Going for Italian

Food is very important part of our travels.  Sleep is right up there, but food is the trump card.

Each day, sitting with a cup of coffee, Jo, java, cafe au' lait, caffe latte, ein Kuppen von Koffee, or whatever else the locals are brewing, we start talking about what we want to eat and how on Earth we are going to get it.  We have hunting, gathering and foraging down to a science, particularly if waiters are involved and they take Visa or American Express.

Then, while eating, our conversation seems to drift to where our next meal will be.  We are basically a never-ending Mobius Cafeteria Line.

I love it!!!

And each country we visit has their own approach to food.

The boat was pretty simple, as they kept tables constantly full of food throughout the entire day.  When on land, we could usually be found with a glass of wine in one hand (our on-land excursions were pretty much historical sites while tasting wine) and a strudel in the other, so we didn't have much of chance to actually get hungry.

In Switzerland, unfortunately, we both had bad colds, so we spent a lot of time recuperating in our lovely hotel room overlooking Lucerne.

 View from the Hotel Balances in Lucerne.

 Our room at the Hotel Balances.

Not a bad place to recover from our flu/colds!

Swiss speciality dish Lozärner Chögalipaschtetli

(Veal dumplings bedded in a flaky pastry pie with rice and vegetables)

Swiss Skillet with their famous “Chapellbridge–Röschti”

 (Swiss hash browns, tomato, bacon, cheese, chives with an egg sunny side up)

And then, there was Italy!

Back home, at the end of the day and we both find ourselves exhausted, we often engage in a battle of wills as to who is going to approach the kitchen.  It is hunger vs. tiredness as we list who prepared what and cleaned up after in the recent past.  "I cooked last night."  "I'll see that and raise you the two prior nights, plus cleanup."

Going for Italian is a common compromise.  I wouldn't say it is the ultimate compromise, that's Chinese "You order, I'll pick up."  But if we agree on Italian, we head off to one of our favorite places and a whole garden of delectable choices opens up before us, "Caprese, carpaccio, bruschetta, linguine, spaghetti, penne pasta, pomodoro, marinara, bolognese, and lasagna"!!!!

After a couple of weeks of being in Italy and living on Italian food though, you start craving something, anything else.  It's like all they have here is Italian!  I don't know how the Italians do it.  If I lived here all the time, I could just see trying to tempt the children, "Hey kids, let's go for Italian tonight!"  Nothing but groans.  "Let's order pizza!!"  Armed rebellion.

Karen and I will be walking down the Italian streets and looking at the menus on the outside of the restaurants.  "Do they all print these menus at the same place?  All they have is caprese, carpaccio, bruschetta, linguine, spaghetti, penne pasta, pomodoro, marinara, bolognese, and lasagna."

We are craving French food… but will definitely miss the gelato!!

When the Moon Hits Your Eye Like a Big Pisa Pie

We had a great time in Pisa!!!

We stayed at the hotel "Baloney", spelt "Bologna".

The desk people were a little on the cranky side.  Karen interrupted one guy when he was counting out his coins, Scrooge-like, at the front desk.  Apparently, having to respond to a question and count to quatro-cinco or where ever he was, was just too much.  He threw the coins down in exasperation and asked her what she could possibly want.   Now I have been with this pretty girl for years and that poor sucker didn't realize that she had the option of glaring him into a tower of flames.

She let him live, though he was clearly on probation.

He was oblivious, but tried to make conversation.

Cranky guy:  "Is this your first-a time in-a Pisa?"

Karen:  "It's mine, but my husband was here 40 years ago."

Gary:  "Last time I was here, you guys had a tower with a pretty bad tilt, did you fix it?"

Cranky guy:  "It-a no fall down."

After our train ride, we were both feeling a bit warm, tired and used.

Our room was very clean, nice wood floors in the bedroom, tile in the bathroom and a window which looked out over an enclosed space with a ceiling.  Not quite a courtyard.  More of a prison yard, although not in a bad way.

The problem with this arrangement was that the window did not allow fresh air to come in.  Fortunately, the room had one of those great ductless air-conditioning units.  These are called "splits", they are use a lot in historic houses in Europe and the Caribbean and we have them back at our house in Lake Oswego.  We love them!!!!!  Karen turned it on, adjusted it, turned it on again, adjusted it some more, and turned it on.  She repeated the process, often.  The split hung there, high on the wall, quietly observing our every move.

In fairness, the light would go on and the vent would open and close.  However, the split seemed to think that was sufficient.  It didn't know Karen.  Karen views the Arctic as "pleasant".  People who spend time at our house compare it to a meat locker.  If our room in Pisa was a meat locker, the meat was going to go bad.

Karen, of course, has an answer to issues like this.

"Gary, go downstairs and talk to the front desk.  Tell them the air conditioning doesn't work."

"You mean the cranky guy who can't count to ten?"

"Yes, tell them that the hotel advertises air conditioning."

"You know that advertisement might have more to do with the Summer than January when it is 38 degrees out."

I got the Glare.  I decided that I should probably go talk to the cranky guy at the reception.

Cranky guy first looked at me like I was from Mars when I said the air conditioning did not work.  "You mean, it is too cold?"  He then told me that the rooms were set to "16" which of course is in Centigrade and I might as well been from Mars - "What's that in American?"  It finally came out that all of the "machinas are a link-ed together like a bigga puzzelo" or something.  He promised me that he could turn the "machina" to ventilation only, but not air-conditioning.  Of course, he couldn't do that either.

I actually didn't see that guy again before we left.  I don't know whether Karen permanently maimed or killed him.  She didn't say and I didn't ask.

It was dark, we were in Pisa, we were hungry and we had to see that tilty tower-thing.  We were off!

The Hotel Baloney is real close to a lot of great things, but it spills out onto a narrow street, with narrower sidewalks.  On the street, cars, motorbikes, taxis and large buses all go incredibly fast.  I'd say they have little regard for pedestrians, but that would make them seem more caring than they actually were.  We survived the several blocks to the river, crossed the bridge and walked up a delightful, broad, Christmas-lighted avenue with lots of pedestrians.  It was great!!!

We walked a long ways and the street became less occupied, as in empty.  It's at times like this that we have one of our typical conversations:

Karen, "Are we going the right way?  You've been here before."

Gary, "That was 40 years ago.  I actually don't remember and they might have moved it."

Karen, "The leaning tower?"

Gary, "Last time I saw it, it was."

And then, as with most of our journeys, we turned the corner and a magnificent sight came into view.  The leaning tower and the duomo, bathed in light!  We walked around the tower and the church, amazed at what we were looking at.

It really is spectacular just as a sight and recognizing the millions of people over the hundreds of years which have looked at pretty much the same thing.

We stopped at a restaurant within view of the Tower, L'Europe, which appeared to be a likely spot.  It was a quiet night for the guy trying to attract people off the street, as we were about the only people on the street.  We had a nice bottle of wine and food, relaxed and looked at the view.  

At the end of the evening, we ordered up a taxi which took us back to our hotel room and a delightful sleep.

Ah, Pisa!

On the Rhine

Our suite on the Amacello was wonderful!

It was on the third level (the top cabin-level), spacious, with lots of storage area (everything, including our empty suitcases, were put away and out of view) and a huge bathroom with both a bath tub and a shower.

On our prior voyage, when we were squeezed into a "regular" cabin, I distinctly recall the moment talking to another passenger who commented that he'd just taken a "bath".  He came from England, so I asked if he meant having a wash, he somewhat sheepishly replied, "no, my suite has a bathtub."  We knew that we wanted one of the suites on the next voyage.

After boarding and stowing our stuff, we joined the captain for a "toast" to the voyage and then retired to the aft lounge for a wine reception for returning guests (those who had sailed with AmaWaterways before).

All in all, a very civilized send off for our cruise!

The meals on board were very good, being part buffet and part off-menu.  The waitstaff and the wine stewards were very attentive and our routine quickly became one of trying to pace ourselves with so much food and drink being provided!  They put out coffee and a light breakfast at 6 a.m., followed by a regular breakfast from 7 to 10:30, a light brunch around 11, a lunch from 11:30 to 1:30, an afternoon snack around 1 or 2, tea and cakes around 4 (sometimes with hot mulled wine), dinner between 6 and 8 and on special occasions, like night, another snack.  Each meal had a separate manned dessert table, including a variety of ice creams and sorbets, and an unmanned, but not unwatched, cheese table, which I frequented, often and with gusto.  Top this off with a bartender who would greet me in the evening with, "would you like your regular vodka martini and brandies for your guests, Mr. Barnum?"

It was, in short, heavenly.

Very early on we met a delightful English couple, Roger and Helen, with whom we shared many of the meals, a significant number of libations and a number of the land tours.

The cruise as a whole was incredibly relaxing.  Having experienced both now, apart from the "castle-part of the Rhine in the middle" the Danube is probably more scenic than the Rhine.

The thing about the Rhine is that you are pretty much surrounded by Germans.  You really cannot throw a "stein" without clobbering one on his "kopf".  Now, don't get me wrong, according to my ancestors, I am half German (the cranky half that eats too much and has the nagging desire to invade Poland).  Admittedly, part of the Danube cruise was in Germany too, though most of it was in Hungary, Croatia and Austria.  Austrians are fine, they are "germanic", but they have great desserts and a sense of humor which sets them apart from their Northern cousins.  Germans seem to take everything too seriously, even when they are standing around in short leather pants.  The captain, the crew and the staff seemed to come from everywhere but Germany, with a huge number from Hungary and Romania.

We only actually met Germans when we went on land.  One of our German tour guides gave us a good view of the German "funny bone" when talking about a castle, saying, "There is a funny legend with this castle.  The lord fell in love with a local girl, but was going to fight in the Crusades.  Before he left, to pledge themselves to one another, they planted a tree and the lord said that so long as the tree grew, he was alive.  An evil baron found out about the tree and wanted the girl so he secretly dug up the tree and replaced it with a dead tree.  The girl killed herself and when the lord returned from the Crusade he threw himself off the castle wall and died."

Boy, now that WAS a funny story.  I can't wait to see the film version, "Sleepless in the Rhine" or "When Hans Dumped Sally".

And that was just one of the funny legends and tales.  There were also stories involving cages with people dropped into rivers, warring brothers and people trapped in towers.  The Brothers Grimm really were just reporters, they didn't make anything up.

We ended up making some of the humor on our own.  Our cruise director was a very nice Hungarian.  She had a pronounced and continuous roll to her "r's".  Apparently, a number of the castles were owned by "robber barons" which when she said it, sounded like "rubber bands".   It changed the presentation when we heard that "The people in this region were oppressed and tortured by the rubber bands.  The rubber bands would swoop down and harass the local people.  Even many wealthy people would lose their castles to the rubber bands."

The last couple of days of the cruise, we were on the border between Germany and France, with the option of taking the day walking tours to either.  I don't think it was on purpose, but we realized at the end of the cruise that we had picked France every time.

Then it was on to Switzerland!!!!

Italy - Machines - Pazienza

I actually love hotel-room safes.

I suppose I trust them more than I should, but having experienced a pickpocket in Paris (or rather, not felt it at all), I like the thought of locking up the passports, extra credit cards and money into an apparently secure location.

I was never quite as comfortable leaving stuff at the front desk for them to put into a box which only everybody behind the desk could access - you know they had an extra key.

With a hotel-room safe, you just key in your 4 to 6 number code and "voila!" or I suppose "presto!" in Italy.  Of course, this is Italy and machines do not necessarily work all of the time.  So, on several occasions in Italy, most recently, this morning, I punched the clear sign, entered the code, pushed enter and the light went green, then the door, rather than being sealed, popped open.  I re-entered the whole thing again and again, with the same result.

I have an incredible amount of patience (or in Italian, pazienza).  I often amaze myself at how patient I can be in the face of frustration.  It's just that, when it's out, it's out, and there is not much warning (sometimes, none) when I have reached that point.  Machines, in particular, can send me right off the deep end.

It's at moments like that, as I'm reaching into the closet to grab the safe that Karen asks, "What are you doing?" I reply, "I'm going to tear this d%$# safe from the wall, smash it to bits and then search out every member of it's family and destroy them all.  Why do you ask?"

Karen just stares at me as though I've said something insane and suggests that a calmer approach might be more fruitful.  She then says something like, "What did you do?"  to which I reply, "I followed every one one of their f#$%ing instructions to the letter several hundred times and it refuses to respond."

Karen, "Let me try it."

Gary, "Be my guest, but it is the spawn of Satan and should be destroyed."

Karen, "There, it worked."

This has happened more than once.  In my defense, I think my reaction is a "Guy Thing".  We just get incredibly frustrated and want to take it out on something.  Frankly, I would not be surprised if I found out some day that Attila the Hun was actually a nice guy who just had a problem with his hotel safe and took it out on the local populace.

Karen has her own issues with patience, though machines don't seem to put her off the way they do me.  It's people who disturb her, particularly those that make her wait.  As Karen puts it, she is a very patient person, except for the waiting part.

When we are in a situation waiting for some unknown reason, Karen's usual response is to turn to me and say:  "Gary, go find out why we are being delayed."

Gary, "You mean, go up and ask that angry official who probably doesn't speak English what the problem is?"

Karen, "Yes."

Gary, "You realize he has a long scar and is armed?"

Karen, "That's okay, we've been waiting here longer than we should have."

And so on.

After a lovely stay in Venice with Jona and Claire, we had to arrange for a train trip from Venice to Pisa.  To start with, for almost every Italian town, you have a selection of train stations to stop at.  In the States, if you take a train to Portland, Oregon, you get off in Portland, there are no other choices.  Not true in Italy, you have a choice and if you get off at the wrong station, you can find yourself in the middle of nowhere without a paddle or even a taxi.  I know * * * I have been there.

Then, there is the question of how you can make a reservation.  I should have seen this coming before we left.  I bought tickets for us from Lucerne, Switzerland to Venice on line through Train Europe (which, interestingly, does not exist anymore, having gone out of business at the end of December).  It was not possible to leave the tickets at the railroad "will call" or to have electronic tickets.  Physical tickets had to be shipped to us, which was interesting, since we were leaving in four days.  They made it to us, but parts of our trip were unplanned, so I did not have the option to ship other tickets to us as we were "no longer home."

So, I was in Venice, trying to arrange for reservations on-line to go to Pisa and having no luck.  They still wanted to ship the tickets to me and that would not work as we were leaving the next day.  Frustrated, I went down to our hotel reception.

Gary, "Can you call the train station and reserve us tickets to Pisa tomorrow?"

Reception, "Oh, no.  You will have to go to the train station.  Of course, you can reserve on the computer."

Gary, "I haven't been able to make that work.  Can you help me?"

Reception, "Oh, no, I have never been able to make it work either."

So I asked Claire how they got their tickets and she admitted that her mother (who is French) had picked them up at the train station in Paris because no one knows how to get them over the computer.

So, here we are in 2014 and the electronic age and the only way to get an Italian train ticket is to "go to the station."

In the end, going to the train station worked out fine, since Jona and Claire were leaving Venice for Paris via train.  We just accompanied them to the train station (which is just a long walk and a longer boat ride, but you're still in Venice).  Upon arrival, we went to the ticket office to arrange for tickets.  There were a random number of people, standing around and a random number of agents, not helping people.  Eventually, we ended up in front of an agent and got tickets.  As the agent was handing our tickets to us, she said, "You will need to have these tickets validated tomorrow before boarding."  It was one of those moments that we did not hear the ominous music in the background, though I did ask, "How do we do that?"  The agent responded, "Go to any of the green machines in the station."

We had a nice walk with Jona and Claire to their sleeping coach to Paris, they boarded the train and we headed back to catch the water bus to our hotel, failing to notice that every machine, no matter what size or purpose, in the huge train station, was green.

The water buses, or vaporetti, in Venice are something.  The go all over the city's canals, stopping at designated points and will take you almost anywhere, so long as you pick the correct designated point.  The water taxis, which are what we have always used before, are a lot more expensive, but they have the distinct advantage of taking you exactly to the point where you tell the driver to go.  After seeing Jona and Claire off, we still had time left on our vaporetti ticket, which was the method that we used with Jona and Claire to get to the train station.

          

          

          

       

The return seemed simple enough.  We knew that we wanted the "number 2" water bus, for San Marco.  We found it and hopped on.  There were not many people on board, which should have been a clue.  However, we moved up to the front of the boat, found a couple of seats outside and prepared to enjoy the trip back.  What we had not noticed was that the boat we were now on would eventually arrive back at San Marco, but first it had to go to all other points.  In a way, there are "two Venices".  There is the labyrinth of canals and then there are the separate islands, the industrial area and the open sea.  Having spent time in the labyrinth of canals, our pilot apparently opted for the "other Venice".

It started to rain.

Having been to the back of the prior vaporetti, we could only imagine those poor people, standing around on an open deck, with no where to sit down.  Our seats, while becoming increasingly damp, were at least chairs, so we could huddle together and stick our chins out towards the wet darkness.

Venice really is quite huge and, after taking this extended tour, it is amazing how many places there are which really can and should be ignored and avoided.  We have seen them all.

Eventually, the weather won out and we decided to abandon our chairs and at least take advantage of the wind-break from the pilot house.  It turns out that this particular vaporetti had a slightly different configuration.  Behind the pilot house was a closed room, heated and dry with benches.  Who knew?  Well, besides the people already in there.  Those people just stared at us as though we were slightly nuts.  We pretended to be sailors recently saved from a sunken vaporetti.

Much later, our vaporetti pulled into San Marco and we disembarked, the last stop of that particular journey.

We had learned a lot of stuff about Venice that day.  I think Karen best captured it when she said, "Gary, tomorrow we are taking a water taxi to the train station."  I noticed that it was not stated in the form of a question and I was fairly certain that no response was even being sought.  It was more in the nature of "Gary, tomorrow the sun will rise."  With either statement I knew that, if it it were not the case, I'd be in trouble.

The next day, we packed all of our gear and we're getting ready to go.  About a half an hour before we were scheduled to be picked up by the water taxi, the hotel reception called in a panic and said, "The water is rising and the water taxi will be here in 5 minutes!  You need to be ready!  My apology."

I appreciated the last comment, but I was the person who had to pass on the rest of the message to Karen as "They want us to go, now!"

We "rushed" downstairs (you don't really rush with our luggage, it's more of a determined "advance" like a military regiment), said our goodbyes to the delightful owners of the hotel and boarded the water taxi.  The ride was very interesting.  The water was rising and the boat only cleared a couple of the low canal bridges through sinking in the water when the bridge pushed against the superstructure.  We eventually made it to the Grand Canal, which has headroom and up to the train station.

With the help of a local porter, we got our baggage up to the train station and then went in search of the machine to validate the tickets.  It was then that we noticed that all of the machines in the train station were green and none of them seemed to have anything to do with "validation".  I left Karen with the baggage and went into the ticket office.  The ticket office was a sea of inactivity.  There were potential passengers all over the place, loosely lined up in all directions and agents sitting behind the counters shaking their heads at people in front of them.  I tried to ask a simple question, "How do I validate?", but was just glared at by agents and passengers alike.  Above each of the agents was a number, which started with a letter A or B and then had a number apparently between 001 and 300, or so.  After a few minutes, I noticed that there was another green machine with a menu (in Italian) of options.  I pushed random buttons and a number I-113 spat out which didn't look too bad, though none of the numbers on the charts started with an "I".  Eventually, a number 113 appeared above an agent so I walked up and showed him my pass, to which he shook his head and said "Informazione!" and nodded to the next room which had an information desk, with a separate readout which said "I-023" or something like that.

In the meantime, I had gone to one of the many large green machines which may have had clear instructions, in Italian.  The ticket had a computer read out which I waived in front of the machine and the machine confirmed that that was our ticket, that it could be changed and that it would need to be validated, apparently somewhere else.  There were about 20 minutes left before our train was scheduled to leave.

It is at this point where, if I had my own hoard, as in a group of Huns or Mongols, it would have been show time.  "Okay, kids, let's take this place down.  If I see one ticket agent or green machine standing after your done, you're going to have me to answer to!"  So, it is not my fault, but rather just an historical accident that I did not have my hoard and the Venice train station remains there to frustrate tourists in the future.

I stormed out of the ticket office, but Karen stopped me from starting to try and muster a revolution.  Somehow, she convinced me to go back into the ticket office and, perhaps because my hair was by this time messed up like a crazy person and my eyes were starting to blaze like a crazy person that one of the agents thought that, perhaps, I was a crazy person and he said, "Validation machine on train platform."  Now, that was a new piece of information!

Karen and I went out to the platforms and, sure enough, tucked away on each train platform was a little green machine on a pole.  It had tiny words about validation, and it had a place where I could stick the tickets, so I did.  If I would have had a ticket agent handy, I would have stuck him in too.

Apparently, that worked, as the machine did a little be-bop-a-dop and the train conductor accepted the ticket.

We loaded all of our baggage on the train and we're off to Pisa!!!!!

Amsterdam at Christmas Time

We checked into the Doubletree Hilton near the "Centraaaaaaal Train Station" in Amsterdam.  For me, it was a red-letter day.  I have been a member of the Hilton Honors program since the Carter administration, diligently collecting "reward" points so that someday I too could stay at one of those resorts with the naked lady in the spa with the line of rocks on her back.  However, every time I checked what my mass of points were worth, they would usually translate to "a night in Topeka, without breakfast".  Finally, I was able to cash in and get a two nights' stay in Amsterdam!!  I don't think there was a spa and Karen wasn't keen on the idea of me stacking rocks on her, but everything else was there and free, including breakfast!

I have used up all my reward points now and have to start a collecting them again.  I figure my next Hilton Reward Stay will be at the Hilton Assisted Living Suites.

The hotel was nice.  We had a "suite" complete with a door, a bed and a television.  There was a separate small bathroom, which was a plus.  Karen characterized it as "small" and we both wondered what their regular rooms would look like?

The real great thing about the suite was it had a balcony overlooking Amsterdam.  It was a beautiful view!!!!  In addition to the normal "Amsterdam" sights, there were a number of Christmassy things.

Below our balcony were a couple of large (as in Ginormous) brightly-lit prickly balls.

Then, in front of the "Centraaaaaaaaal Train Station" there was beautiful huge Christmas tree, brightly lit and decorated (above the 20 foot level) which was probably four stories tall.  We were not quite sure why the decorations were not on the bottom part, perhaps they ran out of lights like we always do.

In addition to those decorations, there was an all blue tall Smurf tree and a huge brightly lit festive whiffle ball (at least that's what it appeared to be).

I had been reading about Amsterdam's Christmas "Illuminade" or "Festival of Light" which promised "a canal cruise through this year's selection of spectacular illuminated artworks."  Something Christmassy and not to be missed!!

After reading about it and seeing the Christmas decorations from our balcony, we knew that the Illuminade Canal Tour was a "must see".  We figured what we had seen was just the slightest taste of what was to come, not realizing that we'd already experienced the full meal, including soup and dessert.

Heading over to the dock, we picked a promising ship for our tour.  It would have been helpful (and accurate) if it had been named the "Flying Dutchman to Nowhere" or "Ship of Fools", but it wasn't.  We were each given a small cup of hot wine and told to wait in a huge line to buy our tickets.  Of course, we had the "massive group of elderly women who travel together but take separate checks" so it took a long time to get through the line.  We finally boarded our ship and it was packed with expectant tourists.  We couldn't even get seats by the window, though it ultimately didn't matter.

The Illuminade Canal Tour takes about two hours, but it feels like half a day.  It is best done at night because it is easier to see where the locals do not put up lights as decorations.  For the most part, the trip is through darkened canals, with the occasional "artistic light montage", each of which needs to be explained ("the artist's rendition of lights on this building is here to show the hopelessness of man's condition on a canal tour") and none of which has anything to do with Christmas.

The captain took us through most of the canals of Amsterdam, apparently to prove that we hadn't missed anything and that there really wasn't anything to see.  Midway into the journey I wondered out loud if I could give the captain money to let us off.  He didn't take the bait, the miserable old sea dog.

A group of Italians caught on early what the cruise consisted of and started loudly going "ooh" and "aah" anytime we passed a street light.

We finally, gratefully, got back to our dock, thanked the captain for allowing us to disembark before dying and admired the Christmas Tree in front of the "Centraaaaal Train Station" on our way back.

If you have the chance to catch the Amsterdam Christmas Illuminade Canal Tour, it is an experience which you should definitely not fail to miss!!!!