Christmas Day Verona

Feeling very stressed here in Italy right now (see previous post), we needed a really nice Christmas Day to lift us up. Before some smartmouth says, Well, why don't you go volunteer at a soup kitchen?, let me add that we needed to be with friends, in the bosom of a home, with happy people. Fortunately for us, we received an invitation several weeks ago to join an Italian-Australian family for Christmas Day lunch. Wow, was it a great time!

The Dad and youngest daughter came to pick us up, as we live in Italy senza macchina. Arriving at the apartment, we entered to candles and Christmas lights on a beautiful tree, with a lovely table set. The cooking was all done as we went...grilled oysters with truffle butter, giant prawns sauteed and flamed, and an incredible salmon cooked in a bed of salt. We contributed a Buche de Noel, as well as a big bowl of al dente veggies.

There was a lot of laughing and story telling. And a lot of eating. A lot of eating. We were guests of a family today, sharing their Christmas, which made me miss our daughter even more, knowing she was spending Christmas morning on her own.

When we returned to our apartment, we called Sandra. Somehow the international postal system had managed to deliver two boxes full of gifts to her a week or so ago, which from Italy is no mean feat. So while we were eating at the home of our friends, Sandra was opening her presents from us...a connection of a kind. The enormity of the distance between us hit home, knowing that all I can do today is wish my little girl happiness.

A turning point

Angel and I are at a crossroads on this adventure of living in Italy. We really have to leave this beautiful apartment, since living next to the neighbors who have no sense of privacy or courtesy is not an option anymore. The landlord cannot do anything to influence them, since all Italian law favors the renter, no matter how they behave.

This is Thursday, 3 January, 2008: I am now going to edit what had been the next original paragraph, because perhaps this original paragraph was misinterpreted. One of our acquaintances Stateside said that he had heard that we are coming back to the States. Since we don't talk to this person by phone and rarely email this person, and have said nothing like this to anyone we do talk to or email, then the source of this rumor can only be a misinterpretation of this post. No decision to return to the States has been made.

We are out looking for another place to live, but that is not easy here in Italy. There is no multiple listing system, follow-up from realtors is unknown. We have found one possibility, through the father of a friend, but that might take 2 or 3 or 4 months to develop.

Neither of us is ready to leave Italy. We have plans already made well into 2008, there are places to go, things to do. We now have a real social life here, friends that we would be sad to leave. But we cannot stay in this apartment. We are stepping off into another adventure.

Smiles on our faces

Sometimes I think that in America we are all going around with too many smiles on our faces.

I buy blood oranges at Shoprite and, upon cutting them open at home, find them to be dessicated. Next time I am in Shoprite, I complain, thinking the produce manager would like to know. I get a blank look and an oh, well, maybe they'll be better next time, and have a nice day.

I go to a local 'Italian' restaurant and order a Caesar salad. After one bite, I know something is off, way off. I call the waitress over and tell her that the salad tastes strange. She said, oh, we make Caesar salad with Chinese cabbage. I look at her, kind of speechless, and mutter...but Caesar salad isn't made with Chinese cabbage, anywhere, ever. She just smiles brightly and says that their customers like it that way, and have a nice day.

'Hi, I'm Dave, I'll be your server tonight.'

'How is everything?'

'Everything alright?'

'Ya doin' good?'


'Here's your check.'

Walking through the City

There are times when I really worry about going back to New Jersey someday, and what that would mean for my sense of who I am. I am sort of a chameleon, able all my life to take on the colors and flavors of the milieu I am in. For example, at different times of my life I have been: San Francisco college student; political volunteer; corporate wife; career woman; rural/suburban housewife; and, now, woman about Verona, a city of 260,000.


My last iteration in rural/suburban New Jersey was one that I found to be boring. So easy to settle into a routine of gardening, shopping, all that...I needed more. So, I campaigned hard to move to Italy. My husband said that I became like the Queen Mary setting off for Europe...a straight line, full steam ahead.

Here, yet another side of me has emerged. I have become more independent. Paradoxically, not having a car seems to be the key to independence. I walk everywhere by necessity, or take public transportation. Going out the door into the city on foot is always an adventure. This isn't possible in rural/suburban New Jersey. You need a car, period, end of story. You have to plan where you are going, you miss seeing a lot while on your way to your destination.

Angel and I have developed symbiotically parallel lives...he cycles, I help out my friend at her shop. The apartment is home base. He travels with his cycling group; I have ventured out to travel alone. In New Jersey, we would always be going to places together. We are actually more independent of each other in Verona. That leads, I am happy to say, to being more 'together' than we ever were: planning wonderful trips, going to events, running into friends while walking in the city. I don't want to give that up, and am seeing that life in New Jersey can be isolating. It takes so long to get anywhere, we waste so much time in cars.

Writer's Block

I have been wondering why I haven't been writing in my blog. It's been a month. Well, then I remembered Thumper's mother who always told Thumper, 'If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.' My mother told me that, too.

I have been keeping my own counsel about how I feel about Italy and Verona and Italians in general for several reasons: I don't like to be accurately accused of making sweeping generalizations; I realize that my current feelings are just feelings and, as such, are bound to change...I hope... to more positive feelings; and, last but never least, I don't want to write something I may have to retract. Just as I still don't really know what I want to be when I grow up, though a glimmer is starting to come through, I am not sure how I really feel about this long experiment in international living.

So, I'll take a stab at this another time. I just wanted to go record as saying to myself in my blog that I have not gone away, that I am still thinking, thinking, thinking. Too much thinking is analysis paralysis. I'll leave it at that.

Good Intentions, Faulty Memory

Learning the language is the number one priority for assimilation into a new country. However, though I am a very good student, my memory isn't so hot. I try my best to communicate using whatever words and phrases I can remember, spliced together with mime. Though I have the opportunity to make non-Italian friends who speak many different languages, I understand that none of us will ever 'become' Italian. We will always be straniero.

You cannot shake off decades of being raised in your own culture. Before moving to Italy, I underestimated the differences; now, I have no choice but to just make peace with them.

The U.S. seems to thrive on assimilation. Americans want to know all about where you came from; having a huge curiosity seems to our national trait. Italy seems to thrive on its regional differences. Italians just want you to tell them that wherever you came from, it is better in Italy.

Regatta Storica, Venice Part 3

The real Regatta follows the historical parade. This is the last and most important Regatta of the Season. Only Venetian rowers participate. The six sestieri (quarters, or areas) of Venice compete with each other for the winners' flags. The rowers compete 'alla veneta'...standing up.
The Venetians cheered and yelled for their favorites. I just took it all in.

These three boats were neck and neck all the way from the Rialto Bridge, after the turn, to the finish line. This was the most important final race for the championship. The orange (arancio) boat won...it is the one in the forefront...for the Sestieri of Castello. Castello is where the Arsenale is located, where the great ships of the seagoing empire of the Serenissima, Venice, were built, centuries ago. Here are my five buddies again (the fifth is on the far left in the striped shirt). Two had come up from Australia, a 23-hour trip, with a 3-day stop in Kuala Lumpur to break up the trip; they will be here for two months. Many many Italians emigrated to Australia, and these are just visiting the old country. Their wives had seats in the reviewing stand...one of the couples lives in Venice. But these five guys just had a ball...please note Umberto with the bandanna.

This was late in the day, one of the last races...the shadows are lengthening.


Did I mention that it was a clear perfect day, with the sun beating down all afternoon? Thank you, God, it wasn't also hot and humid. We had lunch before the Regatta, sitting in a campiello (the only piazza in Venice is San Marco). By the way, our gondola was tied up at the foot of the sign for Parrocchia di S. Stefano...De Stefano is my family name. And we passed a construction sign telling that the architect for the renovation of that particular palazzo is one Barbara De Stefano...my sister had the same name. But my family is from the South (il Sud), so I can only be Venetian for one afternoon.


That's it. Our day at the Regatta. Just not like New Jersey. *big smile*

Regatta Storica, Venice Part 2

Part of the enjoyment of the long afternoon was watching the people around us. We had lucked onto two seats in a gondola at the traghetto stop near San Toma. Walking through the alleyways, we saw a sign that said, in Italian, Reserved Seats in Gondolas to View Regatta. So we took two. We sat in the gondola, on the divan, facing out to the Canale, of course at water level, so we were right 'in it'. There were thousands of gondolas, private and commercial, as well as other types of boats, lining both sides and all up and down the Canalasso. People were sitting in huge reviewing stands built for the day (those seats were long since sold before Sunday) as well as chairs set up on the short piers and quayside. We thought we had the best seats. The photo above is Angel in 'our' gondola, King for a Day.

These two Venetian men of a certain age in their wonderful white clothes and sportiva Bardolino hats really caught my eye.Brilliant colors abounded, especially in these balloons. The racing boats were in six or seven colors: orange, red, green, violet or purple, yellow and blue.

The gondola to our right contained five Italian men who all spoke English with us. This is one of them with his bandanna hat and the dog on the gondola to his right.

To our left was a young family in a private gondola. This is the absolutely adorable little girl. She bedeviled her older brother until she fell asleep under an umbrella.

Regatta Storica, Venice, Part 1

The photo above, along with any photo of a Lion of Saint Mark, always symbolizes for me the spirit of Venice. Every gondola its own version of some wonderful fanciful creature, very often a seahorse.

From the brochure: The Regatta Storica opens with a historical parade, re-enacting the welcome in 1489 of Caterina Cornaro, Queen of Cyprus, when she renounced her throne in favor of the rule of Venice. The Regatta is in typical 16th Century style, led by Serenissima, the boat that represents the Republic of Venice, manned by 18 oarsmen with a helmsman [sounded like that scene in 'Ben-Hur']. Following are about ten pageant boats with gondoliers in typical costume who transport the Doge, Duchess Caterina and other important people from the ancient government of Venice. La Serenissima is above, with the great Venetian flag dragging through the waters.

We were presented with a choice: to go to Rovere in the mountains to the funghi (mushroom) festival, or to go to Venice to see a gazillion boats coming down the Canalasso (the Grand Canal). This is like another choice we made: do we want to retire to North Carolina (nothing against NC) or to Italy? As you can see, Venice won.
I love the photo below...the all-oars-up (there must be a nautical term for this manuever) salute to the crowd.

Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

That can be true. I have been remembering a lot of old songs of my growing up years, with the help of the very funny people who post on http://www.expatsinitaly.com/ ... 'Purple People Eaters', 'Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Polka Dot Bikini', Marty Robbins' cowboy song 'Town of El Paso' ... all the way up to the hauntingly beautiful (and I do mean this, as a native-born Northern Californian) 'California Dreamin' ...

All the leaves are brown And the sky is grey

I went for a walk On a winter's day

I'd be safe and warm If I was in L.A.

California dreamin' On such a winter's day

I stopped into a church (stopped into a church) I passed along the way (passed along the way)

You know, I got down on my knees (got down on my knees)

And I pretend to pray (I pretend to pray)

Oh, the preacher likes the cold (preacher likes the cold) He knows I'm gonna stay (knows I'm gonna stay)

**** flute solo ****

Oh, California dreamin' (California dreamin') On such a winter's day

All the leaves are brown (the leaves are brown)

And the sky is grey (and the sky is grey)

I went for a walk (I went for a walk) On a winter's day (on a winter's day)

If I didn't tell her (if I didn't tell her) I could leave today (I could leave today)

Oh, California dreamin' (California dreamin') On such a winter's day (California dreamin')

On such a winter's day (California dreamin')

On such a winter's day (California dreamin') On such a winter's day

I'm thinking about the impressionability of my youth, how I really can remember a lot of goofy lyrics as well as the beautiful ones, though I wasn't good at remembering names of groups and who played what.

Wanted to live in Europe, how impossible I thought it would ever be.

And then I met a man (I met a man),

who got down on his knee (on his knee .. well, sort of)

and asked, 'Will you marry me?'

And twenty six years later (twenty six years later), it all came to be (came to be).

Now in Italy two years, and I'm California dreamin' (California dreamin'),

or maybe New Jer-zee (New Jer-zee).

The man is wondering what I'm thinking (what I'm thinking).

***zither solo***

Fall the leaves are yellow (leaves are yellow), don't turn flame and autumn gold.

Someday I'll return home, before Medicare kicks in (Medicare kicks in),

and I'll have my memories when I'm tired

and old, when I'm tired and old.

Bricks and Beams in the Morning

This morning I woke up and, for the first time since August 2, 2005,

I did not say to myself,

'This is not home.'

I looked up at the bricks and beams, and smiled.

Total relaxation, no split-second of panic.

Maybe I am turning a corner.

Customer Service, Part 685

This is just a little vignette of the customer service that isn't. We go into FNAC, the 'Best Buy', 'P C Richards' equivalent in Europe. We are looking for a shelf stereo system, and we settle on two or three systems to test. We go home, telling Francesco the salesman that we will be back tomorrow. Tomorrow comes and we have brought two CDs so that we can hear what we need to hear. We listen to the first system, the more expensive one. Then Francesco suggests that we listen to that system over there...less expensive, smaller speakers but by the same manufacturer... but it isn't hooked up. He says, no problem, he can do that.

So while he is doing that we look at something else in the store, nearby. I don't want to appear to be looking over his shoulder. He tells us the second system is ready, and we listen to the CDs. Then we take the CDs back to the first, more expensive system, the one that we really want, to listen one more time before we make a buying decision. And the cables are gone!

There aren't enough cables in the store for all the systems, so our oh-so-helpful salesman hooked up the second system with the cables from the first system. Now we have to ask, beg, please would he hook up the first system again, as we are making a big decision (remember that 35% exchange rate) and we need to hear the first system one more time. I promise that if we like it we will buy it. I am dancing as fast as I can to get him to change the cables again.

So, he does and we do and we buy. Now, my question is: Why would a salesman disable one of the two systems a serious customer is examining? It was our second day there, we brought our own music for listening, he knew we were going to make a decision that morning.

Answer: ...This Is Italy.

Deep Roots

I have wondered why I felt the need to bring so much stuff with me on our move to Italy. One obvious answer is that I thought we would be moving here to stay for a long, long time. Now I have changed my mind on that time frame. When we were planning our move, we briefly considered the furnished pied a terre option, and I vehemently discarded it. I felt that I needed to leap in with both feet, and bring my stuff so that my new home would feel like home.

So, something Angel said the other day really has been percolating through my mind, and I think this answers my question to myself. Some people are deep-rooted and some are shallow-rooted. I am deep-rooted. I put down deep roots by decorating my walls, accumulating books and papers, saving mementos, buying pots and pans and china and crystal. As a deep-rooted person, I am also a collector, for a collection ties me to a time and place. Maybe I collect 1930s kitchen implements, because doing that recreates for me a mythical time in the life of my family of origin that I have romanticized.

Therefore, when a deep-rooted one decides to uproot herself and plant herself somewhere else, a lot of stuff comes out with the roots.

A shallow-rooted person travels easily, rents places to live, doesn't mind using someone else's things temporarily. A deep-rooted person has tentacles that go back into her life, that drag things along from place to place.

Every once in a while there is a pruning, a garage sale, a dumpster to be filled. But basically it just pares things down a little. The ties to my past define me. I look at framed pictures and smile. I look at favorite books and think 'maybe I'll reread that this summer'.

When we have gone back to New Jersey, I will have objects from Italy and France and Vienna and London, and all the places we have yet to go.

When I was a kid, my family's neighbor was a couple who had lived in Saudi Arabia for thirty years, while the husband worked for Aramco. After he retired and they returned permanently to their home on our street, their house then held memories of all their travels. Roots in their pasts, however long into the future the past took to build itself. Layers of meaning, physical memories of a life. I like that. And so my boxes of stuff will always go with me.

London, London! June 2007 Part 5

One afternoon I visited Westminster Abbey, in memory of my Mom, who had made some artistic pottery that she sent there for the sacristy. Its probably long gone, but I knew that if she visited London, she would go to the Abbey. I was not prepared for how much this visit affected me. I was raised in the Episcopalian church (The Anglican Church of England in America...at least that's what it was a long time ago; today it is full of controversy and rifts), I haven't gone to church for myself for forty years, yet there was something so familiar about being there. I took a guided tour, 90 minutes. All the history, all the centuries. Just spendid.

Chimneys masquerading as ice cream cones. I like this photo a lot.
The actual motorcycle (totally restored, of course...the English apparently do this a lot, restoring things...see earlier photo in earlier post about Montgomery's tank) that T. H. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia) was riding when he veered off the road to avoid boys on bikes, and sustained a terrible head injury which killed him within a few days. There it is, in the museum.

For my daughter, Sandra, I visited Covent Garden, where she had been on a school trip. It was fun, noisy, full of people, wonderful stuff.
And, yes, I went to Harrod's. From the guidebook: No backpacks, no torn jeans...Harrods' doormen ensure even the people in the store are in the best possible taste. This world-famous emporium began life in 1849 as a small, impeccable grocer's, and the present terracotta building was built in 1905. It is most striking at night, when it is illuminated by 11,500 lights. It has more than 150 departments full of extraordinay things at extraordinary prices. The photo above is part of the escalator well, rebuilt by the current owner, Mr. Al Fayed, in an Egyptian theme at a cost of over 21 million BPS ... incredible to see. Fortunately, I wasn't the only one snapping photos.

That's it, my wonderful visit to London. The 2:1 exchange rate of the US$ to the British Pound Sterling was a little bit of a damper, but not enough to make me second-guess the trip. I loved London. And, not surprisingly, one of the things I loved most was being able to speak ENGLISH for four days, be understood, ask questions, be understood, listen to guides, be understood...did I mention being understood??? And the people were terrific, everyone was friendly. I learned to ride the tube and by the second day was scooting around without problems. Color me independent.

London, London! June 2007 Part 4

Always having been fascinated by the whole WWII era, two of my 'must-sees' visiting London were the Churchill War Rooms and the Imperial War Museum. I spent hours between the two.

The Command Center for Churchill and the General Staff. The white phone at the far right is the direct line to Churchill.

The Churchill War Rooms, from the guidebook: During the dark days of World War II, Winston Churchill and his War Cabinet met in these War Rooms beneath the Government Treasury Chambers. They remain just as they were left in 1945 [with the addition of Madame Tussaud-type figures, as lifelike as can be dressed authentically in the uniforms of the day, putting pins in maps, talking on the phone...eerie].

Churchill's quarters in the bunker: his bed, and his desk.

I found this experience, of this visit, to be very emotional. These were the men who held Hitler at bay until America woke up and joined the war effort.

The Imperial War Museum, fittingly enough, is housed in part of the former Bethlehem Hospital, immortalized as...in the vernacular pronunciation...'Bedlam', the hospital for the insane.
These mammoth guns sit before the entrance. I always think of them as the lesser cousins of 'The Guns of Navarone'. Looking at the size of the people at the right, maybe these ARE the guns of Navarone.The smallest existing boat that evacuated soldiers from Dunkirk. The advancing German army was threatening 330,000 French and British soldiers trapped on the beaches.

Field Marshall Bernard Montgomery was the hero of El Alamein and Africa, as well as a continual thorn in Eisenhower's side. This is his personal tank, totally restored (of course).

London, London! June 2007 Part 3

Sunday, I went for a walk and met the most wonderful couple, the Williamses, who were planting window boxes at their son's house. Great faces.

Monday I passed a church with a sign for a harp concert at 1 PM, so after the Kensington Roof Gardens, I returned to the church and listened to a young harpist perform for an hour.

Monday night was the theatre experience of a lifetime, seeing 'Billy Elliot', music by Elton John, based on the 2000 movie of the same name. The story of a young boy who finds out that all he wants to do is dance, set in 1984 against the backgroup of the Thatcherite assault on the coal miners way of life. Terrific.

Tuesday night, dinner with the Kenny family at Lundum's Cafe Bar, a wonderful Danish restaurant. That part of South Kensington at one time was settled by the Danes, and this restaurant serves only Danish food at lunch, and continental at dinner.

Wednesday, my last full day in London, I just walked and looked. I went to Covent Garden, to a British pub for traditional British food (OK, done that, not doing it again!). I ran across this group of schoolgirls in the theatre district going to 'The Lion King'.

London, London! June 2007 Part 2

From the book 'Secret London' by Andrew Duncan, I learned of the Kensington Roof Gardens. Paraphrasing from the book: Conceived by Trevor Bower, head of the Barker's Stores empire, they were begun in the summer of 1936, completed 1938. Ralph Hancock, a leading gardener of the time, did the landscape design. Shoppers used to take a cup of tea before strolling through the gardens. Since 1981, the gardens have belonged to Richard Branson's Virgin group which generously opens them to the public when not in private use. Covering 1.5 acres, divided into three themed areas, with trees up to 40 ft. high, and a stream of 100 feet, with flamingos and ducks, as well as pavilions and a private nightclub.

The old Barker's Department Store building, a Deco treasure, with the most beautiful bas reliefs on the exterior, of birds and fanciful animals and reeds and trees. The gardens are on the roofs.
The Spanish Garden. The arches in the background are the Orangeries.

A view from the nightclub terrace down into the Oriental Garden.

A view of the Spanish Garden showing the superstructure of the nightclub and restaurant.

I spent two hours walking back and forth among the gardens, sneaking over to the portholes in the walls to view the city beyond, and getting permission to go inside the nightclub, a Deco beauty of structural glass and curving stainless steel. The private door into the building which takes you to the elevator to the roof gardens says 'The Hanging Gardens of Babylon', and that they were.

I have a thing about Mallard ducks and photograph them everywhere. There was also a family of Muscovy ducks, but the babies were so fast all I got was a series of little blurs. And two gorgeous flamingos, ignoring me completely.

London, London! June 2007 Part 1

The Giro d'Italia penultimate stage ended in Verona on June 2, and June 3 Angel and I each took off for separate parts, he to the Puglia with his cycling club and I went to London, my first solo trip in Europe. Wow! What a great time I had! So these are five posts with my highlights. Of course, I saw monuments and Big Ben and all of that, but as usual, these photos are personal to me. Above is the street where my hotel was, a typical row of white houses.

American friends were in London, Louise and Mike Kenny and seven Kenny family members; most of us stayed at the same hotel, Number Sixteen in South Kensington.

The first night we went to dinner at an outdoor cafe. That is me by the white-haired guy in the yellow shirt, one of the Kenny brothers. Louise and Mike are in the back...Louise is in brown. I guess the London authorities got tired of scraping tourists off the pavement, because in the City and the hotel areas, you see these signs at all crosswalks.

This was the view from the French doors in my room, to the breakfast garden. Did I say that I love beautiful hotels? This is a small boutique hotel, very charming.

This is the breakfast buffet, and me in the mirror...I took a few 'mirror' pictures so that I would be in my vacation photos.

Two days through others' eyes, August 2007

Thursday August 2 was our second anniversary of the move to Verona, and we were...each in our own way...having a Peggy Lee 'Is this all there is?' moment. Then Sally and John from New York arrived.

New friends (Angel had met John once years ago, through cycling), they were in Verona for Friday and Saturday. Showing them around Verona let me see the city through their eyes, and refreshed my own view.

We walked and talked for hours. Angel and I skipped taking them to museums and churches, thinking it best to leave that to them and instead choosing to show them the streets and courtyards and views of the city. The four of us had great meals, told funny stories and laughed a lot.

I get caught up in the daily rituals of life. Visitors to Verona sometimes ask me (thank you, Sally and John, for not asking this annoying question)...'Well, what do you do all day?' I try to answer...I go grocery shopping, to the butcher, to the frutti vendola, to the cleaners, we go out for coffee and brioche in the morning, take our morning walk, we clean the apartment, take care of our balcony and terraza plants, play with the cats, sit in a park, have a gelato, plan trips, go to the Lake, relax (we are RETIRED, people!)...but wait! that is the wrong answer.

From now on, I will say...'I supervise the maid while she cleans and straightens up, I give the cook her instructions, what to buy for the next two days, I have lunch with the ladies, I peel grapes and eat chocolate'...oh, I forgot, I'M the maid and cook. Angel does the heavy lifting. My bad.

I think the questions they WANT to ask are really, What is retirement like? Is living in a foreign country what you expected? How is it different? But the easy question is 'What do you do all day?' When Angel and I were planning this move, he would ask me, What are you going to do differently in Italy? And I would answer, I'll be doing the same things but I'll be in Italy. I thought the obvious difference was rather profound.

Angel is doing the same things that he did in New Jersey, cycling, cycling, cycling...but instead of riding to the Delaware Water Gap and back, he is riding Mont Ventoux, Alp d'Huez, Izoard, Galibier, a week in the Puglia, a week cycling around Corsica, etc etc. Instead of the Memorial Day Tour d'Somerville, he is in the VIP tent at the Tour de France. But that's his story.

Instead of going to Cape May for a week in August (though enjoyable), I'm going to Paris, Vienna, London, Lugano, Venice whenever I like. Instead of our daughter coming to dinner, she comes to Verona and we have her all to ourselves for a week or ten days, and I take her shopping. Fun, fun, fun. Our lives are the same but totally different.

So to be taken out of the routine by a surprise visit by friends I hadn't yet met, that is a good thing. It didn't hurt that the weather was perfect, not too hot for August, no humidity, breezes. And it was especially good that Sally and John are such delightful company...they are funny real people, with tons of enthusiasm for life and the native New Yorker's edge and wit, no holds barred.

I saw the city again, in all its beauty. Thank you, Sally and John. Come back sometime.

Vienna, May 2007

Angel told me to pick a place for our next trip and I chose Vienna. It sounds romantic...Tales of the Vienna Woods, waltzes, Strauss, that kind of thing. So we flew there, staying in the center of the city opposite St. Stephen's Cathedral (Stephansdom) at the Haus Haus Building in the Do & Co Hotel http://www.doco.com/hotel/. Stephansdom, built between 1147 and 1511, sits across a plaza from modern buildings; this juxtaposition somehow works, and each enhances the other. All over Vienna, there is the ancient next to the very modern.

Vienna was the home of the Secessionist Movement of 1897-1939. The most well-known artist to me is Gustav Klimt, and we were fortunate enough to see many of his works while in Vienna.

The history of the Hapsburg Empire dominates Vienna. Somehow I must have speed-read this part of my education in European history. I saw the state apartments of the Empress Sisi, who was the victim of an Italian anarchist assassin in 1898. She was a target of opportunity, just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The museum devoted to her is fascinating. The representational fragments of her poetry suggest a modern woman ahead of her time.

The most fun thing we did, every morning, was take our hotel breakfast voucher to Cafe Demel and have whatever we wanted. Its not a far stretch from a brioche to a dessert for breakfast. We ate outside every morning, it was great. The photo above is of the Demel kitchen, making sachertorte.

The most interesting thing to me was the Hundertwasser-Karina House. An organic apartment building, a grand experiment, begun in1979 as a municipal housing project. http://www.hundertwasserhaus.info/ Check this out, it's amazing.

I'm glad we went to Vienna.