Category: 2016 – Italy

When in Rome – Part One

Thursday, June 23, Arrival in Rome
We touch down in Rome just before noon.  Fortunately for John, he has slept the entire way and we all groggily disembark into the muggy heat of the day. Immigration is the easiest that I have ever experienced and we breeze through passport control; disappointed that our passports are scanned and not stamped. We wait 20 minutes until our bags appear on the revolving carousel and push through the doors of the terminal to street beyond to find transport to Hotel Antica Locanda in the Monti district of Rome.  We appreciate the Rick Steve’s guide book advice which suggests that for parties of 2 or 3, taking a taxi into Rome is easier and more economical than taking the train and transferring to the subway.  Forty-five minutes and a set 48 Euros later, our taxi drops us off at our hotel. 


Il Vittoriano, Piazza Venezia

Our hotel is ideally situated in the old town, perched on the corner of a narrow and picturesque cobbled street. We are graciously welcomed and showed to our triple room two flights up. There are no elevators and John cheerfully carries my luggage. The room is a tiny jewel with gleaming wood floors, a brick ceiling and crystal wall sconces. The gleaming bathroom has a faux baroque mirror, a ceiling chandelier and a sleek glass shower enclosure.

Lace Curtains and Crystal Chandeliers
Ornate Bathroom Mirrow


By 2:00 P.M. after quick showers we walk through the Monti district in search of lunch.  For our family, getting our bearings in new cities when jet lagged and hungry is usually challenging and todays unfolding scenario is typical. I am hungry and my blood sugar low and want food immediately while Art wants to read menus and carefully choose where to eat our first meal. Disoriented and with John’s wishes to also consider, disharmony rises and by the time I desperately choose an outdoor café we are all snapping at each other. The food is absolutely terrible.

Colosseum

Obelisk

In spite of the disappointing meal, we manage to salvage the afternoon and walk the short distance to the Coliseum and the Roman Forum and instead of snapping at each other, we are snapping photos.  We are not up to tackling either of these sights today but wander along the perimeter taking photos and people watching. The temperature is in the high 90’s and the sun is brutal. I have left both my hat and dark glasses in the hotel and before long I feel dizzy and need to return to our air-conditioned hotel to rest. We wander slowly back and once out of the sun, I feel better. John has let his hair grow long, partially out of laziness and partially to be in character for the Pirate Festival but in Rome, the men are trimmed and stylish and John feels noticeably out of place. When we pass a barbershop John decides to get a haircut. It is air conditioned inside the two-chair shop and John asks the elderly barber the price for a haircut. It is $20 and Art and I collapse onto an ancient couch and John mimes the style of hair cut he wants and then turns to me and asks if I have a photo of him a year ago at “Grandpa’s” 98th birthday? I pull a photo up on my I-phone and John shows it to the barber. It is cool inside and for a few minutes, Art and I watch as John’s long locks fall to the floor but our hotel is just around the corner and we leave John on his own. When John returns, he preens in front of the mirror, delighted with his new look.

The Roman Barber
When in Rome, look like a Roman 

After a two hour rest and a second round of showers, the three of us set out walking towards the Spanish Steps. John and Art navigate our route and after a few wrong turns, an unpleasant hike through a long traffic congested tunnel and a steadily uphill climb, we find ourselves at the top of the Spanish Steps with a hazy view of Rome below. The steps are under reconstruction and visually and physically cordoned off by high fences. We wind down an adjoining street to the cobblestone plaza below where hopeful horse pulled carriages wait for passengers and where people congregate around the Sinking Boat Fountain, designed by either Bernini or his father.  All the fountains in Rome are aqueduct powered and I watch as people fill water bottles and take drinks from smaller drinking fountains where the water is sweet and pure. 

Spanish Steps under reconstruction
Art and John, Piazza di Spagna

Designer Shops
Marty, Piazza di Spagna





Designer shops line the perimeter of the plaza and the radiating streets and we wander past Gucci, Armani, Versace and Cartier, their opulent and glittery window displays suggesting a perfect life should one be rich or thin enough to afford the finery. 

After much wandering, we choose a café bar a block off the main street and order drinks.  Art and John order Campari and Soda and the accommodating waitress suggests a mulled strawberry drink for me. When she brings our drinks, she sets down a plate of crudities and Art’s cheerful demeanor vanishes. He is certain that there will be a charge for these since at lunch we were charged for bread that we did not order. I surmise that these will be included in the price of the drinks and John and I nibble guiltily on the tiny sandwiches and cheese puffs and when the bill arrives, there is no additional charge. 
We make our way to the Trevi Fountain which glows aqua in the fading evening light. The surrounding fountain is packed shoulder to shoulder with tourists and I stand on a stone bench to take a photo above the heads of the crowd.  Although beautiful, the ambience is not that of La Dolce Vida or Three Coins in a Fountain. 

Trevi Fountain Crowds
Trevi Fountain

Trevi Fountain



We walk back to our Monti district and spend another 30 minutes choosing a restaurant for dinner. Art makes the call tonight, and the food is mediocre at best. Happily, the wine puts a harmonious glow on our otherwise uninspired meal.    

John toasts to our first day in Rome

The Misadventures of the Water Bottle

Wednesday, June 22nd S.F.O. to Chicago to Rome

I wake 3 minutes before our 5:15 A.M. alarm and am first into the shower. At 6:00 A.M. we head downstairs for the included continental breakfast and to wait for the 6:30 A.M. shuttle to the airport.
We arrive 2 ½ hours before our flight and check in is a breeze. John and I each check one small bag and Art chooses to carry his onboard.  Art queries John if he is sure that he has everything and John flippantly replies, “Yes, Papa, I’ve traveled before!”  Our priority boarding passes are TSA Pre-Check and Art and I breeze through security wearing our shoes and jackets. John does not breeze quite so easily because he has forgotten to empty the water from his aluminum water bottle. He is pulled aside for the blue rubber glove inspection of his bright orange back pack and informed that he may either relinquish his water bottle or be escorted back into the terminal by security. He may not drink or dump the water on this side of security.  John is attached to his decaled water bottle and chooses to go through security a second time. The stern TSA woman escorts John outside and Art grimaces. We wait for our well traveled son to snake the security lines a second time and return to us.  Since we have allowed plenty of time we are more amused than stressed and twenty minutes later, John sheepishly rejoins us. I laugh and tell him that it is things like this that give me something to write in my blog. 

We are 1-½ hours early to our gate when my phone rings. Strangely, it is American Airlines calling me with an automated update that our departure flight to Chicago will be delayed because of bad weather. Art is quick to note that the earlier flight to Chicago has not yet departed and we rush to the kiosk to see if we can switch to the earlier flight. One of the attendants magically switches our bags from the delayed flight to the earlier flight and within minutes we have new boarding passes. In twenty minutes we board the earlier flight to Chicago which in reality leaves 15 minutes later than our initially scheduled flight but will presumably get us into Chicago in time for our connecting flight to Rome.

Tornado Shelter Signs, Chicago Airport

The flight between S.F.O. and Chicago is 3hr 20 minutes and I pass the time writing this blog and reading the Rick Steve Italy guide book. John rereads my father’s book Surf Casting for the Normandy Invasion and Art listens to history pod casts about Ancient Rome. So far so good:)

We land in Chicago at 3:30 in plenty of time for our flight to Rome, now delayed until 6:15 P.M. We wonder why our S.F.O. to Chicago boarding passes have “priority boarding” stamped on them and hope our American Airlines Platinum Visa will open doors to the Admiral’s Club. John and I watch our belongings and Art sets sail along the polished floors of the airport terminal in search of the lounge. He returns 15 minutes later with “virtual” cuts and bruises. The lounge bouncers deny him access so the three of us wander the crowded airport in search of a peaceful restaurant or corner in which to spend the next couple of hours. We share a chicken salad, an overpriced bottle of water and nibble on nuts and seeds.

It is 6:30 when boarding is called and the three of us push through the waiting passengers to the priority boarding line.  As John hoists his orange backpack onto his shoulder, the look on John’s face tells me something is wrong? He exclaims that his water bottle is missing and jogs back to where we were sitting to look for it. He returns empty handed with his second sheepish grin of the day and Art rolls his eyes in disbelief and amusement.  He has left his troublesome water bottle on the previous flight.

We are grateful to be boarding at last and file through first class to the cheap seats in economy and squeeze into our three inline seats. I have used frequent flyer miles to book our three tickets and only now wonder how many more miles would have been needed for the luxurious and spacious first class seats? Our plane sits on the runway for 1 1/2 hours before we are cleared to take off. There can be no drink or meal service until after we are airborne so we impatiently watch movies until we are cleared for takeoff.  Once airborne and level, the stewardesses are efficient; serving us a disappointing chicken and rice concoction that I pick at. I am grateful for the accompanying generous glasses of red wine, watch two mindless comedies and at 11:00 P.M. dole out sleeping pills and Art and I manage a solid four hours of sleep each.

From Pirates to Romans

Saturday, June 18, 2016

Just three days ago, Alisha, John, Jackie and I were selling Marty Magic jewelry at the NorCal Pirate Festival in Vallejo California. 
Alisha & John, Brotherly & Sisterly Love at the NorCal Pirate Festival
Brother and Sister Love, NorCal Pirate Festival
After hours with Marty Magic

The following blog posts are about our month long trip to Italy, Croatia and Amsterdam.  Although we had fun, the trip was not a vacation but rather a marathon of visiting world-class museums and archeological sights. Most days we were up early and out late and the family dynamics of the three of us traveling together were sometimes challenging. The trip was artistically rich and visually inspiring and I feel creatively recharged for my busy fall and holiday season.

The Get Away – Tuesday, June 21 

I am leaving the Marty Magic business to take a trip to Italy, Croatia and Amsterdam. My husband Art, our son John and I will be away close to a month and I must pass the Marty Magic baton into the capable hands of our daughter Alisha. Today is a frenzy of list checking. Alisha and I cross reference orders, check inventory and plan for the month ahead.  I fit ear cuffs to be shipped in my absence and sign checks to keep the business afloat until mid July. This past Sunday night, Alisha, John and I returned from the Nor Cal Pirate Festival, and I unpack Pirate costumes and do laundry so as to use the same suitcase to pack for my European adventure.  As the washing machine whirls, I make a dash to the bank, pick up the pre-ordered Euros and swing into AAA and in less than 20 minutes, have my international driving permit. The AAA representative asks me to check the permit and verify that all the information is correct? My scary mug shot stares back at me and I wonder if any car rental agency would rent this woman a car?

At 5:30 P.M. we load our minimal luggage into Alisha’s SUV for the drive to the S.F.O. airport. There is little traffic winding North on Hwy 17 and the afternoon sunlight bathes our route with a magical glow and we realize that it is the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year. We stop for dinner at Andale’s Mexican Restaurant in Los Gatos, and John jumpstarts his vacation with an immense Cadillac Margarita. Art and I are more moderate and Alisha our designated driver is abstinent. We enjoy a family meal together and relax into our vacation.  The traffic is light along 280 and Alisha drops us at the S.F.O. Airport Vagabond Inn a little before 8:00 P.M. After parking lot hugs and kisses, Art, John and I head to our room and Alisha makes the return drive to Santa Cruz.