My time in Ireland this year developed in me a love for the Irish that will never go away. Of the many qualities I fell in love with about the Irish is their love of music, poetry, and performance. This was the connection to my family heritage that I subconsciously sought after. My grandpa was a first-generation Irish-American and a paid actor in FDR’s Works Progress Administration. This video prompted my dad to tell me for the first time that my grandpa had also been a singing waiter in Brooklyn. The pieces of family history are slowly but surely coming together, and I thank my time in Ireland for a lot of that.
Since leaving Ireland, I’ve told so many stories of the special nights in the Irish pubs with locals singing and dancing, that I drove up a bit of demand for sharing the beautiful music and performance that I experienced. So, I decided to make my next vlog be a focus on the music I experienced during my trip. This is my edit of the sounds from a few of my favorite performances I witnessed, which I paired with video I took on my phone of some of Ireland’s beautiful landscapes. I hope you enjoy, and I hope you make it to Ireland soon.
Oh, and don’t forget to turn your sound up! 🙂
Editor’s note: This column is written by my father, Rich Ryan, who I’ve invited to be a frequent contributor to Gracefully Global as “Dad’s Guest Blog,” as he calls it. He’s a retired professor, and he keeps himself busy with frequent traveling and writing a column in the local newspaper of my hometown, the Imperial Valley Press. This particular adventure we shared together along with my stepmom, Estela. This is the second post in the series, and the first post was written about Salvation Mountain, which you can read by clicking here. The photos are by me.
To the southwest of Niland’s Salvation Mountain is the Sonny Bono Salton Sea National Wildlife Refuge. Entry is free.
The Salton Sea which straddles northern Imperial County and southern Riverside County is an inland saltwater lake that is a stopover for seasonal bird migrations. The Refuge, a sanctuary and breeding ground for birds, is over 37,000 acres. The area is huge.
The Sonny Bono visitors’ center is easily accessible from California Highway 111. It is approximately a twenty-minute drive from Salvation Mountain to the Wildlife Refuge and less than two hours from Palm Springs. Driving south on California Highway 111, turn west on Sinclair Road which will bring you directly to the center’s entrance.
You will pass a series of huge geothermal plants that run along both sides of Sinclair. Signage is minimal so be alert. The visitors’ center is not fancy but possesses the basics: parking, a gift shop, informed docents, restrooms, and shaded picnic tables.
Next to the center is a large, unshaded viewing platform from which to observe flocks of migrating birds such as white phase snow geese feeding in an irrigated field. Bring binoculars. Migrating is the key word. These birds are not permanent residents so check the website for migrating bird information.
Why should you visit the Refuge? The Refuge is situated within the Pacific Flyway. If you enjoy the outdoors and watching wildlife in their natural state, this is the place to be.
Birds from all over the western states, northern Mexico and Canada winter over here. Even during a brief visit, we saw dozens of pelican formations flying over and landing on the artificial islands established in the Refuge’s lakes.
Thousands of shore birds line the Salton Sea which is about a half mile walk from the visitor’s center. I was lucky on my first visit to startle a blue heron as I approached on a canal bank road. A great blue heron taking off is a majestic sight.
Do be weather-wise when visiting Imperial Valley. This is low desert, and from late spring to early fall temperatures will usually exceed 100 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s best to visit during the mild winter, late fall, or early spring. A sun hat and water are must haves. Enjoy your visit.
– Richard Ryan, Guest contributor
Instagram: @desert_rich
I must admit, as far as travel experiences go, visiting the Colosseum never ranked highly on my list of favorites. Until recently, that is. The mass confusion entering the Colosseum and the stress of dealing with their stringent yet non-communicative ticket office, followed by feeling pretty much like one of a million sheep, and not much to do once inside other than take selfies or watch other people take selfies really downgraded the experience for me.
When my extended family came to visit Rome and asked me to help them organize their trip, I was struggling my way through the Colosseum website and thought, “There must be a better way.” And entered, The Roman Guy. But more on that later.
Normally, Colosseum ticketing options are not ideal. I’ve had first-hand experience through my work managing on-site logistics for groups of American and Australian university students with CISabroad. Often we opt to pay the reserved group entry (which is an additional cost on top of the ticket to enter). The group entry has its own entrance a bit closer to the metro stop than the single ticket entrance, but, ironically, there is always a line at the reserved group entry, and eventually, this “special” entrance converges with the non-reserved single ticket entry line.
Being fairly disillusioned with the group entry options, I eventually decided to try arriving early with one of my groups and give the unreserved entry line a go, only to find out after waiting a half hour that I was prohibited from purchasing more than 12 tickets at a time. I’m not sure how I would have known this rule in advance, but whatever the case, now I finally understood the need for reserving the otherwise unhelpful group entry in advance.
The final solution for entry into the Colosseum is to purchase your single tickets online in advance and print them out at home. Then when you arrive at the single ticket entry line, you have access to a special line for people who purchased online, which moves a bit faster.
All that to say, there isn’t really an ideal solution. Until I finally rolled up my sleeves and was determined to find a better way. That’s when The Roman Guy came in. The Roman Guy sounds like one guy, but it is actually a robust Italian tour company based in Rome. They have a lot of different tour options for exploring the Colosseum with a guide such as Colosseum underground and floor tours.\
The idea of having someone else manage the craziness of getting us into the Colosseum was reason enough for me to book, but the tour also resolved my other primary disappointment with visiting the Colosseum: the lack of information about Colosseum history available to visitors. Having a trained guide would really open up the experience for us, giving us the narrative that would make the place come alive.
The day of our tour arrived, we met our Roman Guy guide, and everything started out smoothly and normally. But then everything was suddenly different.
We passed the mobs of people waiting in the three lines I had mentioned, kept walking around to the back of the Colosseum, and stopped in front of a back gate. I was flabbergasted. There was no one at this back gate. Our guide simply called the name of the guard, he came over, opened the door for us, and we walked into the Colosseum.
Instead of the typical mixture of stress, anxiety, and annoyance that I carry with me after finally getting through all of the hurdles to enter the Colosseum, we merely just walked in. I was in heaven
We then proceeded to walk onto a deck perched just above the floor of the Colosseum. Every trip I’d made here, I’d seen people on this deck from the other side, and always wondered what this magic place was that was not accessible to us. Well, now I finally understood.
This area was regulated by Colosseum staff, and only a certain amount of visitors can be there for a given amount of time (20 minutes or so, maybe a half hour), meaning there was plenty of space to move around and take pictures. Since The Roman Guy is registered with the Colosseum, they can reserve this special entrance onto the Colosseum floor (and other restricted access areas), and bring people in through the back entrance.
We had plenty of time (and space) to take photos, and then our sweet Roman Guy guide, an archaeologist, started explaining the highlights of the Colosseum’s history.
Our sweet and knowledgeable guide had great visuals to accompany her talks.We walked around nearly the whole Colosseum together, up to the second level, then ducked here and there, finding shade, water, and places to rest, as she explained fun facts. My favorite trivia was about the female gladiators. I had no idea they existed! We also learned that the ruins across the street were ruins of a gladiator training school. So cool.
The second part of our tour took place across from the Colosseum at the Forum and Palatine Hill, where we learned about the fascinating Virgin Vessels, and our guide showed us where Caesar was cremated. I’d been to the Forum many times but had never noticed the tiny sign that points out this incredible history of the temple, now partly in ruins.
I had a few favorite moments, including when she pointed out a piece of what would have been a massive statue, and now all that remains is a foot. I wouldn’t have noticed it otherwise, and it is rumored to be good luck to touch the pinky so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.
The tour finally wound down, and our guide shared one last insight with us. “Rome is like lasagna,” she said. “It is full of many layers, all of them worth discovering and savoring.”
I loved that moment, as it really made me think, and appreciate all the insight that this lovely archeologist guide brought to our experience that we would have missed if we had done it alone. It is an experience that I won’t soon forget.
Big cities can be quite a puzzle to get to know, and Rome is no exception. Even tougher still, Rome’s huge tourism economy makes it tricky to discover how to deviate from the beaten path. I’ve been to Rome about ten times, and I still don’t feel like I could confidently recommend a restaurant for dinner, for example.
When my extended family called me in Bologna a few months ago and told me they’d be in Rome and wanted me to show them around, I knew it was definitely time to brush up on those dinner recommendations, among other things. It was time to work on my Roman game.
It was a huge relief when they told me they were willing to spend a bit of money for the experience they wanted to have. Having a fantastic time in Rome is totally possible without spending much money. The catch is that it takes quite a bit of advance planning and research, which they didn’t have, and neither did I, really.
I immediately thought of finding them a high-quality walking tour of Rome. In my work managing logistics for CISabroad, I’ve come to really respect a good city guide. That being said, not all guides are created equal, as the job requires a curious combination of social aptitude, knowledge, and passion for their city. If you manage to find a good guide, what they offer is invaluable: a personalized, in-depth local’s perspective on the city you’re visiting. Which is kind of the ideal offering when visiting a new place.
Once I find a guide I really like, and the company they work for is easy to work with, I find I usually like all the guides from that company, and can explore other tours they offer. But finding that company can be tricky. For my family’s trip, I was searching for a great guide and a unique tour that didn’t focus too much on history or culture, as my family is more of the sporty type. So when I stumbled upon The Roman Guy’s Cocktail bars in Rome: Evening Walking Tour, it seemed to be the perfect solution and I booked it immediately. Let me tell you, my family really appreciates a good cocktail. The Roman Guy is a big operation, offering many different types of tours, and lots of guides. They pretty much bent over backward to get my family set up with three tours, with just a couple of days notice.
We met our The Roman Guy guide, Fiona, in Piazza Colonna. She immediately endeared herself to us, admitting she was thrilled to lead our private tour, as she needed to get away from her half-Italian, half-Australian teenage son who had just started his summer break. “Our apartment is feeling smaller and smaller these days,” she chuckled. She is the kind of person you hope to meet at a cocktail bar for some fun small-talk with someone other than your family members, who you’ve been talking to 24/7 since your vacation started.
We wove our way to the first bar, and Fiona casually introduced my family to the important landmarks along the way, like the Tempio di Adriano, which was in the neighborhood of the first bar we visited, sporting elegant cocktails and the coolest Jell-O Gin shots set in lemon skins I’ve ever had (ok, admittedly, the only Jell-O Gin shots in lemon skins I’ve ever had).
Next stop was the Pantheon, where Fiona explained its intriguing history to my family, filling in the blanks of my less-than-adequate description from when we had been by the Pantheon earlier that day. What can I say? My forte is logistics and not history. I can’t do it all, sigh.
With my family sufficiently briefed on the Pantheon, we headed to the next bar, and within a five-minute walk, we found ourselves in a sea of fun and chic bars and restaurants that were anything but tourist traps. I’ve been in the area of the Pantheon umpteen times, and I never knew it took so little effort to get away from the touristy cafes. Our destination was Bar del Fico, where Fiona helped me improve my Italian by explaining the origin of their name. I’d always known that “fico” in Italian was a similar slang word to our version of “cool,” but I had never known that outside the slang, the real definition of the word “fico” was “fig.”
The bar was named after a beautiful fig tree standing proudly out front, under which crowds of men were hunched over chess boards, playing to their heart’s content amidst the bustling little square full of action and life. I loved this place, such a great find, feeling so far away from the typical tourist destination, yet actually, just a five-minute walk away.
Next, Fiona diverted our tour to the French church, San Luigi dei Francesi, to see a Caravaggio painting. This diversion was a personal passion she wanted to share with us, as she loves art and is fascinated with the life that the painter Caravaggio, a feisty character, led in Rome.
As we sauntered to the next bar, she shared stories about Caravaggio’s antics in Rome in the 1600s and pointed out places where he had lived and frequented. She also stopped to show us how to properly get water from the famous Roman drinking fountains.
Now was the moment I had anticipated: crossing the Ponte Sisto bridge into Trastevere, and enjoying this lovely, spirited neighborhood on a Friday night. My family would have never gone to this area of Rome if it weren’t for the tour, and were grateful to take in the sunset over the River Tiber from the bridge, and the fabulous vibe of couples and families hanging out, playing music, and taking in the beautiful scene.
The next bar was just a short walk from the bridge at the edge of Trastevere, famous for having one of the best cocktail-makers in the city, and a fabulous aperitivo. My family hadn’t yet learned about the fantastic world of aperitivo, where a drink purchase buys you access to a free, endless buffet.
I, on the other hand, lived on aperitivo when I was a poor student in Bologna. We fondly call the act of eating aperitivo for dinner “apericena,” meaning, “aperitivo” plus “cena” (dinner). We apericena-ed happily this evening, enjoying the rambunctious crowd on the patio.
By the end of our cocktails, my family was admittedly exhausted. It had already been a full evening, and were feeling the jet lag. Nonetheless, we couldn’t finish the tour without stepping into the famously windy streets of Trastevere, and also not without a bit of dessert. Fiona had just the place, and we soon found ourselves standing outside of a little bar, Vendita Libri, Cioccolate e Vino, that only offered chocolate shots with raunchy names. We were thrilled.
We all selected our shot, blushed a little when we ordered it, and watched the bartender combine all of the delicious components into little chocolate cups topped with whipped cream.
The catch was, we were firmly instructed by the bartender that we must insert the entire shot into our mouth, which we all laughed our way through, some of us with more successful outcomes than others.
We ended our evening with a walk to the taxi stand a few blocks away. My sleepy family got in a taxi and were off. Fiona and I exchanged a hug and a goodbye, and I walked back to my Airbnb in Trastevere. To me, that’s the mark of a good tour guide…someone you’d like to stay in touch with. I hope to see Fiona again on another tour or just around town. And despite the jet-lag, my family considers this evening on The Roman Guy’s cocktail tour the highlight of their trip to Rome.
It is hard to imagine that two artists alone could make an indelible mark on a city that would sustain for decades, a century, or more. Yet Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo’s legacy in Mexico City – the fifth largest city in the world – is still very real and tangible. As a photographer, theatre artist, and arts advocate, I feel at home in cities that embrace art, and Mexico City is no exception. I relished every opportunity on my recent trip to experience the Mexico that Rivera and Kahlo knew and loved, taking in their art and visiting their homes and haunts.
In fact, I dedicated an entire day-and-a-half of my Mexico City vacation to my immersion into the world of Diego and Frida. Here’s where I went:
Museo Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo
Calle Diego Rivera 2, Álvaro Obregón, San Angel Inn, 01060
+52 55 8647 5470
The home and studio of Diego Rivera where Frida Kahlo also lived and worked for many years, famous for its incredible architecture by Juan O’Gorman.
Time needed: 1 to 2 hours
San Ángel Inn
Calle Diego Rivera 50, Álvaro Obregón, San Ángel Inn, 01060
+52 55 5616 1402
Across the street from Diego Rivera’s home and studio, the pair were known regulars at the bar in this gorgeous inn.
Time needed: 1 to 2 hours
Museo Frida Kahlo
Londres 247, Del Carmen, Coyoacán, 04100
+52 55 5554 5999
La Casa Azul, Frida’s childhood home and where she lived for much of her adult life, made famous by the film, Frida.
Time needed: 2 to 3 hours
Tip: Reserve your visit online in advance! Otherwise, there is a good chance you won’t get in.
Leon Trotsky Museum
Rio Churubusco 410, Coyoacán, Del Carmen, 04100
+52 55 5658 8732
Trotsky, a Soviet Marxist revolutionary, was granted political asylum in Mexico in 1936 due to his fans, Frida and Diego, urging the president of Mexico to do so. He and his wife lived at Casa Azul until his affair with Frida made things dicey, at which time he bought his own house just a short walk from Casa Azul, which is now a museum.
Time needed: 1 to 2 hours
Palacio Nacional
Plaza de la Constitución S/N, Centro, Cuauhtémoc, 06066
+52 55 3688 1255
The seat of the federal executive in Mexico, this gorgeous federal complex is worth a long visit. Part of the visit will be to take in Diego Rivera’s famous murals adorning the exterior walls of a major stairwell and several hallways.
Time needed: 2 to 3 hours
Tip: Allow extra time to check in with security. They require a picture ID. It would be a good idea to combine this visit with your visit to the historic center, zócalo, and cathedral.
If you are interested in seeing more of Diego’s artwork, this blogger outlines where to find other Rivera murals in the city. Another museum to check out is the Anahuacalli Museum, built after Rivera’s death to house his huge art collection.
Stay tuned for blog posts outlining each of my experiences. I’ll be starting with the moments of my adventures that stood out the most at Diego and Frida’s home and studio.
I woke up in Veracruz City on the second to last day of 2016 having no idea I’d be going to bed that night in a jungle. Our hostel owner at the Oyster Hostel in Veracruz moonlights as a tour guide and is passionate about the many offerings of the dynamic state of Veracruz, especially the region of Los Tuxtlas around Laguna Catemaco which was our destination that day, compliments of his comfy mini-SUV.
We spent much of the day in the car, winding through the rural countryside of Veracruz on our journey to Catemaco, making pit stops along the way at a famous Cuban-style cigar factory, and a humongous waterfall. The people-watching was as good as it gets.
There was “animal watching” too, unfortunately. I witnessed a group of turkeys standing in the rain along the road, very malnourished and somehow given up on life as their owner tried to hawk them to passing cars. That was depressing.
But Catemaco wasn’t. We had no idea what to expect, which is somehow the best of ways to approach a new place. After arriving, we spent the rest of the late afternoon exploring Laguna Catemaco on a boat owned by a friend of our hostel owner.
From land, the scale of the lake was impossible to recognize, as the lakeshore was lined by trees. But when we actually got on the lake, I was overtaken by the size. We sped along on the boat so quickly that the bumps of waves we hit started to feel like concrete speed bumps that sent us flying, over and over again.
We explored every corner of the lake, from a lakeshore stop for volcanic mud face masks offered by the wife of our boat guide outside the vacation home of the owner of the cigar factory,
to the sunset stop to drink water from a hole along the lake where naturally carbonated water comes up from the earth,
and finally a pause in our boat to roll along the small waves of the lake for a few minutes and watch the monkeys on a small island.
My favorite moment was turning the boat to the west and darting off into the sunset, as the least bashful of the monkeys watched us disappear while peeling a banana another boat had thrown at him.
We went to bed that night in one of the two guest rooms off of a coffee shop.
I showered with no hot water and went to sleep hoping the thousands of birds that populated the trees along the shore wouldn’t wake us up too early. Luckily, I woke up surprisingly refreshed the next morning, the last day of 2016, and enjoyed talking to the other guests over breakfast. They asked what our plan was for the day, and I told him we were exploring the Reserva Ecológica de Nanciyaga, which is supposedly the most visited fee-based attraction in the region of Los Tuxtlas. In other words, there weren’t many other options.
The reserve’s name, Nanciyaga, comes from the Nahuatl language and means “at the end of the Nance trees.” I did some research on the area, and the discontinuous rainforest belt of Middle America reaches its northernmost extent on the mainland in southeastern Mexico. Apparently, the forest in this region is not a rainforest, though, and is instead considered to be a moist forest.
Ha! Whatever that means.
We easily found a taxi to drive us the beautiful four-mile stretch along the lake to the reserve, the same route we had taken by boat yesterday.
I was apprehensive about what we would find at the nature reserve, bracing myself for potential encounters with caged, unhappy animals, which happens sometimes when groups market themselves as sanctuaries to increase tourism.
When we arrived we were the only ones in sight other than the nice woman at the wooden ticket booth. I don’t remember how much we paid to get in, but it was around five dollars each, and maybe even less. After paying, the woman waved us toward a young man carrying a tall stick, who turned out to be our volunteer guide. Instead of letting us wander around on our own and get ourselves into trouble, this young gentleman took us up and down the winding dirt paths and through a history of the ancient Olmec culture, and a bit of a background on the wildlife that call the Los Tuxtlas Biosphere Reserve home.
The ecological park is a self-sustaining property made up of ten acres along lake Catemaco including a mineral spring (Nipapaqui natural hot tub), a tiny lagoon for swimming, small bungalows that accommodate overnight guests, and a wonderful open-air restaurant serving three meals a day to guests, but closing at sunset for those not staying on the property.
Really, though, there was so much more to the property than expected, which we discovered through our sweet young guide. We stopped along the dirt path as we encountered random replicas of Olmec sculptures he used as talking points. Highlights of the property included the temazcal (sweat lodge), which is actually functioning, and group treatments are scheduled throughout the month.
As a theatre person, I loved their outdoor amphitheater. And then, of course, I was shocked-but-not-shocked at the wall of printed photos of guests in mud baths, mixed with pictures of celebrities. Apparently, parts of Medicine Man (1992) with Sean Connery and Lorraine Bracco, and Apocalypto (2006) with Mel Gibson were filmed here. The owner, a woman, is happily pictured in a photo with Mel Gibson.
After enjoying the photo wall, we entered the wooden structure and found ourselves in a small but clean and lovely open-air salon.
My friend enjoyed a mud face treatment, while I purchased the dried mud and some patchouli soap to take home. Folklore claims a princess used to cross over from a neighboring island to use the mud in this region to beautify herself. I took that as a strong hint I should be doing the same.
Once my friend’s face was thoroughly green from this miracle mud, we left the salon to discover rows upon rows of tied leaves laid out for us to select from. I was bewildered, as everything was in Spanish, so it was becoming a bit hard to keep up with all the surprises. I followed my friend’s lead, green face and all, as he picked up a leaf and dipped it into a bucket of water. To my surprise, the leaves were watertight, and the water was carbonated. I took a gulp from my leaf cup: the water had a familiar taste, and I wondered if they pulled it from the same hole we had drunk from the evening before. This was the first time, and possibly the last, I had drunk from a leaf. So far, so good. I was thoroughly charmed by our jungle adventure.
But the surprises didn’t end there. The handy leaf cup maker, a nice young woman, asked if we wanted to have a “White Magic” treatment. I wasn’t aware of this at the time but later discovered from the mother of great friends of mine near Mexicali, Mexico, that this region of Veracruz was famous, or perhaps infamous, for its traditions of magic. My friend and I decided to participate together, and we spent a thoroughly unusual but surprisingly pleasant five minutes being swept with leaves as our white magic doctor chanted and prayed around us. At the end of the ceremony, he presented us with a clay ceramic face on a ribbon to wear around our necks, that he had blessed for us to ward off the spirits. I keep it in my purse. I figure I need all the help I can get. ;b
Our adventure continued alongside an algae-filled lagoon inhabited by more than a few crocodiles and turtles, with a fence separating us humans from these prehistoric-looking characters. They were as still as statues.
And the turtles perched along the long wooden logs looked like a cartoon.
Along with these guys, the area is apparently known for rich birdlife, including toucans and parrots, which we saw from a distance.
In 2003, a few Howler monkeys were reintroduced in the reserve which apparently did well. We saw a large iguana and babies. And we didn’t see any unhappy animals. I was relieved.
Our tour wound down, and our guide showed my friend where to wash off his mask.
Bowls of fresh patchouli leaves adorned the sinks, and our guide smiled and encouraged me to use them as my soap.
I loved them: the fiber seemed to scrub my hands clean and left a wonderful scent. We tipped our guide nicely as he handed me back my soap and mud that he’d carried, and we bid each other goodbye, at which point we were let loose in this little paradise! I was thrilled. It was lunchtime, and lunch at the open-air restaurant seemed like a perfect idea.
We talked to a chef who managed the dessert bar, and she showed us some of the traditional cakes that they offer, tempting us to leave some room for later.
We enjoyed a thoroughly relaxing, delicious lunch on the lakeshore, a beautiful piñata blowing in the wind above us.
After lunch, we made our way back up the winding dirt paths to the wooden ticket booths and asked the woman to call us a taxi. While we waited, we chatted with the volunteer guides waiting for the next visitors to arrive. They were local students and all very proud to be a part of the reserve.
The visit couldn’t have gone better. I’ve promised myself I will return, and next time I will stay at the reserve. Full of good energy, happy people, and happy animals, this is the type of place I want to go to remind myself how much there is to appreciate in life, despite our everyday stresses and challenges.
And until my return, I luckily have quite a store of mud mask to tide me over. I put it on and pretend to be the princess of Catemaco. 🙂
For more information on Nanciyaga, visit this helpful website apparently maintained by an American ex-patriot not affiliated with the reserve.
As I continue on with my late-summer East Coast travels – which will soon turn into my early-fall Italy travels – I’m barreling on with my vlog production, hoping to bring at least one of these to you per week. This particular vlog is near and dear to my heart: it documents a special weekend trip to a family mountain home in the Catskills that has been an annual occasion for more than ten years. But decades before this group made the tradition, it was the summer home of my friend’s great-grandparents, who were the matriarch and patriarch of a great family and legends in their own right.
I felt fortunate to be included this year with this group of friends, many who have known each other since childhood. Some of them see each other regularly throughout the year, and some become reacquainted just once a year here in Callicoon. I came to get to know them through a close friend from graduate school and his husband at the annual get-together this past Labor Day, and I felt both totally included and like an observer all at once. Which makes for better vlogging, in the end. Hope you enjoy our trip through Labor Day in the Catskills.
I feel like I have nine lives on WordPress: I disappear for a while, but I always manage to make it back. While some of my favorite alone time is spent reading blogs on WordPress, I’ve jumped into the world of education travel coordination with CISabroad, and coordinating faculty-led university student tours of Italy takes every last bit of energy out of me and leaves no time for blogging. That being said, I love my new job, and as I travel I’m developing more perspective and knowledge on what’s out there to share with you all.
I’m elated that I’ve finally gotten a little break from work, and last week I went to visit the home office of CISabroad, which is located in the beautiful college town of Northampton, MA. I have a beautiful new iPhone now with lots of memory (since I dropped the last one on its face and it lives no more), and I’m taking advantage of the great new lens on this iPhone and plenty of storage to start vlogging, as I’ve been aspiring to do for years. So here it is, friends, my first vlog in several years. Hope it takes you into the world of beautiful Northampton. And I hope you enjoy it! Here’s to many more…
This post is my latest in a short series celebrating the success of my random and wonderful traveling adventures with friends over the last month. This adventure in particular is not a typical travel story – not at all glamorous, with minimal photo ops. But before you wonder why you are bothering to read this, give me a moment to explain…
As an ex-patriot living in Italy, I have a distinct need to really understand this country and the people in it. The more I get out of my bubble of American white girl, the richer my life becomes. So my recent work trip with a fabulous group of fellow non-American teachers to a not-so-vibrant suburb of Milan called Cassano D’Adda was exactly the kind of trip that shows me the side of Italy that most foreigners don’t experience. Full immersion in Italian culture brings me that much closer to understanding Italian life, and my fabulous friends. So, here it is.
My friend, Vale, the head of a Bologna school of English, is a bottomless resource of fun, and also my boss. A few months ago she asked me to be one of the three performers in her English Quiz Show for children on this special trip to perform in Cassano D’Adda. She made a clear point of telling me she wanted me to come because I am “fun to travel with.”
Despite the inadvertent non-acknowledgement of my actual pertinent skills for the job (performing and English teaching), I was flattered. So, naturally, I accepted the invitation.
I walked up to Vale’s house with my co-worker Martine at 5:45am on a damp, dark Monday. She was sitting in her idling, heated car ready to go. We jumped in and picked up the missing member of our team, Giulia, a few blocks away, who was armed with coffee and croissants. Mix Giulia’s offerings with my own bag of Italian style chocolate chip cookies (delicious and way less sugar and fat than their American counterparts) and we were pretty much our own traveling cafe. Let me tell you, there were a whole lot of crumbs in laps on that particular drive.
On the road to Milano we went…well, ahem, Cassano D’Adda to be specific. We had a long day ahead of us – at least a two-hour drive, then set-up, and finally two performances of our Quiz Show for young English students. And we did it with gusto. Martine, Giulia and I performed and sang our hearts out while Vale took pics and networked with the teachers. We were a great team.
We wrapped up our workday by pre-setting for our next show at 8am the following morning and then headed out in search of lunch in little Cassano D’Adda, proud of our work, relieved to be done for the day, and absolutely famished.
We pulled up to the restaurant recommended to us for lunch by the teachers at the school. It was so closed, there wasn’t even a soul remaining inside other than a waitress who was peacefully eating her lunch in the dark.
We were baffled. In Bologna, the lunch hour is 1pm to 3pm. It was currently 2:30pm. How could this be possible? The Italians never cease to be a mystery.
We got back in the car and fired up our smart phones, following Tripadvisor suggestions and the Google map to the nearby center of the city where there were a cluster of recommended restaurants written into the Google map, meanwhile debating the mystery of the lunch hour. We decided the issue with finding an open restaurant was that Northern Italians eat their meals earlier, combined with the fact that we were in a small city.
After several more failed attempts to find a restaurant, a whirlwind tour of the small typical Italian city, and a few run-ins with local characters, we ended up at the last Google recommendation, i Satiri, with an open kitchen. The environment was comfortable and we were relieved. Our waitress ended up in somewhat of an argument with their frustrated cook who wanted to close the kitchen. She returned to our table with an apologetic look and an announcement that the compromise was panini.
We could order any panino on the menu, and that was all. Well, I took two. 🙂 The rest of my team had a panino and a dessert. Everything was delectable. And I’m not just saying that because, despite my vegetarianism, I could have eaten a horse I was so hungry.
After lunch we followed Vale’s iPhone and a random man biking with a stick to our hotel, the surprisingly large and modern Park Hotel, most certainly serving business travelers in the Milan area. Cassano D’Adda is a bit too close to Milan to have its own identity, and yet a bit too far to really reap the resources of Milan. The hotel is perfect for salesmen traveling to and from the Milan.
We reached our room, a huge room with four beds (a typical solution for European travel, rather than taking two rooms with two beds each). After some delirious laughter, we all konked out.
Disliking naps, I got myself up after a cat nap and headed out in search of a café in which to do some computer work. I strolled around the nearby industrial shopping area, and found my way into a small, typical, Italian café. Despite the café’s lack of apparent identity, I liked the music and decided to stay. The music reminded me of home. I quickly forgot my plans for tea and decided on a glass of prosecco instead, and sat there for a few hours on my tablet, waiting for the gals to wake up, and making friends with the owners of the cafe who had dreams of moving to America. We danced, talked sports (there was a big soccer game), and had a great time. Finally, my phone rang. It was Vale. “WHERE are you?” she asked in disbelief. She and the rest of the team were already in the car, en route to dinner. “Ok, I just pulled up outside,” she said.
I said a hurried goodbye to my new friends and ran outside and jumped in the car.
“Peggy!” my team laughed at me. “WHAT were you doing? How many proseccos have you had?”
“Just two, I swear!” I defended myself, laughing. “It was a great place!”
They teased me all the way to the restaurant, a pizza/pasta place the hotel had recommended called Pizzeria Il Birbante. I was thrilled upon arrival. The environment was lively and comfortable, and they had Brooklyn Lager on draft – this was my kind of place. I exclaimed enthusiastically to the bartender, and he chuckled in surprise when he figured out what I was so excited about. In Italy, the little things like this that bring you a little bit of home are something to be revered.
Being the truly awesome team they are, Vale, Martine, and Giulia all ordered the Brooklyn Lager with me. Ordering dinner proved more difficult – the selection of pasta on the menu was so different from Bologna, as Italy’s cuisine is so regionally centered, it was hard to choose from all the interesting options.
I ordered the gnocchi. Everyone loved their dinners, the beers, and the company.
It was an all-around fabulous day, and we slept hard and peacefully that night at the Park Hotel.
The next day was a work day. We woke up early and enjoyed being the lively table of women at 7am sharp at the hotel breakfast, surrounded by a sea of serious faces and grey and black suits slightly diffused by our colorful clothing and happy conversation. We performed three shows that day at the school, said goodbye to the satisfied teachers, packed up the show, and jumped back in the car.
For lunch we had finally learned our lesson and ate fast food, then headed back to Bologna, leaving little Cassano D’Adda behind. The car trip was just another opportunity for some heart to hearts – culture, Italy, America, English, guys, work, you name it, the topics with limitless. Smiles to the end, it wasn’t until we reached Bologna that I realized I had never had such a successful trip with a group of people who weren’t best friends. A combination of simply being nice and gracious people, the team was also well-balanced personality-wise. The experience was awesome…one that will remain fresh in my mind for a long time.
There’s nothing like spending a little quality time with someone who just “gets” you. Double that pleasure when you can spend time with them on the backdrop of one of the most intriguing cities in the world.
That golden opportunity came to me in the form of a surprising Facebook message from my American friend Clint in February. Simply put, his message went something like this. “Peggy, me and a friend are meeting in Rome for a vacation in March. Want to join us?”
Well geez, he didn’t have to ask me twice. I booked my train ticket to Rome immediately. I couldn’t wait.
Clint is one of the few people in my life that has seen nearly all the homes I’ve had as an adult. A feat in itself, he’s joined in my adventures coast to coast in the US, and even across the pond in Italy. He meandered into my life ten years ago carrying homemade banana bread, and the rest was history. He had just moved to San Diego and wanted to get involved in the arts, so he signed up to volunteer in the marketing department of the Old Globe, where I worked. After a significant amount of homemade baked goods, he had permanently won a spot in my heart as a wonderful friend. We share a love of art and people and traveling, and are somewhat of a pair of lost souls. So naturally, an invitation to travel with Clint couldn’t be turned down.
I arranged my schedule to spend the weekend with Clint, and on Sunday his friend would join us after his flight arrived.
I was thrilled to have a sleepy but happy Clint all to myself on that rainy Saturday we spent meandering around the center of Rome with no particular agenda,
interspersing glimpses of architectural wonders and warming up over tea and wine (in no particular order, depending on how the mood struck us).
Clint has a way of truly savoring the moment, and when I spend time with him, wherever we are, he always manages to get me to look at things differently.
He spotted a balloon horse stuck in the ceiling of the Pantheon, which we stood and giggled at for what seemed like an eternity.
And despite myself, he managed to convince me to take a silly picture with Pinocchio (photo not included, sorry guys 😉 )
We proudly relished our tourist status that night when we went to Ristorante Alfredo for dinner (the home of the “American” pasta dish, Alfredo), which was actually on the recommendation of my student, who grew up in Rome. It was delicious.
The next day David woke us up upon his arrival from the Rome airport after his red-eye from Denver. David is a history buff (although the term doesn’t do his knowledge justice) who can’t get enough of historical cities, and our first introduction was that sleepy Sunday morning in the hotel in my pajamas. I had no idea what to expect from a day with David and Clint. Despite his long flight, David was already ready to start exploring. Poor guy, it was no easy task to get me and Clint dressed and out the door.
Being quite the gentleman he is, David deferred to my wishes for the day, knowing I had a shorter time to explore than he did. I was armed with a little wish list for sight-seeing in Rome, a list that I owed to an improvised english lesson with a student brimming with excitement about her recent weekend in Rome spent with her sister, a local. I was thrilled I had managed to find the list and had such a supportive crew with me with which to enjoy it.
We started out the day in classic Clint/Peggy fashion, just meandering.
But now we had David, the perfect addition, who was able to legitimize our disorganized approach by explaining the history behind every random architectural ruin we stumbled upon in our meandering.
Which, in Rome, are about a dime a dozen. In between our history lessons and my photo ops, David managed to charm me with the sweetness that he is.
After a long trek to Piazza Santa Maria in Trastevere, highly recommended by my student, we needed to rest and eat a bit. David was more than content to stop and enjoy the area a bit longer, announcing it was his favorite neighborhood in Rome. Clint wasn’t in the mood for eating, but David enthusiastically copied my order for a Roman specialty (the dish even inspired him to learn how to make pasta by hand back home in Denver!), cacio e pepe with a splash of pistachio. Heaven. Over devouring each of our plates, I discovered how much we have in common, from blogging to traveling to friendships, David was one of us. A lover of people and places, and definitely someone I would make room in my heart for.
After an unexpected and truly impressive stop at St Maria in Trastevere Basilica,
we continued on foot to a less widely known tourist destination called Piazza dei Cavalieri di Malta. I knew nothing but what I had heard from several students: you go there, you look through a key hole, and you see the best view in Rome. Sounded promising.
Amidst more history lessons and lots of laughs, we made our way to the Piazza dei Cavalieri di Malta,
which we found at the top of a hill in the center of an entourage of churches and gardens with seemingly limitless exploration potential.
But where was the keyhole?
The keyhole was at the front of the long line of people. Why is it that the most obvious of things are sometimes the most evasive? We got in line and waited about five minutes (there were no other Americans in line), and sure enough. The view from the keyhole was beautiful.
But so was just about everywhere on this beautiful hill…each garden, church, and view seemed to surpass the last. And we even caught the sunset. It was the perfect way to end the day.
My train departure was impending, unfortunately. We grabbed a cab, enjoyed a whirlwind tour of the city amongst the craziness that is Roman traffic,
and ended up back at our hotel in time to enjoy a drink at the rooftop bar. If it is possible, Rome at night is even more impressive. The city was like a sparkling wonder…
I hugged the guys a hurried goodbye and ran to the station. It should have been a somber train ride home, but my disappointment over my short visit was quickly overridden by my giddiness over acquiring a fabulous new friend, seeing Clint again, and, well, being in Rome. Enough said.