Arreviderci Roma

We had a lot of fun yesterday, our last day in Rome together. Our first stop was at the office in the terminal to purchase tickets to the airport for today. The gentleman who was selling asked Billie’s age: 12, I said. Children under 12 have a reduced fare, he told us. She just became 11, I rejoined. OK, said he and gave us the two fares for only 14 euros, about half of what I had expected to pay. Feeling suddenly richer with our left over 45 euros, we headed down Via Corso to check out the Colosseum. On the way we were tempted by a gelato store and enjoyed some quite sumptuous ice cream on a bench parked in front to of the shop. One of the many African fellows who move about the continent making a living by selling this or that, stopped by, saying what a nice-looking, happy family we were. He introduced himself and said that he was from Kenya. He was also a nice-looking, happy sort of guy. He gave the response that we always get when we have said that we are from Canada – a look of appreciation and – “a very nice country.” We agreed. He had two small braided bracelets that he wanted to give us. Knowing that he likely would want money for these, I let him know that we had next to none. He didn’t seem to care. He gave them to us anyway, shook hands while we wished each other well and was off cheerfully down the street. A lovely, open-faced fellow.

Fortified by our gelato we continued on our way to the relatively close Colosseum, joining the masses encircling its impressive girth. Just as in other spots, the entrance and procedures had changed since I was last in Rome. Rather than entering at the second level, we were taken immediately into the ground area of the building. The areas where animals and gladiators had been kept awaiting their turn for combat were all open to us. We had already heard in our hop-on, hop-off commentary of previous days that only 2% of the gladiators sent for combat survived. The other point of interest was that Christians were not in fact sacrificed at the Colosseum though they were martyred in other places in Rome. Billie really enjoyed the whole Colosseum experience. I managed to get a couple of photos of her in various locations. We sat for awhile on one of the interior steps and chatted about the place and its significance.

I had some lunch after we emerged from the building and we headed for home back up Via Corso in the lovely sunshine and cool breezes. We went out again quite a bit later to get some food for Billie and some last minute groceries. I planned on staying up to follow the Blue Jays second game against Cleveland which stated at 10 PM our time. The games have been so tight, even though the Jays lost both, neither has been a rout. I’ll be back in Toronto to see the rest of the series – hooray. We did stay up – the game finished at about 1:30 AM our time and it is now 9 AM. We’ll leave in a half hour for the train to the airport and thence on our way to London; two hours later on to Toronto.

Billie’s flight to Vancouver leaves at 8 AM tomorrow so it will be a hustle to get her up and out there in the morning. She’s been a great companion. We’ve had a lot of fun together. One of the joys of travelling with a kid is that other than in the moments when you must be firm about health or safety, you can just be a kid with them and enjoy yourself all over again. Besides, you don’t ever have to explain to them why you like to have so much gelato.

Thanks for enjoying our little tour of three of Europe’s hot spots with us. All the best.

A Hop-on, Hop-off Bus and the Sistine Chapel

On Thursday we left “home” eager for our full day on the bus. The sky was overcast and the air was slightly misty. Shortly after we mounted the bus, gaining the front row on the top, it began to rain more in earnest. There was a canopy above but this covering did little to prevent showers entering through the open side windows. Billie had elected to sit on the inside; without the cover of my rain poncho she would have quickly been drenched. We stayed aloft for quite some time as the bus made the usual rounds: the church of St. Mary Major; the Colosseum; the Circus Maximus; the Foro Romano; the Capitolino; and etc. As the weather became progressively more and more chilly, we eventually moved to the ground floor of the bus. Unfortunately, there were no seats available there, though it was somewhat warmer. But there we were stuck. The regular stops of the bus in that area were not close enough to Metro stations to make an escape for home possible, and the bus driver would not allow us to get off except at the regular stops. Moreover, the driving rain slowed all of the traffic – drawing out our by now quite uncomfortable stint on the bus by at least an extra 45 minutes. We were philosophical and managed, happy to land finally at the terminus from which we had begun, grab something to eat, and head for the comforts of our little room, both determined not to again try the hop-on, hop-off route.

Later in the afternoon the rain was forgotten when the sun came out and made all beautiful. We took the Metro to the Spanga station to view the famous Spanish steps. These lead to a church built by the Spanish in the late 18^th century but are mainly known as a place of meeting and greeting on lovely days and evenings in Rome. It was dusk by the time we arrived but the steps carried a fair number of people just happy to be there resting and enjoying the scene. We joined them for a while. Billie took my water bottle and filled it at the ornate fountain at the foot of the steps as had her cousins. I managed to get a photo of her, not actually getting the water, but returning from the fountain. Billie is reticent in the extreme about having her picture taken so I am forced to grab what I can when I can, usually to protests on her part. I keep telling her that years from now she will enjoy having a pictorial record of her excursions.

From the Spanish steps we walked to the Piazza del Popolo, the largest of the squares in Rome, which lies adjacent to the vast Villa Borghese. One of the twin churches at the southern extremity of the piazza is now completely covered with scaffolding for renovations, spoiling the particular beauty of symmetry with its sister church. It was a lovely evening and we gradually made our way back home by foot, catching up on all of the exercise we had missed during our morning ride on the bus.

We planned to get off early yesterday morning in order to get to the Vatican Museum before the crowds became too heavy. Not early enough, I’m afraid. We reached the Vatican by Metro about 10:30 to be greeted by an alternative given by a legion of ticket sellers: take the regular line to the ticket office where you will be charged 24 euros for the two of you, but the by-now extensive line will take you two hours to get inside, OR, buy the tickets that we can sell you that will let you skip the regular line and get in quickly, for only 63 euros. We elected to join the throng of plebeians, wait our turn, and save our dwindling store of cash. It did take about two hours to get in, but it was alright. We amused ourselves by playing solitaire and a game of hearts on my cell phone – Billie got to play one hand and I took the next. We won the game. Yay. It was warmer than we had so far experienced but Billie had put on her funny black hat with what looks like two ears sticking up at the top, and sprinkled with a succession of spikes. Despite the heat she kept it on the entire day, in fact, as she lies opposite me on her bed, she wears it still. What an amusing kid.

Once inside the Vatican we moved forward through the numerous halls and passages which funnel the crowd through the museum toward its final glory: the Sistine Chapel and the works of Michelangelo. It is a lengthy journey. We made our way past innumerable gaggles of tourists suffering (as I would have experienced it) the detailed discussions of the significance of each room and artifact given by their tour directors. It’s a marvellous place in which one could get lost for many days if one so desired, but for me the only real point of interest to which I wished to direct my kid in tow, was the Sistine Chapel. It was crowded, of course. Along each side of the hall are seats which one can nab as another tourist prepares to leave, then rest as long as one wishes, taking in the ceiling which depicts Michelangelo’s vision of the first chapters of the Old Testament, and, the enormous main wall showing the Four Last Things – death, judgement, heaven, and hell. We did gain two seats after not a long wait close to the edge of the room. There we spoke in hushes – though one of the gentlemen ushers periodically uttered his SILENCIO over a loudspeaker. I pointed out some of the main features to Billie, after which we sat quietly just taking it all in. I had the distinct sense that I would not likely return to the Sistine again. I have been there five times now with my various companions in Rome and feel no need to return again. I said a sort of fond farewell and thank you to the chapel and to Michelangelo before we filed out and began the long process of touring other anterooms and halls before finding ourselves in a cafeteria area constructed since my last visit.

We sat with the hordes and partook of a set meal of penne in tomato sauce with lots of cheese, a crusty bun, a bottle of water, and, a cake with an overabundance of soft, gooey icing. A brief walk-about the Vatican garden, another set of stairs and halls, until finding ourselves outside, close to the entrance area, not as I had at the last visit, in a passage leading directly into St Peters. We walked around the Vatican walls to the entrance of the basilica but found another long line waiting to enter. Not another line-up today was our common sentiment. We headed for Via Victor Emmanuele and waited instead in a line for the #64 bus to return to the terminal. It was vastly overcrowded; we stood close to its center holding on as well as we were able to the polls and straps overhead. At last the terminal and home. I went out later to check on the price of the train to Rome’s airport that we will take on Sunday morning. Billie declined to join me – a first in our trip together. She had simply had enough for one day.

Today we will head for the Colosseum, our last significant site before we organize ourselves for the long journey back to Toronto.

ROME

Our journey to Rome was pretty uneventful – the usual reading, napping, and snacking with a population of others rotating about us as we stopped in Bologna, Florence, and other not-now-remembered places. We almost got left behind, however, due to the following circumstances.  We had purchased our tickets the day before in the train station. The ticket clearly stated that our train would leave at 12:28 from platform 5 with a destination of Rome Termini. We arrived in plenty of time, saw that info mounted on the departure board, and settled close by platform 5 to await the arrival of our train. By 12:15 it hadn't pulled in. I went back to recheck the board: the earlier info had simply disappeared. There was no longer any mention of a train to Rome at 12:28. Luckily the fellow manning the Tranitalia info kiosk did not have a line of eager questioners before him. What’s happening? I breathlessly asked him. He checked our ticket. Oh, you are now to be on the train that ends in Naples; it leaves in about ten minutes from platform 3. Wow. We grabbed our suitcases, backpacks, purses, food carriers and ran for all we were worth the full length of the train, down to our lowly economy slot, and just made it. Much relief to be settled and on our way.

The hotel I had booked was but a half a block from the Termini but despite an address, it was not in any way marked. Like many of these little hotels in the terminal area, they consist of one floor of a former apartment building. One ascends to the designated floor via a miniscule and most ancient elevator. A kindly Asian fellow in one of the adjoining shops took us to number 13 Marghera – the correct address. There was no sign of Marghera House, however. We began a floor by floor search, asking whomever we encountered about the hotel. We were directed to the right spot but at the door was placed a sign that the greeter would be absent for 30 minutes. We waited. He returned about 10 minutes later, checked us in, telling us that the rooms at that location were filled but that he would take us to the one allotted to us next door. “Next door” meant about five blocks away. We followed his quick passage there through spotty rain showers. A set of three keys took us through the vast front entrance, the doorway to the three-room apartment owned or leased by Marghera House, and into our own new home-away-from-home. The room is about half the size of that in Venice but has the following conveniences: two single beds – rather narrow but with the comfort of no sudden kicks in the night; a sink; a rather dubious-looking shower; and in the hallway of the apartment, a frig and a kettle. There is a common washroom with sink, shower/bath, and toilet.

It was late afternoon by the time we got in but there was time to go out for some local exploration and the purchase of food stuffs. The presence ofperiodic rain showers necessitated another conversation about the conditions under which I could allow Billie to join me in this ramble. OK, she would take the umbrella and I would wear one of the Dollarama rain ponchos that I had brought along. Off we went to the terminal, a mall that I know well from previous visits. It has numerous high end stores but also lots of fast and slow food out-lets, an enormous book store with rows of English books, and two grocery stores. We had some supper – pizza for Billie and a McDonald’s bacon burger for me – pure health. At the grocery store we bought juice, yogurt, water, biscuits, bananas, and milk. My new temporary Visa card that had been delivered to Marghera House the day before (the lords and ladies above only know how the courier might have found the place!) actually worked at the check-out – though it has not worked since. Luckily the money provided in Venice is still holding out and will most likely get us through to our return trip on Sunday. After all of this excitement Billie and I retreated to the full enjoyment of our new place. 

The next day it was bright and sunny without. We left “home” close to noon-hour and walked about for nearly six hours: to the Trevi fountain, found through the kindness of many strangers. Pictures – not good ones—taken of us both throwing the coins over our shoulders into the fountain to ensure our returns to Rome; de rigeur Trevi gelato; onward to the Pantheon. The original building was erected in the 1^st century by Marcus Agrippa; when it was destroyed about a century later the current emperor built the one that still stands in that spot. It was to house the gods of Rome. When Christianity ruled it became a church. Now it is a museum, open to all who wish to go through its enormous portals and walk around its vast circumference to mark the many notables buried therein. Billie and I sat on pews close to the front and quietly chatted for some time about various things.

We made our way then over to the Piazza Navone, a spot I well remember visiting with Emily and Theo in turn. We sat for awhile in front of one of the three large fountains in the piazza, entranced by the figure of a woman’s head. From her mouth came a steady steam of water, looking for all the world despite her lovely smile, as if she was sicking-up. On to the broad Via Victor Emmanule, crossing the Tiber, and our first viewing of St Peter’s basilica. The line to enter was long and in the direct sun so we took a pass. I hope that we will be able on one of our subsequent days to go through the Vatican museum with its Sistine chapel and thence directly into the basilica.

I had already decided to splurge on seats on one of the hop-on, hop-off buses that would give us the overview of Rome that I wanted, plus let us get off at places to be explored without quite so much shoe leather involved. We got a combined pass for both lines of that particular company which also allowed us to begin with it at once and to use it all day today. We went over the bridge in from of the fortress of Saint Angelo and waited about 20 minutes for our ride. Up high about the crowd we were driven through a huge swath of Rome and deposited at the terminal, ready for our supper and our room. We are now about to leave for our full day of advantaged ridership.

A full report promised.

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A Last Day in Venice

Our last full day in Venice was quite laid back. We managed to avoid most of the crowded areas of the city, circumventing the Rialto by taking a route leading to the Academia Gallery and bridge, coming into San Marco from the end of the square opposite, instead of from the side of the basilica, cutting close to the bell tower on the right, and so out onto the quay. The day was once again sunny and bright, warm in the sun and cool sheltered from it. The further along the quay we moved the thinner became the crowds, until we came to a broad street just past the entrance to the Arsenale area. There we sat among the marauding pigeons while I enjoyed a mammoth sandwich on grilled panini and some tea. Billie, out of bed moments before we left, wasn’t hungry, having enjoyed her late morning collation of sweet bread/cake and milk. 

Each of these “neighbourhoods” in Venice has its own special character. Just being there, surrounded by centuries-old buildings and the pasts that they have accumulated is a profound experience.

After my lunch we made our promised visit to the Arsenale, but it was not at all the one that I had visited seven years ago with Theo. A different entrance was set back close to the two towers that mark the opening to the broad sea lane within which Venetian ships had been built. The building that we entered opened out into what looked like a warehouse or barn, housing as it did about ten or twelve large and very large vessels, representative of ships of the 16^th to the 20^th century that had been built and used in the Venetian lagoon and beyond for both fishing and for trade and war. After our brief circuit of this exhibit, I approached the ticket seller to inquire how to reach the rest of the museum. Oh, unfortunately it is closed for renovations this year, she told me. Quel dommage. But Billie was all right with the brevity of our visit, though quite interested in the pieces that we did see.

We took our time strolling back through the paths we had taken earlier, sitting for a short time on the steps of the colonnades that form the other three sides of the rectangle fronted by the basilica San Marco. One has usually a window of about 5-10 minutes to rest there before one of the friendly guards comes along to remind one that sitting on the steps is not permitted. The stores and restaurants that line the interiors of the colonnades undoubtedly pay for this service as clogged steps would deny entry to potential customers if tourist hordes were left free to block their passage. And so we obediently moved along and into the lanes and campos leading us back toward the Academia and the train station. We paused at a place we had noted on our way out to purchase pasta and sauce for Billie’s late afternoon lunch/supper. The lovely fellow who served us took our order and our money and then proceeded to cook the pasta that Billie chose, lace it with the vegetarian sauce that she wanted, sprinkle it with cheese, and package it up for carrying back to our place. He was inordinately cheerful and friendly, energetic in a fashion not necessarily experienced in wait-staff in the busier sectors of the town who deal with the flow of the masses. He loved Billie’s jade hair and was kindly in his compliments though not over the top. Her hair has drawn a lot of looks and commentaries which she has found somewhat self-conscious making, but is becoming more accustomed to. A little boy asked his granddad about her hair as they passed close to us at a bridge, the boy and the gentleman both clearly delighted with what they saw. Billie didn’t mind. She was somewhat flummoxed though when I translated a young man’s look and comment “que bella” for her.

In one of the lanes we stopped to listen to a man play a gorgeous classical number on a collection of about 30 crystal glasses. He had an appreciative audience, delighted to hear the tones that he was able to elicit from his delicate fingering of the stemware. It was bella. A late afternoon gelato and soon we were back at our Venetian home, happy enough to settle in for a relaxed evening after our four hours of almost continuous walking about. Billie and I are rather alike in our appreciation of getting out to see things and in our love and need of time just to chill. Lots of time to read or write and to be within one’s own space. Though we share our little rooms, we do so quietly with headsets, each in her own location needing or wanting little in the way of chat.

Billie snoozes on as I write these words. In another couple of hours I’ll get her up to prepare for our 12:30 train ride to Rome. She’s excited to be going there and so am I. Rome, the Eternal City, we are practically on our way.

Venice and the Rule of Law

Yesterday we were restored to a day of pristine beauty and cloudless skies. Billie and I set off for our promised jaunt along the Grande Canal per vaparetto. A few stops into our journey, however, we were accosted by a woman inspector wanting to see our tickets. Mine was fine; Billie hadn’t one. A fine of 67 euros loomed. After several circumlocutions, I convinced the youngish lady to simply let us off at the next stop – no money, no documents, wallet lost in Paris, etc. On our way through the boat another, perhaps more legally diligent colleague of hers asked what was happening. At the stop both women got off with us; further questioning and circumlocutions commenced. A compromise to our accompanying them to the police station: our names, addresses and birth dates were written upon a notice of fine. I was to present this at any police station in Italy within five days to pay up. Thank you, I said with sincerity and relief, as Billie and I escaped their clutches and retreated into the by-ways and alleys of Venice. A brush with the law. Who would have thought? Billie was torn between shock and awe at my demeanour. We had to calm our somewhat rattled nerves by indulging in a mid-morning gelato. A new Venetian lesson: unlike days of yore, having a valid ticket is de rigeur for the vaparetto. My reasoning that the 20 euros I had already paid surely was more than plenty to pay for the addition of one child. But still, the rule of law is essential for the smooth administration of the city. So I was bad.

We made it over to San Marco once again by foot, bought a couple of sandwiches and some water and perched upon one of the stacks of table-like boards in the square, left there perhaps for placement over the rising waters that flood the area once the late-fall rains commence. Pigeons danced around the feet of the legion of our fellow tourists enjoying their use. Billie amused herself by hurling someone’s left-over bread into a flock of birds, instigating an instant pigeon war – really more a state of individual combat, each bird for itself. After eating we walked again out to the quay, passing the entrance to the Doge’s palace. Billie seemed interested so we paid the fee and set about touring this enormous and sumptuous building which for centuries had housed the administration of the city of Venice, of its colonies on the mainland, and of its extensive holdings along the Adriatic coast. Beautifully panelled room after room, each with mammoth wall paintings, and high ceilings festooned with gold décor and the masterpieces of renowned artists like Tintoretto, was identified for its particular function during the centuries of the Venetian republic. 

Another major role of the palace aside from the reception of foreign dignitaries and the first stage of the election of the Doges by the heads of about 2000 of Venice’s leading families, was the administration of justice – both civil and criminal. A prison in the lower basement held the unfortunates awaiting their moment of judgement and/or of execution. Our tickets allowed a visitation to this spot of undoubted misery and despair. Billie was understandably most interested in this feature of the palace. I was able to snap a couple of shots of her in close proximity to these actual locations of incarceration, giving warnings to her at the time of the penalties exacted by the state to malefactors. (We were both conscious at the time, however, of my own recent falling into poor repute with the powers that were.)

After the lengthy ramble about the palace we started back home once again via the Rialto. A second gelato hard by one of the fish markets near the foot of the bridge, not open on a Sunday; then a walk through the variety of alleys and campos toward the train station, stopping at a supermarket for fresh staples. We had been out for about five hours and had walked close to 14,000 steps, according to my cell phone. At home we settled into our usual occupations of reading and snacking and visiting the internet. Somewhat later we decided against going out again, satisfying ourselves with the comestibles at hand. I made up my mind to sleep early so that when I awoke in the night I would have had enough rest behind me to allow for following the Jay’s third game against Texas through Game-day. It was to begin at 1:30 AM our time. And so it came to pass. I woke up at 2:15 and watched to the very end of the 10^th inning to see our boys pull of another close one. What happiness! In between innings I checked some of the commentary ensuing from the simultaneous broadcast of the second Clinton-Trump debate. It’s good to see that as Trump has continued to show his truly awful colours, that Hilary’s edge over him has widened somewhat.

Today is our last in Venice. We have agreed to try again to make it over to the Arsinale. And so we shall see what the day brings.

Rain, the Rialto, and Vivaldi

Yesterday we experienced our first intimations of fall here in Venice. It was a chilly and overcast morning that greeted us, followed by light, periodic rain. Our movements and intentions were guided by the twists and turns of the weather. To begin we headed over the bridge closest to the station, following the periodic signs pointing to the Rialto, second only to San Marco in the hierarchy of spots to visit while here. For centuries it was the only bridge across the Grand Canal. As such it was the economic and marketing center of the city, a spot highlighted in the English-speaking world by Shakespeare’s A Merchant in Venice. Like San Marco this area is packed, especially during the mid-day with tourists, eager for photos of the site and of themselves visiting it. One side of the bridge is under renovation; its covering hides views up the Grande Canal, forcing the entire brigade of visitors to the opposite side, standing four and five deep to “enjoy” their special moment at the Rialto. Billie and I were deep into a controversy about adequate cover during the periods of rain as we gained the front of the crowd at the railing. To her “Vancouver” thinking, anyone who covers his or her head during a light rainfall is clearly a weakling. To my “Nana who is responsible for a 12-year old’s current and future health” mind, a kid who is still recovering from bronchitis must avoid getting drenched on a chilly day. My pronouncement: when it rains, Billie must use the umbrella we are toting or, we shall stand under any nearby shelter until the rain stops, regardless of length of time. Without any conclusive agreement on this point we retreated to an-open air but sheltered restaurant at the foot of the bridge to have lunch.

Lunch: a simple pizza to share – 10euros; two cans of coke – 9euros i.e., about $15 Canadian. No, I would not spend $15 on a couple of cans of coke and the restaurant would not provide glasses of water. We ate the not-bad pizza without benefit of liquid, retreating afterward to the more convenient-type shop next door for two small bottles of water and two gelatos, for in total less that the proposed cost of the cans of coke. The full price at the restaurant came to 13.5 euros by the way – one must pay a cover charge to sit down and eat at such a place, plus there was tax – with a small tip for the understanding waitress, a total of about 16 euros, or around $25 Cdn. It ain’t cheap to eat out here, even simply.

In the meantime the rain had stopped for the day and our “covering” controversy had become moot, at least for yesterday. On we strolled, heading more or less for San Marco and the quay beyond which leads to the Arsinale. Once the rain evaporated, however, the sun showed its face. I had failed to bring along either my sunglasses or my parasol and venturing into the open sun was hard on my eyes. We began to drop into churches that were open along the route. Some of these are the sites of evening concerts performed daily in several locations. In each tickets can be purchased for the concerts while one enjoys the beauty of that church and the surrounding piped-in music. I bought a ticket for last night’s concert at which Vivaldi’s Four Seasons was to be performed. Billie was not inclined to join me but we left it open for her to change her mind later. The concert was to be held at a location other than the church where I purchased the ticket so we set out to find that spot. It was a fortunate decision as the church, close to the Academia was difficult to locate. I would never have found it later in the evening in the dark. This kind of rambling in Venice is the best actually – heading into the twists and turns of the ancient city, getting lost, asking directions of a myriad of people, and eventually finding one’s way. Every alley, every open campo, contains its own beauties and surprises.

We found the church, had a look inside, and went over the close-by bridge to ascertain that the vaparetto (the Venetian boat-bus) stop at its side could be reached from the train station. I had a ticket and a plan. What we had done to this point must seem very little but we were both tiring (in all we had walked about 9K when we returned to our place), and decided to head for home. This walk entailed a journey through a new area of the city for me, coming along the streets lining smaller canals from the Academia to the Piazale Roma, the area where city and tourist buses are permitted to just the edge of Venice, after which there are only boats for transport. It was a lovely walk through many open campo, far less travelled by fellow tourists than those heading toward the usual places of interest. The station is close by and so was chez nous. We fell happily into our retreat for several hours of resting, reading, and snacking. Billie has some capacity for communicating with her friends – she writes stories and I presume sends them on, and her friends send their stories to her for reading.

Later when it was clear that Billie preferred to stay home, I ran out to get her some supper, and left for the concert. I was shocked (clearly my Scots heritage) to find that a return ticket by vaparetto would cost me 15euros. As a 24-hour pass is 20euros, I opted for it, planning to take Billie for a ride on the Grand Canal today. I sat in the open-air stern enjoying the loveliness of the canal at night. Much of it is rather austere, old buildings mostly unlit facing onto the water. In places where people were gathered to eat there were lights and an evening’s beauty of warm sociability. We traversed under the Rialto and on to the Academia bridge. As there are so many stops along the way progress was slow – likely it would have been faster to walk had I been able to find my way in the near-dark. As we approached my stop it began to rain steadily. I put up my umbrella and headed, along with quite a few other concert-goers over the bridge and into the church just in time for the concert to begin. I thought that as I was alone I would more easily get a good seat – there often being gaps left in seating, and I was right. I was escorted up to the front and given an excellent spot just shy of the raised dias.

The church was full. The musicians approached, all wearing black, fairly casual outfits. The audience was generally an older crowd, people possibly like myself, now able to travel a bit with some time and money available. There was a fine spirit of anticipation as the group of ten string-instrument players readied themselves. Ah, the wonderful acoustics of this old church. I have heard considerably better renditions of the Four Seasons on CDs and the radio but none with the power of those acoustics. It was magical. I closed my eyes and took it in, tears falling unbidden onto my cheeks as I relished the beauty of Visvaldis’ music right in the town of its composing. There was an intermission after the Seasons during which I made my getaway. I had only come for Vivaldi; after the pause there was to be another piece by a composer whom I didn’t know, and a second by Haydn which I might have enjoyed, but, it was already close to 10 PM and I knew it would be another 45 minutes before I was home to Billie. So off I went via vaparetto again along the lovely river of the Grand Canal, back to the train station, and through the set of four keys up to our room and its warmth and its Billie. She had enjoyed her quiet evening and had even worked on some of her math homework! Impressive. We soon settled in for an 11:30 sleep time.

It's beautifully sunny out right now. I’ll start making rousing noises to Billie and we’ll be out and about for another day. Late (our time) tonight the Blue Jays play Texas at Toronto. I likely will be up at some point in the night to check on their progress. All the best to you in the far-away New World from us here looking around the Old.

Being in Venice

A goodly chunk of yesterday was spent in visiting the local Western Union and returning sans cash. Apparently extensive discussions were going on in Canada about how and where to deliver both cash and a temporary card to me. A resolution and a plan was put together by about suppertime and I returned from yet one more foray enriched by 986 euros in cash. Why this strange amount you find yourself asking? In Italy 999E is the maximum that can be sent in a day – plus, they took a little off the top for services at this end. I was extremely happy for my 986. My landlady will also be very happy to receive her 425E when she returns today from some place unknown. Her daughter was here last night and graciously accepted my offering, giving me a receipt. Nothing like the payment of debts to put the mind at ease and to release the spirit for more pleasant employ!

Billy and I did get out for a significant ramble, despite this background concern. We took a long and circuitous route from our place close to the station over to the Piazza San Marco. The entire square was covered in humans – standing, sitting, walking about, and lining up for the entrance to the Basilica. There was no room for the poor pigeons who usually have pride of place. Billie and I entered the church backwards in order to gently avoid the crowds. That is, we went into the little store at the exit, perused that area briefly and then quietly “re-entered” the church, joining the throng making its way about the enormous perimeter. Off to one side is a chapel wherein one can sit or kneel for prayer. We took two seats close to the front and sat together taking in the grandeur of the Basilica's ancient beauty. I asked Billie how much she knew about the Christian story. Not too much, she avowed. This is despite her having grandparents who are a former priest and a former religious sister! I’ll tell you all about it sometime, I promised. Why not now, she said. This is the perfect place. And so we huddled and I quietly told her both the story and also my understanding of how the story began and was later elaborated. A fine little moment of Nana/kid communication. Anyone wanting to form her youthful mind in another direction ought to get to her fairly quickly. She is a smarty-pants and a fast learner.

Having “done” the Basilica, as the perennial tourist might say, we walked through the adjacent piazzetta to look at the former Doges’ palace, and hence out to the broad quay overlooking the Grand Canal. Such a breath-taking vista. Wow. It gets me every time. We stayed briefly and then headed back to our little pied-a-terre. A further circuitous journey ensued, several false paths, several requests for directions, and finally – the by now familiar territory was in sight. We had walked about 12K in all with just a smidge of gelato and a tiny sandwich to sustain us. At the res we settled in for a period of rest and some snacks. Later, when I got the bundle of cash we went out to celebrate, purchasing sandwiches and drinks at the very pleasant and inexpensive take-out/eat-in spot in the station. I'm always the big spender!

I was able to follow the Jays second victorious game against Texas last night via the mlb.com game-day facility. Billie was happy with her u-tube watching and we spent a happy and quiet evening chez nous. Today we’ll be out and about, I think visiting the museum in the Arsinale. This significantly large spot along the quay past San Marco is where the Venetians literally mass-produced their sea-faring vessels, the navy that made them masters of much of the eastern Mediterranean and wealthy traders for centuries. Theo and I spent a couple of hours there seven years ago during our visit. It was one of his favorite places, even if his 11-year old potty humour put him into gales of laughter whenever the name “Arsinale” (emphasis on the Ars part) was mentioned.

So there we are. Billie told me yesterday that she had loved Paris and thought of how she wants to return there when she is older with some friends. Now she says, she loves Venice at least as much: it is so interesting and so quiet without cars; one can just ramble forever. Yes, it is like that. One must always return once having given up your heart to these places.

A Last Day in Paris and Getting to Venice

I am writing from the train that is taking Billie and me to Milan, with a quick change there we’ll be off to Venice. We are passing through mountainous territory, so very beautiful is our view from the valleys that we traverse! Our passports are being inspected by police for the second time – different police, so I believe that we have just passed over into Italy.

Yesterday was brief as both of us managed to sleep quite late into the day after little overnight rest. I bedded down after my early breakfast and happily snoozed until noon. When we headed out it was to the Champs Elysees and the Arc de Triomphe on another lovely, sunny day with cool breezes. I have been in Paris in October before and had only steady rain to accompany my walk-abouts.  So we have been ever-so fortunate. The Champs E was crowded with the usual suspects, parading by expensive shops and restaurants, enjoying the sense of just being there, one of the earth’s truly “hot spots.” We purchased some lunch at a Brioche Dore shop – eat in or take out. Later, on our way to the Metro I realized that my small pocket wallet was missing. I don’t believe that it was stolen. I think that I likely put it down or dropped it in the restaurant and simply didn’t notice its loss. We retraced our steps and enquired at the Brioche Dore but to no avail. Luckily it did not contain our passports or the envelope in which I carry most of our euros. It did, however, have my Visa and bank cards – the sources of further cash and charging capabilities. A complicated series of manoeuvers by my Toronto financial colleague ensued. If all goes well, I will receive a temporary card and some euros after we arrive in Venice. The happiness of the global systems.

After this kafuffle Billie and I went one last time to the area of St Michel. I wanted to buy another book to tide me over for reading while we are in Italy. Second-hand English book stores are considerably more difficult to come across there. My friend, Jan had recommended Joanna Trollope, the grand-niece of my hero, Anthony, as a writer of smaller, human stories that sit right in the reading. Anthony’s terrain was considerably broader, taking in the social, political, and ecclesiastical spheres of 19^th century middle and upper classes. So I will settle down to see what Joanna has to offer, endeavouring not to unfavourably compare her to her forebear.

Though we managed so little yesterday, we came back to the hotel every bit as tired as each of the other days. Getting organized for the quick get-away today, eating, and showering took us well into the evening. It’s strange how one can be so entirely pooped and yet lay down one’s head to sleep without the satisfaction of truly letting go. 

Nonetheless we, that is, I, was ready to spring up at 5 AM when my cell phone alarm rang. Billie was considerably slower, but we did get to the train and on board in time – just! I had a little chat with her earlier about her habit of frustrating people by resisting their entreaties to get ready to be off. Of course she laughed it off, saying that she didn’t always do that, but sometimes it just happened. No, I explained, when people act that way to frustrate another, it’s because they want to. They may not understand why they want to, but they want to nonetheless. It’s a great way of getting your own back. I gave her a couple of instructive examples of the ways in which I used to do that. Will she learn from my tutelage? Mmm.

It is now Friday and we are somewhat settled into our new, extremely difficult to locate especially in the dark, digs. So many conundrums yesterday! Mid-way to Milan the friendly barista in the bar car told me that our train did not stop at the station from which one went to Venice. A conductor standing there looked at the tickets that had been e-sent to me and concurred. We had been given only 15 minutes to make the station switch!!!! Besides, the Milan ride was 30 minutes late arriving. Once in Milan we raced to the Trentalia office to be sent elsewhere. We were rerouted to another slightly later departure and given vague instructions how to get to the new station – a 10-minute trip the nice lady assured me. Perhaps for her who understood the vagaries of Metro travel and the locations of each by-way. We arrived just as our train pulled out of the station. No matter, another nice lady routed us to the next train – another hour later. Billie who had been resisting eating or drinking all day was understandably tired and less appealingly grouchy, convinced that all of our difficulties were likely my fault. Also she objected to my groaning about all of the stairs – and there were many – that I had to climb a la mare’s shank, with my suitcase and etc in tow. Nonetheless, we were managing. During our wait I got us both some yummy gelato – Billie demurred but happily ate hers. On the Venice train we sat tight with two gentlemen, one of whom spoke on the phone doing his business for much of the way. Billie and I, I am sure seemed odd to them as we were so clearly disorganized with our stuff and had only grabbed those two empty seats because we had not been assigned any. The sac containing all of our food stuffs had fallen apart just as we got on the train, spreading our biscuits, bananas, etc onto the track-side walkway. We gathered most of it despite the press of others attempting to board, but suffered the loss of our peanut butter (sob) and Nutella. I’m certain we looked most comical to those around us. But still we were on our way, still snoozing a lot but OK.

Once in Venice we made several forays to find our residence – few instructions had been given as to its location. I counted five different people who generously tried to assist us. The last one finally got us there. Up three long flights of stairs with all of our stuff. I thank the lords above that I went to Curves for ten years developing some upper-body strength. Our landlady showed us to our room – one of just three that she lets out of her apartment. A double bed for the two of us. OK, we’ll make it work. And now, c.450 euros cash please. Oops, no money. OK, she’ll wait until I can get some this morning – fingers crossed. We dropped our stuff and went out into the Venetian evening looking for a connecting plug to allow my computer access to the wall unit – I had left the one I had in Paris – a new city, a new item left behind! Luckily we were directed to a tiny electrical shop not too far away and arrived there just as the fellow was about to close. Success – without which I would not now be addressing you. We got Billie a sandwich of indeterminate substance. The man said chicken but Billie said no – but ate it anyway as by then the return of hunger had hit her. We found a cafeteria that I had frequented before where I had a salad. We picked up a few staples and headed back to our new, yet unpaid for, home, working our way through the four sets of keys to get there – the garden gate; the building door; the apartment door; and, our room.

En route we had another little chat about being miserable with another – passive aggressive I labelled it. Billie had heard the term but didn’t understand it. I tried to enlighten her. More conversations to ensue. We are doing well, despite this kind of commentary, however. She can be a most loving child, just a bit hormonal (since the age of about three) around the edges.

So enough for now. Soon I’ll be off through my four security levels to the Western Union to see if they can put me back on proverbial easy street. Then we can really enjoy the loveliness of Venice. And how about those Jays!!! When I went to sleep last night they were up 5-0. I woke up to the happy news of their win.

All the best, and, keep the faith.

Galeries Lafayette and Sacre Coeur

This morning it’s all about the Blue Jay’s win over the Orioles last night. Billie and I went out in the early evening to take a bus down through the city. Once down in the Latin Quarter, however, we opted to get off and stroll along St Germain des Pres, looking at the multitudes who brave the cool night air to sit in three-deep rows outside the famous Parisian cafes. Down St Michel and a stop at the Hagen Daz shop close to the river for a chat with the friendly and not-too-busy server. We indulged, possibly the main reason neither of us was able to go to sleep until long after midnight. I would try but shortly would hop up to see if the Jays game was on yet – it started close to 2:30 AM our time. I went to sleep for about four hours when it was 1-0 for the Jays and arose close to 6:30 for the glorious news of their win!

But back to yesterday. The beautiful fall weather is holding for our visit. In the late morning we went via our local Metro to the Galeries Lafayette. I especially wanted to show Billie the spectacular dome at its center, stained glass a des Artes Nouveaux. She was so distracted by the chi-chi counter displays (not her favorite) that she paid little attention to the upper scenery. She did enjoy, however, the seventh floor terrace where we sat for some time in the bright sunlight with other happy tourists, taking in an overview of the Opera and other nearby gems. One mammoth outer wall of the Galerie is a hanging garden of over a hundred different species of plants, all edible, some important medically. Small photos in a display show about ten of these, explaining the nature and usage of each. It was all quite cheerful. The leader of some students engaged a German couple to take a succession of photos of their group. We retreated to the sixth floor which is dedicated to good food and expensive gifts to carry home. I had some salad while Billie enjoyed the wifi; the costly presents were eschewed.

I had thought of walking about that area but a last second decision put us onto a bus up toward Sacre Coeur. Thinking of the state of feet and legs after days of 10 plus K walks, I opted for the funicular to gain a closer proximity to the church. As we were about to enter, we heard some lively African music just off to the left. We paused to take it in, staying close to a half hour as part of a growing gaggle of passers-by, enchanted by the power and beauty of the music as well as the showmanship of the musicians. They were three – later I found that they were from different countries: Senegal, the Ivory Coast, and a third that I don’t recall. Each could sing and play either their only guitar or the over turned box that they used as a drum. One could make the sound of a horn just with his mouth, moving his fingers the while, as though truly playing that instrument. They went into a lengthy rendition of Stand By Me, in their own languages, French, and English, encouraging us to join in with singing and clapping. Two spectators, a man and a woman, who spoke the African language they were using, joined in with them most beautifully, delighting the musicians and the rest of us. This sequence continued for at least 20 minutes, the crowd continuing to gather and to participate. It was really fun; their musicianship and singing were superb. I purchased their CD to bring them home.

Sacre Coeur was anti-climactic after that display but we walked about and reflected on the significant difference between this church and Billie’s Gothic fav, Notre Dame. From the heights we descended into the streets below, walking that area of artistic days-of-yore, hopped on the Metro and returned chez nous for some supper. I had no trouble getting Billie up yesterday, I’m happy to report. She was getting ready to roll after the first quarter-hour call. We will soon go out to explore the area of the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs Elysees. Tomorrow will be a full day of travel by train to Venice via Milan.

Luxembourg Garden and the Pantheon

Billie was reluctant to get going yesterday morning and mild “words” ensued. The new deal is: I will let her know about an hour in advance when I plan to leave and will remind her every fifteen minutes subsequently. At the given time I will be off, with or without the kid in tow. I believe that she will join me, as she does not relish the prospect of spending several hours on her own in the confines of our room. Billie, in certain moods, likes to test one’s patience – so boring!

Yesterday was a fine day with blue skies and only the occasional puffy white cloud for the sake of commentary. We tried a new method of getting about: the local Metro to St Lazare station, followed by a bus to the left bank area. We disembarked close to the Luxembourg garden, picked up sandwiches and drinks and picnicked beside the inner garden and pool area on the chairs provided. The sun was warm; the breeze cool; the aspect magnificent; the sandwiches yummy. All in all, a utopian respite! From the Luxembourg we walked over to the Pantheon, studying the marvel of Foucault’s pendulum, his experiment still in place today that proved the hypothesis that the earth rotates on its axis. The crypt of the Pantheon houses the earthly, undoubtedly scanty by now, remains of many of France’s “heroes,” of war, science, and the arts. There are even a few heroines like Marie Curie, entombed with the boys! Billie skipped about the halls of the crypt without recognition of names but with the energy of youth in the haunts of the dead. 

Afterward we treated ourselves to over-sized portions of excellent gelato which were on offer just down the street. A walk along Rue de St Michel to Shakespeare & Co to pick up another book – this one by Ishiguro, “An Artist of the Floating World.” As we were so close to Notre Dame Billie begged another viewing. The lines were much shorter than on Sunday so we were inside in a matter of minutes. I sat at the back enjoying the rest while Billie made her way once again around the church. She returned to rest her head on my shoulder and tell me how much she loves this building.

We found a bus to return us to St Lazare considerably easier than we had found one coming in the other direction. We headed for home on the Metro. Billie took all of our paraphernalia upstairs while I went on to the local Monoprix, a large market, to pick up supplies of salad, biscuits, peanut butter, milk, water, cookies, baby carrots, bananas, figs, and apricots – the kind of things upon which we make a light supper. We had been about the city for around six hours, racking up something in the neighbourhood of 14,000 steps, or 7 kilometers in walking and we were happy to settle in for the evening of reading, writing, snacking, and playing cards. Today we will find new adventures and locales.

To the Eiffel Tower

 It’s early in the morning in Paris – about 7:30 – but still fairly dark, though the sky behind the buildings to the south of us has begun to lighten. Billie is sleeping the sleep of the adolescent, deep and restorative. We had a fine day yesterday, losing and finding our way within the labyrinthen Metro system, far more overlapping and complex than our simple Toronto lines. Billie’s main desire in Paris has been to see the Eiffel Tower, so it was to that landmark that we first made our way. We approached it through the Champ de Mer, a large, grassy park where people sat or lay about enjoying the scene and the air. Billie commented after looking about that she could understand why people called Paris a romantic city! This girl is observant.  The Tower itself is so very impressive, even if one has seen it several times. The immense scale, especially when standing underneath its four mammoth “legs,” is wonderful. As in other places that we have seen, the Tower area has changed a fair amount since I was there five years ago with Emily. Security is far tighter. One is inspected while going through a new set of barriers just to enter the site, and once again just before the elevators. We lined with the others for about an hour to buy tickets and then to gain the elevator station. The weather was cool and lovely with intermittent sun and cloudiness. Our fellow tourists were relaxed and happy as were we. Several small children had an outside line that left them free to run up and down with great abandon, to the amusement of each other and of those of us who were simply keeping in proper order.

The elevator took us to the second etage – much higher than I remember being before. It was cooler there with the winds swirling about but the views were magnificent. Billie had told me that she is nervous with heights but seemed entirely unaffected by that condition as we made our way about the second and then the first levels. Glass floors have been placed along the inner edges of the platforms so that one can stand as it were in space looking upon the large painting in the central area below. It was scary and exciting to stand there. On both levels now there are either restaurants or buffets where one can sit and enjoy a meal while looking out upon the broad vista that Paris provides. At the first level we shared a chicken and salad sandwich on a crisp baguette; delicious. It was Sunday and many families were about, taking in the Eiffel with their children, looking into the boutique shops, and like us, marvelling at this wonder of the world that came so close to being dismantled after the end of the exhibition for which it had been constructed. What a terrible loss that would have been.

After the Eiffel we walked over to the nearby Seine. Billie perched on one of the walls overlooking the quay while I held onto her back as a not-really-necessary precautionary measure. How would your mother take it, if I was to bring you home just a pile of broken bones? I asked her. On the roadway between the tower and the river a parade with bands, marchers, and lovely ladies doing a continuous lotus-dance moved passed us. Their banners announced their devotion to Felong Gong (?), the outlawed exercise/spiritual movement of China. Accompanying broadcasts spoke of the harsh treatment given to their fellow cultists in China and asked for the support of bystanders. Further along we found a Metro station from which we reach the Louvre station. To my surprise the exit took us immediately into the Louvre – not the museum proper, but into its enormous surrounding underground mall. A vast space opened out into a corridor of high-end – read, very expensive – shops. I had thought of picking up a salad from a lovely restaurant that Emily and I had gone to when there, but it had morphed into an entire food court – very chic and elegantly appointed. Billie and I walked about briefly and then headed for the exit to the Tuileries garden. The outdoor air was a fine antidote to the overcrowded stuffiness within the mall. It continues to astonish me how much cities and sites that one has known previously can be altered in just a few years by the influx of international money. The garden has undoubtedly had changes as well but appeared its orderly and lovely self. We sat for awhile to take in the lush greenery and to see the intact walls of the ancient palace.

We were both tired and ready to head home by this mid-afternoon point. We made two or three Metro errors, however, that greatly added to our transit time. The Metro knows nothing about the disabled. There are few elevators or escalators. When changing lines, one can walk up and down several sets of stairs and along lengthy passages. It’s a bad idea to use the system when changes are necessary if toting luggage or heavy bags of groceries. But we are learning. A block away from our hotel we have found two supermarches that can provide our necessities. Once home we napped, supped on our snacks, and went for a brief walk in the neighbourhood, by then very quiet and fairly dark. Home for reading and bed.

I was up twice in the night however, keen to check on the final Jay’s game, happy to see that they had won, securing their home game spot for the sudden-death wild card spot tomorrow. In a while I’ll begin negotiations with Billie about getting up and we’ll be off for today’s adventures. 

I regret not being able to post photos. I have only my cell phone for them but as I have it on airplane mode to avoid roaming charges, I cannot send them out. When we return to Toronto, I will do so.

Off to Paris

Billie and I are off on our adventures in Europe: five nights in Paris, five in Venice, and five in Rome. Twenty-eight years ago my older daughter, Elizabeth and I set off for a somewhat more ambitious trip: 19 days on a Trafalger bus lines tour of parts of Western Europe: London, Brussels, Amsterdam, Cologne, Zurich, Liechtenstein, Innsbruck, Verona, Venice, Florence, Pisa, Rome, Nice, Lyons, Paris, and back to London. A definite whirlwind, a first-time European adventure for both of us. She was 11. A few year later I offered to take Catherine on a similar journey, but to her subsequent regret she wasn't interested. But the grandchildren have been. Seven years ago just before Theo's 11th birthday we went off for a tour around Italy. His desire was primarily focused on seeing the Colosseum, Two years later it was Emily's turn. We traveled to London, took the Eurotunnel train to Paris, an overnight train to Venice, on to Florence and Pisa, and then to Rome from where we flew home. So now it's Billie's turn to run around Europe with her Nana, getting her first taste of foreign travel and building up some memories to lean back upon when it comes time for her to venture out on her own. Every one of these trips has been special for me -- a chance to spend some concentrated time with "the kid," showing him or her some of my favorite cities in the world.

Billie and I left Toronto around noon last Friday, September 30, headed for Charlotte, North Carolina with American Air. We had a four hour wait in their international terminal before boarding an overnight flight to Paris. Night flights are truly not the best way to fly. The plane was fine; the service was good; we had lots of movies for entertainment, BUT, neither of us was able to get comfortable enough to get more than an hour's sleep. We poured into Paris a little the worse for wear, though still keen to see the place. Billie is also recovering from bronchitis, a condition that has slowed her down from her usual high energy. We took the REF train to the Gare de Nord, got some advice from the info desk there and made our way via two local buses to our hotel just immediately above the ring road at Porte de Montmartre. The Euro and Paris prices being what they are, I had reserved at a decidedly down-scale operation. We have a tiny room overlooking the ring road. It comes with a double bed over which hangs a single bunk -- Billie opted for the latter; a sink; a tiny triangular shelf upon which sits my computer, and, a chair to complete the picture. No storage space -- so our suitcases and other paraphenalia are spread upon the floor under Billie's ladder; a couple of towels but no soap -- so we must purchase some when we emerge later this morning. Bathing and toilette facilities are shared as in a dorm -- a good sized room down the hall holds several WC units and several showers. It is quite clean and well cared for. So this space has quickly become our home for the next several days.

Arriving here we both fell happily upon our beds for a nap. After an hour or so I had practically to revert to physical violence to rouse Billie from her torpor, however. She hadn't eaten and had barely had anything to drink, despite encouragement, since we had left Toronto. She was seriously dehydrated and exhausted. She did get going however. We took the Metro, changing twice to emerge at Place St. Michel. My first priority was to get something to eat and hopefully to induce Billie to do the same. We settled at a small restaurant in one of the lanes close to the Seine where they serve a three course meal for 10 Euros mid-afternoon. I had hoped that I could get a meal and that Billie would share some of it. But, she refused all offers other than a piece of crusty bread that came with my too large lunch. The owner approached: each patron must order something or begone. Billie ordered tea. It was a start. She was pretty much out for the count, tired and without energy.

From the restaurant we sauntered over to Notre Dame. Billie's interest and excitement grew as it came in sight. WOW. What a building. Inside she became positively animated, ready to walk all about, exclaiming over the magnificence of the ancient church. It was a delight to see her so excited. Her first real taste of the joys of Europe! Later we cruised by the storied Shakespeare & Co. book store, finding a supermarche nearby. There we purchased biscuits, hummus, apples, bananas, yogurt, juice, and Billie's fav -- Nutella. We returned to our "home" in Paris via Metro, tired but pleased with our outing. Supper at home and an early to bed were all we wanted.

Billie is still enjoying her snooze though I will soon get her up and off for more of the city. She is particularly interested in the Eiffel Tower so we will head in that direction first. Then we'll let our feet, the Metro, and our energies dictate directions for the day. More to follow.

Remember to drop us a line about yourself. All news from Canada greatly appreciated. Lots of love. Brenda