CAN A FAMILY OF FOUR SURVIVE 17 DAYS OF TOGETHERNESS?
The short answer is, yes, of course they can. The long answer will be revealed in this trip report, which I am finally writing after being home now for many weeks. It has taken me this long to relax, get over my jet-lag and reflect on this “trip of a lifetime” that we embarked on way back on June 16th. The four of us, Roger, myself, Jordan (16 ½) and Mackenzie (just turned 13) took our seats on a British Airways flight to Paris, each one of us having different expectations. For myself, I had a big desire to give my kids the “travel bug” – which I got from my own parents so long ago. Jordan & Mackenzie seemed to have a desire to see the famous sites that they had seen in books and heard about from friends: the Tour Eiffel, French cafes, Notre Dame, the Venetian canals. Roger – well, he has only done a small amount of traveling in his life and, although he always has a great time, he is honest about the fact that he has no interest in planning a trip of this sort. He’s a good sport, though, as we found out. You have to be when you are the only man traveling with three girls through some of the most incredible shopping cities in Europe, right?
Although we had taken a trip to Europe six years ago, this seemed like a more adventurous proposition. Our last trip was not linguistically challenging as we spend much of the time in a lovely town where they mainly speak English (London) and we visited friends who have children, giving us some “social” time with familiar faces. This year, our trip involved lots of traveling by train, bus, boat and, most frightening of all, Italian taxi. We had a wide variety of sleeping accommodations – all interesting in their own way. We also had to learn to say “hello”, “please”, thank-you” and “where is the bathroom?” in both French and Italian. We learned that, if you do it with a smile, everyone is much nicer even if you have mispronounced the words!
PARIS
When our flight reached Paris it was almost 6:00 p.m. and we were a little over an hour late getting in. We were tired and cranky but very excited – until we realized that the first task after getting through customs was to telephone our apartment agent to announce our arrival. The last time I was in France was 1974 and lots of folks in Paris didn’t even have phones. Suffice it to say that things have changed a bit since then. As a matter of fact, everyone has a phone now in Paris and, usually, they are talking on it 24/7! We found a telephone and started dialing. I reached the agent at www.rentparis.com (I know it’s not very imaginative but they have a nice website) and he promised to meet us at the apartment in one-half hour. We walked outside to the taxi stand and the first taxi in line was, believe it or not, a Passat station wagon, very similar to the one we have sitting in our garage. A good omen, I thought. Even better than that, the driver was friendly, kind, English-speaking and a reasonable driver. The traffic, however, did not choose to cooperate and it took us 1 ¼ hours to get to our apartment in the Marais. I thought we had bad traffic here in the Bay Area but what we have is nothing as bad as this. It made me very happy to know that we would not be driving in Paris! Being City people, we figured the Metro was the best thing for us, and that was a wise decision.
Jean-Pierre was waiting in front of our little flat on Rue Pecquey. Although the flat was tiny, it allowed us to have a full kitchen & laundry. The girls were pleased to see that there was a pullout sofa in the living room for Jordan and a sleeping loft for Mackenzie, as well as MTV and FTV on the tube. Never heard of FTV? Think skinny girls in short skirts. That’s right. Fashion TV, which is a big thing in Europe, was right in our living room! And, I just have to say this about MTV. You haven’t really lived until you have watched the Osbornes with French subtitles.
Rue Pecquey is a small alley approximately 1 ½ blocks from the Pompidou Center in the heart of a wonderful, hip, lively neighborhood called the Marais. Marais means, “swamp” in French but the Parisians took care of that little geological problem hundreds of years ago. From this location we could walk to the Louvre & Notre Dame & take a Metro train anywhere else we might want to go. The alley was just wide enough for one little car to drive through and, since it was warm outside, we got to know our neighbors really well, if you know what I mean. Since air conditioning in old buildings in Paris is rare, we all had our giant windows open all the time. The girls had the best time giving our favorite neighbors nicknames. More about that later…
After a good night sleep we decided to get right out the first morning and hit both the Musee D’Orsay & the Louvre. Although Mackenzie had already prohibited us from visiting more than three museums in any single city, we decided to risk doing two in one day anyway! The D’Orsay is wonderful, and we all loved it. It features mainly French art produced from 1850 to 1914; they have Cézanne, Matisse, Renoir, Van Gough, Manet & Monet, plus a wonderful café where we had our first French meal. The building itself is a gigantic old train station that was actually scheduled to be torn down a few decades ago, but was saved to house this fabulous collection of art. Mackenzie got to see one of her favorite paintings of all time: Van Gough’s ”Bedroom at Arles”. Although small, it is a powerful image.
Next stop…the Palais du Louvre! I had heard from everyone that the Louvre is overwhelming, crowded and confusing so we carefully reviewed our guidebook, (Rick Steves, of course) and decided there were only really three things that we had to see there: the Mona Lisa, the famous Greek statue “Venus de Milo” and the ”Winged Victory”. Seeing that we got lost on our way to all three of these items, we felt lucky that we were able to get out of there in 1 ½ hours! You could spend a week at the Louvre and not see it all so the best thing is not to try. We all thought the Mona was a let-down. Maybe we just don’t get it. She is behind glass and there are so many people who go to see her that you can’t get very close. Her eyes are supposed to follow you around the room? Well, lots of portraits seem to do that. But, if you are in the Louvre, you have to see her, so we went. The other two items though were much more impressive. The Venus is gorgeous & graceful, big & beautiful and well worth the trip to find her. The Roman “Winged Victory” is placed at the top of a large, wide staircase and completely grabs your attention. This is a piece of sculpture that is perfectly placed in its environment. But, after those Big Three, we were out of there and on to some other, equally intriguing places including Notre Dame, and a hike to the top.
There are 387 steps to the top of Notre Dame, and my sweat is on every one. It was so hot and stuffy inside there, I wasn’t sure I would make it but the thought of some French paramedic trying to get me down from the half-way point on a stretcher forced me to continue. Emerging at the top is amazing – not just for the wonderful view of the City of Lights but the view of the cathedral itself. You can walk around the edge with the gargoyles staring down all around, the statues of saints lining the edge of the roof. There is really no place in Paris that makes you feel so much like part of history and legend. Roger even started to look a bit like Quasimodo himself…
When we finally came down we sat in the cathedral where it was nice and cool, and I told the girls my story about my first visit to Notre Dame. I was in my first year of college and on my first trip to Europe without parental supervision. It was Christmas break and my friends and I decided to go to midnight mass at Notre Dame on Christmas Eve. I still remember it as an astounding experience, as much for the other worshipers as the church itself. It was standing room only that night and I remember it being very dim, perhaps only lit by candles. The service was in Latin, I think – although it could have been in French for all I knew. The cathedral has the most amazing acoustics and when the organ rang out I remember almost jumping out of my skin. Well, they still have a wonderful organ, and the girls got to hear it as well as someone was practicing some short runs on the keyboard. What a sound.
The next day, we got to experience one of the famous French labor strikes, although it helped us rather than hindered us. We went to the metro and asked the customer service man for help in purchasing our tickets from the machine. He spoke to me in French very quickly and I replied in a very polite mixture of English and French trying to tell him that the machine did not seem to want to take our credit card. He then stopped and very sharply said to me, in English, “Free. Do you understand free!”? It turned out that the Paris Metro workers had gone on strike for the day and opened all the turnstiles and turned off the ticket machines. The trains were running but you didn’t have to buy a ticket. We decided we liked this type of strike and immediately jumped on the train to go to the Tour Eiffel.
Even though it is 1,000 feet tall you don’t really understand how big the tower is until you get right up close to it. I remember coming around the edge of an apartment building and seeing it rise up into the sky, seemingly out of nowhere. Built in 1889, lots of Parisians of the time thought that it was hideous. Too big, too garish. Originally, it was built with no real purpose in mind but it since has held a large communication tower and is, of course, the most visited monument in Paris. We took the elevator, which is actually several different elevators with several different lines and charges. How often do we come to Paris? you ask yourself, as you pay each elevator fare. Of course, the view is wonderful. No one should go to Paris and not go to the top. However, later in the week, when we visited the Arch de Triumph we decided that we liked that view too – plus, from there you can see the tower as well as the scary traffic below.
We visited more museums as the days went on. Two of our favorites were right in our own neighborhood: the Pompidou Center with it’s wonderful modern art collection and exoskeleton building and the Picasso Museum which is housed in a beautiful old mansion. We also went to a giant Parisian flea market called Clingancourt which was really impressive. The kids tired of it quickly but Roger and I could have walked around, looking at antiques for hours. That day, with the kids bored and wanted to be cut loose, we let them go back to the apartment without us. We agreed that they would take the Metro, get some lunch somewhere and shop until we all returned in the late afternoon. They got back to the Marais just fine but turned the wrong direction coming out of the Metro station and had to ask for directions to find our street. Roger and I didn’t do much better, getting lost before we even got to the Metro!
One early morning, we got to experience a bit of Parisian police action close up. We were awakened at 2:00 a.m. by a disagreement of some sort in our little alley. We heard a high pitched voice yelling, “Monsieur, s’il vous plait! Non, non, non. S’il vous plait!” Then, a scuffle began and we couldn’t restrain ourselves any longer. We leaned out of bed, through the large windows in our bedroom and got a view of the scene. “Little man”, one of our across-the-street neighbors, was having a fight with a larger man we hadn’t seen before. He was being very aggressive and, at one point, they were both on the ground, slapping and punching each other. At this point, the gendarmes arrived, along with a paddy wagon – or, I guess in France, the “frog wagon”. We were only part of the audience at this point as all our neighbors were hanging out their window as well. (As least we had the decency to turn off the lights in our room!)
As the scene unfolded, it became apparent (even to those of us who speak no French) that something had been taken from the Little Man’s home and the suspect was the larger guy. The police began to search in the alley trashcan, underneath the parked cars, etc. They put the larger man in handcuffs and prepared to take him away in the wagon. The entire episode was fairly routine, but so Parisian. Throughout it all, Paris life went on. At one point, a young woman rode her bike down the alley, paying no attention to the police or the handcuffed man. Then, a man came through, with a small dog on a leash. Finally, some neighbors returning home from a vacation, stopped their car in the middle of the alley to unload their luggage up several flights of stairs, their headlights illuminating the entire street scene. Eventually, the police took the large man away, and the neighbors closed their windows. Just another early morning in the big city.
One of our other neighbors, Speedo Man, was quite a source of entertainment, especially for the girls. He spent every waking moment sitting at his computer terminal in an open window, wearing – you guessed it – his Speedo. Only when he entertained guests for dinner did he change his clothes – into boxer shorts! When his phone rang and he was not home (rare, but it did happen occasionally) Jordan would recite in a deep, French accent, “Halo. This is Speedo Man. I can’t come to the phone right now but if you leave me a message, I will call you back when I am back in my Speedos.”
On June 21st, something truly amazing took place in Paris and we felt so lucky that we just happened to be there! On the first day of each summer, Paris declares “Free Music Day” and anyone who wishes to play live music of any kind is invited to go out on the street or a park and perform. All day, all over town, there are wonderful, interesting performances to be heard – all for free. In the evening they had a gigantic pop concert in the Parc du Champ du Mars next to the Tour Eiffel to accompany the summer lighting of the tower. I can’t tell you what a wonderful street party that was! Now, we know how to party in SF: Halloween, New Years Eve, Gay Freedom Day. But this was something else. Every city street was filled with pedestrians from one end of town to the other. Coming home from the concert at the tower, the Metro was filled with people, all of them drunk and singing. What was remarkable for us was that the crowd was really good natured and happy, with none of the violence or threatening behavior that you would expect to see at an event of that type here in the U.S. At home, I dread being in crowds of that size because it always seems like there is some idiot determined to spoil it. A welcome change from those negative experiences.
We slept so late the next day that we almost missed going to Versailles! Eventually, we forced ourselves to get up, eat some wonderful croissants and find our way to the RER train that would take us on our half-hour journey. Come the revolution, when they line us all up and check our hands to see who has calluses from genuine hard work, how will you fare? I’ve heard that Versailles brings up those thoughts in many people and it certainly did for me. It is the largest, fanciest, grandest palace in all of Europe. We were lucky enough to be there on “fountain day” and what a treat that turned out to be. There are countless fountains all throughout the gardens, fed by a river that was diverted by Louis XIV. They turn on some classical music, open the faucets and, viola! You are transported back to 1750, before those pesky revolutionaries took over. It was hot so we sat on the edge of the canal that runs through the center of the garden and soaked our tired feet. It was a perfect end to a perfect week in Paris.
FLORENCE
The train trip from Paris to Florence is about 13 hours long so we opted for the alternative – flying. Normally, this would be an expensive proposition, but Ryan Air, the Irish discount airline, had recently begun flights from Paris to Milan for the bargain price of $31.00 per person. It worked out fine, although it was a long day as the Paris trip actually left from the Beauvais airport, a one hour bus ride outside of Paris. We flew into the airport at Bergamo, took a VERY expensive and unnecessary taxi ride to the Milan train station and hopped on a train to Parma for dinner and sleeping overnight before heading on to Florence. Parma was where we enjoyed our first dinner in Italy, and it was fabulous! It turned out to be the night before the feast of San Giovanni. Local tradition suggests that the men eat large portions of tortelli so that their stomachs are full of the pasta all night. We had no idea what that had to do with St. John but we decided to play along. Great tortelli, wonderful proscioto and melon, a bottle of Prosecco wine at an outdoor café next to our hotel. What could be better than that? A great introduction to the eating pleasures of Italy.
Parma turned out to be a very interesting town, and we spent most of the next day visiting the sites. They have a large very old university that draws students from all over the world. Africans, Asians and other European students all congregate on the lawn in front of the university theatre which was, in 1700, the largest in-door theatre in Europe. The theater was destroyed by the allied bombs in WWII, and recently rebuilt with historical accuracy. The town itself, on the River Po, is quaint and quiet with beautiful cobblestone streets and lots of bike riders.
The next day, Italian trains confused the hell out of us and turned a 2 hour trip into half a day. To be honest, much of it was certainly our fault although the train station agents did little to help us out of a bad situation. Somehow, I’m still not sure how, we were standing on the wrong platform for our spacious, air conditioned Eurostar train to Florence. It was suppose to leave at 1:15 p.m. and, around 1:35 pm, we sent Roger out as a scout to the information desk to find out what happened. He came back with the bad news: our train had come and gone without us from a different platform entirely! Bad news, but there are other trains, right? Yes, there was one in 45 minutes. We hauled our bags over to that platform and waited.
It seemed like a lot longer than 45 minutes and we were all quite cranky. Probably because it was around 93 degrees outside. At one point, Jordan was facing me on the platform while a train left the platform opposite her. Suddenly, Jordan’s right hand shot up and she flipped the bird to someone on the train. The smirk on her face was priceless. I couldn’t believe it! What was she doing? Who was this girl, so brazenly flashing the universal signal of defiance and anger while a guest in Italy? I said, “What are you doing? Who is that for?” “Some guy”, she said. “Some guy on the train was looking at me through the window and he was kissing the glass and making obscene faces. It was gross.” Ok. Enough for me. Italian guys, take notice. Jordan is here.
When our train finally arrived we jumped on and found a very full train with no room for four frustrated American tourists without a seat reservation. We had to change trains somewhere along the way (Bologna, perhaps?) and on that train, there were several nice seats in a quiet car toward the front. We sat down and got comfortable until the ticket agent came along and told us that 1) we had to pay a change fee surcharge because we weren’t on our original train and 2) we had mistakenly seated ourselves in first class and we had to be evicted! We paid the change fee and began to gather up our books, luggage, knitting, personal stereos, etc. when the fare agent took pity on us and told us that we could just stay where we were. We were very close to Florence and he would look the other way and ignore our transgression. Grazi, grazi!When you arrive in Florence late in the day, with luggage, and it is 93 degrees and you don’t know the lay of the land, you should take a cab to your hotel. However, we opted for the adventurous option and walked. Bad idea.
Florence is a stone city and soaks up the sun like a hotplate. By the time we found our guest house in the center of town, we were wasted. We dragged our luggage up three flights of stairs, checked in and immediately took showers. Thank God for air conditioning! It worked like a charm and in an hour, we were good as new. Our little guest house had five rooms and was located on the third floor of a lovely 18th century building around the corner from Dante’s house. Our host, Domenico, was a wonderful guy who had just opened the hotel a few months earlier and seemed to be enjoying his new vocation. Best of all, our rooms had air conditioning which we decided was the most desirable feature in an Italian hotel room.
Florence is a stone city that soaks up the sunlight like a sponge. There are no green lawns or shady trees. Instead, they have gelato to help you cool off. We ate gelato at least once a day and sometimes twice. Not only is it refreshing in the heat of the day but it also tastes like it might be lower in calories than regular ice cream. Could that possibly be true? The city is filled with Vespas and beautiful people – male and female. We called them “Ginas” and “Ginos”. We developed a detailed criteria for their type during our stay in Italy. A Gina was not just a beautiful Italian woman. She was special. She had style. When we would see a Gina, we would give each other secret smiles while we watched her zoom by us on her motorbike, beautiful, thin, in high heels and tight skirt with a leather briefcase on her handlebars and sun glasses on her perfect face. Now, that’s a Gina. We also liked the Ginos, and they seemed to notice us now and then as well. That’s what we get for traveling with two blonde teenage girls! Half way through our trip, Jordan confessed that she had initially been confused by all the Italian men who, at home she would assume were gay, who were checking her out on the street.
Our first day we went to the Galleria Accademia to see Michaelangelo’s famous David sculpture. This piece of art impressed us all with its size and power. David is famous for being one of the first art works of the Renaissance, representing humanism in its most beautiful form. Although many other artists had presented their vision of David after the battle, this David is shown before – tense but ready to attack the giant. Trivia question: One of David’s hands is quite a bit larger than the other. Which hand is it? The right, of course. It holds the stone that will be the weapon for David’s act’ of violence. His history is amazing. The piece of marble that was used for the sculpture was originally intended for another artist and abandoned before Michaelangeo found it. David’s arm was broken in three places during a riot in 1527. His foot was hit by lightening a few hundred years later. Still, he stands below a large skylight, surrounded by visitors who just was to gaze up to see the symbol of the Italian Renaissance.
We did a little shopping after this, a bit of Italian “retail therapy”, at the mercato centrale. Roger surprised me by suggesting that we each buy leather jackets, which are a very popular item in Florence. Somehow, while I was looking at wonderful anti-McDonald’s t-shirts, roger was starting a conversation with a leather merchant who resembled Fabio. Before I knew it, I was modeling a beautiful knee length black coat made of baby lamb! They had a special 20 percent off for two jackets so, of course, Roger found one that he liked as well. While we were shopping, we sent the kids down to the corner for -- you guessed it -- gelato. In Florence, you are never more than a few blocks away from gelato.
For a view of the city, the best spot is the top of the Duomo – only 480 steps. Before you get to the top you get a close-up view of the frescos in the dome which are spectacular, especially those depicting the last judgment. The best story about the Duomo is that it’s construction was begun before they had figured out how to engineer the dome. Sometime during the one hundred years while they worked on the building, this problem was solved and the dome was added to the gigantic church. When we attempted to go inside the church we were stopped by the Catholic fashion police. The girls, dressed in tank tops and shorts, were draped in full body lobster bids so as not to offend God, Christ or any of the Saints.
To visit Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, we found the Uffizi Gallery. A former palace for the Medici, the Uffizi is a gigantic building but the number of visitors is strictly limited to 700 at any given time. Besides the art, there are some wonderful views and, if you stand right in front of the large open windows, some nice breezes.
Our last day in Florence, we all went our separate ways. Mackenzie, who had come down with a nasty head cold, decided to spend the afternoon in our air conditioner room, sleeping in between nose blows. Roger found the Museo di Soria della Scienza or the Science Museum, where they have lots of displays of inventions of Leonardo as well as Galileo’s finger in a jar. Roger confessed later that he also spend some time sampling some limoncello, his new favorite drink, in a local café. Jordan and I headed over to the Arno River where there stands a fabulous old building housing the Ferragamo Shoe Museum. This tip came from my sister, Linda, who spent some time in Florence in 2002. What a find! We were the only visitors in the place, surrounded by some of the most beautiful shoes in the world. There were shoes worn by Mary Pickford, Katharine Hepburn and Eva Peron and they were all wonderful. After that we walked to the perfumery at the Church of Santa Maria Novella which is a quiet spot which I imagine has not changed much in several hundred years.
VENICE
Our Eurostar train ride from Florence to Venice (3 ½ hours) went off without a hitch. This time we were on the right platform, sat in the correct seats and enjoyed the scenery. Quite relaxing and enjoyable. It made me wish that we had trains like that in the states! When you arrive in Venice and walk out of the train station and outside you are, literally, right on the edge of the Grand Canal. No cars, no Vespas, no bikes and temperatures at least 10 degrees cooler than Florence. Just a vaparetto or two, those being the public water buses that move folks all around the several islands that make up the beautiful city of Venice and lots and lots of tourists. Most visitors either love Venice or hate it. People seem to have very strong feelings about this city, home to only 65,000 permanent residents. Most folks complain about the large number of tourists (have they been to Rome lately!), mediocre food and high prices. We loved it. Yes, the food is just so-so and, yes, everything seemed a bit more expensive than Florence, but Venice is incredibly charming and lovely. It is a one-of-a-kind marvel.
We arrived in the late afternoon and immediately dropped out bags at our little hotel near the Ca’d’Oro vaparetto station, stopping only long enough to perform the underwear washing ritual in the bathroom before heading back out and over to St. Mark’s Square. We jumped back on the vaparetto to get there. Having bought a very expensive 24-hour pass when we arrived, we were determined to get our monies worth! We rode down the Grand Canal, past decaying mansions, many with the bottom floors abandoned until we finally saw the spires of the famous church. Both of the girls were grossed out by the pigeons so we quickly got in the short line at the campanile (they have an elevator!) and took in the view from the top. And what a view it is, too. You can see all the islands, the many canals, bridges and domed churches.
When we came down, we crossed the square and began searching the tiny streets for a restaurant that was recommended in an article I had recently read about eating well on the cheap in Venice! When we finally found the restaurant, Roger ordered the strangest menu item, as he usually does. It was some type of sautéed octopus, with a heavy looking black ink sauce. Although it was a house specialty, and popular with many diners, he judged it only fair and a bit fishy even for his tastes. On the other hand, the gnocchi with pesto sauce was wonderful and a big hit for the rest of us. Walking back to the hotel we realized it was still early and we detoured back to St. Mark’s Square for another view of the area at night. The majority of the tourists were gone and the water was rising. As we stood over a large metal plate in the square, the water was bubbling up onto the stone plaza as the tide came in. The steps of St. Marks Church (the lowest spot in town) floods about 60 times a year and when things get really wet they bring out wooden planks to criss-cross the square for people to get around.
That night, we experienced a welcome weather change – a full-out, wild, rain storm, including thunder and lightening. We had turned off the A/C and left our windows open as the temperature was pleasant. About 1:00 a.m., the storm started with flashes of lightning all over town. It was really dramatic and, for big storm fans like us, it was really fun. Believe it or not, the kids slept through the entire thing. That’s what traveling will do for you!
Our days in Venice were very enjoyable and we finally figured out how to get around without the expensive vaparetto rides! We spent a morning at the Peggy Guggenheim Museum which consists of her private collection and was her home for 20 years. Now it is a wonderful museum right on the Grand Canal. Besides being filled with great art, there is a lovely sculpture garden and view of the city from a plaza on the canal. The museum was hosting some sort of event that morning in the plaza, complete with refreshments, gratis. At some point, I looked out a gallery window and saw Jordan, sipping a Campari and soda on the plaza while she took in the incredible view!
Roger and I did a lot of wandering around and the girls did a lot of shopping. Every time we thought we were lost we would say, “We can’t be lost! It’s an island! You can only be misplaced.” That phrase served us well. If we felt “misplaced” we just kept walking and eventually we would end up in some place that we could recognize or find on the map. There are lots of canals, lots of bridges and lots of dead-end streets!
The last day, the girls and I went to Lido Island for a little beaching time. It was very easy to get to, the Adriatic was clean and warm and we had a wonderful time. It was a great, peaceful day for the end of our Venetian holiday.
Our final day in Italy we took the train to Padova, one hour away, to visit the Scrovegni Chapel. The chapel was the private church for the wealthy Scrovegni family and is decorated with beautiful frescos painted by Giotto in 1303. Giotto, a painter who bridged the gap between the middle ages and the Renaissance, was, at the time, the most famous painter in Italy. Having him paint the inside of your private chapel…well, today it would be like hiring Tiger Woods to give you golf lessons. The frescos on the walls depict the life of Mary and Jesus, and the ceiling is painted in cobalt blue with gold stars to resemble the night sky. The paintings have recently been restored and are now completely climate controlled and can only be visited by reservation, for 15 minutes at a time. We got lucky and the group right after us was light on people so we were allowed to stay for 30 minutes. I know that the kids were certainly ready to go at the end of that time period but I could have stayed for hours and would have loved it – especially if I had remembered to bring my small binoculars, which I had lugged all over Europe just for the chance to use them at the Scrovegni Chapel! That not being the case, I will use a return visit to Padova to fully indulge my love of Giotto.
ON THE WAY HOME
We had an early flight home out of Malpensa airport in Milan, so we stayed in an airport hotel called the Cervo which is actually located right between the two terminals and has an airport shuttle service. Sounds great, right? Well, we became convinced during our short stay at the less than love spot that cervo must mean mosquito in Italian. The place was crawling with them because it is built on a swamp. The dinner offered in the expensive dining room was the only show in town and was nothing special. Nonetheless, we got a good night sleep (after smashing a dozen bugs in each room) and got to the airport in plenty of time for our 8:00 a.m. flight home. What can you say about being crammed into a flying tin can with a couple of hundred other folks and a couple of very loud, screaming children. Not our children, mind you, but a couple of much younger ones sitting a couple of rows in front of us. They screamed every moment that they weren’t sleeping. The icing on the cake was when I heard the flight attendant, when saying good-bye to them, say, “Thank you for flying British Airways and have a great time on your flight to Honolulu.” Honolulu??? After flying from Europe to San Francisco? No wonder those kids were crying with crazy parents like that…
