Wild Woman Cafe

The past days of our visit to Florence have added the finishing touches to what I would likely call a maximum saturation point. We have spent nearly a month viewing thousands of years old art and ruins, digesting all forms of pasta and its accoutrement, climbed to the top of St. Peter's Basilica at the Vatican (which deserves a whole Blog to itself, such a journey it was), drifted through oceans of tourists through ancient cobbled streets, taken almost 1,000 pictures, wet our feet in the Mediterranean, ridden water taxis through Venice, baked in the Tuscan Sun, and on it goes. There is nothing more that I can see or do that can impress me more than I have been impressed. * This morning's visit to the Galleria dell'Accademia actually revealed to me that there was one thing that could actually blow my mind after all the grandiose visions of our journey. As we slowly trickled into the museum with the thickening morning crowd, there stood glowing at the end of the gallery Miche...

Well folks, here I am in the Tuscan Chianti region, living a virtual Italian version of the Martha Stewart Wonderland. We have arrived to a three-story villa restored from a 16th century castle, overlooking vineyards and surrounded by Romanesque lounging pools and pathways bordered with giant lavender and rosemary. It is incredibly peaceful and serene. I have pinched myself several times in disbelief, but appear to be conscious. * Tomorrow we look forward to a little exploration. But today, so far, we have holed up in our little piece of paradise, doing laundry, cooking for ourselves, and journeying from marbled shower to bed, and back again. We have had a pretty active vacation so far and I welcome some solace. After our bustling tours of Paris, Venice, and Rome, we spent some time on the West coast, visiting Positano and Pompeii, then bounced back up to Florence where we picked up our car. Since Florence we have taken our excursion into the Tuscan countryside at an easier pace, visit...

Well it has been a while between blogs, but what can I say. I have spent the past couple weeks hopping trains and probing the Italian landscape and culture. Oh, and sampling Italian cuisine to the point of bursting (no exaggeration there: I ate so much pesto pasta in Rome last week that half of it came back up through my nose while waddling away from the trattoria). Since Venice, we saw every major attraction in Rome, including the opulent galleries of the Vatican, then took off down to the Bay of Naples to the oceanside town of Sorrento - which is justly named 'land of the Sirens', with excursions to Pompei and Positano. Though we are on vacation, I will admit that we are both amply blistered and exhausted. We have done so much walking that, judging from the fit of our clothes, we are actually losing weight despite the 'carbo-licious' meals. I am eating nutella-slathered bread and sugary cappuccinos in the morning, followed by at least one gelato as a snack during the...

I have spent most of today wandering over the narrow, winding canals of Venice and through the mice maze that is this mythical city. Venice is not just a place; it is a holy experience. It is a journey through all things beautiful and strange that somehow culminates in a euphoric symphony of the senses. Like a dirvish, one goes in circles until a state of transcendence and surrender is acheived. Being lost every five minutes is all part of the experience, while one is endlessly inundated with a cocophany of stimuli. Perfume, cigarettes, and salty air from the Adriatic sea converge with never ending narrow passages, wisteria-draped balconies, and crumbling brick buildings as one wanders lost through the labyrinth. Around every corner is yet another narrow passage, with tiny stone bridges that lead over the endlesss waterways. Closer to the heart of Saint Marcs Basilica are countless shops selling everything from cream-filled pastries, olive oil, gelato, and Venician masks to Fendi, Va...

Well the last day of home life is wrapping up for a while. The cats sniff open suitcases suspiciously as I pace around the house leaving nothing undone. Plane to Paris tomorrow, a couple days to loitter under the Eiffel Tower and through the Louvre, then on to Italy for a month. The excitement is mounting. For some reason when I travel out of country, I always feel slightly apprehensive about the plane ride. I suppose this comes from a deep-seated primal fear of the intrinsic vulnerability that accompanies spending ten hours in the air, contained in something that takes half an hour to land (that is, without oxygen masks and shitty pants). I am generally fine for the trip though. To assure my utmost equanimity for tomorrow's ride, I have asked my partner to turn off the documentary he was watching on airplane crashes. My experiences on planes have generally been good. The only time that warranted any concern occurred during the flight back from Nepal in '92. My frie...