Monthly Archives: April 2013

All roads lead to here

At Trevi Fountain. It seemed like everywhere we wanted to go involved going through this piazza, so we saw
quite a lot of Trevi Fountain. This is in the uncrowded early morning hours — usually it’s thronged with people.

Confession: I didn’t like Rome too much last time I was here. When you’re a 21-year old college student staying in youth hostels, it seems you get a lot of unwanted attention from various sleazy young men. Fortunately, it seems this is not a problem when you’re a 41-year old mother of three.

It’s evening in Rome, and we’re still standing. It’s been a very busy day. Our flight left Boston at 5 pm last night, and I have to say that we’ve become big fans of Alitalia. We got dinner – macaroni and cheese with what appeared to be pancetta – plus wine and various other snacks. We had pillows and blankets and headphones. The kids had Phineas and Ferb to watch on their individual TV sets. (We also got breakfast – pastry and yogurt and, unaccountably, Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies. But given that this was served at around midnight EST, we were marginally less enthusiastic.) Also, the coffee I had on the plane was better than just about anything I’ve had in an American restaurant.

The kids managed to sleep a few hours on the plane, before we were woken up for “breakfast” at 11:45 pm (or 5:45 am, as the case may be). Our flight landed an hour later and we were up for the day. The taxi ride to our hotel was a real thrill ride, careening down narrow cobblestone alleys that were completely unsuited to automotive traffic, buildings and pedestrians flashing by about 6 inches away on either side.

The Spanish Steps (again, early morning
hours; again, usually thronged)

It was much too early to get into our hotel, of course, so we set off on a walking tour of nearby landmarks. As it turns out, our hotel room doesn’t have a lot to recommend it (unless you’re a fan of aged décor and unreliable plumbing), but the location is great. We were a short walk from the Spanish Steps and the spectacular Trevi Fountain. These are normally packed with people, but at 7:30 am were only populated by a few street cleaners.

At this point we fell prey to what we’ve since found is the Rome Directional Vortex, which rendered both of us completely unable to read a map. We were supposedly about 5 minutes from the Pantheon, according to the Google directions I’d printed out earlier, and we were supposed to be meeting our friends the Brookses (whom we haven’t seen in 10 months) there. But somehow neither Bob nor I was at all able to navigate. We’d find where we were on the map, determine which direction to go, then stop a few minutes later, pull out the map to check our progress, scratch our heads, and discovered we had no idea where we were. We then had to find ourselves on the map again and restart the cycle. We must have walked for miles, mostly in the wrong direction, attempting to get to the Pantheon. Luckily, Rome offers many rewards to the wanderer, with amazing architecture, ancient ruins, and fascinating people-watching everywhere you looked.

Reunited at the Pantheon

Finally we made it, and there was much excitement being reunited with our friends again. It was clear that we needed to go somewhere where the kids could run around and squeal without disturbing hordes of people, so we set off for the Villa Borghese, a huge, beautiful park near our hotel. Here Bob and I managed to get lost in the park. We were attempting to find this particular playground, but eventually just gave up in despair.

Probably the kids’ favorite stop of the day was the Piazza Navona, a huge oval piazza with the famous Fountain of the Four Rivers and lots of artists and street performers. Nadia desperately wanted to give all of them coins, and given that the smallest coins we had were 2 euros each, that would have been a rather expensive proposition.

Despite all the horsey rides, Lanie didn’t
quite make it through the day.

The kids were rock stars today. We didn’t end up getting back to our hotel until after 7pm at night, so we all made it the full day on little to no sleep. In addition, we walked for miles and miles. (Lanie is the exception to this, as she convinced all of the other 7 kids to play a “horsey” game wherein they gave her piggy back rides. Somehow, Tom Sawyer-like, she managed to have them all fighting over the privilege of who would get to carry her around next while she crouched on their backs and shouted, “Canter! Gallop!”.)

***

From Bob:

This was a long day, indeed. Even beyond all the international travel elements, and the rigors of being in a different country, this family really pounds the pavement. I think most Romans would be ready for bed if they followed us around from the Spanish steps to all the way through our urban hike around town.

At one point, we decided it was just a little too early to pack it in, so we took a walk from the second-highest-rated restaurant in Rome (which happens to be a gelato shop) all the way to the Piazza Navona. Chris Brooks’ smart phone told us it would be .6 kilometers, which seemed like no sweat. Getting four adults across this particular .6 kilometers of Roman terrain would have been a nice stroll. There were mostly pedestrian-friendly alleyways and street vendors, and lots of pedestrians by this time of the evening.

Getting eight kids across this route was a little more involved, what with all the pedestrians, street

Gelato! At supposedly the 2nd best place in Rome.

vendors and small Roman automobiles that seem to consider themselves pedestrians. Oh, and I forgot Wendy’s mom Susan, she was there too. She was just as sturdy a travel as the kids were. My point is, that if you just counted our mileage it might not seem like that much, but we covered some ground. Enough ground, in fact, that Lanie gave out just as our final trip back to the hotel commenced. I had to carry her limp form all the way home. It actually wasn’t that bad, though I wish our hotel room was on the first floor and not the fourth.

Now for what we learned during all this walking. Somebody could write a book about all this old stuff here. It won’t be me though, because I really didn’t take a lot of the dates and facts in very well. I’m generally quite interested in history, but history here is rather oppressive. It keeps following you around and jumping out behind every corner. This little fountain here the middle of this lonely plaza used to be for cows, apparently. And this statue commemorates this incredibly famous person from antiquity, while that enormous edifice is for some guy I’ve never heard of who died in 1873 (which, in Rome, was yesterday). The ancient ruins on this block are different from the ancient ruins over there because…I’ve got nothing. I have no idea why these ruins are different from those. I won’t be able to relay how dense the historical atmosphere is here. Every five minutes, not at all figuratively, there is a new building in front of you that makes you say to your wife, “That must be special.” And you wife says back, “Yeah.” And then you complete the same conversation five minutes down the road.

One of the ubiquitous Roman fountains

What has stuck with me, and what I think the Romans do particularly well, is water. Yes, this includes the famous fountains, which are beautiful to behold, and offer a nice gathering point for living statues and spray paint artists. But I’m mostly referring to the small, barely conspicuous flows of water that we encountered countless times today just splashing away in little out of the way corners. Sometimes they’re just pipes sticking up out of the ground bubbling away, sometimes the water emerges from a lion’s mouth or a maiden’s bucket.

This is how old Europe does drinking water. I assume it’s carried in on the same aqueduct that brings water to the Trevi. It’s potable, we know, because we’ve been drinking it all day. We would not have thought to do this on our own, but we saw lots and lots of Roman folk walk right up and take a swig. Businessmen hold their ties out of the way and lean right in. Scores of school kids gather round with empty soda bottles and push each other out of the way to fill up. “Que fresca!” I heard one kid say. Although this sounded like Spanish to me, I did not disagree with the sentiment. It was quite good, fresh water.

At one point in the afternoon we knew we had pizza coming and we were in the middle of a park. We were out of water, but I knew there was water somewhere. We roamed the park looking for a drinking fountain. All we could find were the decorative kind. Maybe you could drink out of them, but we could only reach the standing water part of the fountain, and I wasn’t sure that the spraying part wasn’t just recycled from the pool anyway. There was one little fountain that had a trickle coming out of a rock that dripped down into a small, but deep pool. I was thinking about swinging in and trying to figure out how to snatch some, when a huge dog ran right in front of us and jumped in the pool and started licking the rock. The kids in my water search party did not think this was a good sign.

The last drinking fountain we remembered was at the top of the Spanish Steps, which didn’t seem too far away on the map. Jen and Nadia ventured out and were defeated by the Roman streets. It’s a tough city to get around in because of all the streets. It sounds weird, I know, but it’s true. They have so many streets here, but most of them are only 50 feet long. You’re on one street, then there’s a huge but otherwise nondescript piece of antiquity, and then you’re not on that street anymore, it’s another street and it’s difficult to figure out how you got there. It’s taking us quite a while to get used to this.

Luckily, Nadia and Jen made it back to o

ur playground headquarters, albeit without any water, and guess who managed to save the day? Me, of course. Well, it was really a school trip of third graders from Lazio or somewhere and they were all gathered in a big crowd right there next to our playground. A mass of orange baseball caps jostling for position in the middle of a Roman park can mean just one thing. I grabbed a water bottle and went right over and, after patiently waiting my turn, filled right up.

You can check this story out yourself. Just go to the big park up on the hill and go over to where the puppet theater is next to the playground and the hut with little kids’ rides like the ones in the mall that for some reason our kids did not seem to notice the whole time we were there today. There’s a fountain right in that place. Bathrooms are another story, though.

The pizza was really good, too.

At the Villa Borghese. That one boy on the left is not one of ours, lest you be confused.

I’m too sexy for Milan

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Jen has given us plenty of information about Italy over the half-year or so, but she saved the most terrifying until almost the very end. A week before our trip, as we start packing our clothes, she tells us all: “The Italians are very fashionable people. They don’t think much of people who dress sloppy. ”

I know how crazy you all think Jen is, but her story somewhat checks out. The other night she and I went to our town’s newest (and fanciest) restaurant and we saw a fellow localite who said her family was going to Italy this year, too, and that her daughter insisted on going first to Milan to buy lots of clothes. Not Venice for the boats. Not Pisa for the leaning tower. Not anywhere for linguini. Straight to the fashion capital to outfit herself for the rest of the trip. The girl is nine. So yeah, the Italians are clothes crazy.

This is cause for concern. I’m not saying that several of us Pavliks don’t think we’re pretty snappy dressers, but Jen had to drop a real bomb on us: “Nobody wears shorts in Europe. If you wear shorts they’ll think you’re an American tourist.” This statement sure sent ripples through our family. Many of us self-styled snappy dressers rely heavily on the short pants and sandals look. Just last week, on the first sunny day of spring, Nadia was ready to trade in all her winter clothes for one pair of shorts and a tank top. That was all she’d need until December, she said.

But none of us wants to be lumped in with rude American tourists, me possibly the least. And as it stands, I think I’m the one who’s in most danger of being singled out.

Here’s why. After several hours of fretting over shortslessness, the rest of the family got a reprieve. Jen managed to explain that modestly long skirts would be comfortable and stylish, and they’ll likely be acceptable in all the famous old churches we’ll find ourselves in. The Italians really go in for skirts, Jen says. On women.

Here we get a sense of the nature of the problem. Sure, day-glow yellow
shorts, white socks and black shoes were fine in Crimea 20 years ago –
otherwise why would Kathleen, Axwig and this unidentified Ukrainian
young woman been walking the streets of Yalta with me. But I’ll have to
shift my style to adjust to a more discerning fashion culture in Western Europe.

I will have to walk the medieval streets of Lucca and Siena the way Columbus himself did, in chinos (flat-front, of course. History shows it was Columbus who began the arduous work of undermining the Native American tradition of pleated pants). I don’t think I’ll risk jeans, even. Pickpocket magnets, those are. I can wear a bathing suit for swimming – go ahead, conjure up an image of me wearing a European-style speedo, that still won’t make it happen. And anyway, regardless of my style of suit, don’t expect me to come home with a leg tan.

I do at least have some snazzy shirts to bring along, including a nice red and black number that I got at Easter. The Italians will eat that one up. I think I’ll risk the pickpockets a few times by wearing my US soccer shirt. Rude Americans don’t wear soccer shirts, I’ll venture. So I should be ok. Also I have a money belt.

That’s right, I’ve been to Yalta. And I rode the bumper cars
there with Dave Baxter.

My wardrobe will be nothing like Zoe’s, who has already packed a range of dresses, skirts and colorful capris. Nadia might fare the best of all, because she’s got a sense of style that is pretty well-developed (although she could not convince Jen – even with the unlikely backing of Grandma – that her leggings should be worn without a skirt or long shirt to cover her bottom). At any given time, Lanie will likely have on multiple shades of pink and a disarming grin, so I’m not worried about her.

It’s me who’s most likely to cause an international sartorial incident. Wish me luck and send fashion advice.

On the road again

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Emboldened by our success this summer, we’re gearing up for our next adventure. This time, we’re off to Italy! So it’s not a “getaway van” so much as a “getaway plane/rental car”.

This is a big step for us. Bob and I haven’t been to Europe since our study abroad days half a lifetime ago. The kids have never been. Their only experience outside the U.S. was not exactly a culture shock (Day 2: O Canada!). Despite the fact that our 5-week cross-country road trip required LOTS of planning, it also seemed to me less intimidating than a trip that involves passports, foreign languages, different currency, and a six-hour time change.

While last summer we were engaged in laying in supply of beef jerky, peanut butter, and approximately 597 travel games/books for the car, this time our needs are somewhat different. Where should we change currency, and how much should we bring? What kind of rental car insurance do you need in Italy? We’re buying money belts, a power adapter, a cheap European cell phone. We’re listening to Pimsleur Conversational Italian CDs. (We’ve been impressed with these, but I also think they are designed for a certain kind of traveler. We’ve spent a lot of time learning such things as, “Do you want to come back to my place?” The kids are fond of pointing out that we’ve learned the words for beer and wine, but not water or milk. One particularly hilarious lesson involved a man repeatedly trying to get a woman to go back to his place, and her escalating series of refusals. (I guess the Pimsleur folks feel that a visitor to Italy is likely to be able to use either one side of this dialog or the other.) In any case, it’s entertaining listening to your 5-year-old dutifully parroting back such gems as “Would you like to drink something with me?” and “I’ll have two beers, please.”)

My friends Nancy and Julie with our ubiquitous backpacks

I’m the only one who’s been to Italy before, but under very different circumstances. It was my friend Julie and I (and sometimes her brother Jim, and possibly our friend Nancy – was Nancy with us in Italy at all? This is the kind of trip it was, where fellow travelers came and went, and the details fade after 20+ years). We were carefree college students rambling our way around Europe, carrying only our Eurail passes, passports, remnants of various currencies, and whatever small amount of clothing would fit into our backpacks. We rented bunk beds in cheap youth hostels and made meals out of bread and cheese bought from street vendors and rated museums by their “life-suck” potential.

This is the sort of scene that most likely will NOT occur
on this European vacation.

The regular American tourists we saw back then – people like we are now, with kids and rolling suitcases and rental cars – existed on a completely different plane than we did. Despite the fact that they had private hotel rooms and regular hot meals and various other creature comforts, I wouldn’t have traded places. To me, they were Tourists with a capital T, seeing the sights but not really feeling the life of whatever city we were in. For the most part the only locals they spoke with were those who were selling or trying to sell them something. Though we were often visiting the same sites they did, we felt like we were in a different world – immersed in the crowds of young multi-national grungy backpackers, riding city buses and striking up acquaintances from all over the world. (Also, given our appearance after weeks on the road, certainly no one would have bothered trying to sell us anything.)

I think this is the Spanish Steps in Rome.
When Bob saw this picture, he started
shouting, “The puzzle! The puzzle!” It seems
we spent several months of our lives this year
working on a puzzle of this very scene. (No, I
didn’t recognize it.) We had to get out
the box to confirm it.

With three kids in tow, and rather higher standards for safety and hygiene, I have no illusions that I can replicate this earlier experience. But I’m hoping to travel (relatively) light just the same. This passage from The Joy of Less by Francine Jay made me think of our earlier travels:

Think about what a pain it is to drag around two or three heavy suitcases when you’re on vacation. You’ve anticipated the trip for ages, and when you disembark from your plane you can’t wait to explore the sights. Not so fast — first you have to wait (and wait and wait) for your bags to appear on the luggage carousel. Next, you need to haul them through the airport. You might as well head to the taxi stand, as maneuvering them on the subway would be nearly impossible…When you finally reach [your hotel], you collapse in exhaustion…

This is the sort of classy accommodations
Julie and I stayed in. This was in Venice —
I wonder if they have any vacancies?

Imagine traveling with only a light backpack instead…You arrive at your destination, leap off the plane…jump on the subway, catch a bus, or start walking in the direction of your hotel. Along the way, you experience all the sights, sounds, and smells of a foreign city, with the time and energy to savor it all.

So my old friend the backpack is coming down from the attic. And we’re asking the kids to fit all their stuff into their school backpacks, so they can carry it themselves. We won’t have a car while we’re in Rome or Venice. Certainly we’ll do a lot of walking, and maybe we’ll take a city bus or two.

Our friends the Brookses, who we’re spending most of the trip with, certainly have this down. They’ve spent much of the past 8 months biking around Europe, lugging all their possessions (including camping gear) along with them and having fabulous adventures. Surely we can survive a 12-day trip with substantially less.