We spent our time in Florence seeing the major sites, wandering small back streets and shopping and browsing at the stalls and shops along the way as well as those in the central outdoor market. We strolled across the Ponte Vechiccio, it's ancient shop windows filled with silver and gold of every variety. It was the only one of Florence's bridges to survive the 2nd World War intact. As they retreated the Axis forces blew up the others. They blocked this one by blowing up the medieval buildings on each side of it.
We visited the Church of St Croce, with it's beautiful painted wood beams. Michelangelo, Machiavelli and Galileo or all interned there in tombs set along it's walls. It's floor is a crazy quilt of crypts housing the remains of others less famous. Some are worn almost completely smooth by the thousands of feet crossing them over the ages. A small room in the back of the church contains relics, including the cowl and rope girdle of St. Francis of Assisi.
It is here, in an arbor connecting the church with another building, that my partner befriends a beautiful orange and white cat which roams the church grounds and is obviously familiar with those that work there. She allows him to pet her and eventually allows him to pick her up and then cuddles against him. It takes some effort to disengage them and convince him that we well not be taking her home with us.
A stone set in a wall of the courtyard in the church shows the water level of the great flood which occurred in the 1960's. It is at least 20 feet above the ground. There is a distinct water line on the buildings which surround the plaza outside the church. It runs just above the 2nd floor windows. On the elaborately painted front of one building the lower portion is dull and muted while the colors above the water line remain brilliant and crisp. We have lunch in the plaza. A photo taken by our waiter adorns our Christmas card that year.
After lunch we wander through the shops ringing the plaza buying gifts for our friends and family and mementos for ourselves. From a street vendor we purchase a small watercolor of a cat, which resembled the one we had at the time, sitting on a wall with the city in the background. It hangs in our living room providing us with a constant reminder of that afternoon.
It is also in this plaza we first witness the racial tensions in existence in the city at that time. African immigrants, entering the country illegally, set up blankets along the streets selling counterfeit designer goods, mostly handbags. They did not have street vending permits. The money they made was sent out of the country back to their homelands. From the Italian's point of view this weaken the countries economy and took sales away from legitimate Italian vendors. As we were having lunch we heard a commotion on the far side of the square. Several African men were running off in different directions each carrying a portion of their set up. This tactic forces the police, in their Armani designed uniforms and facial hair in the form of a jazz patch worn by so many of them it seems to be almost mandatory, to decide which to pursue. The African men were laughing as they ran away, the Italians were not. An Italian I worked with also blamed the Africans for the graffiti that scars many of the buildings in Italian cities. I have never been able to independently corroborate that however.
After eating and shopping we rushed up a steep hillside to reach the Boboli Gardens. We arrived one hour before they closed. Situated on a hillside overlooking the city they provide a stunning view of the winding streets lined with low red tile roofed buildings, punctuated by the spires of the city's churches and dominated by the muscular yet graceful dome of the Doumo and it's bell tower.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Florence - Our Hotel - Location, Location, Location
After lengthy showers, we gather up our luggage and catch a water bus down the Grand Canal, one final time, heading for the train station. It is Monday and the city has taken on a different flavor. Gone are the tourists and day trippers. The local citizenry have retaken their town and are going about their business unhindered by the throngs of weekend visitors.
It being rush hour the boat is somewhat crowded. Someone is moving, a boat glides by laden with a mattress, box spring and an assortment of furniture and boxes. On the opposite side of the canal the DHL boat pulls up to a dock to make a delivery. Arriving at the station we go ashore and head for out train to Florence.
After pulling into the station in Florence we head to the street to catch a cab to our hotel. Ahead of us in the cab line are a group of women who are unmistakable America. Obese, loud and garish. We discover our hotel is situated on a small centrally located side street. When you walk to the corner the Doumo, Florence's main cathedral is 1/2 block in one direction,the Plaza Republica, another famed locale in Florence, lies 1 block in the opposite direction.We go through the heavy glass street doors of the hotel, through the vestibule and enter into a tiny lobby. The reception desk is several floors up. We squeeze ourselves and our luggage into the elevator.
We are treated somewhat rudely by the desk attendant as we show him our reservation sheet. It's clear he is unhappy with our room rate. He hands us two keys. One is a fairly standard room key, the other a fairly standard skeleton key. He explains to us that the toilet, which he assures us we will be the only ones using, is located several steps down the hall from our room. Peeing at 2 a.m. became a small adventure as you left the room, walked 5 steps down the hall and unlocked the door. We would then relock the door; all this done in semi darkness; and pad back to our room.
We went downstairs to our room and unlocked the door for our first peek at our lodgings for the next 3 nights. After the romance of our hotel in Venice my first words upon seeing this room were "At least it's clean." Bare, whitewashed plaster walls, a full size bed, in one corner a small desk and chair. Against one wall, inside the room, stood a sink and the shower, a small enclosure with a cheap plastic curtain on a rusting rod. I have seen more luxurious monks cells. A long window with the shutters that are ubiquitous in Florence looks out on the terraces of the apartments across the narrow street. Off to one side a sliver of the Doumo's bell tower can be seen.
The Doumo is our first stop.Winding our way through the carts brimming with wares designed to catch the tourists eye, we make our way to the Baptistry and take in the beauty of it's legendary gold paneled doors. The soaring dome inside the cathedral is breathtaking. It was a major feat of architectural engineering at the time of it's construction. Down a small street we discover, by accident, the Chapel of the Medici's. A small sign outside reminds visitors that this is a house of worship. Photography and speaking are strictly forbidden. Inside the chapel is dark, it's ceiling a masterpiece of carved wood.
It is about this time that we first encountered the ringing of the bells at the Duomo. The bells pealed at times that seemed, at best, arbitrary. 5:37 p.m., 8:19 p.m., 10:22 a.m., this is merely a sampling. Over 3 days, try as we might, we could not determine a pattern or system to the bell ringing. We would consult out watches every time they rang, 1:52 p.m., 11:21 a.m., it began to appear as if they were attempting to never ring them at the same time twice.
Going to dinner that evening was our first experience with Florence at night. Spotlights that glow with a white light the contains a yellow undertone highlight architectural details and accentuate the lines of the statuary standing in the plazas., My partner was so taken with them that he searched when we returned home until he found Christmas lights which replicated them for our tree that year.
It being rush hour the boat is somewhat crowded. Someone is moving, a boat glides by laden with a mattress, box spring and an assortment of furniture and boxes. On the opposite side of the canal the DHL boat pulls up to a dock to make a delivery. Arriving at the station we go ashore and head for out train to Florence.
After pulling into the station in Florence we head to the street to catch a cab to our hotel. Ahead of us in the cab line are a group of women who are unmistakable America. Obese, loud and garish. We discover our hotel is situated on a small centrally located side street. When you walk to the corner the Doumo, Florence's main cathedral is 1/2 block in one direction,the Plaza Republica, another famed locale in Florence, lies 1 block in the opposite direction.We go through the heavy glass street doors of the hotel, through the vestibule and enter into a tiny lobby. The reception desk is several floors up. We squeeze ourselves and our luggage into the elevator.
We are treated somewhat rudely by the desk attendant as we show him our reservation sheet. It's clear he is unhappy with our room rate. He hands us two keys. One is a fairly standard room key, the other a fairly standard skeleton key. He explains to us that the toilet, which he assures us we will be the only ones using, is located several steps down the hall from our room. Peeing at 2 a.m. became a small adventure as you left the room, walked 5 steps down the hall and unlocked the door. We would then relock the door; all this done in semi darkness; and pad back to our room.
We went downstairs to our room and unlocked the door for our first peek at our lodgings for the next 3 nights. After the romance of our hotel in Venice my first words upon seeing this room were "At least it's clean." Bare, whitewashed plaster walls, a full size bed, in one corner a small desk and chair. Against one wall, inside the room, stood a sink and the shower, a small enclosure with a cheap plastic curtain on a rusting rod. I have seen more luxurious monks cells. A long window with the shutters that are ubiquitous in Florence looks out on the terraces of the apartments across the narrow street. Off to one side a sliver of the Doumo's bell tower can be seen.
The Doumo is our first stop.Winding our way through the carts brimming with wares designed to catch the tourists eye, we make our way to the Baptistry and take in the beauty of it's legendary gold paneled doors. The soaring dome inside the cathedral is breathtaking. It was a major feat of architectural engineering at the time of it's construction. Down a small street we discover, by accident, the Chapel of the Medici's. A small sign outside reminds visitors that this is a house of worship. Photography and speaking are strictly forbidden. Inside the chapel is dark, it's ceiling a masterpiece of carved wood.
It is about this time that we first encountered the ringing of the bells at the Duomo. The bells pealed at times that seemed, at best, arbitrary. 5:37 p.m., 8:19 p.m., 10:22 a.m., this is merely a sampling. Over 3 days, try as we might, we could not determine a pattern or system to the bell ringing. We would consult out watches every time they rang, 1:52 p.m., 11:21 a.m., it began to appear as if they were attempting to never ring them at the same time twice.
Going to dinner that evening was our first experience with Florence at night. Spotlights that glow with a white light the contains a yellow undertone highlight architectural details and accentuate the lines of the statuary standing in the plazas., My partner was so taken with them that he searched when we returned home until he found Christmas lights which replicated them for our tree that year.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Venice - Ode to a Shower
The following morning I took another of several incredible, almost life changing showers. The shower in our room not only had the standard overhead sprays but also 8 others, two rows of 4 running down the wall. You were hit from above, as usual, while the other jets massaged you at different places down your back, or front depending on which direction you were facing. A quick rinse off in this room was not an option. While someone is in the shower the oohs, aahs, moans and groans make it sound like they are having very enjoyable sex. As a matter of fact, a choice between mediocre sex and this shower would be a difficult decision to make. If the sex partner has a shower like this the shower just might last longer than the sex.
My partner priced this shower set up when we returned to the states.....we can't afford it so it shall only remain a delicious memory.
My partner priced this shower set up when we returned to the states.....we can't afford it so it shall only remain a delicious memory.
In November It Rains in Venice
I first heard it in the early morning hours. The gentle patter of rain on the roof outside the small dormer windows in our room. While a rainy day in Venice may sound romantic to some, the reality was the rain was cold and the winds fierce. The force of the wind was intensified by being funneled down the narrow streets.
An old piece of luggage we were carrying with us had fallen apart and needed to be replaced before the next leg of our trip. By mid morning the wind had also made mincemeat or our umbrella requiring that it too would need replacing. We found it ironic that one of the lead stories on the BBC that morning was about a tornado in our neighboring state of Indiana. Particularly considering the tempest going on outside our hotel.We had breakfast, with cappuccino's and headed out into the elements.
Many of the shops bore awnings allowing us to stay somewhat dry as we gazed in the windows at the colors and varieties of Murano Glass objects inside. The suitcase was purchased in one shop along with a red plaid umbrella which we still own but seldom use as it has become an admittedly silly but treasured memento of the trip.
We ran across a small restaurant and ducked inside, suitcase and umbrella in tow. We noshed on a cheese platter and downed more cappuccinos as we looked at our city map and planned our nest move.
The public transportation system of Venice is a fleet of boats that ply the canals. We decided to take the route that goes past the back of the city, a place rarely experienced by tourists, out to the city cemetery and then to the glass factories and showrooms on the islands of a Murano before depositing us at the dock down the street from our hotel. We could stay dry inside the boat and see various areas of the city from the water.
The wind whipped the water into choppy waves and blew the rain into the interior of the boat. Although we stayed somewhat dry, staying completely so proved to be an impossible task. When we returned to the hotel we were damp and shivering.
In our room we changed into dry clothes slinging our wet ones over the ancient log rafters to dry. The rain having abated, we returned to the street. Trash cans overflowed with ruined umbrellas. When the trashcans had been filled to capacity people had simply abandoned their tattered, inside out brollies beside them creating twisted piles of metal and fabric.
We dined at the same restaurant as the previous night, inside this time. As it was a quiet evening with few customers, the owner spent time with us reciting as exhaustive history on the origins of Italian Grappa before having us sample it. Pleasantly buzzed, we returned to our room.
An old piece of luggage we were carrying with us had fallen apart and needed to be replaced before the next leg of our trip. By mid morning the wind had also made mincemeat or our umbrella requiring that it too would need replacing. We found it ironic that one of the lead stories on the BBC that morning was about a tornado in our neighboring state of Indiana. Particularly considering the tempest going on outside our hotel.We had breakfast, with cappuccino's and headed out into the elements.
Many of the shops bore awnings allowing us to stay somewhat dry as we gazed in the windows at the colors and varieties of Murano Glass objects inside. The suitcase was purchased in one shop along with a red plaid umbrella which we still own but seldom use as it has become an admittedly silly but treasured memento of the trip.
We ran across a small restaurant and ducked inside, suitcase and umbrella in tow. We noshed on a cheese platter and downed more cappuccinos as we looked at our city map and planned our nest move.
The public transportation system of Venice is a fleet of boats that ply the canals. We decided to take the route that goes past the back of the city, a place rarely experienced by tourists, out to the city cemetery and then to the glass factories and showrooms on the islands of a Murano before depositing us at the dock down the street from our hotel. We could stay dry inside the boat and see various areas of the city from the water.
The wind whipped the water into choppy waves and blew the rain into the interior of the boat. Although we stayed somewhat dry, staying completely so proved to be an impossible task. When we returned to the hotel we were damp and shivering.
In our room we changed into dry clothes slinging our wet ones over the ancient log rafters to dry. The rain having abated, we returned to the street. Trash cans overflowed with ruined umbrellas. When the trashcans had been filled to capacity people had simply abandoned their tattered, inside out brollies beside them creating twisted piles of metal and fabric.
We dined at the same restaurant as the previous night, inside this time. As it was a quiet evening with few customers, the owner spent time with us reciting as exhaustive history on the origins of Italian Grappa before having us sample it. Pleasantly buzzed, we returned to our room.
Venice - A Tale of Pigeons, Canals and Cappuccinos
I have described Venice before to friends as a gracefully aging woman who dresses in a fashion which is slightly out of date but which she has managed to make her own. There is no one else like her. Her architecture is an orgy of styles. Patterned facades, stone carvings, placed in way that seems deliberately designed to take one by surprise. Striped mooring poles line a mix of plazas and tiny winding streets standing in her legendary canals. Massive chandeliers are visible through the windows of the grand, ornate buildings surrounding St Marks Square. The colors in the scenes which adorn the front of the Cathedral on the square almost appear to glow as if lit from behind.
Our first stop was for a cappuccino, now that my partner's curiosity had been aroused by his sampling at the train station in Rome. He liked it; a lot; we drank a number of them over the next several days. We then proceeded, caffeine fueled, down the Grand Canal to St Marks Square.
At first glance, one might think that 70% of all the pigeons in the world reside in the venerable square. Every step stirs up scores of them. Around the public plaza is a zone inhabited only by the wealthy. Expensive restaurants,high priced, high end hotels and an art gallery specializing in the likes of Picasso and Dali surround the world famous space.
On the far end of the plaza we pass through an arch carved out of the lower floors of one of the buildings and discover a shop window filled with odds and ends, including Venetian glass trimmed hat pins. As I collect hat pins we venture inside. A delightful woman greets us. A wonderful and disarming salesperson she is full of grace, good humor and a sales pitch that is hard to resist. We end up leaving with the hat pin, jewelry, both for gifts and for ourselves, and a miniature sterling silver gondola. I also have a collection of miniatures, some dating back to my great grandmother. We then lose ourselves in the narrow streets and canals that wind behind the buildings on St Marks Square.
The ground floors of the centuries old buildings have been made into boutiques devoted to every upscale, tony designer imaginable. Versace, Hugo Boss, Ferragamo and a seemingly endless multitude of others assault the senses plus the pocketbooks of those who can afford such wares. Amid this scene a ancient multistory old building surrounded by equally ancient canals bears a sign identifying it as a Best Western Inn.
As darkness falls we get REALLY lost. Retracing our steps and with the assistance of a waiter clearing tables at an outdoor restaurant, we eventually find our way our way and take a weary walk back to our hotel. As there are several arches leading to courtyards on the street where we are staying I come to identify ours by the pattern of cracks on the gangway wall.
We eat outside at a small restaurant down the block from the hotel. It is the final night of outdoor dining for this establishment. The next day we see the awning being dismantled and the tables and chairs being taken to storage for the winter months.
After dinner our tired feet carry us back down the street, past the cracked gangway wall and up the narrow stairs to our room for the night.
Our first stop was for a cappuccino, now that my partner's curiosity had been aroused by his sampling at the train station in Rome. He liked it; a lot; we drank a number of them over the next several days. We then proceeded, caffeine fueled, down the Grand Canal to St Marks Square.
At first glance, one might think that 70% of all the pigeons in the world reside in the venerable square. Every step stirs up scores of them. Around the public plaza is a zone inhabited only by the wealthy. Expensive restaurants,high priced, high end hotels and an art gallery specializing in the likes of Picasso and Dali surround the world famous space.
On the far end of the plaza we pass through an arch carved out of the lower floors of one of the buildings and discover a shop window filled with odds and ends, including Venetian glass trimmed hat pins. As I collect hat pins we venture inside. A delightful woman greets us. A wonderful and disarming salesperson she is full of grace, good humor and a sales pitch that is hard to resist. We end up leaving with the hat pin, jewelry, both for gifts and for ourselves, and a miniature sterling silver gondola. I also have a collection of miniatures, some dating back to my great grandmother. We then lose ourselves in the narrow streets and canals that wind behind the buildings on St Marks Square.
The ground floors of the centuries old buildings have been made into boutiques devoted to every upscale, tony designer imaginable. Versace, Hugo Boss, Ferragamo and a seemingly endless multitude of others assault the senses plus the pocketbooks of those who can afford such wares. Amid this scene a ancient multistory old building surrounded by equally ancient canals bears a sign identifying it as a Best Western Inn.
As darkness falls we get REALLY lost. Retracing our steps and with the assistance of a waiter clearing tables at an outdoor restaurant, we eventually find our way our way and take a weary walk back to our hotel. As there are several arches leading to courtyards on the street where we are staying I come to identify ours by the pattern of cracks on the gangway wall.
We eat outside at a small restaurant down the block from the hotel. It is the final night of outdoor dining for this establishment. The next day we see the awning being dismantled and the tables and chairs being taken to storage for the winter months.
After dinner our tired feet carry us back down the street, past the cracked gangway wall and up the narrow stairs to our room for the night.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Venice - Where The ?!!?! Is Our Hotel?
My partner grew up in Florida and has always had a love affair with water. As an aside, I am somewhat aqua phobic. As he gazed out at the canal he commented on how wonderful the next days would be for him due to his fondness for the water, even if the water in the canals is rather brackish, to say the least. We descended the steps, luggage in hand and boarded the water bus for our first trip down the canal towards our hotel.
It was at this point that we discovered that the Goggle maps provided by the Internet booking agents are not always what one would consider reliable. I tried in vain to correlate the map on our reservation sheet with the Venice street map in our guidebook. We finally resorted to asking the boat pilot where to get off. He told us, brusquely, that it would be a while before we would get to our stop. Boating our way down the Grand Canal we passed St Marks Square, with it towering Campanile, the beautiful, landmark Bridge of Sighs and traveled under the Via Venneto, the major bridge over the Grand Canal. Getting nervous about the distance we had traveled I checked again with the pilot who informed me we were not "there" yet. Finally the boat docked next to a public park at the farthest tip of the city and he announced that we had reached our destination.
My partner converted our largest bag into a wagon, piled the other bags on top of it and using our guidebook map, I led us across the park to the street where our hotel was supposed to be located. The street turned out to be a broad plaza in a largely residential neighborhood. A group of children were playing a game of soccer in the middle of the plaza, a fruit and vegetable stand stood off to one side of it. The address for our hotel was in the 1900's. We immediately had cause for concern when the addresses on the buildings on the street did not go above 8000. After stopping a few people in the street, none of whom seemed to have a command of the English language, my partner noticed a beauty salon. Being a hair stylist himself, he exclaimed "International Society of Hairdressers, go ask them!" Stepping into the salon I found the employees sitting talking with one another. When I queried "Parla Engles" they looked at one another and shook their heads no. In desperation, I pulled out our reservation sheet and pointed at the address. They all nodded their heads in acknowledgement and one got up and went out the door with me trailing behind.
Seeing my partner with the wagon of luggage she motioned for us to follow her. She led us a short way down the street and pointed to an arched entrance to a gangway that led into a courtyard. We thanked her and proceeded down the gangway. Entering the courtyard we found the numbers on the buildings were in the 9000's. Laundry hung from lines strung across the yard, It is worth noting that the same laundry was still hanging there two days later making us wonder if it was prop laundry used in an attempt to create old world atmosphere.
Passing through this courtyard into a second one buried deeper behind the street we found our hotel. A former Doges home hundreds of years old. Inside the door we found a small room with an inlaid marble floor and tiny reception desk. The gentleman who greeted us, after checking us in, apologized for the lack of a lift and let us up a narrow staircase with notably short risers. I surmised that peoples legs must have been shorter back in the day. When we got to the second floor he pointed out a room to our left. It had beautifully painted walls, a glass chandelier and three french windows at it's far end. Furnished with tables, chairs and a station for making cappuccino, a drink that would become ubiquitous on this trip, it was where breakfast, included with the room, was served each morning. Our room was on the top floor. I assume that it had been either servant's quarters or children's rooms. He opened the door. We walked down the narrow hallway past the bath into the room itself.
Our heads immediately turned upwards to gaze in amazement at the ceiling. Under the peaked roof above our heads massive, ancient round wooden beams crossed the room. We then took in the lovely period reproduction furnishings and the three tiny dormer windows along one wall. When we opened the shutters we discovered our view was of a tiled roof. I could never make out if it was another part of the building we were in or an adjoining one due to the close confines of the structures in the city. Depositing our bags we ventured out to explore Venice.
It was at this point that we discovered that the Goggle maps provided by the Internet booking agents are not always what one would consider reliable. I tried in vain to correlate the map on our reservation sheet with the Venice street map in our guidebook. We finally resorted to asking the boat pilot where to get off. He told us, brusquely, that it would be a while before we would get to our stop. Boating our way down the Grand Canal we passed St Marks Square, with it towering Campanile, the beautiful, landmark Bridge of Sighs and traveled under the Via Venneto, the major bridge over the Grand Canal. Getting nervous about the distance we had traveled I checked again with the pilot who informed me we were not "there" yet. Finally the boat docked next to a public park at the farthest tip of the city and he announced that we had reached our destination.
My partner converted our largest bag into a wagon, piled the other bags on top of it and using our guidebook map, I led us across the park to the street where our hotel was supposed to be located. The street turned out to be a broad plaza in a largely residential neighborhood. A group of children were playing a game of soccer in the middle of the plaza, a fruit and vegetable stand stood off to one side of it. The address for our hotel was in the 1900's. We immediately had cause for concern when the addresses on the buildings on the street did not go above 8000. After stopping a few people in the street, none of whom seemed to have a command of the English language, my partner noticed a beauty salon. Being a hair stylist himself, he exclaimed "International Society of Hairdressers, go ask them!" Stepping into the salon I found the employees sitting talking with one another. When I queried "Parla Engles" they looked at one another and shook their heads no. In desperation, I pulled out our reservation sheet and pointed at the address. They all nodded their heads in acknowledgement and one got up and went out the door with me trailing behind.
Seeing my partner with the wagon of luggage she motioned for us to follow her. She led us a short way down the street and pointed to an arched entrance to a gangway that led into a courtyard. We thanked her and proceeded down the gangway. Entering the courtyard we found the numbers on the buildings were in the 9000's. Laundry hung from lines strung across the yard, It is worth noting that the same laundry was still hanging there two days later making us wonder if it was prop laundry used in an attempt to create old world atmosphere.
Passing through this courtyard into a second one buried deeper behind the street we found our hotel. A former Doges home hundreds of years old. Inside the door we found a small room with an inlaid marble floor and tiny reception desk. The gentleman who greeted us, after checking us in, apologized for the lack of a lift and let us up a narrow staircase with notably short risers. I surmised that peoples legs must have been shorter back in the day. When we got to the second floor he pointed out a room to our left. It had beautifully painted walls, a glass chandelier and three french windows at it's far end. Furnished with tables, chairs and a station for making cappuccino, a drink that would become ubiquitous on this trip, it was where breakfast, included with the room, was served each morning. Our room was on the top floor. I assume that it had been either servant's quarters or children's rooms. He opened the door. We walked down the narrow hallway past the bath into the room itself.
Our heads immediately turned upwards to gaze in amazement at the ceiling. Under the peaked roof above our heads massive, ancient round wooden beams crossed the room. We then took in the lovely period reproduction furnishings and the three tiny dormer windows along one wall. When we opened the shutters we discovered our view was of a tiled roof. I could never make out if it was another part of the building we were in or an adjoining one due to the close confines of the structures in the city. Depositing our bags we ventured out to explore Venice.
A Train Ride Through Tuscany - It Looks Kind Of Like Wisconsin
After the one night in Rome we were to spend two nights in Venice, three in Florence, including my partners birthday and one final night in Rome before returning home. Our train left early the next morning. At the train station I stopped for a cappuccino. I usually need coffee to jump start my mornings. My partners caffeinatted beverage of choice has always been coke or Pepsi. However, for some unknown reason, he decided that day to try the cappuccino. He took a tiny spoonful of the foam off the top. It was love at first taste. Cappuccinos became commonplace from that point of the trip on. Which might be part of the explanation for my recurrent insomnia during this vacation.
As the train left the station another of the ruins one encounters, located in a seemingly haphazard manner throughout Rome, stood by the tracks. Our train to Venice took us through the vineyards and rolling green hills of the Tuscan countryside. My partner observed that it resembled Wisconsin. I wanted to disagree, but after some thought, realized that it did, indeed resemble Wisconsin. The train took us past the ancient ramparts of Florence. I was mildly disappointed to see that the Duomo, Florence's main cathedral, which was visible from our vantage point, was under renovation. Portions of it were covered by scaffolding and netting. We continued north toward Venice. We almost disembarked one stop too soon. There are two trains stops for Venice. Two young girls we had met on the train thankfully set us to rights. Shortly, we pulled into Venice.
We had decided that we would make the reservation for the next leg of the trip at the station as soon as we arrived. It had worked well in Rome. I went and stood in line to get our train tickets to Florence. As I left the window I saw my partner staring wide eyed, almost hypnotized, through the arched exit of the station taking in the canal at the bottom of the steps outside and the sweep of buildings on the opposite shore.
As the train left the station another of the ruins one encounters, located in a seemingly haphazard manner throughout Rome, stood by the tracks. Our train to Venice took us through the vineyards and rolling green hills of the Tuscan countryside. My partner observed that it resembled Wisconsin. I wanted to disagree, but after some thought, realized that it did, indeed resemble Wisconsin. The train took us past the ancient ramparts of Florence. I was mildly disappointed to see that the Duomo, Florence's main cathedral, which was visible from our vantage point, was under renovation. Portions of it were covered by scaffolding and netting. We continued north toward Venice. We almost disembarked one stop too soon. There are two trains stops for Venice. Two young girls we had met on the train thankfully set us to rights. Shortly, we pulled into Venice.
We had decided that we would make the reservation for the next leg of the trip at the station as soon as we arrived. It had worked well in Rome. I went and stood in line to get our train tickets to Florence. As I left the window I saw my partner staring wide eyed, almost hypnotized, through the arched exit of the station taking in the canal at the bottom of the steps outside and the sweep of buildings on the opposite shore.
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