steps and wait for a church to open. We watch as a hearse passes and mourners in smart business attire kiss each other and smile. We hope the rain stays away.
Then, the Opera. We leave Juni with a babysitter and off we go. The arena is crowded at every entrance. We stand in the long line for the cheap seats, make our way up the ancient stone steps, buy our cushions, and find our space. We pack in like sardines, and we try not to kick the butts of the people in front of us or lean longingly back on the knees behind us (oh, too have something to lean on!). We watch all the posh people meander into their reserved seats. Except for the cramping back and fidgety legs for a few hours, our seats really are the best seats in the house. The whole arena lies before us.
We buy wine from the vendor and he pours it into paper pepsi cups. I buy a souvenir libretto. There are no names of performers, no list of the various movements/arias/etc. But a line by line translation is not so bad! We wait for the gong and the opera to begin. The sky is a perfect blue, the breeze crisp but comfortable.
What a spectacular performance from the simple but intricate set design to the setting to the orchestra to the voices. I will post photos, but what a sight. Soon we sit in plitch black, and everything focuses on the stage. At one point, at least 60 people weave on the three different interlinked stages. Through my binoculars I watch as the heroine belts out her last words, falling to the stage in a heap. An unexpectedly moving death, since it took a whole act to happen...
One of those evenings I will always carry with me. Good friends, gorgeous weather, stunning music.
So I sign off with an espresso buzz still going at 4am, 14 hours after dosage. Tomorrow, Lake Garda.
Chicago to Verona: Late But Thankfully No Blizzard
Well, only a seven hour delay followed by a torndao warning and another delay. Arrived 8 hours late in wonderful sunny Rome. An easy train trip to Roma Termini, where seven years ago, Rana, Diane, Kristin and I bought tickets to visit Pompeii. We got free tix to the ruins and wandered the remains and murals (most with large phallis)
Today, I am sweating in the train line, waiting to buy my ticket to Verona. The clock ticking down until departure, running with 10 minutes to spare. Then, a three hour train journey. Soon, we are out of Rome and into countryside, fields of sunflowers, mountains covered in green, and a gorgeous blue sky.
The ease of having my phone turned on, so messages reach me from Claire and Martina and Federica, the woman from whom we rent the apartment. Claire has arrived. Martina and little Juni are on their way. It's a comfort to know that these little pieces fall together. I can relax on the train and daydream and enjoy the fields, not worrying about meeting up.
My heart hurts a little as we pass through Florence. I can't believe that I chose to skip Firenze on this trip. I can picture the places where I've taken my favorite photos: the church at Santa Maria Novella, Santa Croce, the Duomo. The store where I bought expensive Florentine paper.
This trip is all about the Veneto, an area of the country I first saw in 1994 over the New Year. Venice was wet and cold and half shut down. We stayed at the hostel, ate cheaply, wandered the bridges, visited the Guggenheim (phenomenal), and ate mediocre Chinese. This trip I will explore further and wider, venturing out into the countryside and other cities.
First stop: Verona.
'Romeo + Juliet' is packed in my bag, and I am ready for this somewhat haphazard writing retreat with Claire and Martina. Nothing is planned but the opera on Friday night. Espresso and vino and writing and long conversations. Yes! The rest is a pleasant mystery.
I arrive to Claire, Martina and baby Juni waiting for me. We drop by the apartment to relieve me of bags. Then, next door to the Pizzeria where Martina and Claire have coffee and dessert, while I inhale spaghetti with olive oil and garlic. The red wine a tonic after the long journey.
Today, I am sweating in the train line, waiting to buy my ticket to Verona. The clock ticking down until departure, running with 10 minutes to spare. Then, a three hour train journey. Soon, we are out of Rome and into countryside, fields of sunflowers, mountains covered in green, and a gorgeous blue sky.
The ease of having my phone turned on, so messages reach me from Claire and Martina and Federica, the woman from whom we rent the apartment. Claire has arrived. Martina and little Juni are on their way. It's a comfort to know that these little pieces fall together. I can relax on the train and daydream and enjoy the fields, not worrying about meeting up.
My heart hurts a little as we pass through Florence. I can't believe that I chose to skip Firenze on this trip. I can picture the places where I've taken my favorite photos: the church at Santa Maria Novella, Santa Croce, the Duomo. The store where I bought expensive Florentine paper.
This trip is all about the Veneto, an area of the country I first saw in 1994 over the New Year. Venice was wet and cold and half shut down. We stayed at the hostel, ate cheaply, wandered the bridges, visited the Guggenheim (phenomenal), and ate mediocre Chinese. This trip I will explore further and wider, venturing out into the countryside and other cities.
First stop: Verona.
'Romeo + Juliet' is packed in my bag, and I am ready for this somewhat haphazard writing retreat with Claire and Martina. Nothing is planned but the opera on Friday night. Espresso and vino and writing and long conversations. Yes! The rest is a pleasant mystery.
I arrive to Claire, Martina and baby Juni waiting for me. We drop by the apartment to relieve me of bags. Then, next door to the Pizzeria where Martina and Claire have coffee and dessert, while I inhale spaghetti with olive oil and garlic. The red wine a tonic after the long journey.
Verona: Tragic Love & Such
June 23
After a nice long sleep, we awaken with cups of tea and breakfast. Our landlady, Federica, shows up to collect our cash and give us a little introduction to Verona. She sees me and says she expected a 60 year old woman. Does that mean my super organized emails make her think of a travel veteran as in old, or just anally organized, aka old and set in her ways?
We head out into the city, weaving amongst ruins and shoppers. The main street we take is throbbing with people, but it's not until we're on top of an unmoving crowd that we realize we've arrived at Juliet's house. The walls are covered with graffiti. There's even a wall of gum stuck to it, serving as more romantic graffiti. People buy locks and write their names, then attach them to the gates, as to signify the permanence of their relationship, or their hope in its longevity.
We join the crowds that one by one walk up to Juliet and take a photo with her, holding her right breast for good luck. Some old men are very shy to touch her, others take a good solid hold. There is a plaque that says a copy of the statue is in Chicago, and suddenly I know exactly where it is. During my first photography class, I took a photo of her in Grant Park. Little did I know a decade later I would be here.
We meander into the Piazza Erbe and find a restaurant where we enjoy some wine (which we will regret later due to the heat) and I have my spaghetti with marinara sauce (which I've had twice now already). We then buy some fresh delicious fruit from the street vendor and begin to make our way to the Giardino Giusti, in desperate search for a spot of grass and a good nap.
When we arrive at the Giardino Giusti, they are formal gardens full of structured hedges and old statues and fountains, even a labyrinth. No spot of grass to be had. A few stone benches, but that appears to be it. We climb and push the stroller to the tippy+top, and there, finally, is a bench, a large spot of grass, and a gorgeous view of Verona. We remove sandals, let our feet and legs sink into the cool grass. Juni plays as we read, write, close our eyes to the end of the day sun.
After two hours, we meander back home, stopping at the local grocery store for the essentials: bread, olives, cheese (well not essential for me, lol), prosecco, and some wine rings. We snack, nap a little, then head out for dinner. We return to a restaurant we saw in the afternoon, a popular spot in the Piazza dei Signori, or Dante's square. Wine and spaghetti with tomato sauce (still delicious), followed by the evening walk with thousands of other people. Gelato for Claire, then home in the quiet 11pm hour.
After a nice long sleep, we awaken with cups of tea and breakfast. Our landlady, Federica, shows up to collect our cash and give us a little introduction to Verona. She sees me and says she expected a 60 year old woman. Does that mean my super organized emails make her think of a travel veteran as in old, or just anally organized, aka old and set in her ways?
We head out into the city, weaving amongst ruins and shoppers. The main street we take is throbbing with people, but it's not until we're on top of an unmoving crowd that we realize we've arrived at Juliet's house. The walls are covered with graffiti. There's even a wall of gum stuck to it, serving as more romantic graffiti. People buy locks and write their names, then attach them to the gates, as to signify the permanence of their relationship, or their hope in its longevity.
We join the crowds that one by one walk up to Juliet and take a photo with her, holding her right breast for good luck. Some old men are very shy to touch her, others take a good solid hold. There is a plaque that says a copy of the statue is in Chicago, and suddenly I know exactly where it is. During my first photography class, I took a photo of her in Grant Park. Little did I know a decade later I would be here.
We meander into the Piazza Erbe and find a restaurant where we enjoy some wine (which we will regret later due to the heat) and I have my spaghetti with marinara sauce (which I've had twice now already). We then buy some fresh delicious fruit from the street vendor and begin to make our way to the Giardino Giusti, in desperate search for a spot of grass and a good nap.
When we arrive at the Giardino Giusti, they are formal gardens full of structured hedges and old statues and fountains, even a labyrinth. No spot of grass to be had. A few stone benches, but that appears to be it. We climb and push the stroller to the tippy+top, and there, finally, is a bench, a large spot of grass, and a gorgeous view of Verona. We remove sandals, let our feet and legs sink into the cool grass. Juni plays as we read, write, close our eyes to the end of the day sun.
After two hours, we meander back home, stopping at the local grocery store for the essentials: bread, olives, cheese (well not essential for me, lol), prosecco, and some wine rings. We snack, nap a little, then head out for dinner. We return to a restaurant we saw in the afternoon, a popular spot in the Piazza dei Signori, or Dante's square. Wine and spaghetti with tomato sauce (still delicious), followed by the evening walk with thousands of other people. Gelato for Claire, then home in the quiet 11pm hour.
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