The Final Cnapter!

Today is Republic Day in Italy.  It has something to do with the creation of the Republic after WWII, I suppose.  Think the Fourth of July in the US: national holiday, so everything is closed; no school, no work, no shopping; families getting together; overall not much going on. Here Giovanni at the B&B has fired up the barbeque, and sometime after noon we are all six sitting in the new gazebo -- the two of us plus Giovanni, his wife Monica, and two of their three teenage kids.


We start, as all Italian meals start, with antipasto, the pre- pasta. In this case we are having mussels. And I have never seen this many mussels in one place. We feast. Then it is time for the primo piatto, spaghetti with fish. Next up is the secondo piatto, the second plate. Steak from the barbie for them, foil-wrapped fish for us. And the wine glasses are refilled, again and again. Giovanni's father lives in Calabria, at the very tip of the boot, and apparently makes an endless variety of wines natural and fortified. Soon the table is littered with bottles, and the noise level rises as glasses are filled and emptied.

And we reflect on how blessed we are to have found Monica and Giovanni,  and Il Gelsomino (jasmine) B&B. It has been so wonderful, so grounding, to spend a day or two here, near the airport,  after every leg of our journey.  It really is like coming home.  And today our hearts and minds (and stomachs!) are so full we can only hope to see Monica and Giovanni in the States sometime.


And we have all but forgotten, well, yesterday, and Bellagio, and Como, and Lecco, and the mountains...


OK, the mountains.  While in the Dolomites we drove to the highly-regarded Alpe di Suisi, a high-mountain meadow (elevation is over 2000 meters, more than 7000 feet) surrounded by snow-covered massifs. We parked the car and started hiking.  The might-have-been fantastic views of the valley below were obscured by wisps of dense low-lying fog, so we trekked on, ignoring the nominally well-placed benches.  After about an hour we reached the "hut," a restaurant where we had coffee and strudel.

Bench with, ah, panoramic? view

Well rested and refreshed we started on the return. Good thing the trail is well marked, because the fog had closed in, and we could see all of five feet (1.52 mtr)! But we made it back, and headed the car down the narrow, winding road (the only kind they've got in this mountainous region!). It was yet another adventure.

Paula lost in the fog high on the mountain 

Our next stop was in the city of Merano.  What a wonderful town! This is a place where we could really see spending some time. Tall, mature trees shade the streets, which are filled with bicycles and pedestrians.  A raging mountain stream runs through the middle of town, and a block away are streets filled with the latest fashions from Milano. One evening we took a late stroll along the stream and up into the hills surrounding the downtown. We had about decided this town topped the charts when it got even better: we came across the public herb garden, winding down the hillside towards downtown. It was getting too dark to fully appreciate it, so we filed that away for a "next time" in this lovely, lovable, livable town.

Merano

We finally left the mountains behind (we stopped taking pictures since there were so many OMG shots) and spent several days around Lago di Como. We had been here some 15 years earlier on our honeymoon and were looking forward to revisiting the lake and the town of Varenna, where we stayed. Alas, you really can't go home again; we found the lake much busier, more crowded, and much more expensive than it had been. Still, we stopped, we strolled through Varenna, we took the passagiata along the shore. Lago di Como is still lovely, and a fine place to visit (and I'm still envious that George Clooney bought an estate here!)

Our hotel, 15 years later

There is so much more, but it is getting late, and we have a plane to catch tomorrow. We will have to catch up on the rest of it in person!

All for now,

P&P

Lake or Mountains?

OMG Now THESE are MOUNTAINS!

California's Sierra Nevada are formidable, Colorado's Rockies unmatchable. And the rocks of Southern Utah are world-class. But somehow, the Dolomites are in a whole different category. These mountains are the stuff of legend and fairy tails.  The grandeur of these massive snow-dusted cliffs is unimaginable, even after we've been here for three days.

The narrow, winding, single-lane roads, impossibly steep, are mostly empty during this "in-between" shoulder season (not enough snow for skiing, too much for high-altitude trekking). The hills are alive, green and yellow with dandelions. The mountains... The mountains tower over everything, a constant presence.

We've been hiking yesterday and today, and were constantly stunned by the postcard-perfect views. Distant villages framed by massive cliffs, and surrounded by endless green meadows covered with yellow flowers.  We expected Heidi to pop out at any moment.

Where's Heidi?

The Italian villa estates and European gardens have given way to Alpine chalet-like houses, with window boxes of geraniums and petunias. And, German is widely spoken here (prior to WWI, this was part of Austria!).

But, Oh My! We've almost forgotten the lake! Here it's only been a few days and the wonders of Lago di Garda have been all but forgotten!

Lago di Garda is Italy's largest lake, and its long, long shore is lined with cute village after cute village.  We did not stay on the lake but rather in a village (also cute!) a bit above the lake. Paula found a private house to stay in through AirBnB. When we weren't relaxing with Leone in his beautiful garden we were climbing through the hilly streets of the village. We took the ferry across the lake and back, and drove around a good bit of the lake. It is quite lovely.

The village of Albisano, overlooking Lago di Garda

Ferry crossing Lago di Garda

We spent one afternoon north of the lake, in the town of Arco. Its not so cutesy as the lake villages( it's a real town not just for tourists) , but the old town is picturesque.  We climbed, calves aching, to the 11th Century castle overlooking the town for the fantastic views. (The exercise was good, too!).

The castle ofArco (and yes, we really did climb up here!)

Tomorrow we will move west, technically out of the Dolomites but still in the mountains. Then in a few days we head south, back to the lake region, this time to Lago di Como.

Which is better? Mountain or lake? We'll let you know!

All for now

P&P

So much, so fast!

Oh my, we're almost ready to leave we've left Southern Italy! Time for another update!

We're in Calabria, on the west coast of Italy, well south of Naples. Calabria is very hilly; most of the towns here are quite vertical.  Today we visited the celebrated statue of Christ the Redeemer, some 500 meters above the ocean, looking over the town of Maratea.  The road leading up is amazing, but no less so than the Italian drivers: the whole way up we were dodging cars parked in the right lane. This poses a challenge, since the road is exactly two lanes wide,  with the edges defined by low stone walls; which means we spend a fair amount of time in the left lane, on these steep short switchbacks. Oh well, everybody here just expects to meet another vehicle in their lane coming around a corner...

Led Zep built a stairway to heaven; the people of Maratea built a car ramp

Christ the Redeemer in Maratea

The main highway along the coast is not bad, very similar, we've been told, to the Amalfi Coast but less busy.  In fact, things are relatively slow here, in this tourist center. It's starting to gear up for the big months of July and (especially!) August, when half of the population of Northern Italy will be down here. Shops are opening, vendors are putting out their best "Produtti locali", and the beaches are getting cleaned up for the big rush. Now, though, its quiet, green, and cool.

We drove through Basilicata,  from east to west. Incredibly green, with each of the many mountain peaks crowned by a village spilling down the sides. The roads into towns are tight, often only a single lane (fortunately, not much traffic!); then once in town, it gets worse. Steep, sharp turns, and shear stone walls on both sides. Sometimes we fold the mirrors in for adequate clearance (and we've got a small Fiat!)

Castelmenzzano (or someplace close by!)

It was only a few days ago, but impressions are coming so fast we've almost forgotten Puglia: the impossibly Rococo buildings of Lecce, the huge gnarled ancient olive trees, the pointy roofs of the truilli houses of Alberobello; the fine, fine olive oil served everywhere; the ancient port city of Monopoli (no connection with the board game) where we met the French couple who've spent the last seven years cruising the Med on their sailboat. Wild flowers in the fields; those red red poppies are still our favorite. Standing on the rocks at the very stiletto tip of the heel of Italy, with the Ionian Sea to the left, and the Adriatic to the right. (Or was it the other way around?). Was this where the Sirens called to Odysseys?

The Trulli museum in Arberobello

Tomorrow we head further south; we're looking forward to see the Straits of Messina, at the very tip of the toe. Then it's another plane flight back to Milan, and two weeks of Northern Italy. We're expecting a bit of a contrast!

       Breaking news....

After a long day of driving down the coast from Praia a Mare, with a few stops, we arrived in Pizzo, where we were to spend 2 nights. It's only a hundred kilometers or so, and a few hours, but this is Italy, with a surprise around every corner.

 Anyway, we are finally in Pizzo, and we call our host. No go. The number doesn't work. Put a 1 in front. A 0. A space. Nothing. The email from that morning says, "call me when you get to town, I'll meet you in the Piazza." That's a bit vague, and anyway, we can't call. Stress levels notch up.

We arrive in town, ask directions to the Piazza.

 We finally get parked and walk back to the piazza. We'll get some WiFi at a cafe, says Paula, and email Franco, our host. There are many cafes in the piazza. We walk slowly along. Paula says, that one! We go in.

The proprietor is jovial. I ask for a coffee (always a good way to start, I figure; put our relationship on a sound business footing.) We ask about the phone number. "Oh, that's in London! But we have the second best gelato in the world, " the owner assures us, with a jovial laugh.

London?! Paula shows him our paper, with the number. He sees the name. "Oh, I know Franco! He's crazy! Here, let me call him for you! Yes, he'll be here in five minutes! Now take a seat and I'll serve you some of our famous gelato. "

So we do, and he does, and this gelato is incredible. Like a lava cake, with a liquid center, but ice cream. And chocolate to live for! We dig in, and a moment later Franco shows up.

Our laundry drying on our balcony, Pizzo

View from our window, Pizzo

And we are left wondering, once again, how is that things can go from the pits to the peaks in moments?

And God answered: It's called Grace (and magic!).

All for now

P&P

OK it's been awhile, but we are still alive....

"Oh, in the States we eat about 7 or 7:30."

This simple statement elicited looks of incredulity, and peals of laughter, from our Spanish AirBnB hosts. We'd been talking about dinner, and eating habits. The Spanish, you see, like to eat late, like around 10 or so. Dinner at 7? Impossible! "What do you do for the rest of the evening?" they asked.

We slowly acculturated to Spain, but that part of our trip is over. We flew back to Milan and leave in a few hours for Puglia in the south.

Its been a bit of a buzz, but we wanted to get a sense of what Spain's coast was like. And we did. We've driven from Tarifa in the south up the Costa del Sol (totally overbuilt; even the outskirts have overbuilt outskirts) through the Costa Blanca (only a little overbuilt, with some relief in the high rises given by the many greenhouses of industrial agriculture).

There were some areas about 50 km south of Barcelona that seemed like the original, authentic Spain. We liked them.

We took a day to visit the mountains, and the town of Ronda. Its quite fantastic, very beautiful, and apparently the source and heart of bullfighting in Spain. Hemingway was here, and wrote about the bullfights (Death in the Afternoon); actually being in Ronda almost gave me a twinge of regret that I really don't care about bullfighting.

Ronda, inland frlm the Costa del Sol, is nothing if not dramatic!

In Granada we visited the Alhambra, finest example of Moorish architecture in Europe. All the on-line tickets were sold out over a month ago, but we showed up at 7AM hoping to get a ticket, along with several hundred other people. There were tickets, but the machine would not accept our credit card. We did well, considering this was a goal of a lifetime, missed by that much. But wait, the French woman staying at the same BnB says, here, use mine. YEAH! We got in! And we even sold the tickets to the garden we'd bought instead of the ones we really wanted. Tutti va bene!

Us, really at the Alhambra!

The Alhambra at sunset

We had a wonderful time last night with our AirBnB host, a man of almost our age who's wife was traveling. She was the one who spoke English. We had a hilarious evening, drinking his excellent wine and communicating through Google translate. He was wonderful, very caring and heartfelt.

After an evening of celebration with Paco. We felt about this fuzzy (especially the next day!)

Barcelona, time to drop off the car. It's always so wonderful to arrive somewhere and get a car: the implied freedom, the lure of the open road, the ability to follow your own schedule and your own route. Then, a week or two later, after spending what seemed like hours carefully navigating the last few kilometers through heavy (3 million people) city traffic, it is such a relief to pull into the rental car garage and be done with it! No more parking hassles, no more gas stops. Free at last to wander unencumbered!

We spent the afternoon pounding the pavement, seeing the sights on Barcelona. There are a number of striking buildings by famed architect Nicoli Gaudi. He loves colorful, incongruous, seemingly unrelated elements thrown together whimsically. Our word  gaudy must derive from his name. (Check out his Sagrada Famila cathedral on-line!)

A peak at the Sagrada Familia cathedral. Pretty crazy.

We're now back at the BnB in Ferno, a little town near the Milan airport. The owners are wonderfully warm and caring. In response to our email, letting them know we were coming back in a day or so, Monica and Giovanni replied, "oh don't worry, we'll catch you when you land! " And they did!

Now, with our laundry clean and an Italian SIM card, so we can make phone calls, we're ready to fly out tonight for Lecce and our Southern Italy adventure.

Standard coffee in bars and cafes in Spain are these tiny but potent cups of espresso. I've got a thng about these cute spoons....

All for now.
 P&P

Long arm of the law

Over the few weeks of our time in Morocco we've had a couple of run-ins with the local cops. So far, though, we've managed to avoid the hoosgow.

We were driving through a small town on the first day with our rental car in Morocco. I was carefully following the speed limit signs, so when the limit dropped from 60 km to 40 to 20, so did I. Then suddenly there was a stop sign, completely unexpected. And suddenly I was on the other side of it, with a police car in the rear view mirror. Oops.

Some kind of check point, I guess. So I pulled over, looked back. Not much happening there. Paula urged me to go on, so, with thoughts of a similar experience in Mexico in mind, I did.

For the next half-hour, as we wound our way through the countryside, I kept glancing back, half expecting to see red lights flashing.

A day or so later we came to another check point, with a nasty-looking radar gun mounted on a tripod. I'm thinking, here's where they check my license plate and take me in for questioning. But no.The tall, good-looking gendarme asked where we were from, and after establishing that we spoke English,  raised his voice happily and said, "Ah, English! I love English! If English were a woman, I would marry it!" (Really!) and waved us on.


Now the rental car has been returned, and is perhaps satisfying some other traveler's need for transport. We are happy to be afoot in the narrow winding pathways of the Fes Medina.  But its time to move on; we've bought out tickets to Chefchaouene and our bus leaves at 11. We said our goodbyes to Said, the owner of the riad where we stayed, and to the coffee seller on the corner. Now we need a taxi to the bus station in the New Town.

There's plenty of the little red "petit taxi" on the street, but they all have passengers. A fellow in a little white van stops, offers us a ride. How much? we ask. Fifty, he says. Nope. We know a regular taxi is less than 16 Dirhams,  or $2US. Since we see no available little red taxis, we finally agree to 20. We clamber in with our bags and go about 20 feet when  we are stopped; an arm reaches in and removes the key. It's the long arm of the law. Turns out this fellow was not authorized to take passengers in his little white van.

So we surrender our passports, explain we have a bus to catch, and stand by as phone calls are made, discussions are held, and the hapless driver explains, hey, I'm just tryin' to make a living here! I'm pretty clear that this really has nothing to do with us, we just don't know any better.  I hope the cops see it the same way....

After more discussion, more cell phone calls, the cop finishes copying down info from our passports. He comes over to me and points to the pages with our birth dates. Paula and I were both born in the same year! He laughs good-naturedly at that, returns our passports, and in a few minutes has flagged down a petit taxi for us.

 We arrive at the bus station in plenty of time, the taxi's meter showing 10.6 Dirhams (we gave the driver 12). We never found out what happened to the guy with the little white van. We get on the bus, and leave Fes behind.

The type of taxi we should have taken (shown here blocking the city bus, which is in the process of doing a three-point turn, assisted by several passersby)

All for now
P&P

Images of Morroco

Looking out from the guest house terrace to Ait Ben Haddu kasbah - the classic site from the Gladiator movie. Russell Crowe was long gone by the time we got here...

Driving 350 miles over sometimes dusty bumpy roads to the desert. The reward: seeing the pink dunes looming up from the flat plain, with all signs of civilization lost.

Sitting inside a Berber family's house drinking mint tea and hearing about how rugs are made from camel and sheep wool and cactus fiber. They smiled even though we didn't buy one. Enshallah: it wasn't God's will for us that day.

Driving 350 miles from the desert to Fes --  the reward: seeing the cedar forests of Azrou and the barbary monkeys playing in the trees-oh and the pride and relief of driving straight through Fes to drop off the car without a scratch!

Fes - well you get the picture-it's crowded, noisy, sometimes smelly, but everywhere Moroccan people smiling and with their right hands on their hearts saying -- "Welcome to my country."

Sitting on our riad terrace with a glass of wine looking over the huge medina---ahhhhh
Eating fancy French pastries at one of many roof garden restaurants, watching the chaos in the square below.....ahhhhh!

Until next time...

P&P

Call to Prayer

Five times a day it happens, everywhere in Morocco, where the population is more than 95% Islamic. Where we stayed in Essouria the loudspeaker for the mosque was right outside our window.  The loud and distorted voice of the Imam was a bit of a disturbance at 5AM.

Now we are in Fes, with it's incredibly crowded Medina (meaning "city", and in this case the old city) and correspondingly high density of mosques, each with a square minaret sticking above the rooftops, each with its own call to prayer. From the roof top terrace of our riad we can see out over the Medina, the minarets and the (many, many) satellite dishes.

The full moon rises over the eastern hills , interrupting our conversation with Josef, from Barcelona, our new best friend. We gaze in silence as the orb slides into the sky. Our conversation resumes, but is interrupted again as the call to prayer starts suddenly, from a dozen places at once. Josef says, "This is a sacred moment!", and we listen in a whole new way as the voices echo and rebound off the hills.

One of the many minarets in the Fez Medina

View from the roof

All for now

P&P

Ali (Alley?) Baba in Marrakech

Great Mosque near Saladeen Tombs

Marrakech is full of ancient, wonderful sites. As we traipsed around town looking for these sites we also found that Marrakech is very busy and crowded. Traffic, traffic, traffic! Cars and noisy motorbikes and big trucks and people people people moving around makes for an ever-changing obstacle course. And in the midst of this horrendous chaos are many hidden treasures,  of both the material and the not so material kind.

We were heading for one of the highly-regarded ancient sites, the Saadian Tombs (the Saadians were an ancient family, powerful and ruthless, not unlike the Medicis or Borgias around the same era). The tombs they built for themselves are regarded as one of the finest examples of classic Arabic architecture still standing.  

We walked and walked and walked, and were very close to the tombs, when we asked a policeman which way to go. Take the next left, he said.  It was a narrow alley, but we took it anyway, and found a dead end. This was unusual,  in our brief experience. Then, just as we approached the end, a door opened and a short round man said Come in!

We entered this marvelous cavern filled with works of brass and leather. The lights came on, and the ceiling was filled with the pierced brass light fixtures that are so popular here, giving the impression of stalactites in a cave. We barely had time to register all that was there when the man said jovially, "Ali Baba!" 

"Are you going to put us in a jar of oil?" asked Paula, thinking of the story. "No!" He said. "Alley Baba!" and, laughing,  showed us through a low door leading outside to the Tombs.

Another great example of the warmth, helpfulness, and good humor we have found in the Moroccan people.

Tile detail from Saadian Tombs

This stork really DID bring a baby!

Until next time,

Paul & Paula

We arrived in Marrakech early, about 8AM. It was the only flight that day, so we really had no choice. Paula had arranged for someone to meet us at the airport, a wise move because we were still a bit fuzzed out from jet lag. Plus, we had gotten up at 3:30 to get to the Milan airport, and had barely slept.

So, our driver is there with a sign for us and we are soon careening through the streets where the game, as in many developing nations, is to see how close you can come to the other traffic without actually making contact. (Needless to say, we were ever so glad we were not driving!) We enter into a tiny shopping street, the sellers' wares spilling into the narrow street as bicycles, pedestrians, the occasional car, and the ever present motorbikes weave in and out.

We stop after a block or two, the driver unloads our bags, and towing one of the wheelies himself, leads us down an even narrower alleyway. We stumble a dozen paces behind him, wondering what we've gotten into. Suddenly he makes a sharp turn and disappears. We look at each other, and hurry to avoid being left.

He is there, right around the corner, with our bag, waiting for us to catch up. But clearly, he has other things to do; he points down a long, narrow dark passageway, says "third door on the right" and is gone. We look at each other, shrug, and drag our bags down the cobblestones to a tiny hobbit door, studded with heavy nail heads. The brass plaque over the door proclaiming Dar El Youssifi tells us this must be the place. We have arrived, it seems.

All for now,
Paul & Paula

Arrived and off again

Yesterday we were pretty fuzzed out with jetblag. We actually had quite a good time with Giovanni  (the innkeeper) and his family. His wife is quite wonderful, always offering me coffee - tiny cups of strong espresso - which I mostly accept. When he got home from work, Giovanni had his teenage-age son, Rosario, come in to help translate. Not feeling confident of his skills in English,  Rosario invited his friend Fabio, who'd had considerable practice in English playing on-line games with a Palestinian. We laughed a lot using google translate on the iphone.

The flight had been very good, all three of them. We'd spent the extra frequent flyer miles on a First Class splurge, and were really boggled by the treatment we'd gotten. The extra seat room was special enough. But the transatlantic flight from Newark was over the top.  Each seat was a little cocoon, and when we were done with our fabulous meal, served on ceramic plates with endless glasses of wine, the seats slid forward and the backs went flat. Yup, a real bed! It was still an airplane, noisy and bouncy, but I was soooo glad not to have spent that nine hours in Economy, with my knees pressed into the reclined seat ahead of me, and my arms trailing over my neighbors seat.

We spent today - our first real day - in Milano, an hour's train ride away. We saw the important sites: the train station, the rather fabulous cathedral-duomo, and a fine galleria, a 19th century shopping center with beautiful mosaics underfoot and a steel-and-glass dome and roof six stories above us (and no cars!). We had lunch in a small restaurant off the square, where I think I shocked the waiter by having a coffee - always an espresso, here - with my meal. (At least I didn't order a cappuccino after 10 AM, apparently a hanging offense in Italy).

Then we spent some time figuring out the metro system and rode it back to the train station, where we arrived just in time to get the train home.

Now we're packing and repacking, getting ready for tomorrow. We're leaving on a jet plane, again, at 6 in the morning, again. So we need to be at the airport by 4. In the morning. And tomorrow night we'll be sleeping in Marrakech! More later...

Buoni viaggi
Paul (and Paula)

Leaving on a jet plane

GETTING READY

With a few days to go, Paul and I are relaxing (yes really!) and re-reading many of the "to do" notes for Morocco we made months ago. After all, we first starting planning this 2 month trip over 8 months ago. 

We left time in the packing dilemma (I'm reluctant to call it drama-you know me) to explore doing a travel blog and how that would work-so this is practice. Gotta figure out how to upload a photo now. 

How can you tell this is not my suitcase? Hint: it's right in front. Even Paul got it right away!

So we hope to drop a line and a few pictures as we go. Really it's so we don't forget too. 

Buoni Viaggi

Paul and Paula