November 2001 - Trip to Italy with my mother.

Ciao, all,

We're here. I swear this will be a short letter--I'm
so tired, and we've been up for what seems like
forever. But we've already done so much.....

Started out with Mom pulling a very Dad trick on the
first plane, from SFO to Toronto, looking out the
window and telling me that a part of the wing was held
together with duct tape. Red. And she was right, it
really was. Now, why did she have to go and tell me
that?

But I followed that up, beat it actually, by what
(almost) happened in Toronto. With four loooong hours
to kill, we went in and out of security to reach
different shopping and eating areas, showing our
boarding passes each time, x-raying our bags each
time. The third time we passed through, the same man
looked at my bag and asked me if was carrying
scissors. Of course I wasn't. I gave him THAT look.
Obviously intimidated by my incredulousness, he looked
at it again in the x-ray machine and waved me on.
Geez. We went to sit in the bar for the last hour, and
while my beer got warm I repacked my bag (for the 33rd
time). Pulled out my stationery holder--yep, all still
there, pens, pencils, sharpener, stapler, scissors.
Lawdy. And my face turned beet red as I palmed the
offending office supply and chucked it into the
nearest trash bin.

Flights were non-events, very smooth and boring.
Neither Mom nor I were able to sleep at all, however,
so when we got to the Rome airport and then took the
half-hour train to the main station, then walked the
mile with our luggage to our hotel, we were very
tired. Did we rest? Kinda? We unpacked (both of us--at
least Mom shares my nesting impulses) and went out for
a short walk.

On our short walk, we saw the Trevi Fountain, the
Pantheon, Chiesa Maria e Minerva, part of the Forum, a
couple of museums, and a whole lot more. We were out
walking for more than four hours in the gorgeous warm
sunny weather. Poor Mom couldn't even make it out to
Hostaria da Bruno, where I love to eat in Rome--and we
had to fall into a nearby restaurant instead. She's
gone back to the hotel now, but I decided to tackle
the Metro system and find my way to the biggest
Internet point in the city--biggest one I've ever
seen, that's for sure. If any of y'all have webcams, I
could call you up right now. Not that you want to see
me in this sleepless, travel-grimed state. Not sure if
I could afford to come home afterwards, but that's all
right, too.

Still can't quite believe we're here. We have a sweet
little yellow room in a yellow hotel on the 3rd floor
of a yellow building that looks into a yellow
courtyard. Tell me how happy I am.

I don't think Mom remembered how fast the traffic and
vespas move until today. Boy, we have to hustle.

It's not Venice yet, but it's Rome, and it's the big
ugly loving brother who punches you in the arm but
buys you really good birthday presents like knives and
beats up the kids who tease you.

Off to spill back into the streets and underground and
up to the hotel again.

I am happy and well and thinking of you in Italian,
Rachael.

We've been here only a day, and I find myself right
back into the flavor of Rome. Flavor is the wrong
word, but I have a hard time finding the right one.
You know what I mean. The feeling, the speed (or lack
thereof), the knowledge that it's all so big and so
old and you can't even see a little portion of it.

One of the best parts of today was St. Peter's
Cathedral. Along with being bigger than any other
building I can imagine ever seeing, it's just truly
gorgeous in its extravagance. But we had to pass
through a security checkpoint on the way in, something
I had never seen there before. Serious looking guards
didn't just peer into our bags, they made us move
everything around, so they could see into all parts of
them. Then a body metal detector. Strange, I thought.
Maybe since September 11th? We weren't sure.

But then we went inside, and while we were thrilling
to the space and flying marble, we heard singing. A
live choir. How nice. So we walked to the front, where
we could see the service in progress. Yep, there're
the cardinals. All of 'em. Yep, there's the Pope. Damn
straight. Big ole hat and everything. Don't mean to be
blasphemous or anything, but he rocks. Couldn't see
much from where we were (got my shortness from her),
but we saw that, and that made our day.

Then we walked the Forum, and bought our way into
Palatine Hill, which I didn't remember at all from
when Christy and I were there. Maybe because it was
under excavation then, but now they have opened all of
the old emperor's palaces, what is left of them.
Mostly just huge walls and steps that lead far away
down into the hills. Areas that look like huge
bathtubs and probably were (jealous, but so much now
that I have my own). Stood and looked at the view that
Nero did. No wonder he was fiddlin'. If I'd had one, I
would have, too. If I knew how. But anyway.

Took Mom to my favorite restaurant tonight, Hostaria
da Bruno. Now it's her favorite, too. Bruno hasn't
changed his clothes, I think, since I was there
last--looks exactly the same in his blue pin-striped
button down and long towel around his waist. His very
hardworking pretty wife was wearing snakeskin heels.
More power to her. I wobble in my Nikes. That's where
Italian women and I differ. At least, that's one
place.

Soon, to sleep and do it all over again. Tomorrow the
Vatican and all the medals that I have to buy for
people at work. I don't even know what a four-way
medal is, and I have to get 5 of them. Lawdy.

Love to all,
Raquelina

Please, all, know that you don't have to read all of
these--they're just self-motivated journaling, a way
for me to keep all of this (not that I don't journal
by hand anyway, but no one would want to read those
scribbles).

And now, more.....

I'm actually regretting having to leave Rome. Never
thought I would say that--always thought it was too
big, too busy, too dangerous. I commented to Mom that
there must be a helmet law for motorcycles, since all
the Vespa drivers wear them, and she said there should
be a law that pedestrians have to wear them, too. Too
true.

But today, I kinda fell in love with Rome. That's not
a good thing, since I was already in love with the
rest of the country and counted myself lucky that I
didn't love the biggest craziest city, but there you
go. I think it has to do a little with the fact that
I'm here with Mom, who has always loved it, and a
little to do with the fact that today we ambled. I
love to amble.

We found Trastevere, the "Left Bank" of Rome. The
other side of the Tiber, it's reminiscent of
Paris--the artists in funny clothing (look at me!),
the traffic pushed to the side of the river, the many
bridges spanning the water, the buildings flat and
tall and all water-soaked colors. The area is
definitely more colorful--we saw dogs and homeless for
the first time, both harmless. They ask, and seem to
bear no hard feelings when they don't receive.

We did the Vatican today; of course, you must do that.
I had a teeny tiny little attitude toward being
shuffled by their infernal ropes through miles of
antiquities that I could really care less about (isn't
that terrible?) before actually getting to the Sistine
Chapel (which you just don't ever get over). But then
we left the Vatican and became very daring--we decided
which bus (the 23) might get us to Trastevere and
hopped it. Not knowing AT ALL if we would ever get
there, but enjoying the bumpy ride. Got there
miraculously and one of the ever-present nuns pointed
us in the right direction for the Santa Maria di
Trastevere church, which was marvelous, with a
frescoed interior over the altar which lit up with the
drop of a 500 lire coin. Worth it for the ah-factor.

Wandered (yes, wandering again, love it) back across
the Tiber, had caffe in the Campo dei Fiori under an
umbrella just as a rain shower passed across. When it
stopped, we went on walking as the night dropped. We
ended up in full dark at the Spanish Steps, where we
watched the people and marveled at everything, the
balmy weather, the lights in the darkness reflecting
on the still wet cobble-stones, the un-crowdedness.

For really, there is no one here. There wasn't a line
to get into the Vatican. There was room to stand in
the Sistine Chapel. There were only about 10 people on
the Spanish Steps, as opposed to the crowds that you
couldn't part with Moses' staff the last time I was
here. Not sure if it's because it's November or
because of Sept 11th, but Rome is uncrowded, clean,
and fabulous.

Rome is less like the bothersome brother now than the
kind uncle who still can't be trusted with your
wallet, but he gives good advice and better gelato.

I think I've kinda got a little attitude about that,
too. I liked not loving Rome. Irritating that I'm so
frikkin predictable, but que sera sera. (just had to)

love and pannini,
Rachael.

Just a quick note to fill you in on our day.

We are so strange. I mean it.

Wanted to go to Pompeii. We did. For exactly 15
minutes. Actually, we stretched it to 16 and therefore
had to run hell-for-leather to catch the train out.

It was an all day excursion, 2.5 hour train to Naples,
where we finally found the little train that
circumnavigates Vesuvius and stops at Pompeii, only to
learn that they were on STRIKE! We howled. But then I
read the sign and found out they were only on strike
until 1:30 and then back on strike at 5:37. Whatever.

So we had an hour to kill, filled it by eating at a
restaurant that hasn't seen tourists in years--ate
fabulously well for seven bucks. Back to the little
train, got stupendously lost. We forced our way onto
the tightest-packed train I've ever been on--people
outside pushing the people in so the doors could
close. Learned while being a sardine that we were on
the wrong train. Got off (with tremendous difficulty)
at next stop. Watched the right train whiz by without
stopping. Got on another wrong train to get to the
transfer point. Finally got the right one. Thus, the
15 minutes in the ruins. But I got the feeling, the
hugeness, and I stood on the same paving stones the
Pompeiians had stood on 2000 years ago. Looked up the
same streets. Had problems with Mom's camera that the
Pompeiians probably knew nothing about, and so we are
left with probably no pictures, either (oh, did I
mention it was raining?).

I sound cynical, but really, it was a lovely trip--the
farthest south I've ever been in Italy. And we were
daring. World trippers. Skipping off to Pompeii to
take in the view. Yes, that would be us. And what a
view it was. Towns built on the lower body of a
sleeping volcano, the sea restless, the island of
Capri a dark rainy mass.

Off to Siena tomorrow, don't know about computer
availability, but will fill in soon.

Not enough Italian dogs yet. Need more.
love to you all,
allora,
Rach.

Now in Venice, the home of my heart. Got in about 4pm,
unpacked, went out rambling to San Marco in the light
rain and heavy fog, found a restaurant about 7pm.
While looking at the menu outside, a well-meaning
British man asked us if we'd heard about the crash. He
had tears in his eyes as he told us about it. We were
glad he told us about it, but in a self-serving
shameless horrible way I wish I hadn't heard about it
at all, not till we got home. But we live so globally
now. I feel a letter about our travels will be
trivial, but I'll send it anyway. This is what we are
doing, celebrating the opportunity we have to travel,
not letting anyone take our freedom.

Off my wobbly soapbox now, and I'll tell you about
Siena. Stayed in a nunnery. St. Catherine's nunnery,
to be exact. She's the one who--hell, I don't even
know what she did, exactly, but her body is in Rome,
and her whole mummified head is on display in Siena,
yards away from where we slept. Fabulous. Should have
been a Catholic. (Oh, her finger is there too, and you
can get super close to that one--even better than the
head in some ways. A really good finger.)

Our room was on a hill, and our balcony doors threw
open to the entire hillside town, the Duomo, the tower
of Il Campo. Siena is, as far as I can tell, the only
town in all of Italy that centers itself around a
political sqaure, Il Campo, rather than a church
square. This was explained to us by the
cuter-than-can-be-imagined clerk at the church of San
Domenico, home of the head, who said that Siena is
communist. As is most of Tuscany. Hmmmm. But he did
add that all the really good communists in town own
Ferarris. Better and better.

Siena is glorious--hilly and pigeoney and slow and
small. It rained on our full day there, but we were
able to hop from church to coffee chop and keep mostly
dry.

The trains went on strike on Sunday, so we couldn't
travel to Venice as we planned, so we stayed another
night in Siena and took a bus to San Gimignano. Even
better, a town with nothing but walls and towers. And
some really good shopping, which I was ready for. The
bus system stymied us, and we got stranded a couple of
times--drinking coffee, we looked up to see that our
bus had come and gone--but it was a lovely fair day
and we wandered.

Mom ate wild boar for dinner. Nuff said.

Oh, but I had truffles. Better than I had ever
imagined.

Hated to leave the nuns. But couldn't wait to get to
Venice, couldn't wait to show Mom what I love about
it, just like she showed me her Rome.

Have travelled off and on for last 4 days with the
same groups of people. Some, like the Irish, we love.
Some, like the Coloradoans, we can't seem to avoid.
The Coloradoans cornered us on the way into Siena and
WOULDN'T STOP TALKING--we're in Tuscany, for god's
sake--shut UP and let us look out the windows for more
than 2 seconds at a time. The Irish were wonderful, a
father, mother and daughter, doing exactly what we
were, ooohing out the window, reading in the tunnels,
and chatting intermittantly. We came into Venice
together today, and I helped them get to their
vaporetto stop. And now we have a place to stay in
Galway, whenever we want it. Whoo hoo. The benefits of
travel.

It's cold and foggy here, perfect. I worry that Mom
will get too cold, but I'll wrap her up. She's going
stronger than I am. Who's surprised? She actually
worked on her walking skills before we left, more than
I did.

We're right now in my favorite Campo, San Stefano, in
my internet place which has in the last 6 months
transformed into a black lit bar-cavern with Oakland
rap playing at 120 dbs, but still fabulous. I think
so, at least. Mom's probably coming out of her skin.

Staying at my hotel here--and they even put us in the
primo location--the annex, which is blocks away from
the real hotel, decorated with Hotel Danieli auction
pieces. Gorgeous. And if you lean (way) out the
window, you can see the canal.

Going to wander back home after this, for a hot shower
and thinking, drinking in the fish smelling water--how
I love it.

Man, they still really love U2 in Italy. It's really
loud here.

love and fragolino,
Rachael.

Mom and I woke up this morning, got dressed, I went
out for a cigarette while Mom flossed or did whatever
moms do when you're not looking. I walked to the canal
to gaze on beauty while I was being unhealthy, and
found that the canal had walked to me.

Aqua alta. High water. What I've been looking for and
avoiding every time I've been in Venice. And we're
talking HIGH water. We could step outside our hotel
onto a little dry patch, but that was about it.
Couldn't go any direction without calf-high smelly
water (Mom didn't seen to like the septic smell, but I
am still enchanted with everything. Sickeningly).

Between both of our packing skills, Mom and I
basically have everything, so she dug out heavy duty
rubber bands and I dug out bags, and we wrapped our
shoes and rolled our pants. Useless, we knew, but
action made us feel better. Sure enough, when we
walked to the main hotel 3 blocks away, Mom's shoes
were as wet as the floating rubbish. Mine were OK, but
quite damp. But at least we were out in it. The other
tourists just groaned from the doorways and laughed at
us. But we were cool, we knew it.

Waded out of breakfast and back onto the streets,
where we started looking for gumboots. Actually found
some, at a tiny hardware store attached to the church
in our square. Too fabulous. Olive green, and we
looked like locals. Or at least really in-the-know
tourists. Or like idiots, but that comes later.

We walked for 2 hours in our boots, and I jumped in
every puddle I could. I didn't want to give up on the
fun. The water receded too quickly.

Once it did, we kept rambling. We found a magical book
when we passed through the Toronto airport, by a
British author, called _Miss Garnet's Angel_. All
about Venice, we fell in love with the main character
and the whole story, so we tracked down the church she
writes about, and tried to figure out where Miss
Garnet lived, and opened doors we weren't supposed to
in order to look for the chapel we think is probably
non-existent. Near the church, I saw a couple of
Scottish women craning their necks and saying, "But we
PASSED this already...." I asked if they were looking
for Miss Garnet, too. They were, and we chatted
companionably for a while. When they left, one said
cheerfully, "It's so nice to meet other idiots."

It's cold today, or at least approaching cold. Hat and
gloves weather. But I've talked Mom into liking, or
tolerating, boat transport, and that's a major hurdle
leapt.

Christy says it's raining at home. While I miss you
all, do I really have to come home? Can't I stay for a
few more months? Why do we fit some places better than
others?

I have questions. And hunger, and that always takes
precedence, so off to eat.

Salve,
Rachael.

Just a quick note, as I always plan but then don't
effect. Let's try.

Dropped my mother in the lagoon today. Well, not
exactly, that's just my tendency to exaggerate, but
it's approximately accurate.

Aqua alta does not describe this morning. It was god
willing and the creek done already rose enough, thank
you very much. Me and my wellies just loved it. Mom
and I tromped through foot high water all morning,
eventually ending up at San Marco, where I had been
hoping the water was high. Hoo marco, was it. The
entire 'drawing room of Europe' was underwater, and a
bunch of it. They (Venice's equivalent of CalTrans)
set up walk-way planks, but in some places you might
just change your mind and want to go to the other side
of the square, say, and really want to get over to
that other plank, but there's only one way across, and
that's through, and look at that other guy, he's not
too deep in his hip waders (ours come to the knee), so
let's go, no, really, we can do it, let me take your
hand and help you, follow me, just like this, whoops.
She's in the tank. She doesn't fall far, just up to
that thigh-high place, water in the boots and soaked
jeans. Men courteously hovering as I drag her back up
on to the plank we (I) wanted to get to, saying
"Piano, piano," softly, softly, ready to help, and
then walking away pretending they didn't notice when
they saw we were all right.

I bought her $9 prosecco, Venice's secret champagne
that we have been dying to try, at the most expensive
bar in Venice (Gran Caffee, Patty), looking at the
water, the piano player playing Lennon's lighter hits.
To make up for it. I think I came close. Champagne at
11am. Nothing better.

Spent the rest of the lower-water day shopping and
wandering. And sneaking into places where we shouldn't
be, not paying the viewing charges, going into 'only
prayer' places, trying to look only prayerful while we
are really staring agape at the gold mosaics above. I
never knew my mother could be so bad. It's fabulous.

Happy and tired, a lovely soggy day. Water below, but
blue skies above. Not ready to get back on the train
tomorrow, but I know I'll be back soon.

You can't stay away from home too long.

Love and effluence,
Rachael.