tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19028256956962950672024-03-12T19:04:53.239-07:00Become More1: Italy and JapanArchive of travels from 2006-2010marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-27230233073037283842019-10-29T06:47:00.001-07:002021-10-04T10:06:31.883-07:00Bits and pieces: Castel Gandalfo, Firenze, Lago di Garda, Mantova, Parma, Rome, Sirmione, Sorrento, Zagarolo<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">
<span face=""open sans" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span face=""open sans" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Oct 12, 2009</span></div>
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Here I am in Sorrento, tucked away in a cabin-like room high above the city with a panoramic view of the Amalfi Coast. Or I will have when the clouds move out of the way. On the bus ride up the hill, it started pouring rain, but it stopped by the time I had to get off the bus. The steep stone path leading to the hotel, which is some distance away, had streams of water gushing down, impeding my progress with my luggage. I left many things (books, heavy clothes, etc.) in the closet at Lidia’s house in Rome, where I will return at the end of the week. It’s been warm during my entire stay in Italy, and I’ve hardly even needed a jacket. But the weather seems to be changing today.</div>
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There is a large window beside my bed, overlooking a garden filled with fruit and olive trees: the olives have just been harvested and are collected in bins around the yard. It’s a bit early for harvesting, but it seems they decided to trim the trees and collected the olives before cutting the limbs.</div>
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It was somewhat of a convoluted journey to get to Sorrento. I stayed with Lidia last night in Rome, and this morning she and Carlo drove me to the Metro to take the subway to get to Termini, the main train station. I caught a train to Naples, which took about 2 hours. From Naples, I took another train, called the Circumvesuviana, which took another hour, making about twenty stops along the way. Once I arrived in Sorrento, I was put off by the crowds of tourists, who seem to be mainly Germans, Brits and Americans. I guess I’m getting to be somewhat of a snob, as I prefer to be around Italians when I’m in Italy.</div>
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Time to backtrack a little, just a short overview of what I’ve been up to.</div>
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<strong>Parma</strong>: Pietro drove Renata and I to Mantova and Lago di Garda and the town of Sirmione one day. I enjoyed the ride through the countryside north of Parma. The next day, Renata and I took the train to Bologna, but we were both put off by the noise and the crowds, so we only stayed a few hours and returned to Parma after meeting up with her daughter, Francesca.</div>
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The next night I met up with Marco, a pediatrician, and his wife, Marvi. They drove from the nearby town of Modena, and we spent the evening together, eating a great meal at an outdoor cafè, laughing a lot, then having gelato while we walked along the streets of Parma’s historical center. I had planned to walk back to Renata’s house, but I had too much wine and Marco insisted on driving me instead, which turned out to be another adventure, first trying to hail a taxi to get to Marco’s car (for some reason, it was almost impossible to get one), then trying to find Renata’s house from a map, all while feeling a bit drunk. But I arrived safe and sound and really enjoyed my time with Marco and Marvi.</div>
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The next day, Renata and I rode bikes downtown to meet Giovanna for espresso at the same outdoor cafè I’d been to the night before. I was introducing the two of them to each other. When Renata had to leave an hour later, Giovanna and I strolled around Parma for a while, then I spent another few hours riding around town to the various parks I enjoy. Unfortunately, every time I tried sitting on one of the park benches, swarms of mosquitoes showed up to ruin my enjoyment of the day. They’ve been frequent visitors on this trip, as the weather continues to be mild and warmer than usual in Italy.</div>
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<strong>Firenze</strong> : I left Parma on Friday to spend the day with Haruko in Firenze. Renata was leaving for a long weekend in France with her sisters, so it seemed a good time to move on. Haruko and I had a great time walking around our favorite areas, eating lunch and gelato, then hanging out on the terrace at my hotel. In the evening there was a thunderstorm, complete with thunder and lightning, which was something I had not experienced before in Italy. Even though Florence was noisy and crowded, it was nice to be in such a familiar place again. I’m thankful that the hotel I usually stay at had a room available on such short notice, they even gave me a double room for the price of a single, since I’m a regular guest and they didn’t have a single available.</div>
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<strong>Zagarolo</strong> : On Saturday, I took the train to Rome, then another to Zagarolo, to meet up with Deborah, who needs a house-sitter while she travels next year. She has a lovely house out in the country, and a large yard filled with olive and fruit trees, including cherry, fig, and pomegranate. One of the neighbors harvests the olives each year and gives Deborah a few bottles of olive oil after it’s been processed. Across the road is a small vineyard that produces a white wine called Tufaio. We met with the owner, a friend of Deborah’s and we sampled a bottle, along with biscotti. If I’m around in the fall, I can help with the vendemmia, or wine production. Deborah and I hit it off well, as we have many similar interests, habits, and ways of thinking. She prepared several wonderful meals for me and really made me feel welcome in her home. I met her cats and rabbit, who are the main reason she needs a house-sitter while she is gone. At the end of my stay, we agreed that I will come for several months in the spring when she wants to travel to Mongolia.</div>
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After five visits to Italy where I’ve spent most of my time moving from place to place, I’m eager to stay in one spot and see what it’s like. Living in the country will be a different kind of experience, but one I’m ready to tackle.</div>
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<strong>Rome :</strong> On Sunday, I caught the train back to Rome, and the metro out to the EUR district, where Lidia and Carlo live. After I stashed my bags at their place, we drove to a lake 15 miles southeast of Rome, Lago di Castel Gandalfo. Overlooking the lake is Castel Gandolfo, where the Pope has his summer villa. A friend of theirs, Carlo’s first English teacher from many years ago, lives near the lake, and we met up with him there. On the way back to Rome, we got stuck in the long line of traffic, a common occurrence on the weekends, when Romans leave the city for the day and then all try to return at the same time on Sunday evening. Carlo referred to it as “traffico bestiale”. Once back at their flat, we had a lovely dinner, and I got to meet their daughter Yuli.</div>
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<strong>Sorrento</strong> : I went into town for the afternoon, which is a good distance away from my hotel. I walked down the hill instead of taking the bus, and it soon became clear that a storm was brewing. Huge black clouds and fierce winds were followed by rain, and the temperature dropped by at least 10 degrees: too bad I left my warm clothes at Lidia’s house. When I decided to return to the hotel, the bus did not show up, and several of us were left wondering what had happened. Finally someone told us that the piazza is closed to traffic after 7:30, and we would need to walk to another bus stop to catch it. We walked at least a half mile, and waited another 15 minutes before one arrived. I was the last one on the bus, and it dropped me off in a different location than where I’d come before, forcing me to walk along a steep, dark drive for another 10 minutes, with the wind howling around me. It’s the creepiest experience I’ve ever had in Italy,there were no lights, no people, no indication of where I was or where I was going. Finally, I reached the hotel and my little cabin. I don’t think I’ll be staying out after dark again while I’m here.</div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-77644664516262939092019-10-13T07:48:00.002-07:002023-03-05T04:49:03.106-08:00Amalfi and Ravello<span face=""open sans" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span face=""open sans" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Nov 21, 2009</span><br />
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ravello turned out to be one of the most incredible places I visited this year.</span></span></div><div align="left" style="color: #333333; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Infinity Terrace, Ravello</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">After a rainy day in Positano, I was overjoyed the next morning when I awoke to a clear day. I watched the sunrise from my hotel window as the coastline emerged from the darkness. I ate a sumptuous breakfast, part of the package at most Italian hotels, and set out early for Amalfi, the largest town along the coast. I had bought my bus tickets the previous day, so was able to catch the bus outside the hotel. I waited with an Australian couple...and waited, and waited. Finally, after about thirty minutes, we heard the musical honking of the bus as it maneuvered around one of the curves of the road.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;">All along the </span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;">Amalfi </span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;">Coast</span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;">, from morning until night, you can hear buses honking to warn other vehicles of their presence, as the road is barely wide enough to manage two cars, much less two buses at the same time. For the most part, traffic flows smoothly along the coastal highway, but there are times when two buses going in opposite directions arrive at the same point on one of the highway curves, and it is simply not possible for them both to make the curve at the same time: one of them must back up to allow enough room for the other to pass. But it seems to be done as a matter of course, taken in stride as part of the travel experience along the coastal road. I had read numerous accounts of the 'scary' drive along the coast, but I did not find it to be so: in fact, it was quite the opposite. It was awe-inspiring to be able to view the coastline from the edge of the road, and it reminded me of driving along the </span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;">California</span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"> coast near Big </span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;">Sur.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amalfi</td></tr>
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The bus arrived in Amalfi about </span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">11 am</span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">, and I headed for the center of town where the Duomo sits, with its magnificent colored facade. Many buses from </span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sorrento</span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> and </span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Salerno</span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> were arriving at the same time, filled with tourists from tour groups and cruises. Ick! As they began to fill the streets, shopping for souvenirs and limoncello, I decided to move on to Ravello, hoping to be ahead of the crowds now visiting Amalfi.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amalfi's Duomo</td></tr>
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I caught another bus, and arrived in Ravello, which sits at the top of a hill and has incredible panoramic views of the coast. There are two villas with gardens to visit, and most people opt to see Villa Rufolo, the one closest to the bus stop. Instead, I headed across town to find Villa Cimbrone, along a stone path that led me past many terraced gardens and vineyards. It was about </span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">noon</span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> by this time, but I saw few people along the route, which took about 20 minutes to walk.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Small vineyard in Ravello.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I arrived at Villa Cimbrone, I was one of the few people there. I'm not sure why it is such a thrill for me when this happens, but to be in one of the most beautiful settings in the world and have it all to myself is one of the great pleasures of my life. I was there, on the Terrace of the Infinite, alone, for nearly 30 minutes. Incredible! I know most people prefer to share moments like this with other people…but I prefer to see beautiful landscapes by myself, at least the first time. If other people are around, they are usually talking, and it distracts me from paying attention to the details of the experience. In the past, I used to think how much better it would be to have someone to share such things with. But when I have been with other people, even loved ones, I found I enjoyed it less. Sometimes I found others have even ruined the experience for me with their chatter or because they didn't enjoy it as much as I did, and wanted to move on.</span></div>
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The view from Villa Cimbrone is phenomenal. After a while, more people started arriving in the gardens, and I headed back to the main part of town. Oh boy, was it crowded! The cruise buses had arrived, and hordes of people were streaming into Villa Rufolo. I decided not to go in, as it seemed impossible that it could compare with the beauty I'd seen from Villa Cimbrone. As it is with most places, I feel certain I will return in the future, so I don't feel the necessity of cramming every sight in. I will see Villa Rufolo another time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;">On the way back to the town center, I stopped at one point to sample some freshly made limoncello and bought a small bottle of the potent liqueur to give to my friends in </span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;">Rome</span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;">. It was exquisite, the best I have ever tasted, and I wish I had a gallon of it here at home! (Later, Lidia gave me a recipe, as it is quite simple to make: maybe I'll try it next summer.)</span></span></div>
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I headed back to Amalfi, wandered along the main streets, and found a deli that served insalata al mare, a salad of seafood that was incredibly delicious. Accompanied with foccaccia and a bottle of water, I had a wonderful meal sitting at an outdoor table in the main piazza across from the duomo.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch in Amalfi.</td></tr>
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Amalfi is a town I would like to explore more in the future, but I was ready to head back to Praiano by </span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">4 pm</span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">, and wanted to beat the crowds that would soon be headed back to </span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sorrento</span><span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">. Sure enough, there was a line of people waiting for the bus, and we ended up waiting more than an hour. I ended up on the same bus with the Australian couple I'd met that morning, which was a lucky thing, as they knew where to get off on the way back. The bus was pretty crowded, with people standing in the aisles, so I was glad we would be getting off quickly.</span></div>
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In Praiano, I dropped my things off at the hotel and trekked into town, hoping to catch the sunset from the western end of town. I was not disappointed. I sat near the town center, near a group of elderly men having a lively discussion. Below me, children were happily playing ball in the piazza near the duomo. I watched the sun set for nearly an hour, enjoying the ambiance of the village life, the pealing of the church bells, the beauty of the seascape before me. A little bit of paradise.</span></span></div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-64524208055836908692019-10-13T07:48:00.000-07:002019-10-13T07:48:15.248-07:00Praiano, Positano<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Oct 27, 2009</span></span><br />
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt;" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Praiano turned out to be the jewel on the Amalfi Coast that I was hoping it would be. There were no tourist shops to speak of, and very few tourists: just a small, quiet town nestled between Positano and Amalfi along one of the most beautiful coasts in the world. In fact, the Amalfi Coast is one of UNESCO’s World Heritage sites, and after spending a few days there, it’s easy to see why. The beauty is staggering, phenomenal, and ever-present. (On a side note, there are more World Heritage sites in Italy than any other country in the world!) The hotel I stayed at, La Perla, was another gem, and from my room I had a lovely view of the Atlantic Ocean and the coastline to the east. On several mornings I watched the sun rise from my window, and I could track the movement of the traffic along the road below me, winding its way along the coast to Amalfi and beyond.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sunrise over Praiano</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After an hour’s bus ride from Sorrento, I arrived in Praiano around noon on Thursday, a cloudy day that threatened rain. An online tourist site had warned me that my hotel was far from the town center, so I asked the bus driver to drop me off at the hotel instead. However, he either misunderstood me or didn’t seem to know what I was talking about, and I found myself left at the town center with no idea of where my hotel was or how to get there. (Bad planning on my part, I usually have these things mapped out in advance.) But I’ve become used to asking locals for help, and I asked someone for directions. I learned I was on the right road, and needed to continue on it for another 2 km. Having learned the hard way that Italians often underestimate distance and quantity, I doubled the distance in my mind, figuring I had a two-mile walk ahead of me, </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">dragging my</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> luggage behind me.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Destination: La Perla Hotel</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was not an unpleasant walk, as I was on the coast road, with breathtaking panoramic views at every step. However, the road was small and traffic whizzed by me: cars, buses, and motorcycles, often forcing me to snuggle against the rocky side of the road. I walked and walked and walked, stopping now and then to admire the view. At one point there was a grotto-like area where a miniature version of the town was represented, complete with small houses, streets and trees.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Finally, after about 45 minutes, I saw a sign for the hotel, up a steep incline on my left. La Perla turned out to be one of the nicer hotels I stayed at on this trip, similar to the hotels I stayed at in Grottammare and Rieti. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There was a lounge area complete with a large-screen TV (the Germans seem to like this!) and a restaurant with a terrace overlooking the coastline.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After getting settled in at the hotel, I took off again, hoping to visit Positano that afternoon. I would need to take a bus and backtrack about ten miles down the coast. I asked a hotel clerk where to buy a bus ticket. No problem, it’s just around the corner from the hotel. (In Italy, one usually buys bus tickets at coffee bars, newsstands or tabacchi shops, which sell candy, cigarettes, phone cards, etc.) However, the tabacchi shop near the hotel was closed for the lunch/siesta/riposo time, which can last from 2-4 hours. So, I had to walk back to the town center: it only took 30 minutes without my luggage. I managed to find another tabacchi shop open, but was told that the SITA bus tickets (a regional service) to Positano were only sold at a nearby cafè closed until 2:30. Just my luck! Arrghh! These kinds of delays are common in Italy, and one learns to plan ahead or go with the flow: sometimes there’s a logic to the rules one encounters, sometimes it’s more of a dance, and sometimes it’s simply bureaucratic nonsense.</span></div>
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I was walking by the bus stop, looking defeated, I struck up a conversation with a British couple. They seemed to know the lay of the land, so to speak, and informed me that I could buy bus tickets on a local route when I got on the bus. In addition, the local bus was cheaper and ran more frequently than the SITA bus. They happened to have several extra tickets on hand they did not need, and sold them to me just as the bus pulled into view. I am often blessed by synchronicity like this on my travels: people show up unexpectedly to help me. It’s a wonder that I ever bother worrying about anything, since dilemmas usually seem to resolve themselves, without any effort on my part, if I will let them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After a ten-minute ride on the local bus, I found myself in Positano, a picturesque village that is one of the most popular spots on the Amalfi coast, and has been featured as a background in several movies, including </span><em style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Under the Tuscan Sun</em><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. Well, I don’t get it. Sure, it’s picturesque, but the main draw is in its nightlife and in the realm of fashion. Not my scene on either account. Positano seemed little more than a few steep, winding streets lined with expensive stores geared to tourist tastes and women’s fashion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There is a small, black pebble-lined beach, but it was starting to rain by the time I reached it. And since there were few other obvious attractions, and I was already tired from walking several hours, I decided to return to Praiano. It might be a fun place to visit on a sunny day, or during the summer when there is an active nightlife. I understand there is also a beautiful church worth seeing there. On this day, however, I only spent a few hours in Positano.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Thankfully, on the bus back to Praiano, I was able to ride all the way to my hotel, and that evening ate a wonderful meal of pasta and white wine at the hotel. The wine served to soothe my jagged nerves and ignore the noisy antics of a table full of German men sitting nearby.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Getting my bearings in an unfamiliar town is always a challenge and somewhat of a thrill for me, once I figure things out. And in the case where my hotel is 30 minutes from the town center, it often feels like a major victory. After many hours of walking, I was ready to relax and rest up for the next day’s adventure: Amalfi and Ravello. A sunny day was forecast that Friday, and I wanted to make the most of it.</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span>marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-26478594655152870662019-10-13T07:47:00.000-07:002019-10-13T07:47:58.724-07:00Capri, Sorrento<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"> Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Oct 14, 2009</span><br />
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I am feeling fonder of Sorrento today, after a great trip to the nearby island of Capri. For one thing, I really like the place I’m staying, even though it’s far from the city center. I have a lovely view of olive and orange trees in the garden, and the bay of Napoli in the distance. Great wifi connection. And for the price (35 euros), it’s an amazing deal.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVKIRuDUsujstKg90J83vDAd9GqCPktbBkA-6Z-5fu6viR4MMHCm_2zb7VBJhw6bAaYqibD7IAK8jvisHXYfd22oR_Pt1nUcCOzWM7_Ge5vGg6wF8CNSbjzQLo42kIs8feawn-VmzzXqc/s1600/PA120053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVKIRuDUsujstKg90J83vDAd9GqCPktbBkA-6Z-5fu6viR4MMHCm_2zb7VBJhw6bAaYqibD7IAK8jvisHXYfd22oR_Pt1nUcCOzWM7_Ge5vGg6wF8CNSbjzQLo42kIs8feawn-VmzzXqc/s400/PA120053.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My cabin in Sorrento.</td></tr>
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Now that I know my way around, the bus is no problem. And though it’s cooler, there’s still plenty of sun. Many people are walking around in shorts and sandals:.it’s in the 60’s, but still jacket weather for me.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching Capri on the hydrofoil.</td></tr>
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I took the hydrofoil to Capri at 9:15 this morning, and arrived on the island a half hour later. I referred to Rick Steve’s information, and headed by bus quickly to Anacapri, on the other side of the island. I wanted to ride the chair lift to the top of Monte Solaro, the highest point on the island, and hoped to beat the crowds. It was great fun, though a bit scary on the way up. I was perched on a chair in the open air, like a ski lift, hovering over fig and fruit trees, vineyards and palm trees, with a wonderful view of the bay and birds singing along the way.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of the chairlift.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">A view of the bay from the chairlift!</td></tr>
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After that, I went to the Villa San Michele, an incredible place I can’t adequately describe.</div>
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It was created by Axel Munthe, a Swede, who spent most of his adult life in Capri, and wrote a best-selling book, <em>The Story of San Michele</em>, in 1928. This man was a philosopher, healer, writer, animal and plant lover, among other things.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Villa San Michele<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBC5BfeuxUDlUsn5dwjrNWs7zjJPT2KIYYpFhIuqv2aI41E-Xic9XKwSisruyS_devE9w3cP3fwSxlOS4X55zN_s6omXGOg6jZb5bSwEmevNRcbCUcUwMs9kXmEy9e9FmWzaLJfykQtAw/s1600/PA140106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBC5BfeuxUDlUsn5dwjrNWs7zjJPT2KIYYpFhIuqv2aI41E-Xic9XKwSisruyS_devE9w3cP3fwSxlOS4X55zN_s6omXGOg6jZb5bSwEmevNRcbCUcUwMs9kXmEy9e9FmWzaLJfykQtAw/s400/PA140106.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">View from Anacapri.</td></tr>
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After the Villa, I took a bus to Capri town, which was little more than another collection of stores geared to tourist tastes. Rather than hang around any longer, I took the funicular down to the marina and caught a fast ferry back to Sorrento. It cost less than the previous boat, as it went slower (by only 5-10 minutes), carrying a load of cars and trucks as well as people. There wouldn’t be another ferry for an hour or two, and I wanted to beat the crowds returning to Sorrento.</div>
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Back in Sorrento, I took a final stroll around town, as I’m leaving tomorrow for Praiano. I found a street with artist workshops, or <em>botteghe,</em> and spent some time looking at many things made of inlaid wood, the local specialty, called <i>Sorrento intarsia. </i> Though the large pictures were out of my price range, I found a small intarsia of a bird amidst some flowers that I bought for 10 euros. A nice memento of my stay in Sorrento.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the large intarsia in Sorrento. </td></tr>
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marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-69738315734525162022017-10-16T17:45:00.001-07:002017-10-16T17:45:23.872-07:00Home again<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Oct 27, 2008 </span><br />
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It's been an awkward adjustment to come home, while my thoughts are still focused on the people and places I visited in Italy. I'm already thinking ahead to next year, hoping I can figure out a way to stay longer. One way or another, I'll make it happen.</div>
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Sono molto grata...I'm very grateful to the many people who made my journey so rich and memorable, especially Haruko, Domenico and his family, Luigi, Roberto and Michela, Paola, Monica and her family, Paolo, Giovanna, Miwa, Valerie, Bryan, and Melinda. And also to Peter, who provided transport to and from the airport, and Laura, who kept watch over my house while I was gone.</div>
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For those of you new to my blog, this was my fourth trip to Italy in the past two years. I've visited more than 25 Italian cities and villages, learned the language and have made numerous friends. I travel cheap, going by train and bus, with a focus on culture immersion rather than the usual tourist route. I'm rarely identified as an American, so I must be doing something right. Though my lodging is inexpensive, I always manage to find comfortable, sometimes even quasi-luxurious accommodations. </div>
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If I can do, so can you!</div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-60882341047809301782017-10-16T17:45:00.000-07:002017-10-16T19:16:42.797-07:00É finito!<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Oct 17, 2008</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;">Ponte Vecchio in the moonlight.</span><br />
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My last few days in Firenze were poignant, as I visited my favorite haunts and spent time with Haruko. I also met with another blogger, Melinda, who moved to Firenze four years ago and has been blogging about life in Florence since that time. Melinda took me to a great cafe, Caffè Giacosa, where we could sit without being charged extra, and we talked for several hours while waves of Italians came and went, quickly sipping their morning espresso and eating <em>dolci,</em> sweet pastries.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melinda, in front of Caffè Giacosa.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "bitstream charter" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">In the afternoon, Haruko and I met up and went to visit a <i>profumeria</i> (perfumery) near the church Santa Maria Novella. We tried many of the scents, which have been made in the same way, from flowers and herbs, for centuries, but I couldn’t bring myself to fork over 70-80 euros for a small bottle of the heavenly scents. Maybe next time!</span></div>
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We walked around town and eventually ended up near the Santa Croce church. While Haruko made a stop at an internet point, I scouted around for a <i>trattoria</i> where we might have lunch. I found one that offered a good bargain:<i> primi e secondi piatti, l’acqua e vino,</i> (first and second course, water and wine) for only 10 euros. Once we entered the restaurant, we both realized it was the same restaurant where we had our final meal together two years ago. Only the decor had changed, and later we learned that the trattoria had changed hands this past August. It’s named after Dante, the famous Florentine poet:¦a name I’m not likely to forget. (I’ve followed Dante’s trail in and around Florence, and then to other cities where he traveled after he was exiled from the city, including San Gimignano, Lucca and Ravenna, where he died.)</div>
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In addition, the food was even better than last time. For my first course, I had <i>zuppa di fagioli</i>, a typical Tuscan soup with beans, and Haruko ordered <i>gnocchi</i>, a small dumpling-like pasta. For il secondo, she ate <em>Trippa Fiorentina</em>: a tripe dish that was quite delicious, and I had an exquisite beef dish, <em>Peposa dell’Impruneta. </em>When we left, we told the waiter we had been there two years earlier, and he kissed our hands and wished us a speedier return to his restaurant.</div>
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After another visit to a favorite gelateria, we wandered around to our favorite haunts, along the fiume Arno, to view the Ponte Vecchio in the moonlight, Piazza della Repubblica, Piazza della Signoria and the Duomo one last time. Haruko suggested I just not go home, that I could forget about getting to the plane and just stay in Italy. If only! But at least we both feel certain we’ll meet again, and certainly in Italy. Perhaps it will be sooner than either of us thinks possible.</div>
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The next morning, I was up at 4 am to catch the shuttle to the airport at 5:30 for my 7 am flight. A woman saw me standing at the bus stop and informed me that the shuttle no longer stopped there…the stop had moved across the street to the train station. I would certainly have missed the bus if not for her warning: once again I had the sense of being looked after.</div>
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I easily made my flight to Amsterdam, and endured the transition from the warm, playful chaos of Italy to the efficient, cool reserve of Amsterdam. The contrast worsened when I arrived in Memphis and was bombarded with smells of barbecue and the sloppy attire of my fellow Americans. Already, I missed the sensual, vivacious approach to life that comes naturally in Italy. Life is certainly more voluptuous in Italy, and I feel certain it’s where I belong, if only to learn more about <em>la dolce vita</em>: the sweet life.</div>
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It’s taken me a few days to readjust to life in America: it’s cooler and wetter here, and my body rhythms still seem to be on Italian time. I’m wading through the 1000 photos that I made while in Italy, and will post a few of them on this blog throughout the many entries about my journey.</div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-74320202636658856862017-10-16T17:43:00.000-07:002017-10-16T17:43:01.863-07:00Firenze, Arcetri<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Oct 12, 2008 </span><br />
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For my last train ride, I took the Eurostar, which is more expensive, but it’s more comfortable and faster than other trains, makes fewer stops and did not require any train changes along the way. It proved to be a very relaxing two hours, and when I arrived in Firenze, it took me less than ten minutes to arrive at my hotel, the same one I’d stayed in last month, so I was settled in by 3 pm.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out with Haruko</td></tr>
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While on the train, Haruko and I had exchanged text messages, and had made plans to meet that evening, In the meantime, I spent a few hours shopping at the outdoor market in San Lorenzo, not far from my hotel. I managed to negotiate with the vendors so that I got some good bargains. Since it was Friday afternoon, the beginning of what promised to be a beautiful weekend, I expected to see crowds of tourists swarming into town. At my hotel, the rooms were all taken by Americans, and it was an abrupt change to hear English being spoken more than Italian.</div>
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Haruko and I met about 5 pm and walked across town to the flat where she’s staying, the same area of town where we first met two years ago, when we were rooming with an Italian woman while attending an immersion school to learn Italian. At Haruko’s flat, we spent a few hours talking, then she prepared a simple but delicious<i> cena</i> (dinner). After several more hours of visiting, I took the bus back to my hotel late that night.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking to Arcetri</td></tr>
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Saturday morning I decided to try and find Arcetri, where Galileo lived. I had heard there are beautiful views from the hills there, and I wanted to check it out. After having such easy access to the Parco Ducale in Parma, I was missing the presence of trees, not as easy to come by in a city like Florence. I walked up into the hills along a quiet, nearly empty road for several hours, but the view was obscured by walls on both sides of the road. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Galileo's house.</td></tr>
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I finally made it to Arcetri, got a glimpse of the view, and found Galileo’s house on the way back to Florence. After nearly four hours of walking, I decided to treat myself to gelato at Vivoli’s Gelateria, supposedly the best in Florence because they only serve freshly made gelato. It was good, but costly, and I’m not sure it was that much better than the cheaper places in town I’ve been to.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paola</td></tr>
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Saturday evening I was invited to Paola’s house for dinner, but when I arrived, I learned that plans had changed, and instead we were going to a party at one of her friend’s houses. We were picked up by a couple who drove us across town to the party, which turned out to be a feast of food and wines from Puglia, in southern Italy. The husband of the couple who were throwing the party had cooked many of his favorite dishes from Puglia, including meatballs, <i>cavallo</i> (horse),<i> polpo</i> (octopus), pizza with potatoes, lasagna, and many others. With each dish, he also served a different wine, as he is also a wine expert. Naturally, I had to try a bit of everything, and ended up getting stuffed to the gills: uncomfortably so. And after all that, there were desserts and dessert wines to taste as well. After all the food I’ve been eating the past few weeks, I can tell that I’ll need to spend more time dieting once I get home. (addendum: Good news! Instead of gaining, I actually lost several pounds while traveling. Seems like the Italian lifestyle is a good one for me in MANY ways.)</div>
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I felt immediately welcome and comfortable in the group of some twenty Italians at the <em>mega cena,</em> including four or five people who could speak English quite well. In the background of the constant conversations going on at the party, there was a video of music and dance from Puglia, which added a nice touch to the evening. This was my first exposure to the food and culture of southern Italy, and I’m thankful to have been included in the festivities.</div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-72944456096894187632017-10-16T17:42:00.001-07:002017-10-16T17:42:09.500-07:00L'opera a Parma<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Oct 12, 2008</span><br />
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Attending the opera in Parma at Teatro Regio was a unique experience, though not one I’m likely to repeat anytime soon, at such an expense ($115). I bought my ticket online before I left, without really knowing how the theater is set up or where my seat would be located. I had seen part of the primo (the premiere) of <em>Rigoletto</em> on <em>la tv</em> a few nights earlier , and I was impressed with the stage presence of the soprano who played the role of Gilda. I was looking forward to seeing her in person, so was disappointed when she did not perform the night I saw <em>Rigoletto</em>. Her replacement was quite good, but she lacked the powerful energy I’d seen in the earlier performance.</div>
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My box seat was on the fourth of five levels of boxes (<em>palchi</em>) that curve around the stage. There were three chairs placed near the edge of the box, and two benches behind them. A group of three people were already sitting in the chairs when I arrived, but were instructed to move, since I had paid for one of those chairs. (I got the cane chair, while the others enjoyed the plush velvet chairs that matched the benches: the privilege of arriving early.) The benches were comfortable, but it was impossible to see the stage if one sat there: instead, the third person of that group stood behind us during the performance.</div>
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At the first intermission, I was asked where I was from, and once I admitted I was an American, the others were more friendly, even venturing to speak a few words of English. I learned they were from another region of Italy and had traveled to many of the best opera houses in Italy. During the course of the evening, one of the men often sang along with the performers, obviously quite familiar with the lyrics. I was intrigued by the passion of the audience, so eagerly intent during every moment of the performance, and their shouts of <em>bravi </em>and <em>bis</em> (encore) at the end of each act.</div>
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I really enjoyed the performance, which was masterfully done by all the performers and the orchestra. Next time I’d like to go to an outdoor performance, like they have in Verona or Rome, where the seats are more reasonably priced. Haruko has been to the Verona arena several times and has raved to me about it. But I’m glad to have had the chance to attend a first rate opera in a first rate opera house.</div>
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After the performance, I met up with Paolo and his family, who had also attended, and we were taken backstage, a privilege due to Paolo’s standing in the community. Then we went out for a quick pizza, and it was nearly midnight when we got back to the Palace.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Paolo at Palazzo Ducale.</td></tr>
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On my last morning in Parma, I walked around the <em>centro storico</em> (historic center) and hung out in the Parco Ducale one last time. The park was a comfort, an inspiration and a solace to me during my stay.</div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-72085225798342254072017-10-16T17:41:00.000-07:002017-10-16T19:16:03.810-07:00in Paradiso: Parma and Modena<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Oct 10, 2008</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parco Ducale</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At the moment, I'm in Parco Ducale...it's a beautiful fall day in Parma. On days like this, people come to the park to hang out with each other. Not to do anything in particular...just hang out. Retired men gather in the afternoons at the same bench and engage in passionate discussions. Many, like me, come to take advantage of the free wi-fi system. People stroll by, arm-in-arm, or ride by on old-fashioned bicycles, usually with a basket at the front. Huge chestnut trees are everywhere, shedding not only leaves but their fruit, and no one comes to clear anything away, so the ground is covered with a multi-colored blanket of leaves and chestnuts.</span></div>
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Earlier in the day, I went to the Correggio exhibit that is one of the main attractions in Parma this year. I haven't been to many museums on this trip, but I'm glad I made it to this exhibit. Before going to the main hall, there are two massive churches with Correggio frescoes to view. Elaborate scaffolding is set up to enable people to get nearly close enough to touch the frescoes that are painted on the ceilings of the cupolas of the churches. Hands down, this was my favorite part of the attraction. But after that, I spent nearly two hours more viewing the rest of the exhibit, which included paintings by Correggio collected in museums all over the world and gathered together for this exhibit in Parma.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Coreggio exhibit.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">After this feast for the eyes, I decided to treat myself to a Parmesan specialty, </span><i>tortelli di zucca</i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">. This pasta is somewhat similar to ravioli: it's stuffed with pumpkin and served with a bit of butter and freshly grated Parmesan cheese, nothing more. Exquisite! I also ordered a quarto (quarter of a liter) of red wine, and had a leisurely meal in an outdoor cafe on Piazza Garibaldi, watching other diners and enjoying the day. Next door to the cafè there's an exhibit of photos from the Verdi opera, </span><i>La Traviata</i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">, and music from the opera easily heard from powerful loudspeakers. For me, this is paradise.</span></span></div>
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I can't adequately express how different life is in Italy, how deeply this country affects me, or how painful the thought of leaving it is. During these five weeks, I've met more than fifty people, and I can't imagine that it might be another year before I'll see any of them again. It's just not right.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giovanna in Modena</td></tr>
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Yesterday I took a day trip with another new friend, Giovanna, to Modena, renowned both for its balsamic vinegar and as the birthplace of Luciano Pavarotti. I'd heard that Giovanna had recently moved to Parma from KC, and called her earlier in the week to see if we might meet. We spent the next two afternoons together, and I enjoyed having someone to travel with for a change. Giovanna's husband is a native of Parma and they decided their three kids might benefit from living near their grandparents and going to school in Italy.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piazza Grande, Modena</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Modena is thirty minutes from Parma by train, and proved to be a good choice for a day trip. It reminds me of a smaller, quieter Bologna. We wandered the streets, visited the main sights and had a leisurely lunch. You may have gathered by now that in Italy, meals are eaten leisurely more often than not. Businesses close for 3-4 hours and one can easily spend two hours at lunch, chatting with friends, never hurried along by waiters to eat and run, as is usually the case in the States.</span></div>
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<span data-mce-style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Tonight I'm headed for the opera, my first experience with this Italian tradition, on my last night in Parma. Tomorrow I leave for Firenze and a few days to visit friends before heading back to the States.</span></span></div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-62417045793588795992017-10-16T17:40:00.000-07:002017-10-16T17:40:07.979-07:00Parma<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Oct 7, 2008</span><br />
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When I arrived in Parma, it was a nice sunny day, and I easily made my way from the station to the Palazzo Ducale, familiar with the route from my stay there last year. I stopped at the Carabinieri Commando station to get the key to my suite, and quickly got settled. I have the same suite I had last year, comfy and spacious. My friend Paolo tells me that the mayor wants to relocate the Carabinieri headquarters so the Palace could be open for public use, so this will probably be the last chance I’ll have to stay here.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Palazzo Ducale</td></tr>
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After settling in, I walked down to the tourist information center to find out about internet options, and learned there is a free wi-fi system in Parma, the first I’ve come across on my travels this year. The only drawback is that you have to be willing to sit outside in order to use it. As long as the weather stays nice, that should be no problem. Today I read my email while sitting on a bench in the Parco Ducale, surrounded by chestnut trees that are shedding not only leaves but chestnuts. It was quite pleasant. After four weeks without much internet access, I’m almost unwilling to have it again, it’s been a relief to be oblivious to what’s going on in the world.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parco Ducale.</td></tr>
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The next day, Paolo invited me to attend <em>la partita di calcio</em>, an Italian soccer game. Why not? It was between Parma and Modena, who are bitter rivals, but Parma performed poorly, so I didn’t get a chance to see the kind of brawl that often develops during these games. What I enjoyed most was hearing the steady chanting of the fans, quite musical and strong, that went on throughout the game. Paolo said that those same fans can become quite brutal when they are enraged over a game’s outcome.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calcio a Parma.</td></tr>
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After the game, I went to the Piazza del Duomo, where the preliminaries to Parma’s Palio were going on. People were strolling the area in medieval costumes, serving samples of foods, demonstrating creative skills and playing instruments from that time. It was quite festive, and the streets were crowded with people out for their weekend stroll. It was quite a contrast to the quiet day at the beach of a few days ago,</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The Duomo.<br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">The next day, there were hours of parades, as the five different quarters of the city strolled through town in medieval costume as a preliminary to the <em>Palio</em>, which turned out to be a short competition between three groups representing the five areas of the city: men, women and donkeys. Due to the crowds lining the street, I never got to see the men and women running the course, but I had a quick glimpse of the reluctant donkeys being pulled by ropes to compete in their portion of the event.</span></div>
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I’ve spent the last few days exploring the parks in Parma. The weather has been lovely, and people really enjoy the parks here, not to do anything specific, but just to hang out in. I enjoy observing this pastime, which seems quite different than the American habit of being in the park to do something specific, like going to the playground, playing frisbee or having a picnic. Here people just hang out together: talking, strolling and enjoying the weather.</div>
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Today I’m meeting with an American who recently moved here from Kansas City, and later in the week I’ll attend the opera Rigoletto. It’s the real deal, and my first time to see an Italian opera, so I’m looking forward to that experience. However, I was sadly disillusioned about my capacity to be stylish in Italy: there are too many beautiful, young and effortlessly stylish people everywhere I go! I might be making progress in the art of wearing scarves, but that’s about all I can manage this time around. I watched the <em>primi</em> (premiere) of <em>Rigoletto</em> on tv last night and am thankful I wasn’t in that crowd: they were really dressed to the nines! I’ve been told casual dress is also acceptable, but fortunately I brought some dress-up clothes that should suffice.</div>
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After the opera, I return to Florence to hang out with friends for a few days before my return home next week. Five weeks still seems all too short a time to be in Italy!</div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-43806680775563799432017-10-16T17:39:00.003-07:002017-10-16T17:39:42.824-07:00Grottammare<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Oct 5, 2008</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michela, Michael and Roberto</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "bitstream charter" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">Before I left Ascoli, I met with Roberto, Michela and Michael again. The four of us walked around the city for several hours, then Michael and I went out to dinner while Roberto and Michela headed for home. Before they left, Roberto took us to a restaurant he especially liked, and told the the waiters to serve us a meal of typical dishes of the region. It was another Italian feast, and quite delicious. Michael and I enjoyed both the meal and the conversation and feel indebted to Roberto for his generous attention during our stay in Ascoli.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "bitstream charter" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">The next morning I had my first experience calling a taxi, and managed just fine. I took a bus to Grottammare, and when I got off, Domenico was there to help me find the hotel. After I got settled in and walked around the town a bit, I went to the beach, just a few blocks from the hotel. It was a warm, sunny day, but the beach was nearly empty, and it seemed as if I had the coastline all to myself. During July and August, the town's usual size of 15,000 people doubles, but most of the year it is quiet, and I really enjoyed the tranquility.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">On the beach in Grottammare.<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "bitstream charter" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "bitstream charter" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">Later that evening, Domenico returned and we walked along the Lungomare, a wide path that rims the beach, and is lined on either side with huge palm trees. We always seem to have a lot to talk about, and he helped to encourage my use of Italian while I was in his town by having these evening chats together.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Lungomare.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "bitstream charter" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">The next day I decided to trek up to the old city, where Domenico had taken me the week before in the rain. Not many people live in this part of Grottammare, but it has a rich history. It's perched on a hill overlooking the coast, and the wall and towers built to defend the city were helpful for scouting and warding off pirates who came from the east. I spent several hours exploring the medieval streets that were nearly empty of people. After that, I returned to the beach and spent the afternoon there, enjoying the warm sun and the sound of the waves. It felt like a bit of paradise.</span></div>
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In the evening, Domenico came for another walk and chat along the Lungomare, then we walked to his mother's house, not far from my hotel. His younger sister, Ester, was also there, and the four of us had a lovely meal together, of tortellini and beef, peas, pickled eggplant and artichokes (I happen to like artichokes, which are common and plentiful in Italian dishes). This sweet Italian family made me feel truly welcome and it was a real pleasure to spend a few hours in their home.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Domenico with his mother and sister Cinzia.</td></tr>
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The next morning I went out for a coffee, and when I strolled by the house of Domenico's mother, she waved to me and invited me in for coffee. She and Ester bustled around to prepare coffee latte and biscotti for me, though they had already finished their own breakfast. Without Domenico there, I was on my own to communicate only in Italian, but we managed well enough. I feel as if I forged a special connection with this family.</div>
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After making so many connections in Ascoli and Grottammare, this is the area I'm most interested in spending more in on my next visit to Italy. Two days by the sea simply wasn't enough. I'm thinking two months might be nice. I inquired about some inexpensive lodging while I was there, and found several options that seem promising.</div>
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Later in the morning, Domenico, always the gentleman, picked me up and accompanied me to San Benedetto, a few miles south, where the main train station for the area is located. It was so nice to have help with my luggage, which seems to get heavier as I continue my journey through Italy. I'm really grateful to Domenico for the many kindnesses shown to me while I was in Grottammare, especially since he's quite busy this semester finishing an engineering degree. I felt sad to be leaving the warmth of area: both the people and the beach.</div>
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I was warned that the train would probably be more crowded than the previous trains I'd been on, and this proved to be true. I was able to find a seat for the first several hours, but then had to stand once we arrived in Bologna and people with reserved seats claimed their stake to the seat I was in. By this time, the aisles were filled with people standing by their luggage, but I didn't mind, as it only lasted an hour and gave me a better view of the landscape we were passing by. This time I didn't have to change trains, and the 4½ hour ride seemed to go by fast, taking me north and west to Parma.</div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-83172196357241933682017-10-16T17:39:00.002-07:002019-09-01T20:54:39.207-07:00Ascoli Piceno<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Sep 30, 2008</span><br />
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I'm starting to think of this area, Ascoli Piceno and Le Marche region of Italy, as another place I'd like to live. Even with the cold and rain, it has a unique charm and is nearly devoid of tourists, especially Americans. Now that I know my way around, I'm enjoying taking part in the events that the town has to offer. For instance, on Sunday I felt the urge to get to the main square, Piazza del Popolo. I'd been there the night before to attend a seminar on, of all things, Japan. There was a demonstration of a Japanese tea ceremony and martial arts, but the main reason I went was to hear several Puccini arias from his Asian-themed operas, <i>Turandot </i>and <i>Madama Butterfly. </i>The soprano who performed was quite good, her voice clear and strong, even when competing with the sound of the bells in the nearby tower chiming the hour.</div>
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When I arrived at the piazza Sunday morning, there was a buzz of excitement and I knew something special was going on, but had no idea what it would be. There were many men with plumed hats on, covered with black grouse feathers. After a while, one of them urged the crowd forward to make room for four squads of brass bands. Once again, I was in the midst of a special, yearly event. This one was called <i>La Fanfara di Bersaglieri</i>.</div>
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Basically, military squads of brass bands jog to the center of the piazza in formation and face each other to have a competition of sorts, each band showing off their talents. Each squad had a different kind of uniform, and there were even some women in the squads, with each squad member sporting a plumed hat. I was thrilled to be one of the crowd witnessing the event, which went on for about an hour. The squads represented different towns of the Marche region, and Ascoli's squad was clearly the best band, playing more creative and complicated tunes than the others in attendance.</div>
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After the event, people ambled around in the square, or moved on to the larger Arringo Piazza, where there was a market going on. I saw many people with their "pastry packets"...gift-wrapped plates of pastries that will be served at the family Sunday dinner. I noticed this tradition in Urbino last year, another town in Le Marche region. People routinely stop in at the pasticceria (pastry store) after Sunday mass to purchase pastries for dinner. Each plate of pastries is wrapped in bright colored paper and tied with ribbons , so it looks as if they are carrying gifts. With many people walking around carrying these packages, it looks quite festive.</div>
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Over the next hour, the crowds began to dissipate, and by 2 pm, the streets were virtually empty. For a town with some 60,000 residents, this seemed rather odd to me. But in Ascoli, it's par for the course on Sunday afternoon. On this day, there was also an environmental incentive going on....cars were banned from the streets of Ascoli to encourage the use of bicycles and walking. So for several hours yesterday, the streets were quite empty, except for a few tourists like me, wandering the streets with their cameras. I seemed to be the only English-speaking tourist, however....most of the others were Italians. I enjoyed walking the empty streets, ambling down interesting, medieval alleys, enjoying the sense of having the town to myself.</div>
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In the evening, people were filling the piazza again, and I'd made plans to meet an American couple for an apertivo. Bryan and Valerie moved here two years ago from New Mexico and have each been recording their experiences of becoming assimilated into Italian life on separate blogs. They also offer tours of the areas to the few Americans that come to this part of Italy. Since I don't know much about the Italian habit of stimulating the digestion with apertivi, I invited them to clue me in.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valerie and Bryan</td></tr>
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Each of them ordered a different type of wine that is from this region and I ordered a special liquor, made in Ascoli, called Anisetta Meletti. In fact, the place we were at, Caffe Meletti, created the drink, and boasts the same decor that it had one hundred years ago. With my anisetta came a small bowl of mosca, tiny coffee beans, which one spoons into the anisetta to bring out the flavor, and a plate of tiny cookies. The wine was accompanied by a plate of snacks.</div>
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The three of us talked for nearly three hours about our travels, our love of Italy, the highs and lows of living here, and as a result, it turned out to be another great evening for me. I learned a lot about life in Ascoli and enjoyed hearing their stories of exploring Southern Italy, an area I've yet to tackle. The cafè had been crowded when we arrived, but over the course of our conversation, the cafè emptied as people returned home for the evening meal, usually served after 8 pm. Now I have another connection here in Ascoli, and it's becoming clearer that I'm likely to return to this area of Italy for a longer stay in the future. With a variety of friends in the area, access to an affordable apartment and the sea nearby, perche non.....er, why not?</div>
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Monday I found a cafè that offers free wifi access if you order something, so I had a cappuccino and was finally able to get some of my online work completed. In the evening I met with another penpal, Roberto, and his daughter Michela. Roberto also had another penpal from England visiting this week, Michael, a city planner who came to study some of the oldest buildings in the region. The four of us visited some of these structures, then went to a pizzeria for dinner. Both Roberto and Michela speak English well; they also study German and French. I was impressed with Michela and her mature perspective on life. Besides linguistics, she is also interested in psychology, and has been reading Freud on her own to understand the beginnings of this science. We will meet again tonight to talk some more.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michela and Roberto</td></tr>
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Tomorrow I move on to Grottammare, to spend several days near the beach along the Adriatic Coast. The sun returned yesterday and will hopefully continue to warm L e Marche for the rest of my stay here. On Friday, I'm off to northern Italy and Parma. As you can tell from these posts, my journey this time has been made richer by the many connections I've made, and I'm not eager to consider how long it might be before I see most of these friends again.</div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-73194528175098087432017-10-16T17:38:00.001-07:002017-10-16T19:18:02.521-07:00Ascoli Piceno/Grottammare<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Sep 28, 2008</span><br />
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I hope those of you who were hoping for emails will forgive me, as my time is limited on the internet in the small towns where I'm staying. I am writing at great length on my computer, but have had few chances to upload my stories to the blog. Wi-fi access is almost impossible to come by. But I will share the details, all in good time. Suffice it to say that I'm having some wonderful adventures, making new friends and continually having interesting challenges. Each time I figure things out, learn something new or make a new connection, it seems life becomes that much richer. I also have scary moments now and then, I guess I should be honest about that.</div>
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I'm now in a region where there are few English speakers, so I must rely on Italian for every little thing I do. My brain started switching gears to Italian a few days ago when I spent several hours conversing with a nun on the train, then another six hours with a friend that I visited. Today I was thrilled to manage buying food at the market, ordering a bit of this and a bit of that ...fresh meat, cheese, fruit, vegies, olives, etc., all in Italian. I have a small apartment here in Ascoli, with a small kitchen, and am now managing to cook my own Italian meals. It has been raining most of the time that I've been here, which is a real drag, as it's also been cool. One is not supposed to turn on their heat in Ascoli until the first of November (this rule applies almost everywhere in Italy, though the dates may vary), so I haven't had heat in my apartment.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of the terrace outside my apartment in Ascoli.</td></tr>
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Yesterday afternoon my friend Domenico picked me up in Ascoli and drove me to his town, about 30 minutes away. Domenico lives in Grottammare, a small town on the Adriatic Coast that is popular in the summer, but during other months of the year, it slows down to a crawl. Domenico and I have conversed on Skype nearly every week for more than a year and have developed a good friendship in that time, feeling at ease with each other from the start.</div>
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We walked around town in the rain for several hours, as Domenico shared the highlights of Grottammare, past and present, with me. We drove up to the old part of town, where few people live, to view a panoramic vista of the coast and the beaches below.</div>
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Then we walked around the center of the newer part of town, checking out hotels where I might stay later in the week. After stopping at three of them, we found one with the right price, just a block from the beach. We stopped in to meet his mother and one of his sisters, and later arrived at his house, where a sumptuous dinner awaited us, cooked by his mother-in-law. I was introduced to his wife, his sister-in-law, his niece and nephew and his parents-in-law, and was given a place of honor at an elegant dinner table.</div>
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The first course was olive all'ascolare, a specialty of the region. Tender olives are stuffed with a combination of meats, dipped in breadcrumbs and then deep-fried in olive oil. Yummy but rich! This was served with vitello crudo, slices of raw beef. The next course was lasagna, with very fine pasta, not the thick, gummy noodles that one finds in the States. Following that was another pasta dish, similar to spaghetti, with a simple tomato sauce (ragu).</div>
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With each course, I ate less, as I had eaten quite a few olive all'ascolare and am not used to eating so much food at one meal. There was also white wine, served from a pitcher, and Domenico filled my glass each time it became empty. The final course of the evening was vitello con funghi porcini, thin slices of roast beef with a sauce of mushrooms. I only managed to eat the mushrooms and a few bites of the meat.</div>
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But this wasn't the end of the meal. In a few minutes, the children brought in a lemony, pudding-like cake, covered with whipped cream and a few blackberries, while everyone sang, <i>Tanti Auguri </i>(best wishes) to me. This dessert was accompanied by a sweet champagne. How could I not be honored by such a welcome, and such a feast? I was truly touched by their open generosity. Is it any wonder that I enjoy visiting my Italian friends? I only hope that someday I can return the favor when some of them come to the States.</div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-71766187569514769652017-10-16T17:31:00.000-07:002017-10-17T07:15:44.679-07:00Rieti<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Sep 28, 2008</span><br />
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After leaving Orvieto, I had a challenging journey to reach Ascoli Piceno, and learned that traveling east to west in the central part of Italy can be exasperating. From Orvieto, I took a 30-minute train to Orte, where I had to wait an hour for another 30-minute ride to Terni. At the Terni station, I had a 90-minute wait for the connection to Rieti. Fortunately, I struck up a conversation with a nun, Suore Maurizia, and we continued talking all the way to Rieti, a 45-minute journey. Each train was smaller than the last one, and the final one was only two cars, traveling through many tunnels cut into the hills of the countryside that we passed through.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Ruggeri family.</td></tr>
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I had a nice time in Rieti with Monica, a woman I met through the Italian club in KC last year. Monica and her family lived in KC for two years and I had only met her once before, but she was very welcoming and generous to me while I was in Rieti. I had to stop there to get a bus for the last part of my trip to Ascoli, and it gave me the chance to visit Monica.</div>
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I spent the afternoon with Monica, her mother and three children: Virginia, Camilla and Tommaso. I really enjoyed observing the life of this Italian family. The girls arrived home about 1 pm, the usual time that school ends for the day. (In Italy, children often attend school six days a week. ) Monica's mother fixed us a fabulous meal of pasta, meat, salad, bread, and wine, followed by a dessert of fresh fruit. After this, Monica served us coffee on the terrace in delicate espresso cups made of hand-painted china.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roofs in Rieti.</td></tr>
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Then we took a tour on foot of Rieti, walking around the center of town while Monica pointed out the highlights to me, and then treated us all to gelato. All in all, I spent six hours in Rieti before I had to catch the bus. I really don't know how I would have managed getting from the train station, finding the place to buy the ticket for the bus or get to the correct bus stop without Monica's help. She even waited with me at the bus stop when the bus was fifteen minutes late. I feel fortunate that every time I get in a tight spot like that, someone shows up to help me out. What's more, Monica has an American friend who lives in Parma that I will contact while I'm there next week. I keep making more connections as I go.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Velino river, with the Sabine mountains in the background.</td></tr>
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I didn't get to Ascoli until 9:30 pm, after a two-hour ride in a crowded bus, and the owner of the B&B came to pick me up at the train station...another gift, as otherwise I would have had to find my way in the dark and the cold across town. I haven't had that kind of service anywhere else in Italy before, but it sure was nice. My cell phone has also really come in handy...for connecting with my Italian friends and the places I'm staying, either by making calls or sending text messages. All in all, today was a long but interesting day of travel.</div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-11442546862801960932016-03-21T06:55:00.002-07:002016-03-21T06:55:54.484-07:00Orvieto, Civita di Bagnoregio<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Sep 28, 2008</span><br />
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My travels to Orvieto took longer than expected, with slow running trains that made me miss my connections, so I was traveling or waiting in train stations for nearly 6 hours. Since the town is high on a hill, 1000 feet above the valley floor, you take a funicular, or cable railway from the train station to the town. From there, I caught a bus to the main piazza where stands the magnificent Duomo, one of the largest cathedrals in the world.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Duomo in Orvieto</td></tr>
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Orvieto is a hill town in Umbria, with about 22,000 residents. It sits on a platform of tufa, or volcanic rock, and has Etruscan roots. There are several museums with Etruscan artifacts dating from the 3rd to the 6th centuries B.C. Most of the items were discovered in the nearby necropoli, or "cities of the dead" that lie at the foot of the hill.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A ristorante in Piazza del Popolo</td></tr>
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It was raining when I arrived, and the town was closed for siesta...roughly three hours from 1- 4pm, and I wandered around trying to find my hotel. I finally asked someone with a map for help in locating the street it was on, which was just around the corner from where we stood. I have a comfy room in the hotel, with a lovely view of one of the bell towers and a bathtub, not common in Italian hotels. No other frills, like tv, which is fine with me. Also, there is no wireless access in the town, and only one internet cafe, which charges 3.50 euros for a half hour, the most expensive so far, which limits my interest in spending much time on the internet. But I'm hoping to get a lot of writing done on my laptop during my five-day stay here.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNT0F-VJIdPUr8Q6h-6epDsvoaQWlmdUKzcP997fcAariBqojJ5HCNpLEKQzuZmu4EGAHa8ubUIJXmKMsV3AIDf1mTCavZuMKzcAjLrLN57h_-OFUoeuWXrwPY65JngMyyPvoqc84PLA/s1600/P9200328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNT0F-VJIdPUr8Q6h-6epDsvoaQWlmdUKzcP997fcAariBqojJ5HCNpLEKQzuZmu4EGAHa8ubUIJXmKMsV3AIDf1mTCavZuMKzcAjLrLN57h_-OFUoeuWXrwPY65JngMyyPvoqc84PLA/s400/P9200328.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Street scene in Orvieto.</td></tr>
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Speaking of writing, the author Marlena de Blasi lives around the corner from my hotel. I'm a big fan of the books she's written about her life in Italy....<i>A Thousand Days in Venice</i> and others. I located her address easily and am even hoping I might spot her in one of the local bars or markets. She's an American who moved to Italy to marry a Venetian man, and has made Italy her home since the early 90's. Today is my third day in Orvieto and I've grown to enjoy the rhythm of the village, from the early morning market in Piazza del Popolo to the evening passeggiata, when everyone strolls Via del Duomo and Corso Cavour for several hours.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5CCE7xmGFcopQKod33HP5bvdYhJuIeFFyy8hBUP7SUfDSv9yLM08KhrOqSkq3NDMtI9lRQw1k7BxgOBIU70XbE7mbQQrzAVOknl-8SFOL42GS7ezOOk0BASucvjWIsS3EKURw73Qu3tA/s1600/P9200367.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5CCE7xmGFcopQKod33HP5bvdYhJuIeFFyy8hBUP7SUfDSv9yLM08KhrOqSkq3NDMtI9lRQw1k7BxgOBIU70XbE7mbQQrzAVOknl-8SFOL42GS7ezOOk0BASucvjWIsS3EKURw73Qu3tA/s400/P9200367.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A wedding in the Duomo. </td></tr>
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Last night I got dressed up and went to a concert of music with the theme <i>"Two centuries of music to listen to before sunset"</i>, in honor of the Fall Equinox, which occurred today. Tonight I had a bowl of minestrone soup with a glass of Orvieto's famous wine, Orvieto Classico, and watched the passeggiata from the caffe while listening to American jazz. Later on I'll have a warm bath and savor memories of the unusual day I spent.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qSi4oNDBOlMNAaiKCVKW22s3BmJVtoXeRYb1thyphenhyphen1Nv2IJc4hd16RNZn_sBorTHyOIy2wQ8o1GP0OGcARmaE4q_7rK8jvYGyuS9piryE-DZgU6O2BosKn4hiooMVZ6IafMDKCmgrDz58/s1600/P9200408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qSi4oNDBOlMNAaiKCVKW22s3BmJVtoXeRYb1thyphenhyphen1Nv2IJc4hd16RNZn_sBorTHyOIy2wQ8o1GP0OGcARmaE4q_7rK8jvYGyuS9piryE-DZgU6O2BosKn4hiooMVZ6IafMDKCmgrDz58/s400/P9200408.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of many ceramics stores in Orvieto.</td></tr>
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I was up early to catch a bus to Bagnoregio, which is only about 25 miles away, but takes an hour on the bus to reach. A friendly bus driver made sure that I got on the right bus, telephoning another driver on the other side of town to wait for me until I could make my connection. There were only three people on the bus, which surprised me, as early buses are usually filled with children on their way to school.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Civita di Bagnoregio</td></tr>
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When I arrived in Bagnoregio, a young woman got off with me, and I asked her if she was going to Civita, my real destination. She responded that she was, and I asked her where she was from, since she looked Asian. Sure enough, she is from Japan, but has been living in Cremona, Italy for the past three years, learning to make and restore violins at the Stradivarius workshop in Cremona. She will return to a small town near Hiroshima in October to work in her husband's business of restoring musical instruments.<br />
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Introducing herself as Miwa, she apologized for not being able to speak English, but we were able to converse in Italian quite easily. We had a twenty minute walk to reach the pedestrian path leading to Civita, often referred to as the ultimate Italian hill town. Like Orvieto, it is perched on a tufa platform high above the valley below, but it is much smaller and has only 20 residents. The view of Civita is quite amazing and impossible to describe accurately, so I encourage you to check out the view from this website: <a data-mce-href="http://www.civitadibagnoregio.it/english/civita/history.htm" href="http://www.civitadibagnoregio.it/english/civita/history.htm" target="_blank">http://www.civitadibagnoregio.it/english/civita/history.htm</a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking outside Civita.</td></tr>
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While in Civita, we stopped to visit the garden of a woman named Maria, who urged people walking by to view her garden, then asked for a donation of a euro. We viewed an ancient olive press and had freshly grilled bruschetta from an open fire.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyO0X_ifI4pPVajgPINl-L4VF9miUJcfDEBe9rVkNvGLsTkfwm1n_Y7Rj2aKUDxSnlE0Wbg3L1GquI5o_xeTGbOJPH8kWb1i8zQtqAMqm63tc-1Z74UqcELKO6hn_RSJPFGjV7XiP8sqc/s1600/P9220516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyO0X_ifI4pPVajgPINl-L4VF9miUJcfDEBe9rVkNvGLsTkfwm1n_Y7Rj2aKUDxSnlE0Wbg3L1GquI5o_xeTGbOJPH8kWb1i8zQtqAMqm63tc-1Z74UqcELKO6hn_RSJPFGjV7XiP8sqc/s400/P9220516.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A garden scene in Civita.</td></tr>
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It only took us a few hours to see the entire village and take in the panoramic views from all directions, and then we walked back to Bagnoregio to catch the bus to Orvieto. Miwa had a few hours to enjoy Orvieto before catching a train back to Cremona, so I had the pleasure of showing her around the town, since I was already familiar with its streets and monuments. She was especially interested in buying Classico wine to take home with her.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miwa and I enjoying our adventure in Umbria.</td></tr>
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Meeting people like Miwa is one of the perks of traveling alone...and it seemed like an answer to a prayer. If other people had been around to talk to, I wouldn't have made the effort to forge a connection with a stranger. Just yesterday I had been wishing I had someone to talk to and share some of what I was seeing. After having plenty of company in Firenze and Lucca, and with limited use of the internet, I was getting a bit lonely. Being able to converse with someone in Italian made it even more special.<br />
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marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-17912643209961729912016-03-21T06:29:00.002-07:002016-03-21T06:29:28.670-07:00Lucca, Pisa<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Sep 28, 2008 </span><br />
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I was in Lucca for six days and the time seemed to fly by. Staying at the hostel, I met many interesting women who had their own adventures to share. One woman, who had lived in Paris for 15 years, now lives on a small island near Seattle. She had just come from a week in Venice, where she'd been working as a personal assistant to an architect. Another woman, who works as a chef in Santa Barbara, once lived in Africa for 12 years. She'd rented a villa with several friends for a week in the countryside outside of Lucca, but had to wait a few days for it to be free, so was staying at the hostel during the interim. A lively Moroccan woman gave me tips about the best hostels in Italy from her many travels. And a young woman from New York, who had been living with her Italian boyfriend on the island of Ischia, was returning to the States, after finding out that island life was not to her liking.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjuAxOfJtgdjaty2hZdypyg8FnlMmv1l6higTWoHrfZRuj1KK6EvWZyI0OH1oe9cxkbZlz7rKMSE6r-CHtYpevELOAhcIOjO2gvuj37Jmz92BhcEmUYR4XWam37KisFWL8s1MEUoedFoQ/s1600/P9160157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjuAxOfJtgdjaty2hZdypyg8FnlMmv1l6higTWoHrfZRuj1KK6EvWZyI0OH1oe9cxkbZlz7rKMSE6r-CHtYpevELOAhcIOjO2gvuj37Jmz92BhcEmUYR4XWam37KisFWL8s1MEUoedFoQ/s400/P9160157.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the portals into the walled city of Lucca.</td></tr>
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I also got chummy with the albergatore, Samuele, who ran the hostel. It's hard not to be charmed by a sweet, attentive, attractive Italian who calls you cara and touches your arm or takes your hand every time he sees you. Lucca seems to have an abundance of attractive Italians...more than I've seen in one place, including Rome or Milan. I did more people watching than usual, simply because there were so many beautiful people everywhere you looked. Though I had brought some nice clothes to wear, I felt frumpy in comparison to the stylish Italians in Lucca.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating Puccini</td></tr>
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Lucca is renowned as the birthplace of Giacomo Puccini, who wrote many famous operas, including La Boheme and Madame Butterfly. 2008 is the 150th anniversary of his birth, so there were quite a few events in Lucca with a Puccini theme. Each night during the year an hour long presentation of famous arias is performed by professional opera singers in one of the churches. I went to one of these performances, which combined arias by Mozart and Puccini, sung by two accomplished sopranos. ,I wish I had gone to them every night, as it was quite beautiful and moving. While at the performance, I met an architect from Portland who was also spending 5 weeks in Italy, and we strolled around Lucca after the concert, sharing our adventures.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtU7lWEM9j_vh0cw1zrEI6AeILjsV3mYsmmJ3CI8kYFB1P_Rf2gwb0MLDNdrLphDDtq1mOQGtzEMkxhrGJNqrjvm7Fu90ylILEoAfBCME1K3et2BGGyUstRkpS5Avw49iAbxtTUC-9UtM/s1600/P9170249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtU7lWEM9j_vh0cw1zrEI6AeILjsV3mYsmmJ3CI8kYFB1P_Rf2gwb0MLDNdrLphDDtq1mOQGtzEMkxhrGJNqrjvm7Fu90ylILEoAfBCME1K3et2BGGyUstRkpS5Avw49iAbxtTUC-9UtM/s400/P9170249.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of Torre Guinigi, with its iconic trees on top.</td></tr>
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I climbed two towers in Lucca, both with great panoramic views, and the taller one, <i>Torre Guinigi</i>, has oak trees growing on top of it. One night I rented a bike and rode for an hour along the top of the wall that surrounds the city. The weather was perfect most of the time I was there, and many people made good use of the wall for running, walking, skating and biking.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjot77CSTDAhCFXVAVFvoh-TAZu9x5j3VjAz4eswuTOXI8giZ1NQZrIv4Tmwkoo8OqVyqgy4lFLKJUuukLwUlKB8qVWtsJ2cRY5huwlOlYZ5b-cymtXn-xGiIdRhND_6dTKOp41lI5kGso/s1600/P9170232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjot77CSTDAhCFXVAVFvoh-TAZu9x5j3VjAz4eswuTOXI8giZ1NQZrIv4Tmwkoo8OqVyqgy4lFLKJUuukLwUlKB8qVWtsJ2cRY5huwlOlYZ5b-cymtXn-xGiIdRhND_6dTKOp41lI5kGso/s400/P9170232.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of Torre Guinigi from the street. </td></tr>
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I took two side trips during my stay in Lucca, one to Pisa and the other to Florence. I had been to Pisa for a few hours on my first trip to Italy, but didn't get to see the Duomo or Baptistery the first time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The Battistero and Cattedrale in Pisa. </td></tr>
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Besides the Leaning Tower, these three monuments are about all there is of interest in Pisa. But they are definitely worth seeing. The Baptistery is the largest in the world, and the huge Duomo sits across from it, giving one perspective on what a thriving region Pisa once was. However, the town was so crowded with tourists that I longed to be back in Lucca, so I only spent a few hours there again this time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGUVA82xVlj2Vbw2bEsmAX6azDbOCZucdpg5jbasc-Jc1M_Mye_dQoD9N2EPEe0FGeZQGf2tKxp_ch4gBKLSa56oSP4HwN_D5HJaPD7SIMUWfb4txLxNyN4ZH0w6p7Szvf0BoDSh5kcdg/s1600/P9160172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGUVA82xVlj2Vbw2bEsmAX6azDbOCZucdpg5jbasc-Jc1M_Mye_dQoD9N2EPEe0FGeZQGf2tKxp_ch4gBKLSa56oSP4HwN_D5HJaPD7SIMUWfb4txLxNyN4ZH0w6p7Szvf0BoDSh5kcdg/s400/P9160172.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Battistero in Pisa.</td></tr>
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The trip to Florence was due to an errand I had to run. I needed to have a form for one of my jobs notarized and returned within two weeks, so I made an appointment online at the American Consulate in Florence to get that taken care of. I was surprised how easy it turned out to be. Since I learned that taking the bus was easier and faster than the train, I took an early bus and arrrived by 9 am. I found the Consulate and they allowed me in right away, even though I was two hours early for my appointment. It only took about 15 minutes to get the form notarized, then I found a place to fax it, bought an envelope at an office supply store, then mailed the form at the post office. I decided to make it into an adventure, figuring out how to take care something that would be quite simple if I were home. Then, after my errand was done, Haruko and I met for lunch and gelato, then strolled around a bit before I returned to Lucca. It was a beautiful day, and it was nice to share it with Haruko, but I wanted to enjoy my last evening in Lucca before getting ready to move on.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying the walking/bike path atop the city wall in Lucca.</td></tr>
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If I had to choose now, Lucca would easily be where I'd want to live in Italy. But I still have a few more places to check out. Next, I'm off to Umbria, and the hill town of Orvieto.</div>
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marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-81635107754391994032016-03-21T06:12:00.000-07:002016-03-21T06:12:14.116-07:00Lucca: Luminaria festival, the Procession of the Holy Cross<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Sep 16, 2008</span><br />
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(I'm having a hard time getting wi-fi in Lucca, so am writing these posts offline and posting them when I can find a few minutes of wi-fi use. To get it, I have to sit outside the tourist building and wait until it connects...but it often only lasts for a few minutes. Still, this is my favorite town, so I'm willing to deal with it. )</div>
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I always like to get my train ticket ahead of time, just in case, which is always a good idea in Italy. In fact, I usually do it the day before my trip, but just didn't bother this time. If I had, I would have known a train stike was in effect for all regional trains, from 9pm on Friday night to 9pm on Saturday night. Yep, folks, strikes are planned in advance and publicized here in Italy. Since I didn't know of the strike, <span data-mce-style="font-style: normal;">when I arrived at the train station at 9 am, </span>I wondered about the long lines in front of <em>la biglietteria, </em><span data-mce-style="font-style: normal;">where vendors sell tickets. Instead, I bought a ticket from a machine, but if I had just stopped to read the notice of the strike, I would have learned that my train to Lucca was cancelled, even though the machine sold me the ticket. So...I ended up standing in line for more than 40 minutes to ask if there was an alternate train I could take, as some trains were still running...to Rome, Milan and Naples. No such luck for Lucca. My only hope was to wait until 9 pm that evening.</span></div>
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Since I had 10 hours to figure something else out, I stashed my luggage at the station, and walked across the street to the Lazzi bus station. The proprietor of the hotel I'd stayed at had mentioned I could get a bus to Lucca if the trains weren't running. Sure enough, there were plenty of buses running that day, so I got a ticket, for almost the same price as the train, 5.10 euros. Train/bus travel is cheap in Italy, though obviously not dependable. Then I went back to the train station and stood in line for an hour to get my money back for the train ticket. It's best not to wait on these things, and I wouldn't be back to Florence for a month.</div>
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I returned to the bus station just as one was leaving for Lucca, but people were so frantic and pushy (mostly tourists), I decided to wait for the next bus in 30 minutes rather than wrangle for one of the few seats left. When the next bus arrived, I was one of the first ones on, but after we were seated, the driver announced we needed to change to another bus. Ah, life in Italy! As it turns out, the second bus was larger, with more room for luggage and many seats that were empty, so I had two seats to myself. On the ride to Lucca, I programmed my new cellphone with all my friends' phone numbers, and was surprised when we arrived less than an hour later at our destination...the train takes nearly 30 minutes longer!</div>
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I visited Lucca two years ago on my first trip to Italy, and vowed to come back. It's a town of about 100,000, but seems much smaller within the city walls. As soon as I got off the bus, I felt a sense of calm come over me. Quiet. Tranquil. Beautiful. Sigh....I knew at once I'd come to the right place.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ostello San Frediano</td></tr>
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<span data-mce-style="font-style: normal;">I'm staying at </span><em>Ostello San Frediano,</em><span data-mce-style="font-style: normal;"> a hostel where I stayed the last time and really enjoyed myself . Besides, it's cheap, at less than 20 euros/night. It's a huge marbled affair....which had its beginnings as a monastery, then a university, then a technical school from 1985-1995. After '95, it was turned into a hostel that has some 600 beds.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwmTbEaG2ndKLXVdJ3P7fzWD0hquJaM-wqWVXG_Sv1FNtZp0DnpSymotkzHfZBi4h0lkODStUMaxTpNtWlMK-pA3yzIIz4-tjgaa5AXLojS1kyY_ssopis9bsYv6Hy5gFE-7JUGkiVx1A/s1600/P9170260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwmTbEaG2ndKLXVdJ3P7fzWD0hquJaM-wqWVXG_Sv1FNtZp0DnpSymotkzHfZBi4h0lkODStUMaxTpNtWlMK-pA3yzIIz4-tjgaa5AXLojS1kyY_ssopis9bsYv6Hy5gFE-7JUGkiVx1A/s400/P9170260.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the hostel with one of my roommates.</td></tr>
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When I arrived in my room, I found an unfriendly young American woman who seemed annoyed that I was there. There were 8 bunk beds, and she informed me that all the lower beds were taken. I also noticed that the bathroom was down the hall, when I had reserved a room with an internal bathroom. I went down to the desk to inquire about it, and discovered they had made a mistake, but since the hostel was full for the night, I couldn't have a room with a bath until the next day. She told me to try the room next to mine to see if I could find a lower bed available, and I did, so I moved my luggage and claimed one of the lower beds.</div>
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<span data-mce-style="font-style: normal;">Then I went out for a quick tour of my end of town. I was curious to learn why so many people were in Lucca, and why so many people from Florence had seemed so intent on getting there that day. It quickly became obvious: that night, September 13 was the night that Lucca celebrates its most important and solemn annual event, </span><em>La Processione di Santa Croce, </em><span data-mce-style="font-style: normal;">the Procession of the Holy Cross.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCcYf949H-CiEELKhVmAvgHYARYEzMOedyndEhNYkt3XfTveADqY_ysWeb8X2pdBlgQTT-1Sf50TvoueUi_hC43slAnSZ79zHXJEXBjDmuPZMZ8QNyHJB_Rx4kKQDA57UZ6bTwi5JZ2QM/s1600/P9130073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCcYf949H-CiEELKhVmAvgHYARYEzMOedyndEhNYkt3XfTveADqY_ysWeb8X2pdBlgQTT-1Sf50TvoueUi_hC43slAnSZ79zHXJEXBjDmuPZMZ8QNyHJB_Rx4kKQDA57UZ6bTwi5JZ2QM/s400/P9130073.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting the luminaria ready for lighting.</td></tr>
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People come from all over the region and the world to participate and watch the procession, which lasts for several hours. Not only that, but all the buildings along the processional route are lit with luminaria, candles in glass containers that frame windows and doors and create a flickering glow.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhngiOJWQw5SHvody12RtpXOqnpollMgA96rNPcX3hRTtgU3IwkulSpXgsMoNVoTksvk1qFPAYYjn3sJ9OuICMpTboyXNxsLNZMp5aXr4d1zxosEGqGBgcu9sbJCMbhxsaXT3cOH_ezN5c/s1600/P9130074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhngiOJWQw5SHvody12RtpXOqnpollMgA96rNPcX3hRTtgU3IwkulSpXgsMoNVoTksvk1qFPAYYjn3sJ9OuICMpTboyXNxsLNZMp5aXr4d1zxosEGqGBgcu9sbJCMbhxsaXT3cOH_ezN5c/s400/P9130074.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thousands of candles are placed along the parade route.</td></tr>
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<span data-mce-style="font-style: normal;">I walked along the route to take photos of the workers lighting the thousands of candles that would soon light up the night. The procession was to start at 8 pm at the church in the piazza near the hostel, and make its way across town to the Cathedral of Saint Martin. Around 6pm, I claimed a space on one of the few benches in the piazza near the Basilica of San Frediano in order to have a comfortable seat while waiting for the event to begin. An Italian woman sat down next to me, and I asked her if she was a Lucchese, a native of Lucca, and she answered, “Si.†For the next two hours we conversed in Italian, and she explained many things to me about the procession. She also shared with me one of Lucca's snack foods...</span><em>croccante tenera</em><span data-mce-style="font-style: normal;">, which tastes just like peanut brittle, only it has more peanuts than candy, and is formed into a rectangular bar.</span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_hEVn4hFwEWIRIdBh6qcaoJMKDcNhGaSCBUtIkrZokFmWN0z913IPZNPnTIVJ7MB_e7oUtYyLUuqfmUT2ah_5KE3VHngh5ZAroNXb0LFuG0_dJ9kRwbrOWse7TYiXKEETmnTaD6hH6s/s1600/P9140136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_hEVn4hFwEWIRIdBh6qcaoJMKDcNhGaSCBUtIkrZokFmWN0z913IPZNPnTIVJ7MB_e7oUtYyLUuqfmUT2ah_5KE3VHngh5ZAroNXb0LFuG0_dJ9kRwbrOWse7TYiXKEETmnTaD6hH6s/s400/P9140136.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Basilica di San Frediano.</td></tr>
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I learned that the cross that leads the procession is always made in Viareggio, a nearby town, and is completely covered with flowers...a solid red cross with a circlular burst of small sunflowers in the middle. The procession consisted of people from various parishes in the region, the clergy from the churches, people from various community and volunteer organizations, people who have emigrated from Lucca to other parts of the world and who come back with their children and grandchildren for the procession, and finally, a historical parade of people dressed in medieval costumes. Everyone carried a lit candle, and the procession was punctuated by a variety of marching bands and drum corps. Each group had its own banner, and the procession lasted for 2½ hours, with those watching staying attentive for the entire time. I find this kind of ritual and tradition very moving, something I've not witnessed often in my own culture.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Basilica di San Frediano lit up for la festa.</td></tr>
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I learned later that the procession dates back to 742 when the Holy Cross was moved from the church of San Frediano to the church of San Martino. Initially, only the Lucchesi and the clergy participated in the procession, but it has grown to include many others over the years, though the parade route and the meaning behind the event remains the same.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmQrycD_yFN8dsTltd7b42Sa59_eUgIWo0ESDh1xJ2kewMpKLHZUaRwm5pv9lA7bdco3Y_g7GNBqt6OQVFgZKbHhPXMx7UbJjT3n__Bb5pVdMLZUlH0C33zBeQxaD0MZBvzOExa0UKhRc/s1600/P9130098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmQrycD_yFN8dsTltd7b42Sa59_eUgIWo0ESDh1xJ2kewMpKLHZUaRwm5pv9lA7bdco3Y_g7GNBqt6OQVFgZKbHhPXMx7UbJjT3n__Bb5pVdMLZUlH0C33zBeQxaD0MZBvzOExa0UKhRc/s400/P9130098.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of the crowd watching the parade.</td></tr>
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I feel as if I really lucked out to have been a part of this special event. And there's even more: after the procession, there was a fireworks display. About an hour after the parade, people gathered on the west side of the wall that surrounds Lucca. (The wall has a surface wide enough for a road, with ramparts that form small parks at 10 points around the wall. ) And then the fireworks began, and we stood and watched them for nearly an hour...one volley after another of beautiful colors exploding across the sky.</div>
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This my friend, is magic!</div>
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If I had waited to take the train, I would have missed out on all this magic, and beauty, and fun. The only thing that got in the way of it being perfect magic is that at some point during the evening, someone sliced the shoulder bag I was carrying with a knife, and my camera bag was either lost or stolen. I'm still not sure what happened. At one point, I remember feeling as if someone was standing too close to me, and I pulled my bag closer to me....perhaps it saved me from losing everything.</div>
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<span data-mce-style="font-style: normal;">My camera, my coin purse (with my debit card and 200 euros) and my cell phone remained in the ripped bag, but my camera bag was gone. Luckily, my passport was safe at the hostel. The camera bag only cost me $3, and I found a nice leather one the next day at a market for 1 euro, so I'm not really bummed about losing it. But the bag is ruined...one I'd bought just for this trip, something more elegant than my backpack.</span></div>
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The main feeling I have about the incident is disappointment. Previously, I've always felt safe while traveling in Italy, and made a point of carrying my passport and money on my body, or in an inside pocket in my jacket instead of in my backpack or a purse. Perhaps I needed this reminder to be a little more cautious.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying a snack in the hostel.</td></tr>
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<span data-mce-style="font-style: normal;">When I got back to the hostel, I was welcomed by four friendly women in my room ... two sisters from Poland on their 10</span><sup><span data-mce-style="font-style: normal;">th</span></sup><span data-mce-style="font-style: normal;"> trip to Italy, a woman from Canada backpacking with her 19-year-old son, and a young woman from Washington state studying art for a semester in Florence. Two other women came in later, but I didn't get a chance to talk with them before every one settled down to sleep. In the morning, everyone departed for other destinations, and I moved to a room with a better view, a bathroom in the room, and the place to myself for the day. I'll be here for 4 more days, so there's more to come in my blog about Lucca and nearby towns. I'm taking lots of photos, but probably won't post them until I get home.</span></div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-56418951949081060452016-03-21T05:51:00.001-07:002016-03-21T05:51:26.702-07:00Firenze: A Period of Adjustment<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Sep 16, 2008</span><br />
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After arriving in Florence, it took me a few days to get accustomed to life in Italy. For one thing, I arrived to a blast furnace of 90-degree weather, a city crowded with tourists and noise. Honestly, it made me wonder why I had come. I stayed at a familiar hotel near the train station, but there was no air conditioning, and the other guests were a group of couples from Seattle traveling together and they monopolized the terrace in the evenings. (I have noticed before when traveling that couples are often sufficient unto themselves, and do not often invite conversation with me: it's usually other single women or women traveling together that do so. On the other hand, I don't really try to join them, so perhaps we're equally at fault.)</div>
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Though the hotel has wi-fi, it didn't always work, so that was frustrating at times, but no real biggie. I found an internet cafe down the street that only charged 1.50 euros per hour, and can use that as a backup when needed. Then, when I tried to buy a cell phone to use while in Italy, I was told they could not sell me one unless I had an Italian I.D. Hmmmmm. Bummer. I had really counted on that. Things started to perk up as I rode the bus across town to visit my friend Paola, a native of Florence who writes books on teaching English for specific purposes.</div>
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Paola could not pick me up, as my hotel was near the town center, an area typically congested with tourists: most cars are not allowed <em>in centro</em>, downtown, until late evening. What I enjoyed about the bus ride was that when I asked the bus driver if he stopped at <em>Piazza Nobili, </em>a woman near me mentioned that she was going there and would show me which stop to get off at. (All spoken in Italian!) She moved over to let me sit near her and we had a pleasant conversation, still in Italian, on the 20-minute ride across town. I held my own during our talk, and that felt good. I started to feel that magic was once again on the horizon. Paola took me to dinner at a <em>trattoria</em> near her house, and we had a good long chat. She drove me back to the hotel and we made plans to meet again when I return to Florence at the end of my trip.</div>
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The next day, Friday, was set aside to hang out with Haruko, who had also just arrived in Florence. We had last met in Tokyo last March, and before that, in Bologna last October. I was hoping she could help me find a store that would sell me a cell phone, since she had bought one like it last year. The phone I was looking for was a cheap model that can only be used in Italy, but it uses prepaid phone cards that I can buy whenever I need more minutes while traveling in Italy. I figure I can even rent it to friends who might need a cell phone while in Italy. On previous trips it was no problem buying prepaid phone cards for public phones, but it was always a pain to find a public phone, not to mention one that worked and was not in a noisy area.</div>
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I woke up early that day, and headed out at 8 am to get to <em>Giotto's Campanile</em> by 8:30 and climb to the top. I was the first one to show up that morning, and it only took about 20 minutes to climb the 414 steps to the top. Though not as tall as the nearby <em>Duomo </em>(with 464 steps), the views were pretty spectacular. It seemed an easier climb than the Duomo, which I managed to do 2 years ago, not just because I'm much lighter than I was then, but the ascent was also more straightforward. The Duomo has a series of winding staircases that seem neverending.</div>
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Haruko and I arranged to meet in <em>Piazza San Marco</em>, not far from my hotel. Earlier in the day I had located a store where I could buy a phone, and so we went there first and bought it. We went back to my hotel to get it charged, and realized we needed some help to figure out some necessary things, like changing the language from Italian to English, and how to activate the prepaid phone card. Once that was done, we decided to walk across town to <em>Piazzale Michelangelo</em>, which boasts wonderful views of the city. I'd been there once before, on my first trip, when my friend Marco had given me my first tour of Florence, and wanted to see it again.</div>
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On the way, we stopped at <em>Piazza San Ambrogio,</em> where there is an open market every day, and had lunch at a famous cafe inside. It is one of those places where mostly Italians come to eat, sitting together and chatting up a storm. We sat at a table between two young women and two older men, trying our best to converse in Italian like everyone else around us. The men who cooked and served the food were some of the hardest workers I have ever seen, literally running back and forth with food and drinks to keep up with the lunchtime crowd, inevitably stopping to have a chat along the way. I had <em>melanzane parmagiana</em> (eggplant parmesan), quite superb, and only 4 euros (less than $6.)</div>
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By the time we got to <em>Piazzale Michelangelo, </em>we were too hot to really enjoy the view. I suggested we look for the nearby gardens that Marco and I had visited, but found they had closed at 1 pm. Instead,we decided it was time for a <em>gelato</em> treat, so Haruko led the way to her favorite <em>gelateria</em>, near the briege <em>Ponte di San Trinita.</em></div>
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Once refreshed by gelato, we crossed <em>il fiume Arno</em>, the river, looking for a quiet spot to sit. One of the things I enjoy most about Haruko is that we can spend hours together, not really doing anything or talking all the time, but just hanging out. I do not have many friends I can do that with, but it seems to be easy with Haruko. It probably helps that we hang out together in cities like Florence, Bologna and Tokyo, where there is a lot to take in.</div>
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We couldn’t find a quiet spot, but to get out of the sun, we decided to sit along the cement steps on the back wall of the <em>Loggia Lancia</em> in <em>Piazza Signoria</em>, one of our favorite places in Florence. This is where everyone seems to congregate, the very same piazza where the mad Savonarola was burned at the stake in the 1500's, and where giant statues of David, and Neptune dominate the square.</div>
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Within a short time, we heard the roll of thunder and the crowd quickly began to disperse as raindrops fell. We started walking back towards my hotel, and ducked into a bookstore we both like just as it started to pour. Along with many other people, we were stranded in the bookstore for nearly an hour, while Florence was freshened by the rain. It cooled the air and cleaned the dusty streets in one fell swoop. By the time the rain ended, it was 6 pm and time for Haruko to head back to her friend's flat, so we said our <em>ciaos</em>, with plans to meet again in October, if not before, if she decides to visit me in one of the stops along my route.</div>
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I was beat by the time I got back to the hotel, and used the evening to read, catch up on email, and pack for the next day's trip to Lucca. Little did I know I would find my route blocked when Florence trains were frozen by <em>un'altro sciopero, </em>another train strike.</div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-36830708988826733722016-03-21T05:51:00.000-07:002016-03-21T05:51:04.284-07:00Il mio quarto viaggio in Italia<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Aug 21, 2008</span><br />
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I'm getting ready for my fourth trip to Italy! I leave on September 9 and will be there for five weeks. For this adventure, I'm planning to travel to four regions of the country, visit many of my Italian friends and spend 5-7 days in each of the cities of Florence, Lucca (both in Tuscany), Orvieto (a hill town in Umbria), Ascoli Piceno (in Marche, near the Adriatic coast) and Parma (Emilia-Romagna). I've managed to arrange inexpensive lodging, which includes staying in a magificent marble hostel in Lucca, a palace in Parma and an apartment in Ascoli. Part of the fun in planning my adventures is finding these jewels, though the path to locating them can sometimes be arduous.</div>
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I will be staying at the Ducal Palace in Parma for a week! Can you imagine? </div>
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My friend Paolo and his family live in the Palace, which is the headquarters for the Carabinieri (Italy's national military police force) in the province of Parma, of which Paolo is the commander. There are a few suites for guests in the palace, and I am quite fortunate to take advantage of the option. I am so looking forward to spending many hours in the massive Ducal Park (Parco Ducale) that surrounds il palazzzo. While there, I will also attend the opera <em>Rigoletto</em> at Teatro Regio, during the Verdi Festival that occurs in October every year. I was in Parma last year during the festival, but unable to attend any performances because the tickets were sold out months in advance. This time I planned ahead and ordered my box seat <em>(palco)</em> ahead of time.</div>
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I'll still have a few days to visit other cities along the way. I'll be scoping out a place I could stay for a longer period of time....maybe three months, on my next visit. And of course, I'll be writing about my adventures along the way. I'll be visiting many of my "old" Italian friends, meeting some new ones, and will also meet up with Haruko, who I recently saw in Tokyo while visiting my son. She and I met several years ago while studying Italian in Florence, and have managed to meet each year since then. Haruko is moving to Florence, so we'll continue our habit of seeing each other in different cities around the world. It's a great adventure! As it turns out, we both arrive in Italy on the same day, though she flies into Rome and I'll be flying into Florence. <em>Non vedo l'ora che vederla! </em>I can't wait to see her!</div>
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Some people wonder how I can afford these trips. Believe me, it's not because I have a lot of money. For many months I worked 60-hour weeks at three different jobs and saved, saved, saved, for this trip. Since I work out of my home, I don't have many car or gas expenses. I don't have cable or a cell phone. My son is grown, and I only have myself to take care of. I live simply and don't buy many "things," so my expenses are minimal, even when traveling. My savings will be depleted by this trip, but I know I can always build my savings again.</div>
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I can't tell you how many times I've heard people say, "You're so lucky!" I will admit that I am fortunate in many ways, but I don't think luck has as much to do with it as thought, effort and will. The willingness to risk also plays an essential role. Anyone can travel to Italy, or anywhere else in the world, for that matter, by buying a ticket and going. I faced that challenge for the first time just over two years ago, and a wealth of benefits have resulted, spurring me on to greater, more complicated challenges. So, please, don't envy me...if anything, my hope is to inspire others to go after their own dreams, one step at a time. That's all I've done. And you can, too. As the saying goes, "Just Do It!"</div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-28244377658347669842016-03-04T05:32:00.001-08:002016-08-23T13:46:27.588-07:00Parting shots of Japan<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally Published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Jul 11, 2008 </span><br />
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This is the last of some 16 posts about the trip I took to Japan in March. My son Jesse has been living in Tokyo for two years and he planned a great adventure for us during my stay.<br />
You can read about the other areas of Japan that I visited, including Tokyo, Kyoto, Hakone and Himeji Castle in the posts below. It reads from the last day to the first.</div>
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Enjoy!</div>
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I had one more full day in Japan after returning to Tokyo, so we spent it revisiting a few areas I really liked and checking out a few places I hadn't seen yet. One of my favorites of the latter was the "bookseller's district," where I found a cheap paperback in English at a used bookstore. (I read the entire book on the plane ride home.) We also went to a mega-bookstore where I found some clever children's books to take home as gifts. For myself, I bought a book of photographs of cherry trees in bloom in Kyoto...something I missed seeing in person by only a few days.</div>
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First, we went shopping, and this display of tulips caught my eye outside the store.</div>
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Mosaics in a train station.</div>
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Jesse's favorite organic food store.</div>
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A pedicab in Asakusa.</div>
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A sign on the sidewalk. (It's also uncool to eat while walking in Japan.)</div>
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The white flight of stairs leads to Jesse's flat on the top floor.</div>
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A neighbor's yard down the street from Jesse.</div>
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Much like Italy, the Japanese hang their clothes out to dry (saves energy!).</div>
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Bicycles are everywhere, and put to good use.</div>
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The ever-present vending machine.</div>
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The bath in Jesse's flat.</div>
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Jesse in his pint-sized kitchen.</div>
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The ever-present orderly queue waiting for the train.</div>
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This brings me to the end of my time in Japan. It was an amazing adventure, and I hope to return in a few years to experience more of this fascinating country.</div>
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Jesse quit his teaching job the week before I went to Japan, and less than a month later he found several other jobs more suitable to his goal of working in the publishing industry. He works as a proofreader and translator for Kikkoman and does the same for a law firm. I'm proud of him for having the courage to not only go after his dream of living in Japan, but also for having the courage to quit a sure thing (a job he hated) for the unknown, risking his ability to stay in Tokyo. His new schedule allows him more time and energy to enjoy living in Tokyo and to have a social life with his friends. Bravo!</div>
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Arigato gozaimasu</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbT-q5i18ib3uMNIAyMnWlZBxxenANGWp80N8hbhR6SnlwLFguDYWIHxMg5HD4k5e6IPPJTQX-JhM58ru_dJSsOIll7rNmaM6sYFqW037gJu_4pa63ltZuMd8Oe4tNGz8qMSGHmcQjra8/s1600/kanji.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbT-q5i18ib3uMNIAyMnWlZBxxenANGWp80N8hbhR6SnlwLFguDYWIHxMg5HD4k5e6IPPJTQX-JhM58ru_dJSsOIll7rNmaM6sYFqW037gJu_4pa63ltZuMd8Oe4tNGz8qMSGHmcQjra8/s1600/kanji.jpg" /></a><br />
mosuko<br />
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Thanks for making my first trip to Japan so rich!</div>
marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-34730414473040450092016-03-04T05:32:00.000-08:002017-10-16T20:00:31.339-07:00Himeji Castle<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally Published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Jul 11, 2008</span><br />
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On this day (March 16, 2008), we rode the train from Kyoto an hour south to Himeji Castle. It was a beautiful sunny day and we spent the afternoon visiting the castle, climbing centuries-old wooden stairs up six steep flights to the top. (This reminded me of climbing to the top of the Duomo in Florence....quite a challenge!) Visitors enter through the basement, and though it looks as if there are five levels from the exterior, there are actually 7 levels.The castle is built on a high bluff, the most spectacular of Japan's 12 remaining feudal castles. The origins of the castle began in 1333 with a fort. Some scholars say that the original castle was built in the mid-16th century. In 1601 three moats were dug around the castle, and the entire castle complex was finished in 1609. Four hundred years later, it is still intact. Fortunately, it has escaped the ravages of war.</div>
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Himeji Castle is designated as a UNESCO World Heritage site. It is well-preserved and an excellent representation of all castles in Japan. The stone walls as well as the plaster walls have been well-maintained, and the traditional wooden structure is of particular interest and value. It's really difficult to convey in words the impressive stature and beauty of this castle, so I hope these photos will suffice.<br />
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(My thanks to the Eyewitness Travel Book on Japan for providing many of the details quoted in this article. I always depend on these books when planning my trips, as they provide wonderful photos along with detailed historical and cultural insights.)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our first view, walking from the train station.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A map of the complex.</td></tr>
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Even though it was Sunday, we arrived early enough in the day to avoid the crowds that came later. But there were never great crowds of people like we experienced in the other places we visited.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A closer view.</td></tr>
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This is part of the "Vanity Tower" where Princess Sen lived (1597-1667): this scene depicts playing a shell game. Most of the rooms in the castle were empty: we were allowed to walk through them and view the outside landscape from the windows.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54iap_yyioG-YqQSK9azRxrLHamt3PFsd0CllGUpPC1j1_GXEnPNfPLRQ0P00bNdNmD4pc3IwAPgxWiaGuDUUIEiXFuQPQm8uEBpE7jRhdBRn5lBiZ74IauJtHqUVBW4b4ExfWEQjl2Y/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="360" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54iap_yyioG-YqQSK9azRxrLHamt3PFsd0CllGUpPC1j1_GXEnPNfPLRQ0P00bNdNmD4pc3IwAPgxWiaGuDUUIEiXFuQPQm8uEBpE7jRhdBRn5lBiZ74IauJtHqUVBW4b4ExfWEQjl2Y/s400/7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="text-align: left;">We were amused to see this couple had brought their pets along, and carried them throughout the castle!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A nice view of the gables.</td></tr>
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Along the outside. The fan walls were notable not only for their attractive shape, but because they were difficult for enemies to climb.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of the courtyard.</td></tr>
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Before entering the castle, we had to take off our shoes, replace them with plastic slippers, and carry our shoes along in a plastic bag. This shows people where we deposited the borrowed slippers and plastic bags as we left the castle. Very orderly!<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSZHnvwhe5I-cHo2dHHtVXTr6CFlTwNZaY5VGcCZMQAaX6gC2c3cndRA7quJ6yaWa-UlBSri1eZzL44ncyYOtJSp9Z491W5fQ-_k0bQWdQRDy5GRd5hAbOBFaZxe_GJueDTTIlzxKq4wU/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="269" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSZHnvwhe5I-cHo2dHHtVXTr6CFlTwNZaY5VGcCZMQAaX6gC2c3cndRA7quJ6yaWa-UlBSri1eZzL44ncyYOtJSp9Z491W5fQ-_k0bQWdQRDy5GRd5hAbOBFaZxe_GJueDTTIlzxKq4wU/s400/12.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Inside: some of the stairs were quite steep!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harakiri-maru</td></tr>
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Outside the castle, we arrived at the "Harakiri-maru" or suicide quarter. <span style="text-align: left;">Though this was built as a place where ritual suicide could be committed, it was most likely used only for its water supply.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;">s<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOhA3_kC3nyPLtO5xkDRovVGEC5aymfjcyKAtn7pcBqXHY4ccetbP5wFkqs5_2rdAp-dRe1kgDsv8pc3Q32YQHP6vQKgVfrvyFc873skV7pY86pMdt0BBsiYW2j2e7wuBOcgJ6CYzHIg/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="269" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOhA3_kC3nyPLtO5xkDRovVGEC5aymfjcyKAtn7pcBqXHY4ccetbP5wFkqs5_2rdAp-dRe1kgDsv8pc3Q32YQHP6vQKgVfrvyFc873skV7pY86pMdt0BBsiYW2j2e7wuBOcgJ6CYzHIg/s400/16.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some perspective on the size of the castle.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2hiFzxCisnP1frImbYmEDFahy0pUaVr7BGEExfcWlp3viEbWln8DRWlxld2G_0GHm9OHI8fkyuZwY6WNyopVsMrE8G8ph19tw_uKIwYHTQCvLSaoNfNcCVcP3uoYidxPdfo0a4CHwV8g/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="360" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2hiFzxCisnP1frImbYmEDFahy0pUaVr7BGEExfcWlp3viEbWln8DRWlxld2G_0GHm9OHI8fkyuZwY6WNyopVsMrE8G8ph19tw_uKIwYHTQCvLSaoNfNcCVcP3uoYidxPdfo0a4CHwV8g/s400/17.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A scene at the nearby Koko-en Garden.</td></tr>
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After our lengthy tour of the castle, we did some shopping, then bought some food and ate outside the train station: sushi for me, curry for Jesse. We rode the Shinkansen back to Tokyo, a 4-hour ride.</div>
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marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-65266625369096126022016-03-04T05:31:00.000-08:002017-10-16T20:18:51.122-07:00Fushimi Inari Shrine and Torii<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Jul 7, 2008</span><br />
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The next day was Saturday, and we borrowed bicycles from the inn to visit the complex of the Imperial Palace, located just across the street from our ryokan in Kyoto. This place was huge, so the bikes really came in handy to take a tour of the grounds in a short time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jesse on the Palace grounds.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plum trees in bloom.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love the way they build supports for trees like this.</td></tr>
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Then we took the train to the Fushimi Inari Shrine, where thousands of <em>torii </em>create a portico of sorts that people can walk through for several miles.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRVDYCkk0TcP4RILZdhbOpum_X_PrPzxvDgBRsnSZqG6PPZSigqaQV5h2_IjLJm3J8Z8hMLdJRtO_3kETgLnDJWNb96ACEknAeMdmDpBt55-0uCb2xtS6OG4imW1FC4o5GqQ__sR0I5Cc/s1600/4+f+entrance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="360" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRVDYCkk0TcP4RILZdhbOpum_X_PrPzxvDgBRsnSZqG6PPZSigqaQV5h2_IjLJm3J8Z8hMLdJRtO_3kETgLnDJWNb96ACEknAeMdmDpBt55-0uCb2xtS6OG4imW1FC4o5GqQ__sR0I5Cc/s400/4+f+entrance.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The entrance.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNm_V6AQ2Twcv26dWyvkXWCtvjXKLA1EHDCV2GYrpcGp-6Z5NxzkziPzelxo9MfNOADQifq1rTfh1t2fUafGRw86iaNA4MzAkWWsR5bmNDgzJ_a6vMcOsZMoM0J9nFxySeP6_lPmx9k4/s1600/5+inari.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="327" data-original-width="288" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNm_V6AQ2Twcv26dWyvkXWCtvjXKLA1EHDCV2GYrpcGp-6Z5NxzkziPzelxo9MfNOADQifq1rTfh1t2fUafGRw86iaNA4MzAkWWsR5bmNDgzJ_a6vMcOsZMoM0J9nFxySeP6_lPmx9k4/s400/5+inari.jpg" width="351" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A kitsune guard.</td></tr>
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From Wikipedia:</div>
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<em>The </em><em>kitsune statues are at times taken for a form of Inari, and they typically come in pairs, representing a male and a female. These fox statues hold a symbolic item in their mouths or beneath a front paw — most often a jewel and a key, but a sheaf of rice, a scroll, or a fox cub are all common. Almost all Inari shrines, no matter how small, will feature at least a pair of these statues, usually flanking or on the altar or in front of the main sanctuary. The statues are rarely realistic; they are typically stylized, portraying a seated animal with its tail in the air looking forward. Despite these common characteristics, the statues are highly individual in nature; no two are quite the same.</em></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv4ZRWx3LfI5bPn5E-_xYDFL5DWL3OTHNg75km2cC3ldMSD9RFK0Qm_mRiWC869h9Ian3_KSjeeNafpv8MrXolXs4ujr_yw3affXwgmaFM8NeikSfjDwweGNTNG8Rw55BOwVShGHY8ftA/s1600/8+map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="235" data-original-width="360" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv4ZRWx3LfI5bPn5E-_xYDFL5DWL3OTHNg75km2cC3ldMSD9RFK0Qm_mRiWC869h9Ian3_KSjeeNafpv8MrXolXs4ujr_yw3affXwgmaFM8NeikSfjDwweGNTNG8Rw55BOwVShGHY8ftA/s400/8+map.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A map of the shrine complex.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcwY3xgIwpuFa1lz1a9hIuO-kRqYsDQnd4T1vCS2csetOdlDJeav36CjoNsjyd1jnVCuvu9iZ-w_HmzNc3hB6Td0cdtBJZx1Xi2UKsdGhd55y6mqEkqJK098Eq0TT26gzAncONp_gQSs/s1600/6+prayer+at+shrine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="360" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcwY3xgIwpuFa1lz1a9hIuO-kRqYsDQnd4T1vCS2csetOdlDJeav36CjoNsjyd1jnVCuvu9iZ-w_HmzNc3hB6Td0cdtBJZx1Xi2UKsdGhd55y6mqEkqJK098Eq0TT26gzAncONp_gQSs/s400/6+prayer+at+shrine.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prayer at the shrine.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1CLL8pZq7ABwOjLiEd4yuv7Ur0OB92ZVT5wTQ31Gbcz7rlt5WYvt0wW77CaBRbtMhdyc2QeKdI8b0K794Fo5t0YlLza1ayuzgFwC2xMTBxNugf0ucUrmgJkC7Mft3tD4RCk4_NReagfo/s1600/7++walk+thru+torii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="351" data-original-width="288" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1CLL8pZq7ABwOjLiEd4yuv7Ur0OB92ZVT5wTQ31Gbcz7rlt5WYvt0wW77CaBRbtMhdyc2QeKdI8b0K794Fo5t0YlLza1ayuzgFwC2xMTBxNugf0ucUrmgJkC7Mft3tD4RCk4_NReagfo/s400/7++walk+thru+torii.jpg" width="327" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking through the torii.</td></tr>
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Wikipedia offers some insight into torii:</div>
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<em>A <strong>torii</strong> is a traditional Japanese gate commonly found at the entry to a Shinto shrine, although it can be found at Buddhist temples as well. It has two upright supports and two crossbars on the top, and is frequently painted vermillion. Traditionally, torii are made of wood or stone. Torii mark the transition from the sacred (the shrine) to the profane (the normal world).</em></div>
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<em>The origin of the word "torii" is not known. One theory is that it was designed for birds to rest. A second theory is that it is derived from the term </em><em>tari-iru: pass through and enter).</em><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq6Ff6OmdqRhD53L3clZsSBl5Kedpw-tF-R2aATaRZ51D3iBsgpUOqbhFhRLgAzZHuouJIv_fHICZFOIFSXQJBQgrC3CgY4xVtVjy8myIVjrmssWFR6ql86T2NGez_BG5u11arwWoORLc/s1600/9+prayer+board.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="288" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq6Ff6OmdqRhD53L3clZsSBl5Kedpw-tF-R2aATaRZ51D3iBsgpUOqbhFhRLgAzZHuouJIv_fHICZFOIFSXQJBQgrC3CgY4xVtVjy8myIVjrmssWFR6ql86T2NGez_BG5u11arwWoORLc/s400/9+prayer+board.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A prayer board along the way.</td></tr>
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Jesse and I took a detour from the torii covered area, walking through a path in the forest instead, away from the crowds. He had been there once before, and had previously trekked the path. It's hard to relate just how incredible it was to be walking through this area on our own for several hours, hardly seeing anyone along the way, but getting a better idea of the beauty of the area.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgqc3aSVS3nX4pS3PlIVv_DUMsdkNyD12syuDfS-KLcgQUZnm1V3nXqoF1uT377j7A9ZqQKAkkkkhSrb8ByM8_6nfipD0JZB5rnvO9hrgYFbTjOmGcbhdjJzGIIIP1Ae-CTBim04H1u4/s1600/10+bamboo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="288" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgqc3aSVS3nX4pS3PlIVv_DUMsdkNyD12syuDfS-KLcgQUZnm1V3nXqoF1uT377j7A9ZqQKAkkkkhSrb8ByM8_6nfipD0JZB5rnvO9hrgYFbTjOmGcbhdjJzGIIIP1Ae-CTBim04H1u4/s400/10+bamboo.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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Walking through a bamboo forest.</div>
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We climbed to the very top of the hill, visiting many graveyards along the way that were built into the side of the mountain.</div>
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One of the graves.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9RKfls7-cKkp9vfm7lYxVTHOjlGykj-eOYjuyqyA6KkF7nP_bKAAjOYL1TsNtYHGoPivh3j7P97kG6RmdV8AH2FxS_LYBAGtRsGOwFCmZvgu202Ikci4bcP3DOaY3lxaKxc2x9gX5Lk/s1600/12+graveyard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="360" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9RKfls7-cKkp9vfm7lYxVTHOjlGykj-eOYjuyqyA6KkF7nP_bKAAjOYL1TsNtYHGoPivh3j7P97kG6RmdV8AH2FxS_LYBAGtRsGOwFCmZvgu202Ikci4bcP3DOaY3lxaKxc2x9gX5Lk/s320/12+graveyard.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
One of the graveyards.</div>
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We walked for several hours this way, rejoining the torii path at the top, then descended the mountain via hundreds of stairs.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrsUYyUvqxpIJKZEoBDyxkpyVXIvzjnidtNoxfqdfAB9js0hPaRFsa1S7vljizWnNmNp2i8k249GUePkmaxmgO8KvmMAJSF1fbMXbFUoQ5N1HRy_vP2FMdtgI2tFtZUhw6C0Wl6c2Kx8Y/s1600/13+walk+down+torii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="288" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrsUYyUvqxpIJKZEoBDyxkpyVXIvzjnidtNoxfqdfAB9js0hPaRFsa1S7vljizWnNmNp2i8k249GUePkmaxmgO8KvmMAJSF1fbMXbFUoQ5N1HRy_vP2FMdtgI2tFtZUhw6C0Wl6c2Kx8Y/s400/13+walk+down+torii.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking down the torii.</td></tr>
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Next, we went to the Silver Pavilion, or Ginkaku-ji. It was a sunny day by then, and many people were out for the weekend. The temple was under construction, but the walk through the park was cool and lovely.</div>
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The rock garden at the Silver Pavilion.</div>
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From there, we followed the Philosopher's Walk, another scenic path that follows a canal for 1 mile. In another few weeks, the cherry trees lining the canal would be in bloom, but when we were there, they were bare of flowers. Still, we enjoyed the quiet path and visited many of the shops lining the walk.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Philosopher's Walk, Kyoto.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shopping in Kyoto.</td></tr>
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Jesse remarked that once the trees are blooming, the crowds increase drastically, so we were lucky to have fewer people to deal with during our stay in Kyoto. Still, I hope to return someday when the cherry trees are in bloom.</div>
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marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-48679689137517756432016-03-04T05:30:00.000-08:002017-10-16T20:28:28.029-07:00Misty temple-viewing in Kyoto<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Originally Published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Jun 9, 2008 </span><br />
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The family at the Yamazaki Inn were very good to us. We were the only people staying on the second floor, so it seemed as if we had the place to ourselves. There was an ofuro (Japanese bath) we could use, but there was only one small bath at the inn, so we had to schedule the times we wanted to use it. We had a great meal in their restaurant our first night in Kyoto, and when it was raining the next morning, they gave us umbrellas to use while we visited several temples. We found it quite pleasant to be out in the light rain, as the crowds were smaller and it somehow seemed fitting to be visiting temples in the mist.</div>
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We visited Ryoan-ji Temple, with its famous rock garden.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zen garden</td></tr>
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While there, we also visited a cemetery. This is a typical gravesite.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Graves.</td></tr>
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We also saw Ninna-ji Temple, with its famous five-story pagoda, dating from the 1630's.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pagoda.</td></tr>
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Then we went to the Myoshin-ji Temple complex. One of its 47 subtemples, Taizo-in, has this fabulous garden.</div>
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Here are some other photos of that day:</div>
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Jesse viewing one of the temples.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0TTFdGII10vB2l_wSgk9Wt8YwN0_0UsIOcgyK6tM2aiRcmfxNUovLkj7ntJdhRNo7bYmRkHWR66bIBSxKjvclfjciGFu1fJYV_zcZccJWkoGd4-W0bn5EEP8F_Rc037atXTfJdlBe00/s1600/6+J+views+map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="360" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0TTFdGII10vB2l_wSgk9Wt8YwN0_0UsIOcgyK6tM2aiRcmfxNUovLkj7ntJdhRNo7bYmRkHWR66bIBSxKjvclfjciGFu1fJYV_zcZccJWkoGd4-W0bn5EEP8F_Rc037atXTfJdlBe00/s400/6+J+views+map.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Jesse viewing a map of the complex.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8_B4f-uOJUFcXesvYfrL4mb5-XwEN9XK3rbfXAOE8LvzfsJIwg7KfaY9ZQQ0wo0mWRbvlGu0fz9tm96L_4chSMeNsm2ce3XaXzBM6i1jbVWuQS19O5g7mqdMrp3VHW7VG05-O1IHe9U/s1600/8+odd+bldg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="360" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8_B4f-uOJUFcXesvYfrL4mb5-XwEN9XK3rbfXAOE8LvzfsJIwg7KfaY9ZQQ0wo0mWRbvlGu0fz9tm96L_4chSMeNsm2ce3XaXzBM6i1jbVWuQS19O5g7mqdMrp3VHW7VG05-O1IHe9U/s400/8+odd+bldg.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Another temple.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifdHSq2YhYug3FT3gpxNMPJmkZkPsiyV0_aUoTrWwWb2-0GN3CoRLNfd1tGA8UHK6h1nbmKqpVyGUB9pIMZtvjhgawyMd0wJlw6HZvebL73ubQWPw2K7BThLvKBOG14IG_blAFTWrZXN4/s1600/10+garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="360" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifdHSq2YhYug3FT3gpxNMPJmkZkPsiyV0_aUoTrWwWb2-0GN3CoRLNfd1tGA8UHK6h1nbmKqpVyGUB9pIMZtvjhgawyMd0wJlw6HZvebL73ubQWPw2K7BThLvKBOG14IG_blAFTWrZXN4/s400/10+garden.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another garden.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqGMoHjeIgJueL_efm622SBQ2aVvLm21NYF2biLiBYliUEUgWYJZMnonygUjwoYRQDPK99csYIPXFKdol78uP2faIZiy0BIFfKSLbEUuQHyDr-4m24RMMUxPAqmRlap6FpSFxYrZK42Zw/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="269" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqGMoHjeIgJueL_efm622SBQ2aVvLm21NYF2biLiBYliUEUgWYJZMnonygUjwoYRQDPK99csYIPXFKdol78uP2faIZiy0BIFfKSLbEUuQHyDr-4m24RMMUxPAqmRlap6FpSFxYrZK42Zw/s400/me.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with the garden in the background.</td></tr>
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When we returned to the inn for our luggage, the Yamazakis presented us with gifts, and told us to take the umbrellas with us to the next place. This is a common custom in Japan...so there seems to be a continual communal exchange of umbrellas going on.</div>
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marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-20725850416394035482016-03-04T05:28:00.000-08:002017-10-17T07:35:57.160-07:00Kyoto 1<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Apr 24, 2008 </span><br />
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First, to get to Kyoto, we traveled from Tokyo to Odawara, where we caught the bullet train, the Shinkansen. While waiting for our connection to Kyoto, we visited Odawara Castle.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of the Shinkansen pulling into the station.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Odawara Castle</td></tr>
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Once in Kyoto, we took a bus across town to a smaller family-run ryokan and left our luggage, then took off to see some of the sights. Here's a view of our room at the Yamazaki Inn...not as elegant as the one in Hakone, but quite comfortable and one-tenth of the cost! We only stayed here one day, but were treated well by the family/owners, who even gave us gifts when we departed!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our room in the ryokan.</td></tr>
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Kyoto is a city of some 1,000 temples and shrines...too many to see in a lifetime, much less three days, but we made it to quite a few. Our first trek was to visit the Golden Pavilion, serene and lovely, situated in one of the most beautiful parks in Kyoto.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span>marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1902825695696295067.post-83758418185305324892016-03-04T05:27:00.002-08:002017-10-17T07:52:36.606-07:00Japanese baths and bathrooms<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"> Published on: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 600; line-height: 18.2px;">Apr 13, 2008 </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-mce-style="font-size: small;">Communal baths are a custom in Japan, but I don't think Westerners really "get" what that means. I certainly didn't. But then, Japan itself has a different mindset than we have in the U.S., a mindset oriented more towards the community than the individual. </span>I found this description on a website explaining Japanese customs:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Taking a bath has always been an integral part of Japanese life. In the past, Japanese people enjoyed the daily ritual with their friends and neighbors in a public bath (the <i>sento</i>). It was not until the middle of this century that the provision of a water supply made it possible for most people to have a private <i>ofuro</i> (Japanese bathtub), although the <i>onsen (</i>hot springs<i>)</i> and the <i>sento</i> remain popular for many Japanese people."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Japanese bath means much more that just getting oneself clean. Having shed one’s clothes and daily concerns, then lathered, scrubbed and rinsed oneself thoroughly, one steps into the ofuro and sinks slowly into the deep, pure and clean hot water. Soaking, submerged to the chin, it is a time for relaxation and contemplation, a sensual pleasure and a feeling of well-being and harmony with the natural surroundings, perhaps the garden or landscape beyond."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">We had access to Japanese baths at every place we stayed, and Jesse has an <i>ofuro</i> in his apartment in Tokyo. Often, the <i>ofuro</i> are made of stainless steel and look much like this one, from our suite at the Hakone ryokan.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hakone bath </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">You wash yourself before entering, so you are already clean when you get in. In this way, the water can be reused or shared with others. There is a thermostat connected to the bath to keep the water at a certain temperature while the bath is in use.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">The communal baths often have separate areas for men and women, and I tried both the indoor and outdoor women's baths in Hakone. The indoor one was more popular because of the cold weather, but I preferred the outdoor bath, and had it all to myself most of the time that I used it. All the baths in Hakone had water from the hot springs, so that was an added feature staying at this ryokan.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading to the thermal bath.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is the women's bath, an attractive pool next to a stream and a few of the hills. I came here once at night, and again the next morning, and it was only as I was leaving in the morning that other women guests arrived to use it.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Women's bath</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the bath.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In Kyoto, we also had access to baths, but they were smaller, and we had to make an appointment to use them, as there was only one bath in use at the smaller family-run ryokan we stayed at.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Another facet of the bathroom is the different kinds of toilets that are used in Japan. This was one aspect of Japanese life that was often uncomfortable for me. At one end of the spectrum, there is the squat toilet, still prevalent in public restrooms. As the name suggests, one must squat over a porcelain hole in the ground. Try as I might, I just didn't get the hang of doing this right. They say it's more hygienic than the western version, but not by me. At the other end of the spectrum, hotels and restaurants often have western-style toilets with heated seats. This was more to my liking and quite a contrast to the squatting option. I wouldn't mind having one of these at home!</span></div>
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marybethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07328167464682221257noreply@blogger.com0