So Laid in Paris 12/06

This is from an e-mail Mark sent back to colleagues during a brief visit to Paris in December 2006.
The man sat in the small bistro on a Paris side street talking with the owner, a former Vouge model who had used her earnings to buy it and turn it into a tres chic spot for those in the know. "It's my last night in Paris, what should I have?", he asked. "Start with cold champagne, then a glass of burgundy with your chicken. Same as last night. Only tonight for dessert you shall have me! Stop don't talk, you know we want the same thing. Tonight we are alone in the mist of Paris. Tomorrow we rejoin the Rest of our lives." her accent was thick but her intent was clear. It seemed like they were silent for hours but it was just a few seconds gone by when the man realized the pool he was staring in was not the lovely's eyes but his own piss in a pool on the floor. He ran ashamed, yet relieved- in more ways than one. It was at that moment he vowed never to brag about getting "so laid in Paris"!

Ireland 2004 Oyaas Family and the Isle of Destiny

The purpose of this journal is to chronicle the August 2004 trip of Mark, Joanie, Andy and Sean Oyaas to Ireland. Its intent is to stimulate memories and provide travel tips to friends and family interested in taking a similar trip. The original idea was to bring along a Dictaphone and capture memories of each day at day’s end in a friendly pub or restaurant before calling it a day. Alas, I begin this journal by myself all the way in to Saturday, August 7, in Killarney, our second full stop along the way.

Photo: Monroe's in Galway; "hey Andy no passing out we just got here!"

Special thanks are due Steve Salmen, a new friend and owner operator of Remarkable Journeys a specialized travel service that customizes trips on behalf of individual clients. There is no way we could have begun to plan the kind of adventure without his experience and insight.

It is so true the road to hell is paved with good intentions and this intention has proved to be a hell. First of all, Andy and Sean have dismissed it totally - completely “gay”. Secondly, in five days of travel, short trips and long journeys, we have yet to find a quiet, friendly pub in which to sit around and capture memories. So here it is, Day 6, and we’re starting on the fly.

Travel Tip #1:

Because time and distance are very deceiving and because Day 1 is pretty much a total loss in terms of enjoyment, we would recommend any complete tour of Ireland be 14 days. Two days for travel time, and 12 days of less-maniacal touring.

Observation #1:

It appears you’re not likely to find the friendly Mr. And Mrs. Pub Operator in the tourist stops along the way, especially in high season. We have found that most of the pubs are staffed by high school – possibly post-high school – age teenagers with hardly a brain and no interest in service whatsoever. That doesn’t make the surroundings any less enjoyable or charming or the Guinness any less tasty, but if you’re on the road going from place to place and simply want to stop for a friendly breather and quaff your thirst while picking up some local color, don’t count on it.

The Oyaases left Minneapolis on a 3:00 USAir flight to Philadelphia. Ross Alwin was kind enough to drive them to the airport.

The first leg went off pretty much without a hitch. Bags were checked through to Shannon Airport. We arrived in Philadelphia about 6:00 pm Eastern Daylight Time, just under a two hour flight. However, we were delayed on the runway for at least a half an hour portending even greater mess getting out to Shannon.

Scheduled to leave at 8:50, we didn’t board until 9:30 and sat on the runway until approximately 10:50. There had been two days of hard rains and lightening storms in the Greater Philadelphia area and it wreaked havoc on the airport. The whole family slept in fits and starts; probably about three and a half hours of the five hour flight to Shannon.

Travel Tip #2:

Overseas flights on USAir do not furnish free alcoholic beverages.

We were scheduled to arrive in Shannon at 8:15 am but because of the delays came in some time after 10:00 in the morning. Skies were overcast but the famous Emerald Green was fairly evident everywhere we looked. The entry into the country was quite easy. We loaded up our bags and hopped the shuttle to the rental station. We were slated for a “midsize” wagon from Citron but instead the rental agent, a Brit who was married to a woman from the Shannon area, suggested a Honda HRV.

Joan and Mark each packed 24-inch rolling Swiss Army luggage and had bought for the boys some rolling duffel bags approximately the same size but soft-sided. Despite numerous warnings we all over-packed, in part because we had heard from Steve Salmen, our travel guru, that there was talk of unusually hot weather for the time that we would be in Ireland. The mix-and-match of light clothes and heavier clothes proved to be a classic statement of over-packing.

Travel Tip #3:

If you think you might need it, you don’t. Leave it out.

Khaki pants or similar for men are the most versatile. There are places where jeans are a little bit underdressed. Khakis that can double as dress pants, one pair of jeans and two pairs of shorts, heavier weight, probably is enough. Knitwear that looks okay with sensible shoes is probably best for evenings in anything above a pub (jeans and shorts are fine in a pub any time of day or night). White tablecloth and hotel restaurants women would feel more comfortable dressing up somewhat.

Observation #2:

At least during high season in this economy, there are many more Europeans than we expected traveling. The Italian, French and Spanish women – and even the British women, of which there are many – tend to go fairly far out including backless dresses and high heels both during the day with jeans and at night with their dresses. (Thinking about these women has caused me to need to take a pause, so I went down to the hotel bar and picked up a bottle of champagne, opened it, and politely brought a glass into Joan who was soaking in the tub after returning from a massage.)

In spite of our upgraded car, we had a hard time fitting our four backpacks and four sturdy luggages into the rear of the Honda. Joanie and Sean kindly accommodated one of the rolling duffels in between them in the back seat, while Andy provided services as blue-knuckled navigator during the first part of our drive-on-the-left adventure.

The rental agent seemed to have the same line for everybody who gets off the plane and asks the question about driving on the left: Ah, don’t worry, you’ll be fine.

And so it is. You get a little test driving out of the airport lot; make a left, make a left, and then a right. The first right you make is your first experience on a roundabout, which really does become quite simple, that is quite easy, to get used to. Roundabouts are actually quite a logical method of controlling traffic in semi-busy intersections and move things along somewhat faster than stoplights would. The trick is to learn that even though you’re on the main road you yield to anyone who is already in the roundabout. The car we have is a manual transmission vehicle. Left-hand shifting hasn’t been a problem. It’s somewhat counterintuitive but it’s simple once you get started. Up, out is first; down, out is second; in and up third; down and in fourth; fifth is a throw over, it’s a gear you’ll rarely use; and reverse is straight down from fifth. The only difficult thing to get used to: there isn’t a safety, a press or a button to get into reverse; you can go straight down to get to it, and in tight situations where you need to turn around it’s actually hard to think of and you keep pressing down and it doesn’t engage the reverse. It’s simply down to get there.

From Shannon we took N18 up through Ennis and continued on to Galway which we intended to make our first stop. We had debated cutting over in western County Clare and visiting on that first day the Cliffs of Moher and the Burren on our way to Galway. Through simply dumb luck and the fact that we were two hours late, we chose to go directly through Galway. We are very grateful. The roads in the Burren, which we’ll describe later, and along the Cliffs of Moher are typical very tight, narrow lane, two-way fast traffic roads, and from town to town directions aren’t very good. Driving for the first time on the left with three hours sleep and the stress of travel in general would have made for a very poor experience around the Cliffs of Moher and in the Burren.

We made it into Galway and found the center of town sometime just after 12:00. It was our first experience driving in town – in the old parts of town, that is – with narrow streets and fast-moving traffic that includes tourists and commerce. Through dumb luck we found the center of town and the town square, Eyere Square, the Eyere Square multi-level park and shopping centre. The shopping centre itself is an unimpressive mix of American – like Claire jewelry – and American-wannabe shops.

The Square was under construction and not very attractive, but the pubs and restaurants around it looked inviting and interesting. The first one we saw was actually the most inviting although we walked around several others before we went back to it. It was Flaherty’s and they featured a carvery at lunch that included turkey and chicken breast. When we got down into the pub we realized that carvery meant buffet. The place was busy, filled with business people at their lunch and a smattering of tourists. We weren’t sure if we went through the buffet line that we’d have a table when we finished, so discretion being the better part of valor we proceeded on to the Park Hotel and the more dulcet Park Hotel restaurant.

Galway is the home of the Claddagh symbol and the Claddagh District is considered the more artsy or Bohemian area. It is the place we wanted to stop before we headed further out of town. The Claddagh District is called the Claddagh Quay, which is actually spelled q-u-a-y but pronounced key. The word refers to area around the waterfront, roughly a wharf.

While in the Claddagh Quay we decided to stop at a bar/pub Monroe’s to have our first half-pint of Guinness. The pub was fairly empty save for a very drunk, possibly 30, 35-year-old man who was weaving around trying to trade in his beer that he had ordered for money or at least a different flavor. The bartender was the first of many, very young, fairly curt people we’ve met along the way.

So with our first half-pints of Guinness under our belt, we bravely asked the bartender the best route to take us to Recess or Clifden, which is the direction of our first hotel, Ballynahinch Castle. We were ready for a long story about the road to Clifden and complicated directions to get us there. Instead, he curtly responded: “I’d take the Michelin (which he pronounced mick-lyn). The other road is more scenic but on the Michelin you can see where you’re going.

“How do you get to the Mick-lyn?”, we asked.

He said he’d be right back. He disappeared into the back and never returned. So off we went, hoping to find N59 which according to the map was the main road and we assumed the Michelin. Instead, somehow we got twisted around but headed out to Salt Hill, which was at least on the way.

From Salt Hill we got onto Route 336, R336, which brought us through Barna, Spiddle, Ivaran, Rosaveel, from which we had hoped to head north to Maam Cross and pick up the much sought-after N59. We missed the first of many turns and ended up on an isthmus which we called Judy Corrao but was actually Carraroe, which dead-ends. It provided us our first real experience with map reading and swearing made all the more fun by a half-pint of Guinness and being very overtired.

Back on Route 336, we found Maam Cross and stopped at the Peacock Hotel, a combination hotel/restaurant/tourist trap/craft shop. We asked for directions to Ballynahinch expecting a warm embrace and tails of the trail from Maam Cross to Ballynahinch. Instead, we found a very curt “go through Recess and take the first left.”

Sean and Andy not so quiet men in the 'Quiet Man Tribute" in Maam Cross

It was along N59 between Maam Cross and Recess that we first experienced the joy of sheep along the road, an experience we would have during our entire stay in Connemara. Traveling through Recess we looked diligently for the first left and ended up on Route R340, a very narrow almost one-lane road covered with sheep with no hint of Castle Ballynahinch. Again, discretion being the better part of valor, we turned around, went back to Recess, and asked at the gas station about Ballynahinch. It’s the second left, the woman said. And there’s plenty of signs to note the Ballynahinch turn. So we continued on and eventually found the right left.

We arrived at Ballynahinch Castle on Tuesday, August 3, just about 6:30 Irish Standard Time, which would have been noon-thirty Minnesota time on three furtive hours of sleep. We were assisted with our bags by Max, a porter in the hotel/castle, and very uncomfortably based on what we have read in the tourist books did not tip him.

Joanie and Mark shared a very lovely double-king-size bedroom and Andy and Sean had a well-appointed twin room. We showered and changed and went downstairs for dinner about 8:00. After showering I went downstairs to check on seating for dinner and found a delightful man – actually, our first delightful man in Ireland – who, when I inquired about a table, responded, “So you just got here and you’re showering off? Great. Why don’t you come down about a half an hour or so?”

I said you want us down at 8:30? And he responded, “Brilliant.” And so it was. We actually had a very nice dinner at Ballynahinch including a ’99 Burgundy which at 40 Euro really was to die for. Sean and Mark had beef, Joan had chicken and scallops, and Andy – much to our surprise – ordered rack of lamb. He had been communicating with the sheep all the way along the narrow roads and at one point uttered a “baa” behind a poor woman on a bike. Joanie at that point scolded him and said, Andy, don’t yell at the biker. What do you think might happen? And he said, I don’t know, maybe she’ll fall over, thinking, oh my God there’s a sheep behind the wheel.

Anyhow, he ordered the lamb and devoured it. The boys went up to their room. Sean carefully undressed and sat at the end of the bed while Andy literally passed out in his clothes, feet straight up. The long journey, which brought us east across the Atlantic Ocean, finally ended about 11:00 Irish time on Tuesday, August 3.

We woke up without much problem about 9:00 on Wednesday, August 4. I went out for a short run. Our intention has been that the boys and I would run every day at least twenty minutes. I went out for a short run, not wanting to wake the boys, and found several lovely country lanes which were part of the Ballynahinch estate. Out on a road which proved to be a shortcut to Clifden, I came upon a break in the wall – which are everywhere along the roads up in Connemara, beautiful, hand-laid stone walls with little or no mortar in between. In this break in the stone wall there’s a picket fence gate which led down about a 50-foot drop down to a trout stream deep in the forest.

Breakfast at Ballynahinch is a continental buffet which includes fruit, scones, croissants, orange and grapefruit juice, cold cereal, and a combination of food “from the chef” which is hot food including oatmeal (“porridge”), eggs cooked to your liking, and meats. It is surprising to see the same staff that served you up until 10:00 at night there at 10:00 in the morning, having worked the entire breakfast shift as well. It’s our first experience of many with foreign workers of which there are plenty in Ireland now that the economy has picked up. There were people from India and France as well as Germany providing the table service at Ballynahinch.

At the crack of noon, which is dawn Oyaas Standard Time, we headed out for our first adventure. Down N59 to Clifden. We walked around Clifden, which is very much a tourist/resort town. Clifden, as does the bulk of Connemara, resembles northern Minnesota, the North Shore and the tourist towns along it.

Along the main street in Clifden there are some charming shops and our first experience with village pubs. We stopped in the Café Nimmo and sat on the patio overlooking an inlet on Clifden Bay which is on the very west coast of Ireland along the Atlantic Ocean. From Clifden we drove N59 north and back east through the Connemara National Park where we found almost by accident Kylemore Abbey. Kylemore is very much a recommended tourist stop in every travel book and magazine. Although Clifden was congested, it didn’t feel unusual. It wasn’t until we got to Kylemore that we realized how crowded and full of tourists the popular stops would be. The parking lot was jammed, cars, vans, and almost hundreds of motor coaches filled the expansive parking lot at Kylemore Abbey.

Kylemore is a Benedictine Nun Abbey that includes a girls high school/boarding school. It was built by a British doctor from Manchester, Dr. Henry, who became a beloved figure in the west of Ireland. After he died he left the castle grounds to the Benedictines who although were formed by the Order of King James the Second and consisted almost entirely of Irish women from the very beginning, had never had a true home in Ireland.

We walked the grounds, going from the church to the mausoleum where the Henrys are buried, and back to the main area where we picked up a shuttle bus to tour the Victorian Gardens. Back off the shuttle bus we took a quick look around the Kylemore Abbey and got back in the car and headed up to Westport.

The road from Kylemore to Westport is very scenic, although typically congested and narrow. The village of Leenaun is particularly interesting. It sits on Killary Harbor or Fjord, touted as the only Fjord in Ireland. There is a religious shrine within four feet of the road that actually sits on the far spine of the Fjord itself. If Clifden is Lutsen, Westport is Duluth, very much North Shore touristy albeit in an Irish setting. Andy and Sean liked Westport. There was some vitality and many shops and interesting pubs and restaurants.

We stopped at a jewelry store which was a dumb stop upon reflection because they do not have the Value Added Tax rebate so we ended up paying full price for items that we probably could have got tax refunds on in other shops.

Travel Tip #4:

There are two main Value Added Tax refund settings. Some shops offer you an immediate refund and require only that you turn in the forms at the airport before you leave. Others are in a system where you must provide receipts and show the items at the airport to receive your refund. Many of the larger shops and stores have a hybrid of sorts. If you are buying standard stuff you may want to choose your stop based on the ease of the VAT refund.

From the jewelry store we headed down to Matt Malloy’s. Matt Malloy is a flute player from the Chieftans and is Westport’s most celebrated citizen. There’s a picture in the pub of Matt and President Clinton at Matt Malloy’s. The locals make no small mention of him and are quick to say that he often plays in the pub when he’s in town. It is a charming little place. It was crowded with locals. Andy had his first half-pint of Guinness. There was traditional music playing at Malloy’s that night but it wasn’t going to start until 9:30.

From Malloy’s we headed off to dinner, first toward J.J. O’Malley’s Restaurant located above J.J. O’Malley’s Pub on Bridge Street, the main street in Westport. O’Malley’s couldn’t accommodate us until 8:30 which was more than an hour and a half, and with two starving boys and a long trip back to Ballynahinch ahead of us, we chose the Mediterranean Café which Joanie spotted on a muse off of Bridge Street. It appeared to us that the Mediterranean was run by some version of the Irish-Italian Mafia. Its proprietor, a disheveled 30-something looking man with a very prominent black eye, greeted us at the door. He turned us over to an 18-something year old waitress who hesitated before she seated us in the middle of the absolutely empty restaurant. It was at the Mediterranean Café that Mark had his first sample of Irish-Italian chicken breast, which was actually pretty good.

During the middle of dinner there was some commotion in the front as a burley Irishman came in seeking the proprietor. Head down, proprietor shuffled out to the front and said, rather enthusiastically, “I was looking for you to come earlier this afternoon.” The Irishman said, “I did. I came here at one when you told me to come and you weren’t here.” “Oh, I must have been out to the bank,” said the proprietor. “The staff didn’t know where you were. I need to talk to you and I need to talk to you now.” And out the door the two of them went.

We eventually made our way back after dinner to Ballynahinch where Joanie enjoyed an Irish Coffee, the best ever, she would say, and then a smooth shot of Tullamore Dew Irish Whiskey. Mark had two Connemara Irish Whiskeys, which very much has the flavor of peat infused. And off to bed we went.

On Thursday it was our intention to head off to grab a ferry and go to the Arran Islands. At breakfast the travel-weary Oyaases questioned the merits of the Arran Islands trip to Marion, a lovely Irish woman who was serving as hostess/server in Ballynahinch Castle and the pub. It was Marion’s suggestion that we blow off the Arran Islands in favor of a trip up to Cong , a village she had worked in and was actually originally from. She suggested that we visit the Quiet Man Coffee Shop for tea and sandwiches, wander over to Cong Abbey, and then provided us with a free admission to the Quiet Man Cottage.

By Thursday we were a little bit more certain about our driving and had our bearings, so the route to Cong, N59 to R336 to R345, seemed fairly straightforward. It was along this drive that we realized how important Loch Corrib (or Lake Corrib) is in the Connemara region. It actually stretches from near Galway just a mile or two out where the River Corrib actually flows into the Galway Bay, all the way north and west to Joyce’s country which is in on the edge of Connemara Park.

The Village of Cong is actually an island on the north end of Lake Corrib separated by the River Corrib. We dutifully did as instructed and checked in at the Quiet Man Café Shop and had lunch. Wandered the Cong Abbey and, at the suggestion of Marion’s friend at the coffee shop, took a walk in the woods past the monk’s hut up into the pigeon hole, which is just a hole in the ground about a half a mile through a path in the woods.

Monks at the Monk House

From Cong we traveled back the way we came, Route 345 to 336, over N59 all the back to Ballynahinch to the road R341, where we drove into Roundstone, just a few kilometers, maybe 10, from Ballynahinch. Roundstone is a little sea town, very pretty, charming pubs on either side of the street. There was an area bike ride, Ride the Bog, which is the area just around Roundstone, probably a 20K bike ride. Lots of families and kids, everybody had “I Rode the Bog” T-shirts. It was crowded and festive as we pulled in. We stopped at Desiree Ryan’s Pub and had a half-pint each and then repaired to Ballynahinch Castle for dinner.

Friday morning Mark and Joan got up early, actually much earlier than planned because Mark screwed the time part of the clock up, so rather than arising at 7:30 we got up about quarter after 6:00, and went out for a long walk along Ballynahinch’s grounds. Truth be told, Lake Ballynahinch and the grounds around the castle are as pretty an area as there is in Connemara.

Travel Tip #5:

We all strongly recommend a visit to Connemara and a stay at Ballynahinch. Our suggestion would be, after the flight from Shannon stay somewhere in or near Galway, and make your way the next day when you’re fresh and a little more familiar with the driving up to Ballynahinch by taking Route 336 along the Galway Bay as we did the first day by mistake.

Staying at a place like Ballynahinch gives one a great feel for a Connemara-style wooded, almost fairyland countryside within intermixed country lanes and sheep. A great stay would be one full day around the grounds, enjoying the grounds and the lake and fishing or biking, depending on what somebody wanted to do, and then the tours out. We would suggest skipping the town of Clifden and going perhaps directly up to Westport on one day and down through Cong and then spending more time in the smaller towns near Ballynahinch, especially Roundstone which was very beautiful.

Fairies in the Forest

After the walk around the castle grounds, we went into Joyce’s, which is a small, almost strip village, shopping/gas station/craft shop, which is again a code word for tourist trip.

Travel Tip #6:

Travel tip here is you will see just about the same thing everywhere you stop that’s called a craft shop, and there’s no sense in buying at the first place that you see. We found that prices in Clifden or Westport were quite a bit higher on almost everything, although Sean and Andy bought a soccer ball, which was fine, on the first day in Clifden and Sean bought that had-to-have hat which he has worn quite a bit since so he’s gotten his use out of it, although the same would have been at least 20 percent less in Joyce’s craft shop. But we ended up doing some shopping, Mark purchased a tweed jacket and vest, Joan bought a sweater. We brought the boys back and they each bought themselves a sweater. We have shopped since and feel that the prices in that shop were about as reasonable as you can find.

After breakfast, we pack the luggage into the clown car and head off down N59 through Galway hoping to make our way through the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher and then down to Killarney, our next destination. N59 moves along pretty well down to Galway, although you average about 40 miles an hour. You travel the entire distance of Lake Corrib although you only see the lake from time to time when you get close to villages.

We stayed on N59 and connected with a short span of N6 to N67 and headed toward the Burren. The road around Galway is quite easy once you know where you’re going. We traveled on N67 through Kinvara and stopped in the town of Ballyvaughn where we had lunch at O’Brien’s Pub. Alas the O’Brien’s who ran this place weren’t any O’Brien’s that we knew. Again, it was surly teenagers having a hard time serving two or three tables at a time.

We decided to stay on the N67 rather than take the recommended R480 through the heart of the Burren, but we do believe we saw quite a bit of the weird barren countryside that the area is famous for. We headed down through and along N67 and made it through the Cliffs of Moher by three in the afternoon or so. The area was jam-packed with people and the walkway to the cliffs was elbow-to-elbow all the way up. It was surprising to see how many knuckleheads stand on the very end on the far side of the gates and just tempt fate. One fool was drinking out of a flask and teetering around. There was no good reason for him not to have tumbled the 500 or so feet down into the ocean.

The Band in the Burren

From N67 we decided to head down to the ferry at Kilmer rather than taking the road back through Shannon and Limerick down to Killarney. This was Kathleen O’Brien’s suggestion and it proved to be a good one, saving us at least two hours travel time.

The span from the town of Kilfenara down N67 through Lennich and Milltown Malbe was one of the most confusing and frustrating parts of the ride to that point. There were very few sign markings, even on the main roads, and you can get twisted and end up going in a completely opposite direction having spun off a roundabout in a small village the wrong direction. After a little bit of screaming and yelling we finally all concentrated on where we were going and made it to Kilrush and then Kilmer for the ferry ride across to Tarbert.

In Tarbert you pick up N69 which brings you through Tralee and on into Killarney which was our next full stop, the Killarney Great Southern Hotel. We arrived just as the restaurant was having its last seating and decided to eat in town. The Great Southern is an old hotel, this year celebrating its 150^th year. Its staff is rather and cold impersonal but the rooms are nice and it is well located within the village of Killarney. We had little problem finding a place to eat and ended up at Foley’s Restaurant and Pub along High Street which is actually High Street Main Street, the Main Street in downtown Killarney.

Killarney is widely criticized in the tourist books as one of the most plastic tourist trap cities in all of Ireland and while that may prove to be true to, by our observation, it is also a little bit more accessible, especially for young people. Across from the Killarney Great Southern is a large outlet mall that includes a Nike store and a Blarney Woolen Mills outlet. We found the outlets, the yarn mills outlet and the Blarney Woolen Mills outlet a perfect place to stop for gifts that accommodate the Value Added Tax refund and shipping.

Friday night we decided not to take the Ring of Kerry tour and instead chose to spend Saturday wandering around Killarney, shopping and enjoying some local color. Friday night, speaking of local color, we did stop in Buckley’s Bar and picked up some local music. Joanie particularly had a good time in there. The boys stopped for one, as they say, and headed back to the hotel. We had a couple and joined them about 11:30.

Saturday again we shopped and wandered around. Working with the porter in the hotel who was half bellman, half concierge, we were able to get tee times at a wonderful little municipal golf course, Ross Golf Club of Killarney, which is on the road to Ross Castle just a five minute drive from the hotel.

Saturday afternoon after shopping we did drive out to the golf course to make sure we could find our way and stopped in the clubhouse and watched the last 30 minutes or so of a Gaelic football game, Armaugh vs. Fermaugh. It turned out the game was the quarterfinals of the National Gaelic Football Championships and we saw Fermaugh beating Armaugh. The wily green team was able to hang on and score the last point over the far more athletic and experienced orange Armaughs.

Gaelic football is an interesting sport and has an interesting triangle strategy that’s easy for soccer, basketball or even hockey fans to identify. It’s very rough, absolutely a collision sport, although no contact is allowed unless you have the ball. You can run with the ball by dribbling with your hands and you can pass by throwing sides, forward or backward with your hands or foot passes with a bounced drop-kick. The players have amazing control, both with their hands and their feet, and can pass the ball 40 yards dead-on while just evading a tackle

Saturday night we ate at Treyvauds which was lively and crowded but we had no problem getting a table at 7:30. The food was good as it was at Foley’s the night before.

Sunday morning we got up early – legitimately early, 7:00 – to make an 8:00 accommodation that was made for us at the Golf Club. The term accommodation is used in that we didn’t have an exact tee time; they just send us off based on the arriving regular tee-timers. The course proved to be very un-crowded. There were some locals that went off on their own before Bjorn, the fellow watching the club house, made his way in, roughly 8:10, 8:15. They sent us out with rented clubs and trolleys, which are the golf pull carts, and we went off for nine holes. All three of us had a hard time golfing into a very strong wind and when we returned Bjorn allowed that this was about as strong a wind and nasty a week as they’ve seen all summer here in Killarney. Just our luck.

The course is beautiful, set with the mountains of the area in the background. The greens and fairways are very well kept. The rough isn’t very long but it’s tricky and it’s almost impossible to get out with anything greater than a sand wedge. We didn’t keep score, which was a good idea. The scores don’t go that high.

After the round we stopped in for a cup of coffee and juice and chatted with Bjorn who, as it turned out, also worked at Robertino’s, a restaurant in Killarney along High Street. He made reservations for us for 8:00 that night. We found him so friendly and then we realized that he wasn’t Irish at all; he was a South African of German and Swedish extraction who spends part of the season here in Killarney at the golf club and working at Robertino’s and, for the next two winters, will be working in Myrtle Beach at the golf courses in South Carolina.

We talked to Bjorn about our surprise in not meeting very many Irish people. He said the trend – here to stay – is that the European Union has allowed for much more mobility especially for young people to work where they want to work. Work permits are not required if you work in the European Union.

After golf on Sunday afternoon, we ordered a picnic lunch packed by the hotel staff and headed out to the Dingle Peninsula and Dingle Town. We took N72, a main road out of Killarney, and opted for Route 663, a smaller road as a shortcut through to Milltown up to Route 661, which brings you along the Dingle Peninsula through Fiebach and Inch.

As I started off on Route 663, Andy said why aren’t you staying on the main N road. I said, this seems to be a good shortcut. Andy said, you know what the word shortcut means? Recipe for trouble. However, it worked out.

Travel Tip #7:

Not only plan your trip using the map and the route numbers, but use town names and village names along the way as well. Signs are very, very infrequent, especially in the west, even on the main N routes. We were later told by a waiter that kids like to have fun and switch signs around anyhow, so the best discretion, discretion being the better part of valor, is plan all routes using town names as well as the route numbers themselves.

As you reach Fiebach you begin to see Dingle Bay itself and the road starts to slope upwards, reaching a peak at Inch. The main feature of Inch is Inch Point and a long beach which, in spite of the high winds, was fairly well populated on that Sunday afternoon.

We headed along, connecting with N86 directly into Dingle Town. At the outskirts of Dingle Town traffic came to a halt, very reminiscent of the Hudson Bridge over the St. Croix on a crowded summer afternoon. It turns out there was a Dingle horserace at the track outside of town attracting thousands of spectators and in town a three-day sailing race was taking place, the annual Dingle Regatta. We took a quick – or at least as quick as traffic would allow – spin around to look at the town but didn’t get out of the car, instead opting to pick up on a travel tip that Joan had remembered regarding the Connor Hill and Connor Pass. As we started winding our way up the hill the roads got narrower and narrower, perhaps the narrowest roads we ever saw, and just as the first oncoming was approach Joanie said,” I seem to remember that the travel book did say this was the most treacherous stretch of road in Ireland not for the faint of heart. Hmm. Maybe we shouldn’t do this.

Alas, it was too late. There was no place to turn around, and we started climbing up a rather steep terrain, inching our way past cars, each car providing a greater challenge than the last. It was here that we coined an interesting term of art regarding oncoming drivers: Mickey Muthafucka. The term we were frequently using was “move over you Mickey Muthafucka”. A Mickey Muthafucka is a stubble-haired, flat-faced, pig eyed brute who typically has a crucifix and boxing gloves hanging from his rearview mirror. He delights in watching you squirm as your car scrapes up against the side wall on the passenger side of your car. You meet Mickey Muthafuckas all over; however, they are particularly annoying when on the other side of the side wall there is a 700 foot drop below.

There’s a car park viewing point at the top of the hill and as we approached it we noticed that there were several people out of their cars leaning into a very heavy wind. We were so concerned with the drop and the narrow passing of cars that we had neglected to notice the high winds that ripped across the top of the mountain. We all got out of the car and experienced what we called the game of Wind: standing on a very small wall, you could lean at a 45 degree angle out over the wall and over the hill with nothing but the wind holding you up.

Wind Bags

After a rousing game of Wind, we proceeded back down the other side, the north side of Dingle Peninsula, finding that traveling down the hill is much easier than traveling up. We stopped in the town of Castle Gregory and decided to have our picnic out on the point at Castle Gregory Golf Club. It turned out to be far too windy to get out of the car so we ate, in the confines of the Honda, a nice picnic lunch.

We traveled back to Killarney using the more conventional N routes through Tralee and down back into Killarney where we got ready for dinner at Robertino’s where reservations had been made for us by Bjorn. Robertino’s turned out to be one of the most delightful eating stops for us along the way. The food was delicious, Bjorn made sure that the staff fawned all over us, which we always enjoy, and Andy and Sean even got to flirt with two 16-year-old wait assistants.

We had talked to Bjorn earlier that day about Gaelic football, asking him about when do kids start playing it, and he said fairly young, just like any other sport. And he mentioned that he worked with two young women who were actually playing in a summer league and played in high school as well. I picked them out immediately as they brought our bread and water to the table, and jokingly said to them that they appeared to me to be football players. They responded, in total amazement, how would you ever know that. And I just said that, I don’t know, it was something about the way they carried themselves. For the rest of the night we noticed that the girls were peering out of the kitchen and trying their best not to look too obvious as they walked past the table, staring out of the corners of their eyes at Andy and Sean.

As we finished our meal Bjorn came over and said, boys, do you realize that those two are infatuated with you? They seemed to have already caught on and, although they refused to take any of my great pickup lines, like, “hey, where do kids our age hang out after work?” Sean got to learn from the Master watching Andy subtly communicate, first with looks and then very innocent questions about his food like, as he held up a shrimp he asked one of the two girls, “geez, do you know how to eat one of these things?”

The flirting made for a lot of fun and we realized walking back that that was probably our first real contact with the innocent and fun-loving Irish we had heard so much about.

Monday morning we packed up the clown car, went down and had breakfast, and headed off to Dublin. We had planned our route the night before and had intended on traveling south and east toward Cork so that we could stop and visit the Blarney Castle, but in the morning, after some discussion, opted to go directly to Dublin figuring accurately that it was a minimum of six hours in the car.

We left Killarney at 11:00 in the morning and headed up toward Dublin on N72, which cuts through the north of County Cork and connects to another main road, N7, in the northern portions of County Tipperary. We used the Rick Stevens guide as we traveled along to identify places with historic meaning or general interest. Our best stop was in the town of Cashel, where we stopped and toured the Rock of Cashel, a ruin containing some of the most interesting memos and monuments of early Christianity in Ireland. It is the town where St. Patrick baptized King Aengus (Aongus?) and spent considerable time developing a monastery and abbey which was added on for more than 800 years after St. Patrick.

By the time the tour ended, it was 3:00 and we were famished so we went into the main part of town and found Cantwell’s Pub. We thought it was going to be another typical pub stop, with a pimply faced teenager behind the bar and a couple of locals already slouched over their glasses, headed for another early evening in their lives.

From out of the kitchen came a grand, smiling lady who apologized for a very slim lunch menu, sandwiches and soup were all that would be available, toast or plain bread. We all ordered ham sandwiches on brown bread, some getting exotic adding cheese and tomatoes, Andy even opting for toast. She came back out of the kitchen and, with a tilt of the head, asked one more time about our order and wanted to make sure that we indeed wanted brown bread. We all said we did, and went back to our half-pints of Guinness.

Just a minute or so later we noticed the lady wrapped up in her coat walking out in front of the pub headed for the grocery store next door. She came back in just a few moments with a plastic bag with ham, some cheese, and a loaf of brown bread. The experience was more like the typical pub experience we expected to see our entire trip.

By Monday, Andy had really honed himself as a great navigator, and it helped that he had planned the route the night before on the map and familiarized himself with the routes and the towns along the way. As we got into Dublin navigating got trickier. We connected with a main road, one of the four-lane highways that we experienced in all of Ireland, the blue ones on the map, M50. On M50 we chose to exit on N11, which enters Dublin in from the south and the east. It turned out to be a good choice but it was just sheer luck. We navigated around Dublin, a little confused, and ended up coming through on the main streets. The same confusion that was evident throughout the west was exacerbated in Dublin town with little or no street signage. Compounding that was the fact that streets changed their names several blocks along the way.

We made it to Merrion Park where we stopped to take a breath a get our wits. It helped that we knew the neighborhood that we were staying, Balsbridge, and that the address of our stay, Butlers Townhouse, was on Landsdowne which was across from Landsdowne Stadium.

We finally pulled up to the Butlers Townhouse around 7:00 pm. Our first impressions were mixed. It was a charming place in an obviously convenient location. It is a Georgian townhouse nestled in the Georgian district, famous for the Doors of Dublin posters. There didn’t seem to be any accommodation for car park, although we later found you park in the back service area and leave the keys for the staff to move the car should that be required.

Checking in, we met Olga, a 20-something Ukrainian, and Nelson, a 30-something Chinese man; back to our original tale of never meeting any Irish in Ireland. We carried our overly-packed bags up several narrow flights of stairs to our room which, like rooms in Ballynahinch, were named after regions in Ireland. Joan and Mark’s room as Connemara, and Andy and Sean stayed in Woolford. The rooms were small but quite charming.

On the first level, one up above the street level, Butler Townhouse has a lovely drawing room with a bar in the back. Any time day or night you want a drink or just to relax in the drawing room, you may call the staff and ask them to meet you and they’ll pour you a drink, bring up a glass of wine, or open a bottle of red wine should you require or desire. Joan, Mark and the boys sat in the drawing after unpacking and enjoyed a glass of wine or cold beverage and then strolled off toward a bistro we had seen as we drove to the Townhouse.

The Bistro, Roly’s, was as accommodating on the inside as it appeared to be on the outside. It is typical in the French bistro mold and featured several different concoctions of chicken on the menu which pleased Mark to no end. Their largely Irish staff brought bread to the table, offering several selection, including a tomato, a curry, typical Irish soda bread, brown and white, and a gluten-free option.

Travel Tip #8:

We went back to Butler Townhouse fairly early, preparing for a mega day the next touring Dublin. As we wound down with an after-dinner drink in the drawing room, we concluded that the most important travel tip that we could offer and remember is that 14 days is ideal and even though it seems like a long time, all belongings should be packed in a 21-inch wheeling carryon combined with a backpack. Anything more is simply too much. One can always make use of laundry services in hotels which we found in our three stays all offered same-day service if required. Every town also has same-day laundry and/or self-service laundry if the need arises.

Tuesday morning, we( Mark and Joan) got up early, had breakfast and went on a pre-arranged adventure on Upper Dorset Street. After the mission was accomplished, they walked back down O’Connell Street, past the post office which was the site of the 1916 uprising. O’Connell Street features many statutes, tributes to Irish heroes, including a square for Parnell, a statute to O’Connell, Jim Larkin and others. It also has a new feature, a large aluminum spire that is lit at night and clicks off in increments up to the top ball which is all that is lit at midnight. It is an interesting mix of new and old public art.

We crossed the Liffey River on the O’Connell Bridge and headed toward Trinity College. After picking up the boys, we decided to take the hop-on, hop-off bus tours, choosing the Guinness Storehouse as our first stop. The Guinness Storehouse came with mixed recommendations and again it was a Kathy O’Brien suggestion that this stop is worth it to get to the top, to the Gravity/Sky Bar, where you’re complimentary pint is served, because it offers a spectacular view, 360 degree view, of all of Dublin.

The Storehouse was crowded, however, and their gimmick worked on the Oyaas family. After an early-afternoon pint of Guinness one’s will is down and when you exit the elevator you are right in the gift shop where we spent too much time and too much money. We chose not to get back on the bus tour and instead took a cab directly to the Grafton Street area where the boys searched the traditional sports stores for soccer shirts and shorts. We knew time was drawing nigh for one of our must-sees, Trinity College and the Library and Book of Kells, so we cut our shopping short and headed across the street from Grafton to Trinity College. We did so just in time. They were just closing the entry to the Book of Kells and rather than collect money the kind lady said, we’ve closed out the till. Just run in and have yourself a look. So we were able to take a look at the exhibit and the pages open for the books. We hoped that Andy and Sean got some sense of the importance of the work that the monks, the early Christian monks, in Ireland did to preserve not only their religious documents but many of the great documents of the early civilized world. We also trust that they had some sense of the importance of the art and the discipline that the scribes introduced into their work.

From Trinity we went back to the Townhouse to change clothes and headed off to dinner at O’Shea’s Merchant Pub, having arrived just in the knick of time as the kitchen was closing. From O’Shea’s Merchant we went across to the Brazen Head Pub, Dublin’s oldest pub. There was a lively Irish band playing in one of the small corner rooms. Although it was crowded with locals and tourists, we repaired to the back bar, enjoyed our last bit of Guinness, toasting our trip and Dublin city.

Brazen Heads

We walked back from the Brazen Head toward the Townhouse, through the Temple Bar district, which was quite lively. Above the Temple Bar itself we came upon quite a scene. It was a young Italian man sitting in a second story window playing a guitar, leading a very large crowd of Italians below in what appeared to be well-known folk songs. Mark and Joan had one last drink in the drawing room before bed, preparing for what would be a long Wednesday.

Again we woke up early for us, 8:30, packed the car and ate breakfast. The day staff at the Butler Townhouse proved to be grand. Dublin natives, they were cheerful and accommodating. They provided us a set of written narrative directions to direct us to the airport. Rather than going by street names and signs which are almost useless as we have described along the way, they provided corners and views so that you knew to turn at this pub or that filling station or across the river at this toll bridge. They were easy to follow and we found ourselves out to the airport with plenty of time.

Travel Tip #9:

Our last travel tip for tourists to Ireland: Dublin airport has a bevy of duty free shops located in the gate area. Although their selections of woolens and sweaters aren’t as good as you find in the craft shops or outlet malls along the way, all of the other famous Irish gifts are available duty-free and tax-free in these locations. There’s a substantial Butler’s Chocolate, Guinness souvenir and Waterford stand.

The trip back west is a full hour and a half longer than the trip going east to Dublin, and is perhaps more grueling because it is all during the day hours and you find it hard to sleep. Our connection in Philadelphia, as it was going toward Ireland, was delayed returning to Minneapolis. We were very grateful that the wonderful Ross Alwin was willing to wait up and pick us up a full two and a half hours late, 11:00 Central Daylight Time, but we walked through the doors of Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport and officially ended our Isle of Destiny Oyaas 2004 trip to Ireland.

Oyaas Italy 2007

Introduzione

Italy. One of the most important countries, groups of city/states, cultures in the history of Western Civilization. To visit there is like stepping through a portal that brings one back through time, a look at an era which began before Christ. It offers intimate insight into early Christianity beginning with the time of Christ Himself and his original apostles. To see Italy is to see mankind at its most imaginative and glorious best and its darkest, most violent worst. To prepare for such a journey, to soak up the culture, one should imagine oneself as a sponge getting “wet” before the trip to absorb all that one will be exposed to upon arrival.
Such preparation would include first and foremost exposure to the beautiful language of the Italians. Community school courses, Berlitz or Fodor self-learning CDs, all are valuable tools. Setting aside time to read the history of Rome and Italy is another important step. There are guidebooks of every kind imaginable available in libraries and bookstores so that the wanderer can familiarize oneself with the various regions in which they will be visiting.
Finally, there are the human resources, the Italian-philes, who have traveled across Italy who can share their insights and experiences, point you to the wonders and steer you away from the mistakes. Smart travelers will also prepare their worldly goods strategically, considering carefully and bringing only what is necessary to make the trip comfortable and enjoyable. This means setting out clothes and equipment several days before the trip. Reviewing each day and taking down the pile to keep things lean and efficient. No bag need weigh more than 30-35 pounds max.
Of course, the Oyaas family did none of that. It’s true; Joan and Mark enjoyed a wonderful evening of insight and enthusiasm with their friends Bricker Lavick and Tanya Orr. They shared a treasure trove of guidebooks, maps and fictions to help Joan and Mark immerse themselves into their trip. They also had insights shared by their neighbors, Steve and Michelle Inman, who consider themselves at this time to be Italian expats. Patrick Lutter shared photos and memories and Joe Dicker tried to pack himself in the luggage. The Oyaas family will learn once again the hard way that the wages of procrastination exact a toll of confusion and exhaustion.
Many thanks are due to Steve Salmen and Cheryl Morgan, the remarkable Remarkable Journeys duo, who allowed the family to once again embark on an adventure by merely pressing “play.”

Capitolo Uno – The Launch

Procrastinators see time through a unique prism. Every minute is a rainbow of opportunity, normally opportunity squandered. With the trip scheduled for Thursday, July 28, first flight at 7 pm, second at 9:30 pm, the weekend prior seemed like plenty of opportunity to get organized and buy the necessities. Never mind that Joan and her siblings were planning a 60th Wedding Anniversary celebration for their parents which included a Mass and lunch at sister Anne’s home on Sunday. The crisis boiling under the surface at Joan’s work decided to explode like Vesuvius on Monday. And of course each of Mark’s clients had a special request that required undistracted attention. So Wednesday evening, July 27, somewhere past the news, well into Letterman, the packing began.
Thursday morning Mark and Joan divided up the tasks. She swung by Walgreens to pick up the baby wipes and travel packets of Shout stain remover, toothbrush holders and small tubes of toothpaste. Mark was dispatched to Target where his list included baby wipes, traveler packs of Shout, toothbrush holders and toothpaste. Sean went off to his last day of work at the Kenwood Rec Center and Andy wandered in after being out all night, hung-over and exhausted. At 2 p.m. the packing commenced in earnest.
Mark swung by the one outlet for foreign currency in all of Minneapolis, Wells Fargo in downtown, to buy some Euros in preparation for entrance into Europe.

Travel Tip Number One: Those Euros that are required for entrance into Europe are for tips, small airport purchases, and cab rides. Getting the European currency in denominations of €50 and €100 do one as little good as trying to convert US or simply picking up currency in an ATM. It is wise to get some money before leaving but it is wiser to get it in small bills.

“Airport? Oh, yeah! We have to get to the airport.” Fortunately at 3:00 in the afternoon the whack jobs ran into their neighbor Ross Alwin who was coincidentally home from the cabin for 24 hours unexpectedly and conned him into driving them out to the airport. Leave yourself plenty of time to allow for all that can go wrong, that might go wrong, and avoid the stress of last-minute airport confusion. This is not why the Oyaases left the house with 90 minutes to spare before the first flight out. Fortunately, a miracle occurred and rush hour on a reconstructed 35W was unusually light and they were able to arrive at the airport a full hour and ten minutes before takeoff.
There were the usual snafus at the automatic check-in. Mark and Joan had hoped to get Andy and Sean on their flight, but bags were checked prior to talking with the ticket agent and not unlike Caesar crossing the Rubicon once the bags are checked the die is cast and those persons are on those flights. Mark and Joan flew off on the Northwest flight to Amsterdam at 7 pm; the flight was on-time and uneventful. Andy and Sean were disgusted at having to wait an additional two hours for their 9:30 flight. However, they were able to enjoy a quiet meal which included appetizers at the airport Chili’s.
The two hours in the Amsterdam airport were actually helpful for Mark and Joan. Mark enjoyed four and a half hours of melatonin-induced sleep on the flight; Joan, unfortunately, was not so lucky and dozed for only an hour or so. The dazed travelers were able to find the next gate and identify that customs, as in European entry, was necessary to get to the Amsterdam-to-Rome plane. Fortunately, Andy and Sean’s plane arrived on-time and it was no problem meeting the narrow 45-minute window they were allowed to catch the Rome leg of the flight.
The most confusing part of the Rome arrival was learning that the only customs necessary were the passport checks in Amsterdam. Bags were available and exit out into the main airport proceeded without delay. As promised, the agency providing the van transport to the Hotel Quirinale was on hand with the Oyaas sign and off they went for the half hour ride from the airport to the hotel in central Rome.
As the van pulled to the curve, the family was pleasantly surprised to see their friends Jim, Judy and Charlie Romlin leaving the hotel. They were almost as started as the Oyaases to see those travel weary faces pull up in the van. A plan was hatched. Mark, Joanie and the boys would take a quick bath (baths are said to help with the dehydration which exacerbates jetlag) and a short nap and the Romlins would make reservations at a trattoria, family-style Italian restaurant, somewhere between the two hotels.
A lovely dinner was enjoyed with the entire Romlin traveling party which included their three children – Richie, Jenna and Charlie – and two of Richie’s close friends, Bridget Hoerr and Goodwin “Goodie” Clark.
Meeting the Romlins at the end of their two-week visit to Italy turned out to be great fortune for the Oyaases. They were able to take advantage of the Romlins’ experience and knowledge and hit the bustling city of Rome with some foundation beneath their feet. For example, Jim and Judy had learned that the best course of action in restaurants is to order the house wines, vino rosso and vino blanca, in carafes. The dinner at La Cantinola da Livio (Via Calabria, 26) was everything they expected an Italian meal. The wine flowed and the evening ended with limoncello toasts.

Seanie, Joanie and Andy Magical Night in Rome June 29, 2007

Capitolo Due – Roman Holidaze

The next morning began with a flurry of activity. A 7:30 wakeup call, 8:00 breakfast in the hotel, and a rendezvous in the lobby with the Romlins for the first full day in Rome’s activities: a tour of the Vatican.
The vans arrived at their appointed hour and shuttled the party of eleven to a meeting point outside of Vatican City with the guide for the day, a 27-year-old Roman named Julio. As they approached the Vatican the group was immediately overwhelmed by the lines. Pilgrims were lined up six abreast for blocks under an increasingly menacing, hot sun. Many carried umbrellas and had white hats or towels draped over their heads. A confident buzz was heard throughout the van. “No problem,” they assured each other. “We’ve got a guide. We move to the head of the line.” After meeting Julio, the tourists learned the awful truth. They were ushered to a line of their own, the line that gets you to the head of the line, which also stretched for several blocks around the walls of Vatican City. While at first it seemed daunting, one should prevent oneself from getting discouraged or weary before the fact. The line moved fairly quickly into the confusion of the Vatican ticket entrance.
While the guide was pre-paid, the Vatican tickets were not. However, the merry band was able to purchase them from a representative of the ticket office before heading into the first line. It was only as the group began to move into the Vatican tour beginning in the Borghese addition that they realized that the shoulder-to-shoulder slow shuffling lines would not end as they entered the Vatican. Visitors are packed in as tightly as possible and we had to listen carefully to our guides “in soto” voice over the din of thousands of other visitors and hundreds of other guides.

Travel Tip Number Two: If your interest is truly to see the treasures that Italy provides in its museums, churches and other public viewing spots then do not travel in high season. The best you can accomplish is some brief awareness and the opportunity to tell your friends yes, I have been there.
Travel Tip Number Three: There is no question if you have any interest in learning something about what you’re seeing, a personal guide is essential. Our guide was knowledgeable and friendly and given that he was still in his twenties relatively approachable for the young people on our trip. The ideal ratio of people to guide probably is four or five to one; it was hard for all eleven of us to hear at any given time. Even though Julio had a particularly quiet demeanor, he tried his best to make himself heard above the din. The electronic self-guided tours or specifically numbered guidebooks would be helpful but not nearly enough to absorb any of the rich wonders that lie within these attractions.

In spite of the crowds, the various halls and galleries in the Vatican Museum proved fascinating. The hall of maps was very approachable and interesting. And the tapestries, which included three panels of the murder of the innocents, were also a hit with the crowd. Visitors are shuffled through some uninspiring halls with relatively modern art along the walls which are rather ho-hum in comparison with the Masters of the Renaissance Rafael and Michelangelo. Even the €600,000 Dalis which hang in a room just before the Sistine Chapel are hardly worth noticing. Everyone agreed, the Sistine Chapel as glorious as advertised; however, the crowds were unbelievable. Julio navigated towards the center of the room where he described the Master’s work. The ceiling, a project started by Michelangelo relatively early in his career, was completed in nine years. The wall behind the alter, which Michelangelo painted over four years, thirty years after he completed the ceiling.
The guide enlightened the group with some inside trivia including the fact that Michelangelo originally miscalculated the panels on the ceiling and the first three panels at side of the room furthest from the altar were actually too small. The panels and the figures in them increase in size as they move toward the center of the ceiling. Michelangelo was in constant battle with a particular Cardinal who objected to the artist’s appreciation of the nude form. In a subtle revenge Michelangelo painted an image the Cardinal on the wall, which depicts “the Last Judgment”, naked but wrapped by a menacing snake which is biting his private parts. The Cardinal is also adorned with donkey ears, apparently reflecting Michelangelo’s opinion of the jackass.
Julio finds St. Peter’s Basilica less than inspiring, and his tour reflected his opinion of that building. He did point out the highlights, including the fun fact that the bronze dome which covers the Pope’s altar in the center of the Basilica was actually taken from the front of the Pantheon, melted down and recast in Christian themes. At the end of the tour, each family tipped Julio €20 and wondered aloud whether we were overly generous or way too frugal.

Travel Tip Number Four: There is more tipping in Italy than most travel books indicate and the amounts, as in percentages, do vary but they are not particularly arbitrary. If you are adequately preparing yourself for a trip like this, you should definitely familiarize yourself with when and where and appropriate amounts for tipping.

Upon completion of the Vatican tour, the group was frazzled and bedraggled as if they had spent the morning in a Six Flags Amusement Park on the hottest day of the year. It took some minutes to rally and agree on the next destination, which turned out to be a mid-afternoon lunch. Jim led the mind numb travelers through the various side streets outside of Vatican City, headed for one of the Frommer’s highly recommended spots for post-Vatican visit dining. Two lefts, several rights and about eight blocks later, with eight disgruntled followers on their tails, Mark and Jim found the destination, closed. Fortunately for all, the sidewalk restaurant at the Hotel Les Chambers d’ Or (Via DelGracchi, 32) was just a block away. The group enjoyed a terrific lunch and a much-needed rest. Mark and Joan were engaged in conversation by a family who visited this area each year from Malta. The family included a grandma and grandpa, the older brother who was a Bishop, another brother, wife and child. They raved about this particular spot and suggested several other dining spots to visit in the area.
Saturday after lunch the Oyaas party returned to the hotel where Andy, Sean and Joanie tried to stave off the ravages of jetlag and a whirlwind tour with a power nap. Mark took a walk down Via Nazianale to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier where a magnificent panoramic view of Rome was enjoyed. He returned to the hotel room and grabbed an hour or so nap himself.
That evening the rendezvous point was Fontana Travari, or the Travari Fountain. The Romlins who were fully acclimated at this point spent the late afternoon shopping and walking around various parts of Rome, touring the Spanish steps and meeting up with the four Oyaases at the Fountain. From the Fountain the group made its way up the hill back toward the Piazza Republica to the Ristoranti La Pentolaccia (Via Flavia, 38) suggested by Jurgen, the concierge at the Quirinale. Jurgen had assured Mark that the owner, Gianni, was a premiere restaurateur and his staff were engaged professionals. The group found nothing less. The Pentolaccia is a white tablecloth establishment slightly more expensive than the usual trattoria but not outrageous or out of the question. The group enjoyed one bottle of 2001 Brunello, and another premium red from the Chianti region. The waiter also suggested a white, Trocello, similar to a sauvignon blanc. The young people also enjoyed beers with their wine, a precursor to a long evening to come at the Campo de Fiore.
Mark, Joan, Judy, Jim and Charlie walked in the general direction of the Romlin’s hotel (the Hotel Vittore) and found a lovely little outdoor café in which to enjoy an after dinner drink. The youth went their separate way. Bridget, Jenna, Goodie, Richie, Andy and Sean headed for Campo de Fiore, a square which is a popular nighttime hangout for young people. Somehow along the way Bridget and Jenna were steered toward their hotel and most of the frolicking took place among the young men. On top of the wine and beer with dinner, more beer was enjoyed along with tequila shots and then a special ritualistic shot of absinthe, flaming absinthe, that is. Sean was so engaged and mystified by this preferred drink of artists and writers that he enjoyed a second flaming shot of absinthe. Apparently this didn’t go well with the quarts of wine and beer and tequila already in his stomach and the young man barely made it into the restroom before, as the Latins would say, vomitorium.
The second full day in Rome came quicker than anyone wanted it to, but it was especially hard on the young men who still had remnants of their tasting adventure pounding in their heads. Richie chose to stay down a couple additional hours and join the tour of Ancient Rome in progress. The tour began with the same hurry-up-and-wait syndrome that is common in any travels. Once again, the rendezvous point was the Hotel Quirinale, and the van and sedan drivers who met us seemed confused about the whereabouts of our guide which turned out to be Julio once again. Between the drivers, the Vatican tour office (the contact point) and Julio, there was considerable confusion about where to meet up. The drivers thought that Julio would be at the hotel. Julio thought that he was to be at the main entrance of the Roman Forum and alas Monica from the tour office had both of those details wrong. Thank goodness for great cell phone service. The party was dropped off at the Palatino entrance to the Forum and the drivers disappeared. No Julio. The tour office was contacted, Monica was able to provide Julio’s cell phone number, and they were able to connect and commence.

Travel Tip Number Five: It is wise to have at least one, if not two, working cell phones per party while traveling. It is simply the way of the world. We found that T-Mobile has provided us excellent service previously in both England and France, and now in Italy. Almost flawless, actually.

The tour began at the Arch of Constantine and moved towards to the Coliseum, a stone’s throw away. The Coliseum was actually named for a giant column and statue of the Emperor Nero which sat outside the stadium itself, in Latin a colossus. Julio described the painstaking work it took to create these giant structures like the temples, basilicas and the Coliseum. At the foundation is brickwork, hand-made mud/clay bricks and mortar. On top of that travertine is placed, a white stone that lends itself to cutting and rounding. On top of the travertine the Romans put white marble, which was secured to the stone with iron clamps. After the barbarians (Visigoths) sacked Rome, the Coliseum went into disrepair. Marble was taken off, the iron clamps removed and melted for other uses. There’s little or no original marble remaining on the structure.
According to Julio, the Coliseum in its heyday was as convenient and wonderful as any modern stadium. It held more than 50,000 people with special courtside seating for the rich and famous. A roof made of heavy cotton canvas-like material similar to what was used in making sails, was placed over the top of the Coliseum to protect from the hot sun. Sailors used to working with ropes and canvas were employed to lift the roof material from inside the center of the stadium out over the back and secure it down the sides with ropes. Since its heyday as a venue for gladiators and animals and sacrifice of Christians, the Coliseum has had many uses. During different parts of its history it was compartmentalized and used as housing. It has been used in various times as a Catholic or Christian church, and at one point an entire single family lived there as if it was a giant palace.
Richie was able to join the group at the end of the Coliseum tour, and after a quick review of the facility the united group marched on to the Forum and then to the jail cell where the apostles Peter and Paul were held while they awaited their ultimate execution. No one in the group knew the fun facts regarding their respective deaths. Peter, who was not a citizen of Rome, was crucified, the most humiliating form of execution in his day. He pleaded that he was not worthy to be killed in the same manner as his Lord and Master Jesus and so, to make great joke, the guards put him on the cross and turned it upside-down and it was in that manner that he died. Paul was a citizen of Rome and afforded all the rights and responsibilities thereof. Therefore, he was put to death in a more civilized way, beheaded in the area which is now home to the Trevi Fountain.
The final stop on the Ancient Rome tour was the Pantheon, which is Julio’s favorite site in all of Rome. It is indeed very well preserved. The original exterior temple and the interior dome which is home to the crypt of artist Rafael, is certainly impressive. The sun streaming through the hole in the middle of the dome provides an added spiritual quality to the experience.
Bidding Julio farewell for the last time, the group proceeded on for lunch at the Piazza Navona, which was Jenna’s suggestion. It proved to be a good one, and we enjoyed the company of a waiter possibly in his mid-sixties who sported an American flag on his vest. “I love America and I always have,” he said, “but since September 11 we have all come to realize that the freedom of the world is in the hands of your country.” It was a bit humbling and reminded everyone in the group of their individual responsibility as citizens of the United States; to make sure that the direction of the entire planet is never again put into the hands of a numbskull like George Bush. They apologized directly for President Bush. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled, and he said “the beauty of America is you’ll figure this out and get back on the right path.”
After lunch parties went their separate ways, with Judy and Jenna headed off to the museum at the Via Borghese, Sean and Andy back to bed for another power nap, and Mark and Joanie for a bit of shopping on a leisurely stroll from the Piazza back to the hotel.

Travel Tip Number Six: It is virtually impossible, even for young people, to power drink and power tour. Expectations need to be carefully controlled. If your desire is to tour and learn, partying has to be prudent.

The last evening in Rome was a memorable one for the Oyaases and the Romlins. They met in the Piazza Navona and proceeded to seek out the Trattoria del Pallaro (Largo del Pallaro, 15) which, according to the Rick Steves’ book, has no menu but a slogan: “You’ll eat what we want to feed you.” And that’s what the party found. Under the watchful eye of owner Paola Fazi, a five course meal was served, the wine and beer flowed, and a good time was had by all.
And so it was that on Monday July 2, the parties went on their separate ways, the Romlins for a train to Milan in the morning, and the Oyaases for an adventure out of Rome and on to the autostrada into Tuscany.

Romlin and Oyaas Families

International Mission of Peace and Understanding
June 30, 2007

Capitolo Tre – The Strange Tale of the Gypsy Fiddler, the Midget, and the African Purse Merchant

Having vowed to have breakfast and be on the trail by 9:00 the morning before, team Oyaas, true to form, blew out of the Hotel Quirinale about 10:30 the next morning. (Monday, July 2.) Per Remarkable Steve’s, as in Salmen, suggestion, they took a cab from the hotel to the Euro Car location which is underground beneath the Borghese Gardens. From the top of the steps the trek down to the Euro Car office looked daunting so Andy and Mark went ahead and, sure enough, it was almost four blocks of steps and tunnels before reaching the office. Joan and Sean waited outside, Sean becoming understandably impatient with the long wait and not knowing where the other two were. Ultimately papers were filled out and after a long wait during which the boys enjoyed what they claim was their best sandwich from a street vendor in Italy, the Alpha Romeo crossover wagon was delivered and the journey to Tuscany begun.
The man at the rental car would utter a phrase that the Oyaases would hear again and again during their trip to Italy: “How do we find the autostrada?” Mark asked. “It’s not hard-a. You take a right, a right, a right, and then after 10 meters a quick left at the three arches. From there, go straight to the autostrada.” Through the garage the tunnel forks left and right. Right, this must be the first right. Out onto the street and in the park. This must be the next right. To an intersection. There’s arches ahead. This must be the left. Unfortunately, these weren’t the rights and the lefts and the family found themselves flung out onto the streets of Rome for a confusing hour of looping, pointing and swearing.
Frantically zig-zagging back and forth, seemingly for no apparent reason to the boys, the family came upon a sign for Firenza Autostrada A1. The phenomena, these wild apparently directionless turnss have a phrase in travel. They are called fuque turns. For no logical reason, in one of the largest cities in the world, hopelessly lost, the family stumbled onto the right direction. It is mystical and magical. At that moment when they realized they were on the right direction, although stuck in traffic, the family looked up to see a Gypsy fiddler playing for coins to those mired in bumper to bumper stagnation. He moved his way through the crowd, the Oyaases convinced he would come to the window seeing the suckers for what they are, but instead mysteriously veered toward the car to their right where a strange, angry midget sat at the wheel staring straight ahead. Try as he might, the Gypsy could not bring a smile to the driver’s face. Standing solemnly on the corner was one of the many African purse merchants one finds on the streets of the big cities in Italy. He stared at the scene solemnly, then turned his gaze to the Oyaas family, smiled, and waved them on as the light magically turned green.
Driving the autostrada is a fairly good way to get used to driving in Italy (as opposed to pouring out onto the busy streets of Rome). One learns quickly to stay in the right lane and avoid the left as much as possible for cars will appear out of nowhere in the rearview mirror even at a 140 or 160 k/hr. The directions called for a turnoff at a small town south of Siena. The ride, at least for a while, went smoothly. There was a pleasant stop at the Umbrian town of Orvieto for a panino and gelato at the il Sant’ Andrea on the main piazza..From there however things went once again awry; green arrows to Siena, blue arrows to Siena, different directions, roundabouts; “St Christopher, pray for us!”
Once again things seemed almost hopeless. In Italy people pray for miracles every day. And so did the once merry band of angry travelers. Lo and behold, their prayers came true and after several fuque turns they found themselves on the outskirts of Siena. There were no signs, however, for the next point on the map, Colle d’val Elsa. Tired of the confusion, Mark pulled over and asked directions from a policeman who had apparently pulled over a speeder on the side of the road. The policeman was polite and gave very specific directions in measured English to a road the Oyaases simply could not find. Another fuque turn later and presto, there it was, a sign for the town. They followed the signs carefully through the roundabouts and attempted to match up the directions they were given with the experiences they were having. They made it through Colle d’val Elsa and miraculously found S27 which was called for in the directions:
“Head toward Casole d’Elsa on 27. Cross a bridge and in 200 meters take a left turn on an unimproved road and you are at your destination, the Antica Fonte.” Unfortunately, the family found themselves on the back side of an empty farmhouse and ended up turning around in the yard and going back out onto the highway. Once again thanks to the miracle of wireless technology they were able to phone the Antica Fonte and found they were at least in the right area. The woman on the other end of the line, who would turn out to be the lovely and talented Elena, was unfortunately confused about the traveler’s location and sent them off in the opposite direction. Finally, the weary travelers stopped and asked for directions at a pizzeria ristorante in Le Grazie outside of Colle d’val Elsa. A young man with pretty good command of English knew Antica Fontica’s location well, pointed them in the right direction, and gave them proper landmarks to make the turn. (This turned out to be coincidentally a soccer field.)
Two hours late for their scheduled 6 pm arrival, the weary family rolled out of the Alpha Romeo and unloaded their belongings into a lovely two-bedroom apartment with kitchen and three baths. Elena had made reservations at the little restaurant for 9 pm. It was apparent when they went in the door that the restaurant was held open for the travelers. The evening turned out to be quite an experience. Angela, the waitress/cook/bottle washer, spoke absolutely no English; it was the family’s first experience in that regard. Certain they were going to be served again family style as they were the night before, Joan took charge, convinced that Mark would be served an unwanted dinner of fish. She nodded her head firmly. Fish, fish, and pointed to Andy, Sean and herself. No fish, she pointed to Mark. Angela came around the table and looked at the menu over Mark’s shoulder. He pointed out the usual and customary chicken. She shook her head, no pollo. Beneath it was an item on the menu “pork.” Si, si.
Joanie, Andy and Sean were brought out a first course of smoked salmon and seafood spaghetti. Mom, said Andy, I think we’re in big trouble. I think the next thing that will come out will be a big grouper staring us all three in the face. And how right he was!
It was two, maybe three bites into what Andy dubbed “Billy Bass” before he had to excuse himself and go out onto the terrace for a little bit of the old vomitorium. Sean looked at his plate and quietly kept eating, Mark grabbed the last of the wine and chugged it, and Joanie laughed like she hadn’t laughed in years. So much for the caring compassion of a Mom.

Andy and Billy Bass; Antica Fonte July 2, 2007


Joanie, Seanie, Mark, Andy; Antica Fonte July 2, 2007

Capitolo Quattro – Under the Tuscan Afternoon Sunshine

The family had hit the ground running with their whirlwind tour of Rome. It was decided without speaking out loud that most of Tuesday, July 3rd, would be rest and relaxation on the grounds of the Antica Fonte. The remarkable ones at Remarkable Journeys hit the Oyaases’ need for this leg of the trip dead-on. The Antica Fonte is a delightful property which contains furnished apartments, three swimming pools, a whirlpool, and – most importantly in Mark’s world – a laundry facility. Headquarters for the Oyaas family was Margherita Number Five, a two-bedroom, three-bath extravaganza on the second floor which allowed for beautiful views of the Tuscan countryside.
Breakfast at the Antica Fonte was included in the Oyaases’ rate, and it took them two full days to realize that they were the only persons on the compound enjoying that amenity. The rest of the guests seemed to be Germans and Dutch who made complete use of the kitchen facilities for most of their meals.
After breakfast, about 10:00 or so, Mark gravitated toward the laundry, as is his wont, and also began to dictate the first installment of this travelogue. The other bones in the family began to creak in earnest about 1:00 in the afternoon. The three sun worshippers – Sean, Andy and Joanie – shuffled down to the pool area, and Mark made his way back toward Colle d’val Elsa to a grocery story he had seen while in the midst of one of the many fuque turns. Mark returned and after a mid-afternoon snack Team Oyaas packed up for their first adventure into the Italian countryside, deciding to head toward Volterra, one of the many walled cities sprinkled throughout Tuscany.
This turned out to be a great decision. They parked at the base of the city and walked 126 stairs to the main portion of the walled-off town. Volterra was a nice introduction to what the family would see the next day. After exploring the town for a while and stopping for a quick respite, a decision was made to move back toward home base for dinner before the sun set. They decided to head back to Casole d’Elsa, the charming little town at the top of the hill just above Antica Fonte. The narrow streets of the town provided little parking and, discretion being the better part of valor, they decided to try out the Hotel Gemini which looked from the front to be one part trattoria, one part Best Western. All was not as it appeared to be. The Ristorante Hotel Gemini (Via Provinciale, 4) just outside of the entrance to the old city was a lovely white-tablecloth restaurant with two tuxedo-clad waiters at the ready. Another great meal, more great wine, and the family heads back for a good night sleep.
The following morning, July 4th, U.S. Independence Day, a plan was agreed upon. The family would set out for San Gimignano and then a swing over to historic Siena, the site of the legendary Palio horse race from which the annual Kenwood Park Festival takes its name. And so, at the crack of noon, with no hope of getting ahead of the crowd, off they ventured toward San Gimignano. The family quickly found that this wonderful town is the ideal composite of everything the Tuscan hill towns have to offer: towers and turrets, imposing fortresses and gates, breathtaking views from outside of the city around the valley; yet it is very approachable and accessible.
Naturally, Mark gravitated toward the first wine shop along the street and made fast friends with Irene at La Fiaschetteria Di Boboli (Via San Matteo, 46). The shop seemed to have a nice selection of Tuscan wines and featured some from the area around San Gimignano. Mark and Joanie had a pleasant tasting and decided to get the buy-and-ship-the-wine portion of this trip out of the way. [The shipping worked out perfectly. The wine arrived just days after the Oyaases finally hit their humble Sheridan abode. The olive oil took almost eight weeks longer but arrived intact.]
Fueled by the mellow glow of the wine tasting, Mark and Joanie struck up quite the conversation with the owner of a leather shop just up the street. To this point, with the exception of soccer jerseys in Rome, the family had done very little shopping of any kind. The proprietor had a nice array of handbags, suitcases and other leather goods. Mark ended up purchasing a double-level weekender bag with a bottom zip for shoes. He paid about €100 which the proprietor said would be about half of what they would find for a similar product in Florence. [That turned out to be for the most part true.] The owner also said that “the extra treat with this bag for you will be that you met the man who made it,” turning over his powerful, callused hands thickened by years of working with leather, needles and thread. The boys found more soccer jerseys that they could not live without at Danny Sport, and then the family sat down for beers and pizza at Bar La Cisterna (Piazza Cisterna, 3).
Timing is everything, and the Oyaases decided to take advantage of the customary mid-afternoon shop closings to move from San Gimignano on to Siena. The drive across was spectacular, down one beautiful hill, through a valley, and up and on into Siena. Siena is considerably larger than San Gimignano and Volterra. Until you reach the walls of the old city it appears to be quite bustling and modern, with a smattering of industrial and commercial uses on the outskirts. After stopping on the outskirts to take it all in, the family navigated toward the trademark towers and the central cathedral in town. Unfortunately for Mr. Visa, the Oyaases were shopped out after San Gimignano and concentrated on seeing some sights.
The cathedral is spectacular, the detail on the exterior is fantastic, and the beautiful marble sculptures on the floor are must-sees by any traveler. Satiated with sights, the family then refueled at the Gelateri Brivido (Via del Pellegrini, 1). After a truly wonderful afternoon and evening in both Siena and San Gimignano, the adventurers headed back toward base and decided to eat at the pizzeria ristorante Le Grazie (Via Volterrana, 41). This was the spot where they were rescued with good directions on their first day in Tuscany. They even got to meet their knight in shining armor, Lucca. Another wonderful meal was presented, with shrimp scampi starters and chicken all around for dinner.
The next day, July 5th, the family was scheduled for high adventure in Florence. There had been considerable discussion with Elena the day before about the best way to get to Florence from Antica Fonte. The Oyaases had hoped to take a train in from a nearby town, avoiding the hassle of the autostrada and parking. Alas, no such train existed, and buses were infrequent from this part of Tuscany.
“Don’t worry,” said Elena, “It’s not hard-a.” Joanie and Mark looked at each other knowingly. It didn’t need to be said out loud: this would be hard.
The trip from the hotel to Florence turned out to be rather painless. The Oyaases did not take the autostrada but rather the “blue highway” which led them ultimately to the front gate of old Florence. For once they ended up leaving early enough so that parking was not a problem and the family proceeded up to the Uffizi Gallery where they had reservations for admission at 11:15 a.m. (That’s right, A.M.!) A decision was made to rent the electronic guides and move through the gallery at a brisk pace. Each room of the Uffizi is numbered and it should be as simple as pressing the number on the guide to enjoy the tour. All four of the geniuses got a good laugh when they realized that they were each pressing the wrong numbers and touring the various rooms in different directions, nodding knowingly as if any of the narrative made sense. Nonetheless, the art was spectacular and it was impossible not to pick up the history, depth and evolution of renaissance art as presented in the gallery. The Good Times Quartet had lunch on top of the gallery and then hustled on to the Academy where they were to meet their tour guide for the afternoon.
And what an afternoon it was! Patrizia Harris Ceccarelli truly made Florence special for the visitors. This 50-something perky and energetic native of Florence holds masters degrees in philosophy and art history. She is married to a British ex-pat whom she met while he was studying Italian in the local Florence library after graduating from Oxford. Patrizia spoke perfect English and was obviously passionate about her work. Her stirring telling of the life, times and talents of Michelangelo through his sculptures of the slaves and of course David were worth the price of admission alone. The in-depth tour of Santa Croce, the Franciscan cathedral which serves as Italy’s Westminster Abbey, was spectacular. Patrizia was personable and professional. She made connections with each member of the Oyaas family and certainly made learning fun and fulfilling.

Travel Tip Number Seven: If ever there is a place to have a qualified guide, Florence is it. Patrizia's insights into the Duomo, Michelangelo and Santa Croce will stay with the four Oyaases for the rest of their lives. In one day a traveler can take a glimpse into the very best of what artistic and scientific inspiration offers.

After fulfilling tours of the aforementioned Academy, Duomo and Santa Croce, the group bid farewell to their new friend and headed off for some preplanned shopping. Patrizia had steered them toward a group of leather shops south of the Duomo not far from the picturesque Ponte Vecchio. By good fortune Mark and Joanie stumbled upon GABI, a pelletteria-leather works (Via Ricasoli, 45). Among the features of GABI is the fact that they make the bulk of the leather goods in their small factory and it is managed by a delightful Australian ex-pat so the wheeling-and-dealing that is common in these shops can be done in English. The shopping was fun, nothing was free, but a good time was had by all.
From there we were directed to a wonderful restaurant nearby our parking spot, the Ristorante Borgo Antico. It is a hustling and bustling kind of place, the food came out in bundles, and the house wine flowed.; perhaps too much wine given the precarious journey back to Antica Fonte.
Rather than follow the blue highway back to Casole d’val Elsa, the unwise decision was made to take the autostrada. The fully satiated, tour-weary party cruised along the autostrada and apparently missed the appropriate exit which was the first one on the outskirts of Florence. Unfortunately for all, the next exit was more than 80 kilometers down the road. (This is the big danger of the autostada. There are far fewer exits than typically found on an American interstate. If you miss your town, it is very possible to go 40 miles out of the way which means an 80 mile detour.)
Rather than double back and return all the way to Florence, Mark consulted the map and decided that he would complete the triangle back to Casole d’val Elsa by cutting through the hillsides of Chianti. At another time of day this might have been a wise, perhaps wonderful decision. The beautiful switchbacks through the small wine country towns speckled across Chianti surely are picturesque, in the day. At night they are another matter. Passengers in the back seat were close to a third family vomitorium and the driver, although clearly making progress toward the final destination, was deathly afraid of being lynched along the way. In the end, although a 45-minute return journey was turned into a 3-hour nightmare, none of the family let that ruin the glow of their wonderful visit to Florence.

Travel Tip Number Eight: Maps and Guides. The travel itinerary given to the Oyaas family was very complete and detailed in most regards. It was less than complete, however, when it came to travel times and distances, and directions were at best vague. Bricker Lavick and Patrick Lutter both provided the Oyaases with fairly large, detailed road maps which hit the cutting room floor in the packing stage. They decided to wing it with the toy maps provided in some of the supplemental literature as well as count on maps available from the car rental agency and hotels. These were woefully inadequate. A smart traveler would not only bring as detailed road maps as possible, but familiarize oneself with each segment of the journey before embarking. Another smart practice would be to Mapquest each destination from address-to-address and have those directions available as backup. These are not always accurate; however, they provide more nuance than even the most detailed maps. They also have the advantage of providing driving times, which is almost impossible to judge from a map. The itinerary often called for side stops to enjoy along Point A to Point B; however, there was never any time to take advantage of these stops.
Travel Tip Number Nine: It takes a good ciao to get a good ciao. The Italian language is certainly beautiful. The word “ciao” embodies the fun and the warmth of the language and the people. It means “hello” and “goodbye” and is sweet and wonderful. The Italians appreciate it if one tries to speak the language and even a simple bon giorno or ciao does wonders for relations. [Along the way, the Oyaases concluded that ciao almost had a Chinese tonal quality to it and they wondered aloud whether or not it was a phrase that was actually picked up and brought back by Marco Polo.] Many Italians, however, are not so patient with butchered Italian. The language sounds enough like Spanish that it is easy to fall back on Spanish phrases or words when in a shop or restaurant. This phraseology was dubbed by the Oyaas boys as “Spangtalian.” Joanie was famous for her spirited thank you: graziazas, which usually elicited a “huh” from Italians.

Sean, Joanie, Andy with Super Guide Patrizia Harris Ceccaralli

Santa Croce, Florence July 5, 2007

Capitolo Cinque – Venice

On Friday, July 6, the Oyaases bade goodbye to the lovely Elena and the folks at Antica Fonte and began their journey to Venice. As far as road trips go, this one may be among the easiest to navigate. However, it took much longer than imagined. The travelers took the autostrada the entire way, which brings you around the outskirts of Bologna. However, there was no time to stop. Having been in Venice just a week or so before, the Romlins were able to give them a good idea of where the Eurocar rental facility was, but it is a fairly large and imposing transit complex which includes busways, a rail stop, and a very large parking facility. Again the phone came in handy and Joanie phoned directly to the Venice office and the travelers were guided directly to the front of the office to drop off the car.
From the transit complex, Venice looked like any other hustling, bustling Italian city, congested and confusing. Across the street and down the steps, however, the enchantment begins. This is the water taxi, water bus stop from the main portions of Venice to the mainland. A confident traveler can get to one’s hotel using the waterbus system. However, first-time visitors to this magical city cannot go wrong taking a water taxi although they are expensive; from this stop to the hotel, €60.
The Oyaases were a bit dazed and confused when they arrived at the taxi stand, and Mark gave the starter a €5 note to help them get pointed in the right direction. As they loaded their bags off the dock into the beautiful teak water taxi, the driver said “Hotel Duodo Palace? I won’t be able to make it down the last canal because it is high tide, but I can drop you off close by and get you going in the right direction.” Hearing this, the starter walked down the dock and clearly said to the driver in Italian, “Never mind that rule. Take them to the door of the hotel. He gave me €5.” This is another example of the subtlety of tipping. The art is finding the appropriate times and the appropriate amounts.
There were eight very wide eyes as the taxi entered the main canal and navigated its way into the smaller back canals of Venice. The Hotel Duodo Palace’s main entrance is on a very small, narrow canal with echoes of a small cobblestone street or even an alley. Just like any other fine European hotel, it has a beautiful doorway and entrance, only rather than opening onto a sidewalk it opens onto a small red-carpeted dock which sits over the canal. From the bellman to the front desk to housekeeping to the bar service, the Hotel Duodo Palace’s staff was at once warm and very professional. Each of the stays the Oyaases had in Italy were in properties that they would highly recommend. That said, the Duodo Palace really is something very special.
By the time luggage was stowed and bearings were found, it was time for dinner. The fine fellow at the front desk recommended the Hostaria Galileo in the San Marco District. (If the rest of Italy is confusing to navigate, Venice can be confounding. There are districts which very much have their own flavor and are as islands unto themselves divided up by these larger canals. San Marco and the Piazza San Marco are clearly the center of town spiritually if not geographically.) Dinner at the Galileo was again delightful. It seemed to the Oyaases during their short stay that Venice is far more international in terms of the service industry. One of the waiters at the Galileo was a Russian, the other from India. After a couple limoncellos, everyone agreed that they were all just from Earth.
Post-breakfast on Saturday the family walked around and took considerable pride in not getting lost as they navigated across the main portions of town. The Hotel had made arrangements for Mark and Joanie to take an afternoon water taxi ride out to the Isle of Murano and visit the famous glass blowing factories. Travel books and individuals warn that you become a captive audience and one should be aware of the hard-sell to buy glass once the tour is done. Mark and Joan went on this excursion with eyes wide open and therefore did not feel pressured or disappointed. The water taxi ride provided views of neighborhoods different than that of the one from the original transit plaza. The tour was interesting and informative, and they enjoyed a nice visit with a rather laid-back salesman named Hermano. In the end, a water pitcher, water and wine glasses, and some traditional Italian cylinder wine glasses were purchased, along with a hand-blown glass clown in memory of Mark’s mom, Rita. “Hermano, Pagliacci” will always be a wonderful reminder of this very special trip.
One of the features of purchasing at the CAM vetri d'arte, which is a cooperative operated by several glass blowing families on Murano, is that all items are crafted after they are purchased and shipped to your door back in the U.S. Lovely lasting memories like Hermano arrive hassle-free, no schlepping required.
Joanie and Mark made it back in time for their appointed rendezvous with Andy and Sean for a gondola ride. The rides vary widely in cost, anywhere from €75 to €250 depending on time of day and whether you want an “O Sole Mio” or not. The Oyaases followed the common wisdom that a late afternoon ride is the best bet (the cost goes up after 7:00 in summer). Rather than negotiate a lower price, then tip, Mark took the gondolier’s price and made certain he knew that was “all in.” Lucca, the gondolier, provided a great ride, highlighting some of the sights along the canals including a house young Mozart lived in and Marco Polo’s house. If Italy is a once-in-a-lifetime adventure, Venice – including a gondolier ride – is a must.

Mark and Joanie
On Gondola? Why Not!
Venice July 10, 2007

The four regrouped back at the Hotel Duodo Palace and got ready for their last night together in Italy. After consulting again the professional at the front desk of the Duodo Palace, they agreed that Ristorante Antico Pignolo would be the perfect spot for the family to celebrate their unbelievable time together. The Antico Pignolo (Calle Specchieri, 457) is an extremely lovely restaurant located on a historic site just off of the Piazza San Marco. While it is far from the most expensive restaurant in Venice, it is one of those places that if you are worried about cost, you probably should not go. It was an ideal spot for a last-night celebration. The place was teaming with service staff, starting with a head waiter, a sommelier, and a cadre of assistant waiters to attend to your every need. Everybody got a kick out of the joyful song in the waiter’s voice at every juncture. “Still water, or water with gas?” How about both? “Why not?” And so it was. “Why not?” became the theme for the evening. “May we see the wine list?”” Why not?” Shocked that the first bottle of wine on page one was €1500, Mark asked if he could recommend one more within the stratosphere. “Why not?” was the answer. And so it went. Completely full, as the family stepped out to head back to the hotel, the kind waiter wished them all a buono serra, beautiful evening, to which they replied without rehearsal and in unison, “Why not?”

Joanie, Andy and Sean Toasting a Remarkable Journey
Venice 7-07-2007

Capitolo Sei, A Riviera Review

Careful readers of this travelogue would assume that the Oyaases are generally quite casual if not downright careless when it comes to travel deadlines. The preparations with the staff at the Hotel Duodo Palace were perhaps the exception to the rule. A water taxi was booked well in advance—actually, more than 24 hours—to get Sean and Andy to the Venice airport where they would head for home, and Joan and Mark to the Transportation Plaza where they would pick up their car for the last leg of their journey.
On Sunday morning, July 8, bags were packed, breakfasts were had, and the group was ready for the water taxi to pick them up at the appointed 9:00 am time. The group bade their final arrivedercis and ciaos to the hotel staff, climbed aboard the water taxi, and headed for the airport. The young water taxi driver was the only one who had nowhere in particular to go, and he acted like it. The goal was to get to the airport 2-1/2 hours in advance of the 12:00 departure for Amsterdam, but with kayaks, gondolas and even ducks passing the taxi along the canal, the foursome began to get nervous. Eventually, out past the Grand Canal onto the open water, they picked up speed and ultimately arrived at the airport docking area. A quick check for passports and travel documents, and a couple of Mom tears, and the boys were loaded off onto the dock. As the driver started to pull away from the slip, Andy asked, “Say, by the way, which way to the airport?” (It is not evident from down below.) The driver smiled and said, “Just up the steps and to the right. Don’t worry. It’s not hard-a.” At once that knowing “oh shit” look crossed the faces of all four of the Oyaases as they parted company.
At the Travel Plaza, Mark and Joan picked up their rental car, a Fiat Brava that had only 200 kilometers under its belt, according to the odometer. Among American know-it-alls, Fiat has a rather questionable reputation. However, Mark found this car to be roomy for a compact and quite responsive on the autostrada.
The ride from Venice across to the Riviera is fairly straightforward; Venice to Bologna, Bologna to Parma, Parma to La Spezia, the jumping off point to the Italian Riviera. Nervous Joan was able to contain herself for a whole hour and a half before calling the boys to see their progress at the airport. She figured this was plenty of time for them to get through security, customs and ticketing. When she reached Sean, his report was not all that comforting. “This airport is a mess. We’re still going through security, and we only have 15 minutes to get to the plane. Gotta go. I’ll call you if there is a problem.” Uh oh. Both Mark and Joan kicked into full worried parent mode. But alas, there was no way to pull off or turn around and head back toward Venice in the event of a worst-case scenario, so they proceeded on and had to hope that no news was good news as far as their flight was concerned. Two and a half hours later, somewhere between Parma and La Spezia, they received a text message from Andy: “In Amsterdam airport hurrying to our connection.” Relieved, the couple pulled over at what turned out to be one of the worst autostrada stops in all of Italy. They had hoped to take a side trip into a small town along the way, but unfortunately when the stomachs started to grumble the 1:30 bewitching hour—meaning all shops and restaurants closed—had already come and gone.
Relieved about the boys, and with at least something in their bellies, the couple was able to relax and enjoy the trip down to La Spezia. The territory is rugged and breathtaking, and offers tremendous views as beautiful as anything they had seen in Italy. The road is wide and turns, although frequent, are gentle, allowing both passengers and drivers to take in the panoramas.
From La Spezia there are several roads to the coastal town of Rapallo and, of course, not trusting his groggy navigator, Mark ended up on the one less traveled. This particular “I told you so” cost the couple an additional hour in the car, but did afford them some gorgeous views of the Riviera including Camogli and Recco. The magic of the fuque turns eventually brought them to their destination, the Hotel Continental in Santa Margherita, Ligure, along the Porto Fino coast.

Santa Margherita Ligure
View from Hotel Continental July10, 2007

Once again, there were no surprises. The Hotel Continental came exactly as billed by Remarkable Steve. It is located on the coast, about four blocks uphill from the main square in Santa Margherita. Their top-floor room faced the ocean and had a private sun-drenched balcony as an exclamation point. Joan decided to take a hot bath and rest her much-aching back while Mark repaired to the patio bar for his first and only campari soda of the trip.
Rested and ready, each in their own way, the couple met at the concierge desk to plan out their next day’s activities. Santa Margherita is just a short train ride away from the Cinque Terre, the five coastal cities that are number one on almost everybody’s to-do list when visiting Italy. After looking at the train schedule and discussing the terrain between towns, Mark and Joan decided that given her back situation and their compressed time schedule that the Cinque Terre would have to wait until their next trip. With the help of the concierge they booked reservations at a family trattoria for that evening and a more formal ristorante for the next night. The Trattoria Baicin is located just a block off the town square on a charming back street packed with shops, restaurants and bars. (Via Algeria, 5) The couple made an initial, unfortunate, decision to sit outside and was wedged between several tables of locals chasing away the woes of their days with packs of unfiltered cigarettes, house wine, grappa and coffee. The small staff seemed tense and overworked. They were terse with the locals and slow to serve the newly arrived tourists. Eventually the smoke cleared, as did some of the tables, and Mark and Joanie ultimately found the Baicin to be the delightful family connection they had hoped for. A good meal was finished off with a complementary dessert of plums floating in a glass bowl filled with ice and, of course, a couple of limoncellos on the house.
During their meal, the couple noticed considerable foot traffic headed to the gelateria next door. Well-dressed couples strolled through the night with obvious purpose, headed toward the warm light of U Caruggiu. The owner of the gelateria was outside during a break in the action and caught Mark as he mischievously snapped a photo of a young Italian girl whose full moon was rising above her tight jeans. Even though they had had a full meal topped off with the ice chilled plums, the consensus was a stop U Caruggiu was a must. “Shall we?” “Why not?”
The owner was a delightful guy and beamed when Mark and Joanie stepped in, still chuckling about the snapshot he had witnessed earlier. He was proud of his gelati and encouraged tastes of almost every flavor in the case. The gelato at U Caruggiu (Via Algeria, 15) was by far the best that the Oyaases had tasted across Italy. As they began to amble back to the Hotel Continental, the mellow mood was interrupted somewhat by an unsettling phone call from Andy. The boys had made it to Detroit, but unfortunately all connecting flights to Minneapolis were cancelled or substantially delayed. The boys, who had been traveling straight for a good 15 hours, were still far from home.

Travel Tip Number Ten: If you are reading this travelogue for inspiration regarding European travel in the first decade of the 21st Century, take careful note. If you are held hostage by one major airline, as we are in the Twin Cities, beware the connecting flights. Carefully compare the price of nonstop flights from your home to mainland Europe with those of one- or two-stop flights. The peace of mind afforded the nonstop may be worth the extra $100 or so airfare that it costs.

As the couple reached the Hotel Continental entrance, they turned on the sidewalk to look back over Santa Margherita, Ligure, the bay and the lights, and as if some magical switch had been turned, fireworks burst out from over the hills in the background. And although still concerned for their wandering sons, Mark and Joan basked in the moment and agreed that this tableau would be one of the defining moments of their trip.
Joanie spent much of the following day, Monday, July 9th, in bed or on the balcony, letting some of the over-the-counter muscle relaxers she had purchased work their own magic. Meanwhile, Mark wandered through town, his eyes darting to and fro, watching some of God’s most beautiful creations walking, running, and buzzing around on Vespas which crowded the streets of a bustling daytime Santa Margherita. The charm of a dark-skinned Italian woman in high heels with bare legs and blonde hair streaming out from under a helmet is hard to resist; flirts in skirts. Thankfully, Joan was able to rally and come into town for an afternoon glass of Prosecco and some fresh cheese at a seaside bistro.
They had reservations at the Ristoranto il Faro (Via Maragliano, 24). The il Faro is a consensus choice in all of the guidebooks, including Frommers and Parker, and was the first suggestion of the concierge at the Continental. Its charming owner, Roberto Fabbro, was on hand to greet the couple and serve them throughout the evening. The dinner was fabulous, during which Mark and Joanie enjoyed a nice exchange with a couple from Long Island who were nearing the end of their trip as well.
The next day Joanie took advantage of clear skies and soaked up some of the morning Riviera sun while Mark fussed and bustled, packed and loaded the car for their trip to Somma Lombardo, a suburb of Milan near the Milan airport. The trip from Santa Margherita to Somma Lombardo was much quicker than they had anticipated and so Mark and Joan found themselves with considerable time on their hands in a rather nondescript American-style hotel, the Dominia Inn, in the more than nondescript town of Somma Lombardo.
It seemed like a sad way to end such a marvelous trip and the prospect of spending last dinner in that hotel seemed particularly grim. Mark inquired at the desk of restaurants in town that would be befitting of a final night’s meal. He didn’t expect much out of the recommendation of the 19-year-old behind the desk, but she was eager, cheery, had a spot in mind, and promptly called for reservations.
A universal rule of thumb when traveling: expect the unexpected. The il Ristorante Corte Visconti (Via Roma, 9) was simply other-worldly. It is set within the walls of a small castle at the center of town, the only historic structure in this otherwise bland burg. Mark had driven past the door several times, but was looking for a freestanding building more befitting a pizzeria. Joanie forced him to stop and ask directions (“Scuze, Senor, do you speak English?” “Si, si,” said the good-looking man. “I get by.” “Corte Visconti?” The man beamed. “Roberto, the chef, he is my best friend. You are very close by. Come behind my car. I will show you and show you where to park.”
The restaurant is indeed run by Roberto, along with his partner, Paolo, who works the floor as headwaiter and master host. The menu featured largely locally-produced fish, meats and vegetables prepared with French nouvelle cuisine principles. The presentation was beautiful and very bite of everything the couple ordered was absolutely the best they had ever tested, no kidding! The wine steward, who is more or less the co-waiter with Paolo in this small outpost of heaven, recommended a bottle of Tenuta Langasco, a Nebbiolo de Alba bottled by Laurie Coppa. For special bottles there is a special presentation where the wine is rolled in the glass in front of candlelight, cleansing the glass while coating it in a beautiful red hue. The wine was befitting of the restaurant, the food and the moment; absolutely outstanding.

Joanie at the Corte Visconte
One wonderful way to say goodbye!
Sommo Lombardo July 10, 2007

Travel Tip Number Eleven: For those with a stopover in Somma Lombardo before flying out of Milan, the Corte Visconti is an absolute must. You can make reservations online, www.cortevisconti.it.

A good meal was followed by a good night’s sleep, and Mark and Joan arose determined to get to the airport with time to spare. As they checked out they asked the desk clerk to confirm directions to the airport and the rental car drop-off. “It’s not hard-a.” Noticing the furtive looks they exchanged, and the panic in the faces, the young clerk went on and assured them. “It is not hard. Exit 2. The only confusion is rental car is underground on the left.” Sure enough, straight down the road, Exit 2, rental car on the left. The Fiat was dropped off without hassle and Mark and Joan found themselves three hours early for a flight for the first time in their life.
Travel Tip Number Twelve: The Milan Malpensa Airport is chock-full of designer outlet stores and a large, well-appointed duty free for last minute gift purchases. Mark was able to get through the Malo shop and even the Etro shop unscathed, but had to stop for those must have green loafers at the Moreschi shop. Joanie was able to finish her gift checklist off in the duty-free shop and there was even considerable time to linger over one last Prosecco before boarding the plane.
The connecting flight to Minneapolis in the Amsterdam airport was considerably further than Mark and Joanie had anticipated, but they made it to the gate with time to stop for a Heineken in between. The Northwest A330 was clean and comfortable and in the blink of an eye they were taxiing to the gate. Home.

Epilogo – “Why Not?”

Let there be no argument. Life is fleeting. All relationships—familial, casual and even loves—are fragile. If there is opportunity in your life to share the wonders of Italy, take it. If you can enjoy the fruits of civilization, the lessons of history, side by side with friends and family like the Oyaases did with the Romlins and each other, seize it. While the dollar outlay can seem considerable, the expense is not frivolous. Such journeys, as the one described in this travelogue, are absolute investments in the soul.

Live, Love and Enjoy!