Go Your Own Way

Wednesday, 2 January, 2008:

Our final day in Europe was spent with the group dynamic torn asunder, though this was due to circumstances rather than any rift from within. The plan had been to head over to the Vatican Museum and follow that up with a visit to the Colosseum and Roman Forum. Rome’s Holiday crowd had other ideas though.

The morning had already gotten off to a later start than anticipated, and when we came to the line enter the Vactican Museum, we found that it stretched for blocks around the corner. There were some tour guides trying to entice those waiting in line with a tour that cost 40 Euros and would allow them to skip ahead of the lone lines.

The Grant/Crabtree faction decided against this option and headed towards Ancient Rome instead. The McCoy/Robertson faction decided otherwise and went with the Vatican tour, perhaps after some prompting from me and Will since we kind of figured the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is a can’t miss opportunity. They could always go to the Colosseum and Roman Forum afterward and at least view the exterior, which is, to me, the most appealing part anyway.

Meanwhile, Will and I decided, for whatever reason, to just stroll about on our own. We didn’t want to spend 40 Euros on something we had seen before and we didn’t feel the need to head over to Ancient Rome right this second, so we went on our personal walk about, mainly wondering around the area of the Spanish Steps, The Pantheon, and the Vittorio Emanuele monument. It made for a nice change of pace as the only obligation we felt at the time was for Will to find a tie for his Dad. Otherwise, it was just a nice easy walk around Rome on yet another sunny day in Italy.

We eventually met back up with our families at the Colosseum around 15:00 and were pleased to find that they had greatly enjoyed their tour of the Vatican. It had been a very informative tour they said and Will and I probably would have learned several new things had we gone with them.

From here, the Robertson’s went back to the hotel (or maybe to get a bite to eat first, I’m not sure) while the McCoy’s pressed on with our condensed  tour of the Ancient Rome. Though it was a pity that our group had been so fractured on our last day in Europe, everyone had a quite enjoyable time doing whatever they did. And though it’s always nice to be around others, it was nice for me and my family to just have some time to ourselves.

Especially here at the Colosseum, one of THE iconic structures in all the world. We didn’t get to walk in, and that robs you of learning the history of this place, but visually, the exterior of this ancient arena is the most striking part. It’s just surreal to be standing there in front of it, a place you had read about and seen in books since you were young. The hallmark monument to one of the world’s greatest civilizations. It was a nice experience to share with my family.

After a bit of gawking, we walked over to the Roman Forum, the part of it around the Vittorio Emanuele monument anyway. We tried our best to visualize what these ruins must have looked like 2,000 years ago, but it’s hard without knowing the back story. The Forum is a must see on any visit to Rome, but I’ve been twice now and have robbed myself both times by not taking a guided tour or renting some audio tour to learn more about what I’m looking at. The air in this place is permeated with a “if these walls (or what is left of them) could talk” aura that I’ve unfortunately ignored up to this point.

Next time I’m here, I’ll be sure explore the Forum more in depth. And after visiting the Trevi Fountain later that evening, a return trip to the Eternal City is all but set in stone after throwing a coin in over my left shoulder with my back to the water. Some rituals are not to be trifled with.

Before surrendering to superstition, though, we actually had stopped in at a nearby restaurant for what was maybe the finest meal I ate in Italy. The rest of the group was back together at this point after meeting back at the hotel. All the group minus one that is, because sadly, Will was not feeling well at this point and decided to stay in the for the night.

Knowing that the Trevi Fountain was top of the agenda for the evening, we went looking for a restaurant around here and eventually found one without too much of a crowd that could seat us all together for the most part. Up to this point, personally speaking, most of my meals in Italy hadn’t quite lived up to my much too high expectations. They had been really good in general, but I hadn’t been blown away by a fine Italian meal as often as I wanted. The previous night adventure with bucatini pasta had been the lone exception for me. That must have been a signal my luck was changing because the last night in Europe provided with the best pasta dish I had yet...spaghetti with gorgonzola cheese. Also sampled some steak which was very good as well. I think most everyone had a similar experience at this restaurant, so our culinary part of the trip ended on a positive note.

The only thing left to do was to head to the Trevi Fountain and assure our return to this historic city one day. It also provided an opportunity for some end of the trip commiseration, spurred on by Beth individually video taping everyone sharing their favorite memories from the past two weeks. Not really a memory, but what I took away from this trip is what I had hoped for it from the beginning, which is the feeling of satisfaction knowing that my parents had enjoyed their time over here in a once in a lifetime experience.

When Ryan, Will, and I had dreamed up this whole idea of bringing all of our families to Europe, this is what we had in mind. We felt, perhaps with false modesty, that on the first trip two years prior, we had been acting as something of standard bearers for our families, neither of which had done much international traveling before then, certainly not crossing an ocean to do so anyway. We wanted to bring them over here and have them be as awed and inspired by what they saw as we were the first time. As we wound down the evening with some last minute introspection and prepared for the long plane ride home the next day, I felt we had achieved what we had set out to.

With this many people, it was never going to be a seamless process, but we pulled it off without too much trouble and came away with memories that will last a lifetime.  

The Breaking Point

Tuesday, 1 January, 2008:

When you spend an extended amount of time with any group of 10-15 people, at some point, a fuse is going to get blown and people within the group will start acting curmudgeonly towards one another. It’s just a matter of time. This is especially the case when embarking on an ambitious, whirlwind, two week tour of Europe that stretches from Paris to Rome with five other destinations in between. Today was the breaking point for our tight nit group. Not that it ruined the day or anything, but there was sort of a bad karma festering over it towards the end.

It started off auspiciously enough (for the McCoy family anyway) with news that Auburn had triumphed over Clemson in their bowl game while we were sleeping. Buoyed by that pleasant news, we and the rest of the group made our way to Vatican City to receive a New Year’s blessing from the Pope.

We found 100,000 people awaiting us when we got there, but we managed to squeeze into Piazza San Pietro in time to witness firsthand the Pope speaking. None of us are Catholic, and like millions (billions?) of others across the world, my reading of the History of Catholicism (up to the present day) contains equal amounts of horror and captivation, but there was still a certain reverence I couldn’t help but have for the moment, seeing such a monumental figure of history (in title at least) right before mine own eyes.

Even if, as Will can attest, I was adamant at one point that this wasn’t the pope speaking, but rather one of his similarly cloaked lieutenants. My visual memory of Pope Benedict XVI up to this point was of a stern, but virile looking man (for his age anyway) who took over in the wake of Pope John Paul II’s death. The one before me now was unrecognizable. Less than three years since he took over, he already looked as if his papal duties had greatly reduced his physical capabilities. Plus, he was wearing glasses while reading his New Year’s address. I hadn’t remembered seeing him wear them before, and somehow it didn’t occur to me that an eighty year old man may need his reading glasses from time to time. Eventually, I swallowed my pride and admitted my mistake to Will. This was indeed the Pope.

Once the Pope finished speaking, the large crowd actually dispersed pretty quickly, leaving us to enjoy more fully the immense beauty of Piazza San Pietro, with its Egyptian obelisk standing in the center. We eventually made our way up to St. Peter’s Basilica itself, admiring the dazzling uniforms of the Swiss guard as we entered. As visually appealing as the exterior of St. Peter’s is, its interior is the prize piece of any visit here. The inside is like some ornate, palace hall hidden beneath a cave. The nave, which is split up into three bays, is the centerpiece of this achievement. Numerous side chapels are dispersed within as well, and everything on the inside is lavishly decorated. We spent a good amount of time individually wondering around, taking it all in as it suit each of our particular fancy.

Mid to late afternoon approaching, we all united once again to begin an ascent of the dome to take in its spectacular vista of Rome before the light of day began to fade. On mine, Ryan’s, and Will's previous sojourn here two years earlier, we had climbed the stairs to top. There was an option to take an elevator, but by that point in the trip, we had climbed St Paul’s in London, Notre Dame, Florence’s Duomo, and St Mark’s in Venice. There was no elevator option at these locations, but we felt we would be doing ourselves a disservice if we did not climb to the top here as well, given that it was our last stop of the trip. That was two years previous. Here and now, no such stair option was exercised by any in our group. We were a tired bunch and only too happy to glide, rather than grind, to the top.

And the view was no less rewarding. As with seemingly every day I have ever encountered whilst traveling in Italy (except that train trip from Milan to Florence), the sun was shining brightly above a mostly cloudless, blue sky. Laid bare before us was the sprawling mass of Rome, seemingly stretching as far as one could see, from the Tiber all the way to the mountains in the distance. The various landmarks of Rome, not to mention its seven hills, were all within sight, whether it be the nearby Castel Sant’Angelo, the Monument to Vittorio Emanuele II, and of course, that most iconic of Rome’s structures, the Colosseum. Behind us lay the Vatican Estate and its beautiful, well maintained gardens. From above, it looks as though it provides the kind of spiritual sanctuary one might seek were he to find himself boxed in by Rome’s urban jungle.

The wind was beginning to gust a bit, as it would at times throughout the rest of the evening, which sped up our descent to the bottom. We wandered around the square some more, and paused long enough to take a group photo, before walking down to a very crowded sort of diner that a lot of Vatican visiting patrons (i.e., tourists) had seemingly spilled in to. The plan was to sort of just take a break here and maybe have a light snack since dinner wasn’t too terribly far away, but it turned in to something more than that, and darkness had well and truly set in by the time we walked out an hour or so later.

This is where things began to go a bit awry. The plan at this point, explicitly stated in Will’s itinerary, was to just walk around this area of the city, seeing the nearby Castel Sant’Angelo, the Pantheon, and the Piazza Navona, as well as whatever else happened to catch our eye. Things were going well enough at the Castel Sant’Angelo – it’s a fascinating looking structure – but on the walk to the Pantheon, the wind begin to kick up again, and a relatively balmy winter night in Rome became a night on the frozen tundra to some members in our party (cough, my Mom, cough). The seed had been planted. The Pantheon, normally a must on any visit to Rome, appealed little to our slightly disgruntled party. A quick detour to the Piazza Navona also appealed little and that was pretty much that as far as walking around Rome went for the night. I guess everyone was cold, tired, or just worn out in general at this point of the trip, and dinner was the only other thing people were interested in for the night.

Taking over navigation from Will, I led us southward, and we meandered through back alleys and side streets a bit, and pretty soon it was apparent I took a wrong turn, much to the chagrin of some in our party, and we had to circle back a bit, even going all the way down to the Tiber before getting to our restaurant. Finally. Our long nightmare was over.

We were a bit early for our reservation, but I don’t remember the wait being too terribly long before eventually all being seated at a long table together. If there were other parts of this day I would rather forget, one very memorable experience was the meal and my (and everyone else’s I think) first encounter with bucatini pasta. It may be a staple of people’s diet elsewhere, but here at the restaurant Al Bric, it was our first time encountering it and I now had a another favorite Italian dish.

Happy to end a long day on a positive note, we all grabbed taxis back to our hotel and called it a night.

A Roman New Years

Monday, 31 December, 2007:

A travel day was on tap for today, with the Eternal City of Rome being our final destination for the trip. But our train wouldn’t be leaving until late afternoon, so we still had a decent amount of time to explore Florence a bit further. That meant that the Duomo would be a top priority since we hadn’t visited it yesterday other than walking by to view the exterior. The rest of the itinerary while in Florence didn’t call for anything other than walking around, shopping, and taking in the atmosphere of the city. It was a pace that seemed to suit everyone fine as we meandered towards the end of the trip.

We started off with the Duomo. A couple of years earlier, Will and I nearly lost Ryan in our ascent to the top of this magnificent dome, as the climb was getting the best of him and we pressed on ahead so as not to miss the sunset. Well, I suppose the memory of that struggle stayed with us because we opted out of climbing the top of the dome again. Instead, this time, we would opt for a hopefully more manageable climb of neighboring Giotto’s Bell Tower. It didn’t rise quite as high as the dome, but it still offered about as a good a view of Florence and the surrounding Tuscan countryside, and selfishly in the case of me, Ryan, and Will, we just wanted to try something a little different this time.

The climb to the top didn’t match the level of exhaustion that the Duomo did, but it still packed a punch. There was no race to beat the sunset this time around, however, so we went at our own pace. It was a clear, sunny day, so there was ample of the Tuscan countryside to see in the distance, with Florence’s signature rooftops catching our immediate gaze. The view from atop the Duomo or Giotto’s Bell Tower is unmistakably Florentine.

Upon our descent from the tower, it was time for a lunch, and a quick and lazy search brought us right back to where we ate lunch yesterday…Yellow Bar. We even got the same waitress, resulting in embarrassed smiles as we copped to being typical Americans in such a rush that we didn’t have time to sit down to enjoy a good Italian lunch. Except…we were actually in kind of a rush once it came time to catch our train to Rome. After lunch, we spent the rest of our dwindling time in the city taking in the shops and markets of the city. When it was time to go, we had trouble hailing a cab for everyone, so only some of us got a cab to the train station while others raced frantically through the streets of Florence.

We needn’t have worried too much about missing our train, as we had to wait at least a little while once we got there before boarding. This time around, there would be no cold storage traveling. We had learned our lesson on reserving train tickets after the Milan-Florence debacle, and we had reserved seats for Florence-Rome almost immediately after our mistake. The trip to Rome would be made in complete comfort, traversing the scenic middle third of the country as we went. Only thing was there seemed to be a bit of a frenzied atmosphere about the train, and at one point, what sounded to me and Will like soccer Ultras (hooligan Italian soccer fans basically) made their way through our train. Will was wearing a Manchester United sweatshirt at the time and I wondered aloud to him if he ought to take it off to possibly prevent any trouble. I doubt very seriously it would have come to that, but a few United fans had been knifed on a trip to Rome a couple of months before and there was just something about this crowd of people that was intimidating and I didn’t want to disturb them any further.

A lot of classic images come to mind when thinking of Rome. The Colosseum, the Roman Forum, St Peter’s and the Vatican…the cradle of Western Civilization, the Eternal City. It’s truly one of the world’s greatest cities. A feast for the senses can be had here with a rich helping of food, culture, history, etc. That said, if you’re arriving by train, the first impression of this iconic city can be terribly misleading. At least by the area surrounding it, which has a filthy third world feel to it, as though it’s the slum of the city. Upon arrival, we hailed taxi cabs to our hotel that wasn’t too far away. After unloading there, we came back towards the station – I forget why – and walked around a bit, figuring out our plan for dinner. It was in this walk around the station that we seemed to veer slightly off course into the least attractive part of Rome, and those of us who hadn’t been here before were not immediately impressed with Rome. Ryan, Will, and I worked quickly to get us back on course and raise our families’ opinions of the city, which had seemed to sink quite low in just a matter of minutes.

We eventually found our way back to a more charming side of Rome and scouted out ristorantes. Will didn’t have any reservations squared away this evening, which meant the twelve of us would have to come to an agreement. That’s always fun. People darted back and forth across the street, checking out menus and wait times. Ended up settling on a spot that was cozily tucked away in a basement somewhere. Not a huge space, but big enough to hold our large party.

This being New Year’s Eve, there had been some talk of heading to the Piazza del Popolo, which is one of Rome’s main piazzas for public gatherings, and the main spot to gather on New Year’s Eve. The warm atmosphere of our ristorante, however, put this idea on the backburner. After another long day, it seemed much more appealing to just stay sat where we were and enjoy each other’s company in a low key setting. The wait staff’s joyful disposition only added to the experience, and our female contingent didn’t think they were bad looking either. They even gave us free champagne as midnight approached and celebrated wildly with us and the other patrons as we bid adieu to 2007 and wondered what 2008 would bring. It had gotten off to a good start if nothing else with good food and good company.

No Reservations

Sunday, 30 December, 2007:

For the most part, rail travel around Europe, inside the Eurail zone anyway, is not overly complicated. Sure, if we think back to the day we left Paris, there can be some tense, frantic moments. But once you’re in the system, so to speak, it can be easy enough to go gallivanting around Europe using nothing but your Eurail Pass and book of Train Time Tables. Well, things are a little more complicated in Italy. Here, you need something more than a Eurail Pass. You need a reservation. Okay, no problem. We were prepared for this. What we weren’t prepared for was how quickly train reservations filled up.

The previous morning, before we had set out to spend the day in Como, we had gone by the train station to reserve our seats for the train ride from Milan to Florence only to find that what we wanted was booked. Pretty much all the trains from Milan to Florence were booked for the day. Our only option was to sort of hop one of the trains guerrilla style and stand around the boarding area during the entire trip. At the time, it didn’t sound too bad to us. We were in beautiful, laid back Como, and we weren’t really concerned about a train ride that would take place a day later. It surely wouldn’t be that bad.

Well, it kind of was. Traveling by rail in the non-insulated holding area of a train during winter is about as much fun as it sounds. I’m sure worse modes of transportation from Milan to Florence have been secured over the years, but it was of little consolation to us at the time. The trip from Como to Milan was not a problem. No reservations needed and plenty of seating available. Might’ve given us a false sense of hope that maybe the arrangement from Milan to Florence wouldn’t be that bad after all. Well…fool’s gold. We boarded the train in Milan and found every last seat taken. We split up into groups with Will, Alex, and I in one group - I guess we were still sitting in certain carts according to our ticket class – while the others split off in respective groups.

I can’t remember if the others might’ve eventually found a place to sit, but our little triumvirate didn’t. We huddled closely together, alternately standing up and sitting on the cold stairwell of the exit door. When you didn’t feel like standing any longer, you sat down. When the cold steel eventually numbed your bottom, you stood back up. Every now and then we’d have to make way for passengers or attendants moving from cart to cart, and how sad we must have looked, like traveling vagabonds stowing away in the bowels of Italy’s Eurail System while all (or most) around us traveled in relative comfort. It was a rare foggy day in Italy as well, so there was not much scenery to act as a visual release. I seem to vaguely recall getting a good look at Bologna as we traveled through the town, but not much else stood out. Or rather, we couldn’t see much else as I’m sure it’s a scenic ride through the Northern Italy hill country.

Numbed and shivering bottoms aside, we made it to Florence in one piece, headed to the hotel, dropped off the luggage, and made our way towards a pizzeria chain called Yellow Bar for some lunch. Hmm…pizza…Italy…good, even from a chain that’s present throughout the city. It had been two years, but as I gained my bearings, I found Florence was still imbued with that unmistakable quality of simple sophistication. For a modestly populated city, Florence is an immensely popular tourist destination, befitting its history in general, but especially its relationship with the Renaissance. Its present day connection to fashion as well as it acting as a bridgehead to the rest of the iconic Tuscan countryside only further enhance its reputation. Yet despite its revered status, there’s a small town, refined elegance that you don’t often get. It’s not shocking to discover this given the city’s historical roots, yet it takes you by surprise all the same.

After lunch, we all headed over to the Galleria dell’ Accademia to check out Michelangelo’s “David”. We weren’t the only ones with that idea, however, and the line stretched around a few blocks. Some of us passed the time by writing clever messages on all old graffiti filled wall. Nearly a week on from a mostly unpopular, yet memorable dining experience in Interlaken, there were those amongst our party who still couldn’t quite get the experience out of their system. “While there are some that fondue, we fondont” was our one notable contribution to Florentine architecture. While this was going on, myself and a few others discovered the one thing that a McDonald’s in Florence (and Italy in general) is good for…a bathroom that’s open to the public.

Once inside the museum, everyone put on a pretty good front of pretending to care about the other pieces of art nearby, but given the relative weakness of this gallery compared to the more illustrious Uffizi, most people come here to see one thing and one thing alone…Michelangelo’s “David”. And to be fair, this one hit wonder approach doesn’t disappoint. One of, if not the most famous sculpture in the world, and the first thing that stands out, as it did for me, Ryan, and Will two years later, is that the statue itself is huge. But it’s up close that the Michelangelo’s work really stands out, where you can see the detailed definition in David’s muscles and veins, and that’s when you really begin to marvel at Michelangelo’s genius. At least that’s when I did, with my admittedly untrained eye in art.

Having had our fill of David in all his masculine, unclothed glory, we exited the Accademia into the cool night air with nothing but dinner plans. This allowed for an hour or so of free time for everyone to do what they wanted with that time. Most decided to stay in and rest up a little before dinner. I wanted to take a walk around the city beforehand, and Beth joined me as we wondered the streets of Florence a bit. Walked down to the Duomo, and to my complete and utter surprise, we found a Native American band playing the theme music from one of my favorite films, The Last of the Mohicans. Last thing I expected to hear as I made way around the historic alleyways of this famous city. Walked up to the Ponte Vecchio from here and did some window shopping only. I was more interested in the view of the city across the Arno River. Dinner reservations were coming up soon, though, so we went to meet back up with everyone else at the hotel.


Dinner reservations were at a place called Paoli. I had some Carbonera and Veal Scallopine, and to be honest, was underwhelmed by it. But I think this was just one of those rare, freak occurrences where things didn’t line up for me, because just about everyone else from the group remembers it as one of the best meals of the entire trip. Win some you lose some I guess. It was still a good experience though; a pleasant end to a day that began so inauspiciously

Como Como

Saturday, 29 December, 2007:

Befitting the relaxed nature of our current destination, we awoke this day with not much on our minds in wondering what to do past a boat ride up the lake to Bellagio. We all slept in a bit before stumbling downstairs for the continental breakfast.

This was followed by a little aimless wondering around the town itself, interrupted briefly by a quick stop at the ticket booth to reserve our seats for the boat ride, but quickly picked up again around an assortment of shops and open air markets selling any number of goods and souvenirs. We toiled here a while really, merely passing the time before our ship set sail for the luxurious environs of Bellagio. As is my wont in such settings, I was happy merely to wonder around town a bit, hitting up the usual hotspots, such as the town cathedral, a modest Duomo; modest of course being a relative term over here where Europe’s modest architectural achievements may be considered incredible back home. 

In this case, modest meant a mid-sized cathedral, the beginning of its construction dating back to the 14^th century, done in a mix of gothic and Renaissance era architecture. You know…modest. Of course, digging deeper I found the cathedral is much more than that, especially its history. It’s considered to be the last gothic cathedral constructed in Italy. Not so modest after all I guess. To me, it seemed a perfect cathedral for a town the size of Como. No need to be as imposing as St Mark’s, St. Peter’s, or the Duomos of Florence and Milan, yet Como’s cathedral still demands your attention.

We all met back up eventually to head down to the lake shore and catch our boat to Bellagio. Our view thus far of Lake Como had been magnificent from the south bank, enhanced by another clear, blue sky day, the kind we always seem to find in Italy, or have to this point on our (me, Ryan, and Will) two trips to the Boot. It was still a cold day, but it wasn’t nearly as bothersome with the Italian sun on our backs.

We boarded the boat, found some seats, and prepared for the short voyage to Bellagio. Of course, half the reason for going up to Bellagio was to just be able and cruise on the lake and take in the beautiful scenery, with the mountains rising above the water and charming towns nestled lakeside here and there at the foot of these mountains. Traveling up the lake, we were continuously on the lookout for famous lake houses we thought we might’ve seen before in films like “Casino Royale”, “Star Wars II”, and “Ocean’s 12”. We came across – or at least think we came across - the plush villas of such luminaries as George Clooney and the late Gianni Versace. 

As our lake cruise sped northward through this spectacular setting, it was no wonder that such famous faces were eager to own second homes amidst such natural beauty. My only real regret was that many of the trees were shorn of their leaves and greenery. Not that this came as a surprise in the early days of winter, but it made me long for a visit here during a warmer part of the year when the vegetation was in full bloom or at least still flourishing. I think such timing will be on the cards for my next sojourn to Europe. I’ve traveled across it twice now during the holiday season, and that is a great time to do so, especially if you find yourself in the Alps, but I’m ready to see what a warmer Europe has to offer.

A colder Europe still offered enough promise this day though as we made our way up the lake towards Bellagio, eventually covering the thirty or so kilometers that separates it from Como. Upon disembarking at the ferry, we were met instantly with the idyllic, Italian charm that one would probably associate with a small community like Bellagio, set on the lake and surrounded by mountains as it is. This sort of front door into Bellagio kind of reminded me of Epcot at Disney World. If you’ve been there, you know Epcot is divided into countries. It’s just a little section of the park that’s suppose to represent a particular country, usually displaying some of that country’s architectural hallmarks in a village like setting. If you walk into France, you’ll see a miniature Eiffel Tower and setting like you would see along the Seine. Germany looks like some Bavarian village or a town from one of Grimm’s Fairly Tales. China has the great wall and the distinct Chinese roof architecture. So on and so forth.

Well, stepping foot in Bellagio seemed to me kind of like setting foot in the Italian Pavilion at Epcot. There was no miniature replica of the Colosseum, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, or anything like that, but it felt like stepping into the front end of something like a typical Italian village, albeit one that is on a beautiful lake. We actually first set foot upon a kind of car park, but it was one that kind of acted as the entrance at the bottom of the town, which is actually set upon a fairly steep hill. Spend some time in Italy and you’ll see that they love to mix colors with the buildings in their town layout. It was no different here where the first buildings we saw were pink and yellow. There were shops here that we briefly stopped at, but we soon dashed up a long, wide stairway that climbed into the heart of the small town. What we found mostly were a few small shops and restaurants here and there, nothing too touristy; just a nice, serene place to walk around. I’m sure during the summer time there is a bit more going on, a bit more to do, but there wasn’t much happening this day.

Some in our party did a a bit of shopping, and some might’ve grabbed a bite to eat, but mostly we just walked around, checking out the various villas and courtyards best we could since most of them were kind of blocked off from us. Otherwise, we were on an endless search for a good vista from which to take in the lake and the surrounding mountains. Our search proved mostly fruitless due to the restrictive nature of much of the property in town, but we eventually found our way down to the edge of the peninsula which Bellagio sits on. Lake Como is roughly shaped like an upside down Y, like the legs and torso of somebody running, and Bellagio and its peninsula lie at the intersection of the lake.

The edge of this peninsula is guarded by a stone wall and walkway that surrounds a small marina at the bank of the lake. The view afforded from these ramparts allowed you to look down the barrel of the gun so to speak. To the North, the lake continued until you reached its northernmost port, Colico. If we looked to our right, Eastward, we saw the stem of the lake that breaks off and heads down to Lecco. Looked to the left, Westward, and we saw the stem that heads down to Como, which is the way we came up. The mountains are quite imposing at this point of the lake, so the panoramic view was quite stunning. Cameras were definitely out and pointing and clicking in a variety of directions, trying to capture on film all that lay before us.

After this brief interlude, we eventually found our way back to the boat dock to catch our ride back to Como. Once back at the ferry, the wait time for the next boat afforded us a nice photo op on the lake with some local ducks. The return voyage proved to be uneventful and relaxing as we took in more of the famous villas amidst the lakeside setting. By the time we got back to Como, we were in something like Lazy Sunday mode. Some of us continued to aimlessly walk around town while others went back to the hotel to have themselves a siesta or just wind down for a bit in general before dinner. Some of us, however, myself included, had not really eaten much since breakfast, and as you can imagine, while walking around picturesque Italian towns you can work up quite an appetite. Despite the fact that dinner wasn’t that far away, maybe just a few hours – daylight was already beginning to fade a bit by this point – me and a few others journeyed to a little park area near the lakeshore where there was a Panini stand. A few Euros later and I had helped myself to a pretty filling, late afternoon snack. I feared I may have ruined my dinner, but I didn’t care. Had to be done. Now I was content to retire to my room for a couple of hours to escape the ever colder air that met us with dusk and recharge the batteries a bit before dinner.

Will had made us a reservation ahead of time at a place called Imbarcadero Restaurant, but for whatever reason, we ended up foregoing the opportunity. We must have all been on a slightly different wavelength because the whole group could not agree on where to eat and we ended up splitting up and eating dinner in two separate groups. Initially, the entire group came across a place along the Eastern shore of the lake that looked accommodating enough and we walked in and waited to be seating. Well, as we were about to take our seats, half the group decided to break away. In my journal I later wrote that “some of our party rudely walked out of where we were eating at because basically the Italian food was not American centric enough.” So…we’ll go with that. So as not to call anyone out, I’ll refrain from saying who it was that “rudely walked out” - hint…it was Beth, the Grant’s, and the Crabtree’s - but me and Will weren’t crazy about it. We even joked that when we met back up with the rest of the group, we were sure we would hear some hyperbolic stories about how they just ate the greatest meal ever known to man. You’d have to ask them.

For those who stayed – me, my parents, Will, Christine, and Kevin – our meal was certainly memorable enough. I say that of course without remembering what I had, but Will swears to this day that they had the best ravioli he’s ever tasted. We drank some Limoncello, a drink more often associated with Southern Italy, and it warmed us on a cold night. It also provided some laughs in the way of my Dad’s continuing, bumbling dialogue that he struck up with our plus-sized waitress from Switzerland, whose name was Olga. We got to know her a lot better throughout the evening than we might’ve expected to. We also struck up a pleasant conversation with some fellow Americans sitting next to us. They had a daughter who was studying in Rome and they had come out to visit her and travel around Italy. She was the envy of Will for she had earlier that Autumn been to a soccer match at the Stadio Olimpico between his beloved Roma and Manchester United.

It was a very pleasant and typical Italian dining experience. We actually stayed at the restaurant until our rogue group came walking back down the street and we went back out into the cold night air to meet back up with them. It didn’t take long for them to tell us that they had indeed just had one of the best meals of the trip. Will and I probably smirked and rolled our eyes at each other, but no hard feelings were harbored for either side of the group. We made peace and retired to our hotel, content to call it a night and prepare for tomorrow’s train ride to Florence.

Italian Passage

Friday, December 28, 2007

This was another travel day, riding a train that carried us first into Austria with a brief stop at Innsbruck, Austria, before crossing over into Italy and reaching our next destination, Lake Como. It would be another long, but scenic journey through the heart of Europe.


The morning began like most others in Europe that holiday season…with a pastry and a trip to the train station. Will originally had planned for us to awake at 5:30 for a 7:30 train to Innsbruck, so as to have a bit of walking time in the Tyrolean capital, but the group felt that a little extra sleep seemed a better prospect. It was a shame that we would spend less time in Innsbruck than we desired, but a four hour stay was never going to do the city justice at any rate.


So we left Munich at a much more reasonable hour in the morning, lamenting the enigmatic German sun that had hidden itself away during most of our stay in the city, but which was now bathing the Bavarian landscape with a warm, expansive sunlight. This would be the first train ride in which the passenger seating consisted of a private cab with a sliding door entry, with cushioned chairs facing each other. It's a more intimate way to travel, offering seclusion from others on the train, only to be interrupted in the event that a lone traveler needed an extra seat that only your cab might provide. This actually occurred to us soon after leaving Munich, when a young German (probably) woman found that the cab me, Ryan, and Beth were currently occupying had in it an extra seat she could plant herself in for a little while. Probably nothing more than warm pleasantries were exchanged as she put on her headphones leaving us three to once more talk amongst ourselves and stare at the Alpine landscape as it rolled by.


We arrived in Innsbruck around lunchtime, and with our time limited, dropped off the bags at a waiting area in the train station, and a number of us decided to take a brisk walk through as much of the city as possible before we caught a train bound for Verona while the others volunteered to stay back and protect our small fort of luggage. Those heading into town walked west-northwest from the train station, heading towards the Inn River. We soon passed through a shopping district of the city with an open air Christmas market on display, or at least, the vestiges of a Christmas market since the holiday was now three days past.


Here is where the group began to fragment with the fairer sex in the group wishing to stop off and see what they could find for sell. My Dad and I pressed on towards the river, eager to catch a better glimpse at the surrounding landscape that was presently obscured from our view by the urban setting, or as urban as a resort town like Innsbruck gets. We eventually found our way to the edge of town to see an impressive Alpine scene spread out before us. On my prior visit here two years ago, darkness and a blizzard had concealed this vista from me. Ryan, Will, and I had climbed a foothill just across the river that night, which made for a charming setting with all the snow, but we had no time for this today. Which was fine, because this time around, Innsbruck was caught in the splendor of radiant sunlight of a bluebird winter day. Hardly a cloud in the sky with a warm sun to fight off the cold of winter. We managed to pose for a few quick pictures on a bridge over the Inn River before trudging back towards the train station.



Once there, we spent the duration of our time in town waiting for our train to depart. Our train would take us to Fair Verona, home to everyone's favorite pair of star crossed lovers, Romeo and Juliet. But that would be a sideshow to other things to be seen on this train ride. I guess it was because I was so focused on the first half of this trip, or simply too overwhelmed to take note of all we were doing, but this leg of the trip I will admit, snuck up on me. By that I mean, I didn't really have any expectations about it. Oh sure, like any train ride across Europe, I guess I expected it to be spectacular in its own way, especially as I assumed we would still be surrounded by mountains for much of the ride, but it hadn't really captured my imagination. So it was with a sense of wonderment that, shortly after entering Italy, I looked out my window and saw the mythical Dolomites, unmistakable with their famous limestone peaks. I knew one would find the Dolomites in the northern part of Italy (duh, all of the Italian Alps are), but the thought that we might see the Dolomites, or at least a front range portion of them, hadn't crossed my mind. They didn’t disappointed with their fantastical setting. No other mountain range in Europe compares as best as I can tell. But my experience with them was only fleeting so you’ll have to look elsewhere for a more thorough description. A trip back here would probably be warranted. (note: the picture included here was stolen from the internet just to give you an idea of what they look like, though we didn't see anything near this spectacular)


After a while, despite the amazing scenery encountered as we made one seemingly endless journey through a valley, it felt less like we were traveling and more as though we were meandering towards Verona, our next stop before changing trains for Milan. Call it weeklong European fatigue I guess, but I was ready to be there. The appeal of rail travel hadn’t quite worn off, but it was going into remission for a short spell. When we finally arrived in Verona, I didn’t spend much time thinking about the the fact that we were in Montague and Capulet territory. I took note of it, thought, “That’s neat”, and turned my attention towards our platform number and departure time. I was ready to head to Milan for our final changeover before going to Como.


As it was, the train ride from Verona to Milan was fairly uneventful. Whatever scenery there was to enjoy was cloaked in darkness. Before we knew it, our train was arriving in the Milan. I was hoping to see at least a little of the city as we arrived or left, especially a glimpse of the city’s famous Duomo, but even had the sun been out, our train didn’t appear to take us by any famous Milanese landmarks. No time to venture out into the city either as our layover was brief before we took the short train ride to Como.


After arriving into town, we caught some cabs and got to our hotel about 20:30. After a quick check-in, it was out on to the town to look for some grub. Given that it was our first night in Italy, and we weren’t in the mood for anything extravagant, we settled for a local pizzeria just down the street from our hotel, right along the lakefront. The first taste of true Italian pizza (as true as it gets outside of Naples and Southern Italy anyway) was, I’m sure, a seminal moment for our first time visitors to Italy. (i.e., everyone but me, Ryan, and Will). Regardless of whether it actually tastes better than pizza back home (it does…to me anyway), you’ll tell yourself that it does. You can be one of those Europhile snobs (guilty as charged) that, next time you’re at Pizza Hut, points out that this isn’t real pizza, but rather processed cheese tossed on some dough along with ketchup sauce. You’ve had the real deal on that thin, Italian crust, with real cheese, and real homemade tomato sauce, and you want more. Or you could just keep getting the $5 Hot and Ready pizza from Little Caesar back stateside. That’s a pretty good deal, y’all.


Bottom line, legit Italian pizza is good stuff. We liked it so much we helped ourselves to it a few times while in Italy, starting with this first night in Como. Also came across nice dessert called Bongo Bongo, and it’s as awesome as it sounds. Here’s a description I found on the interwebs:


“A dessert resembling profiteroles consisting of tiny cream puffs surrounded with whipped cream with more cream puffs on top, all coated with melted chocolate.”


Sounds pretty awesome, right? Believe me. It was. I actually ordered a different dessert, but something exotic/awesome sounding as Bongo Bongo warranted a taste, which others in our party were willing to share, thankfully.


After a long day of travel, it was a good note to end on. We retired to our rooms shortly thereafter to prepare for a day along the lake tomorrow.