Robert Ricketts as he turned on the car's air conditioner
"I love the heat!" glib person said.
"Do you really?" said my sister Trisha.
"O, I do." replied glib person.
"Do you have air conditioning?" Trish
"Of course!" glib
"Ah, then you love the idea of the heat, not the heat itself." Trish
For anyone who claims to love the heat I always ask that same question. My contention is that are a very few people who not only tolerate the heat but thrive in it. They are the 'desert rats' who live in trailers out in the desert, no air conditioning and they do love it. Then there's the rest of us, we cope, we flee into the shadows away from the sun. This would be me in Italy. We don't love the heat, we accept it and run as fast as we can to warm from hot. To us extreme heat is suffering, as my father used to say when it got above 74 degrees, "I don't want to suffer." On went his air conditioner. I'm not that bad but I so love the Northwest for its moderate to cool temperatures. Apparently, the entire time we were in Italy it was less than an ideal summer, bring a new meaning to the word moderate.
I bought a phone card while in Italy and unwittingly bought 5 hours of time. "Yikes" I said to Sally, "how am I going to use up 5 hours?" "You'll think of a way." Sally said. So I called Mr. G just about every night, I called my sons and my grandkids and used up that sucker. "How are you doing and what's the latest?" I'd ask Mr. G. "I've been unbelievably busy and everything at home is going well. Right now it's about 58 degrees and raining." "O, glad to hear that things are going well, try to take it easy." I'd say and then I'd hang up the phone and yell to anyone within hearing distance, "it's 58 degrees and raining in the Northwest," and a cheer would go up from our crowd in Italy. Bratty but fun.
So, finally, day 9 of our trip it cooled off a bit. We went to Ravenna saw a 6th century Basilica of St. Apollinaris in Classe which was most impressive. Simple and beautiful. But the biggest treat was the little cafe by the Basilica. [Just remembering that, as I write this, I felt an urgent need for a cappuccino and went downstairs and made one.] The coffee truly is an art form in Italy and I miss that. At the little outdoor cafe I ordered, in very bad Italian, a cappuccino. The woman was kind enough to not smirk and answered me in pretty good English "that will be two Euros". After the first sip I would have paid four Euros. Heaven in a cup, al fresco. This was Ravenna and it had cooled to about 85 degrees, down right chilly compared to what we'd had for the last eight days. Additional note: the cappuccino was about half the size of our drinks here in the states. Our tour guide, Katarina, explained how Italians drink their coffee like this: "The Italians usually go to a "bar" for a breakfast that consists of a cup of espresso and a roll." I observed espresso is so tiny even a newborn baby would squawk in protest at the meager amount and so strong that it's a wonder that anyone has any tooth enamel. "They drink their espresso straight [mostly] and pair it with a small roll of some kind, standing up at little tall tables," said Katarina. That's it. Isn't that against the rules of proper nutrition? However, they look finer and fitter than we do, so there might be another potential diet book.
Down the country we rolled on our bus. My sister Sally is responsible for me missing a good deal of the scenery from Venice to Assisi when she forced me to read a thriller. I couldn't extract my head from inside the book.* Honestly, it's her fault.
Assisi was definitely one of my three favorite stops. This is the hill town in which St. Francis founded the Franciscan order and they've very respectfully preserved it. It was a joy to leisurely stroll with our guide pointing out all the important sites. The church of St. Francis is ostentatious, somewhat Byzantine, somewhat Roccoco. Not what I picture the humble and modest St. Francis praying in. Our hotel was eye stopping, perched on the side of the hill [but then, it is a hill town] with a fabulous view of the olives groves, churches and farm land below. We sat on the deck with snacks and a glass of wine enjoying the stunning vista and the breeze.
This is one place, along with Lake Maggiore that I could have lingered, but it was a tour and we were on the bus the next day bound for southern Italy. We stopped for a couple of hours at Pomeii and some of the best pizza of the trip, wood fired a la Napoli style. The young men baking kept things rolling [excuse the pun] and yelled at each other frequently. They were standing right next to each other, yelling. Funny. It was great that the lunch was divine because, and you might want to close your eyes again, I didn't particularly like Pompeii. I know that I was supposed to, but my imagination is not good with rubble. Our tour guide for the site wore pink eyeshadow and created fake lips outlined with brown pencil, nude lipstick in the middle [you should try it] and this looked hilarious to me. This might have aided in distracting me from the pomp in Pompeii. I will say that seeing the mummified bodies left behind after the volcanic eruption were touching. One woman was pregnant and trying to protect her middle, the child within. Touching for me because this was real and those people lived and were right there in front of us.
That night we ended up in Sorrento a truly lovely town on the Bay of Naples. We stayed in another great hotel though the food could have used those bakers from Pompeii, even with the yelling. We discovered Prosecco at a small green grocer across the street and our hotel had ice which excited us no end, as it was the first we'd seen. We had a deck and J and D and Sal and I toasted each other and our great good fortune. Off to a fancy restaurant and "A Taste of Sorrento", worth it and we got to dance again. Sal and I taught the two youngest guys on the trip to dance thereby proving that just because you are a musician it doesn't mean you know how to dance.
The next day we traveled to the Isle of Capri where all of the uber wealthy hang. Off the ferry we booked passage on one of the round the island cruise ships. It was hot enough that it made your teeth ache with desire to dive into that aqua water. After our tour we decided to hike up to the town of Capri, how difficult could it be you could see the houses perched up there. Well, it was a couple of miles of switch backs and J and D and Sally couldn't believe we were doing this, did I mention it was hot? I kept saying "O, look there is a plateau and I bet the town is around the next bend." Ha, it was just another street, more climbing ahead. J, D and Sal, all sweating profusely, groaned. Finally we got to the top and the crowded street in the little village of Capri. The shops according to our tour guide Katarina "are all chicy, chicy, poshy, poshy," and indeed they were. I strolled around for about a half hour, saw some beautiful jewlery but was concerned about the pricey, pricey and so let them go. Then I found a nice bench in the shade overlooking Capri and sat to write. An eighty year old man came strolling by and I smiled saying, "bonjouro" and he said, "Ciao, bella". See, I still got it, with the eighty year old men anyway.
We took the funicular down which took all of two minutes, loving the ride and the view. Then, finally we got to swim,in that divine water, floating blissfully. Gelato for lunch, natch and back on the ferry. I couldn't stop thinking about the jewelry and wondering if I should have bought something for my elegant daughters in law. O, well.
I wrote in my journal, "one of the most glorious days of my life" and it was the boat trip we took, this time in our rented "cigarette boat" around Capri. Blame Sally. She saw this pamphlet, showed it to me and said, "hey, I think we should do this." I looked at the pricey, pricey and said, "Mmm, I don't know." Then good Italian sense prevailed and after the intial hesitation I said, "OK". We started to show the brochure to others on the tour and then like wild fire we had 13 of us signed up for the boat trip. They picked us up at the hotel, provided us with lunch and drinks and dropped us off at the end of the day. Our guide the darling Luigi was so gracious and helpful. When we had free time on the Isle of Capri he took Sally and three others all the way up to Anacapri and showed them around, mind you this was his free time too. I, of course, was on a mission. D, J and I took the bus to Capri town and I went on the hunt for the objects of my obsession for my daughters in law. I dragged three others in with me and all of us bought beautiful things for probably too much money. The clerk was almost surly who sold to us, never mind, I got what I came for. Me, a happy girl.
Down on the funicular and this time B and I got to ride in the front, better than Disneyland, back to the boat. This time we got to swim on all of the wonderful places around the Isle, diving into that turquoise water, through caves on to small sand beaches. This was enhanced by snorkel gear and we watched the teeny fish, I believe all the big one have been et. Lunch huge sandwiches with mozzeralla, tomatoes and fresh basil on delicious bread. What more can I say, a perfect day with wonderful people in a gorgeous spot in the world in my bathing suit in the sun. We all kept saying "thank you, Sally!" because I told everyone it was her doing. When in Italy, be expansive. It pays big time.
Back we trudged to Rome. That night we went first to the town of Trivoli, then to a dinner over looking the city. Up until this time I would have been hard pressed to believe that the whole of Italy is having a hard time financially. Trivoli convinced me that this is a sad fact. In all of the big very touristy cities and villages everything is clean. The opposite is true in Trivoli, trash is strune everywhere and sadly no one seems to care. The shops are loaded with goods and there are no tourists around to purchase their wares, so D, Sal and I tried our best to help. I bought Mr. G a belt in a leather store and didn't mean to barter, but as I was saying, "O, 60 Euros," aloud, the shopkeeper said, "OK, half price, 30!" and so...The shop where Sally bought all of her trinkets for her grandkids, the owner was so grateful. Contrast this with the Capri experience. The town could be lovely, minus the trash, and I heard that some teens in another village organized a clean up. This should happen to Trivoli. Then we went to dinner that was pretty good though the wine was terrible. We had a wonderful time though because there was music with an excellent young opera singer and we requested Puccini and Verdi. She complied and it brought tears to my eyes. Then the tenor, a man over 60 realizing I was the instigator of the opera request came to our table and sang "Nessun Dorma" to me. Most embarrassing, but it shows that I still have it marginally with the over sixty opera singing males.
Tomorrow I will promise to end this trip with short observations and quips for the traveler.
*The book was John Hart's The Last Child and I loved it. I thought it compared to Edgar Sawtell and exceeded that story. As opposed to ES, I wasn't so bothered by the child being on his own. In ES the child abuse was unresolved and wretched. I still resent everyone praising this book to the hilt just because it was written as a tragic tale a la Hamlet. Hamlet was a grown man, folks. That makes all the difference Edgar was a disabled child.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
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