So, I’m sitting here typing this from the bedroom of my grandmother’s house in Bangkok. She passed away 3 years ago, and it feels like an eternity since I was last here. Casey survived 22 hours of flying like a stalwart international jetsetter, thanks to a lot of handheld movies on the iPhone and Palm! Really, he was a great traveler, and I’m convinced we are able to take him just about anywhere in the world now. We landed at Bangkok’s new Suvarnabhumi International Airport late Monday night Feb. 9th, flying in via Seattle and Narita/Tokyo. This was the scene of the anti-Thaksin Democratic party protesters several months ago that crippled the country’s economy and tourism, not just for the few days they occupied the terminal and roadways, but for many months to come — Thailand’s image has been tarnished as a destination because of it. Things are pretty quiet here now, and most people don’t want to think about what kind of turmoil will ensue when the revered King passes away. But that’s enough glum talk for this blog entry!

We spent the first day recovering from serious jetlag, hanging out around the house and trying to avoid the sweltering sun and humidity. But hey, we just left snow in Portland, so sun and heat is a good thing, right? It took us a few days, but we finally recovered as we always do. It was fun meeting my two nephews, Tuff and Ty,  for the first time, and introducing Casey to them. There is a definite language barrier, as Tuffy’s English is still developing and Casey can only count to ten. Plus, an age difference as well, as they kind of do the “nearby” play together. Nonetheless, one major reason for this trip was to introduce Casey to his extended Thai family (now that we figured he was old enough to survive the flight to the other side of the world).

On Tuesday, we packed up some belongings and drove about 2.5 hrs. north to stay at my parents’ house near Khao Yai National Park. It is a beautiful area with rocky mountains that reminds me of a cross between the Bay Area hills and Appalachia (photos yet to be posted, when I can access a card reader!). The weather was much cooler and breezier, although still somewhat warm by Khao Yai standards.

On Wednesday evening after it had cooled down, my dad, brother, Kirstin, Casey and I went to the Thai Elephant Conservation Center just outside the entrance to the park. Apparently, the elephants here were saved from the streets of Bangkok where they were subject to abuse. One of the largest wild herds of elephants resides in Khao Yai NP. After feeding bananas to a 3-year-old elephant, we split into pairs (me and Kirstin, Ray and Casey) with my dad staying behind to take photos, as we mounted our pachyderm guides (aged 19 and 45) for a 30-minute jaunt into the forest. Casey was hanging on for dear life, as was his uncle, but Casey said he had a great time. The highlight for me had to be fording the deep river with the elephants up to their eyeballs in water! Yikes! As we returned to the main center, we noticed the staff setting up for a show depicting the historical battle between Burma and Thailand when they used elephants for combat. Not sure how I felt about them being used for performance, but I suppose it’s a better life here than being beaten or chained up in a big city.

Later that evening, we went to a friend’s house at sunset to watch ribbons and waves of bats leaves their Khao Yai caves in search of dinner. It was cool to watch them fly out in black masses or formations like geese. Apparently we missed the peak season in December, and the bats were not nearly as dramatic in number. The rest of the time in Khao Yai was spent relaxing, reading, take walks, playing with Casey, and eating. Not too shabby.

Early this morning (Saturday), we packed up our stuff and drove back to Bangkok. At 10:30 AM, nine monks from the temple my grandmother and grandfather used to frequent came to the house and gave blessings for several concurrent occasions. My cousin’s family had just built a brand new house in the back of my grandmother’s house, and the monks performed a blessing for the new home. They also celebrated Kirstin’s and Tuffy’s birthdays during the same ceremony. After providing food to the monks, it was our turn to eat as well. And boy did we eat and eat and eat. I should have taken a photo before we dug in. It’s now 6:30 PM and I am only the faintest bit hungry! This also served as a mini-reunion to see my other aunts and cousins, and meet the newest little niece Pang Jee. We’ll get to spend more time with them next weekend when we go to the beach town of Hua Hin.

That’s about all I have to report so far. We are enjoying ourselves thoroughly and relaxing every bit we get. Khob khun for reading!

Sawasdee krub, Tom

As 2008 winds down, we are gearing up for our travels in 2009.

Now that he is three and able to somewhat entertain himself for 24 hours of flying, we’ll be taking Casey to visit his extended family in Bangkok, Thailand for the first time. This assumes the PAD protesters don’t take over Suvarnabhumi International Airport a second time. We’ll keep an eye on the situation, but for now, all lights are green to go.

Kirstin and I will also be sneaking in a romantic 3-night sidetrip to Hong Kong from Bangkok, while Casey will be well cared for by a multitude of aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents!   I have several friends living there now, and it will be good to see them and explore a new city.

And last but not least, the bit about Grants Pass…ok, it’s not really Grants Pass, but darn close to it!  I just reserved our yurt at Valley of the Rogue State Park in southern Oregon.  Why there you ask?  Well, it’s close to Crater Lake National Park, a place that Kirstin has never been (of which she continually reminds me, but no longer).  Secondly, what’s a yurt?  Oregon State Parks has a nice description of our lodging.

So, that’s our current plan for 2009.  Hope you have a happy holiday season and a safe, peaceful New Year!

~ Tom

We woke up bright and early on Mother’s Day to do the Cinque Terre hike, nearly end to end since we had seen Riomaggiore the day before. None of the bars were open in Manarola when we left at 8:00, so off we started for Corniglia, about 45 min. on foot. The morning was cool and windy compared to our first day here, but it felt good as we hiked the mostly flat trail to Corniglia, passing only a handful of other hikes en route to Manarola. Just past the train platform are the 382 stairs leading up to the town. Quite the warm up workout for the rest of the hike! Corniglia is quaint, quiet, the smallest of the 5 towns. I wonder if it just experiences a flow of thru-hikers during the day, going in both directions. We had yummy pastries and cappuccini at a bar run by a very sweet older lady. She was very kind and obviously receptive to foreign travelers. After getting our fill and full of energy, we bid arrivederci to piccolo Corniglia and started the trek to Vernazza.

This section of trail was definitely harder than the last, with lots of up and down (mostly up) sections of stairs, in and out of sun and shade around numerous bends. The views of the Med are quite stunning from the trail. We started experiencing more hikers now that it was around 10 AM, but not totally crowded and passable in wider spots on the trail. We snapped lots of shots along the way, until finally cresting the hill looking down into Vernazza. Definitely larger and more touristed than Manarola or Corniglia, Vernazza is Rick Steves’ home base of choice in the CT and I can see why. It has a likeable charm to it that isn’t totally overwhelming or tacky. If I hadn’t picked Manarola, we probably would have stayed here. We wandered down to the harbor to gawk at sunbathers and tourists getting off tour boats, sit on the breakwater, and enjoy the views. Vernazza’s harbor is definitely picturesque, with the colorful boats and buildings in all pastel colors. We did some window shopping, Kirstin bought a nice white top, and also sampled some not-so-perfect gelato (again, still haven’t found the best in Italy, Caffe Centrale’s in Asolo was tops to date) before deciding to tackle the last stretch of trail to Monterosso.

This section was billed as the “toughest but worth it”, but the first stretch out of Vernazza was not all that bad. No death-defying drops into the mare, that’s for sure. It was a nice mix of stairs, scarps, and level trail through plentiful groves of olives, lemons, and grape vineyards. We saw a lot of tracks for the “trenino”, essentially a mini-monorail/train that the farmers use to help bring the harvest down the hill. No passengers, please. Did I already mention how small a world this is? We ran into the couple from L.A. on the trail who stayed in Monterosso, another couple from Salem, OR, another couple I helped in Venezia Mestre train station due to the sciopero, and also the couple from Bend who were staying above us at Maria #3 in Manarola (this was at the cafe in Monterosso after the hike). Too funny. Anyhow, we were getting hungry and tired towards the end of the hike that seemed to go on and on. As we neared Monterosso, the trail definitely got more crowded with midday hikers, it was narrower and harder to pass simultaneously, and the downhill stairs were seriously testing our quads. Some of the footwear one sees on the CT trails is unbelievable, flip-flops being the most unbelievable. I was happy to know we weren’t going to have to hike back to Manarola, as the steep section of hundreds of stairs from Monterosso would have been brutal. Finally, after about 5 hrs. 15 min. of hiking and dawdling, we entered the largest and most resorty town, Monterosso.

The first order of business was to get some lunch in our bellies. We spotted an outdoor terrace cafe Bar Nuovo Eden and staked our claim. After last evening’s debacle at Billy’s, we decided to just order one set of dishes and split everything. It was a yummy assortment of mixed bruschetta (including one with anchovy which was surprisingly good), seafood salad with lots of tentacles and octopi, tortellini with cream and prosciutto, and a 1/4-L of CT vino bianco from Riomaggiore. Perfect to feed hungry stomachs and tired feet. With my espresso to complete the meal, we escaped for a third of what we had paid the night before. We resolved to not get duped again and split meals the rest of the trip. Lots of Italians were out soaking up the sun in their skimpy suits (yes, women AND men both), and we decided to join them on the pebbly beach for a sit. The water was fairly cold and neither of us were prepared to go in, so I just had a little touch to say we had been there. After strolling the resort streets of Monterosso for a while, we were feeling tired from our day of hiking and hopped a short train ride back home to Manarola.

Kirstin and I cleaned up, did more laundry, and chilled out on the terrace before our dinner reservation at 20:00 at Marina Piccola, the same place we had met Claudio our first night in the CT. One observation we had made repeatedly since arriving in Italy was the pace around mealtime. There just isn’t any rushing customers out the door. I think restaurants must only plan on 2 seatings per night because you could probably sit at your table all night long and still not have the bill brought to you. It’s a conscious choice and effort to get the check and settle up. There’s no crowd of hungry diners waiting up front and ogling your table, it just doesn’t work that way. The menu at Marina Piccola was seafood heavy but hey, when in Liguria, eat fruits of the sea (and pesto). Kirstin and I split a huge mound of steamed mussels in garlicky, lemony broth, just incredible. Kirstin ended up with the linguini with granchi (crab) and I had the mixed grilled shellfish with basically shrimp, prawn, and bati bati, a type of small lobster. We had planned on splitting everything but kind of just nibbled off the other’s plate. It was all fresh and good, although Kirstin’s pasta just didn’t live up to the Due Mori in Asolo.

After dinner, we wandered back to the Cantina Zio Bramante (literally Uncle Bramante’s) where we’d had aperitivi of prosecco and spritz con Aperol before dinner. The bar had an acoustic guitar set up, and apparently our bartender also provided live music as well. Country music is what he played, we were told. Turns out it wasn’t so much Willie Nelson or Garth Brooks as it was Italian country, totally cool. I actually sang a James Taylor tune with him as well! After a stiff limoncino (lemon liquor) and sciachetra (dessert wine from the CT, about 18% alcohol) and couple more tunes, it was time to retire for our last night in Manarola, listening to the waves crashing on the rocks below our room.

Ciao, Tom

Our day started with a quick breakfast – cappucini for us both, brioche for Tom and for me – 2 giusto (scoops) gelato! Not the best gelato in the Cinque Terre, but who can complain about ice cream for breakfast? We stopped by Claudio’s house to ask about laundry and maybe an extra night’s stay at Maria #2. He asked us to step into his little garden and sit down. No huge hurry to conduct business. About laundry — we agreed to borrow a tub and soap and do it ourselves, instead of carrying it to Riomaggiore. Ummm…okay. We’ve been handwashing undies every night, but not a whole load. But whatever. We were decided.

Funny thing about Claudio. Whenever one of us starts a sentence with, “We were thinking…” or “Our plan is to…” he cuts us off immediately — “Stop thinking! You’re on vacation!”  It’s like he can see right through us — a couple who’s wound a little too tight and needs to let go a bit. Are we really that obvious? Anyway, we took some time to explore Manarola, taking in the incredible views of the town tucked into the mountainside and the terraced “fields” of grapes and olives, built and cultivated over centuries. The colors of the town and of the fruits growing on the hills — it’s all so bright and charming and calm. Even as the streets are bustling with tourists.

Our lunch today was standard Italian “fast food” — Tom had pizza with porcini and speck ham, and I had the local speciality farinata, a sort of bread made with chick peas, topped with pesto. Both were delicious. Then we got down to business and did the laundry, which was kind of fun and quite rewarding to convert our dirties to cleans and see them hanging — like all the other households around us — out in the air and sun to dry. With that done, we took a hike to see Riomaggiore. Claudio had told us of a trail that goes way up the mountain and then down into the town. An alternative to the “lovers lane” flat, tourist-packed pathways that everybody takes. He said we should do it that way if we are brave, which I took as a bit of a challenge from our host. So we took off to find the trail, found it, and started up. Seriously, up. And up and up until we were far above and in between the towns. But then we lost the trail, decided to not be so brave that we got lost in the brush, and climbed back down to join the tourists on the regular path.

Riomaggiore is bigger, has cars, and does not have the best gelato in Italy. But we did sit and people watch by the docks, and it was a beautiful afternoon to be anywhere in the Cinque Terre. Back “home” between the day and the evening, we relaxed on the patio and finally opened the bottle of Brut we received in Venice. Two words — totally drinkable. In fact, we totally drank the whole bottle. Another couple arrived to stay in the apartment above us — Mike and Stacey from Bend, Oregon! Very nice couple that we expect to see again before our stay is over. Especially since they cross our patio to get to their room! With the champagne gone, we then set off for dinner at Trattoria da Billy.

Oh, Trattoria da Billy, was a recommended pick from Tom’s research, so we made a reservation earlier in the day. We sat down and were given a little fruity drink to start. A nice beginning. But as it turned out, Billy would not be a favored memory from our trip (although we still talk about it to this day!). Unlike most other eateries we’ve been to so far, Billy had a sort of frenzy about him that just didn’t match the tranquil, slow-paced style of Italian eating. We felt sort of anxious and hurried and though the food tasted pretty good, we were, as they say in America — “over it” and ready to go. Though we split each dish, our bill was 64 EURO, thanks to the “special” fish that I didn’t realize was going to cost E 35! Okay, so after a few minutes of sulking, we put it all behind us, went for a walk by the water, and then headed home to our squishy bed for another peaceful rest in the Cinque Terre.

Ciao, Kirstin

We awoke early Fri. morning to have some breakfast of apples, cheese, and apple foccacia prior to our checkout and taxi ride back to Castelfranco Veneto train station. This was to be the start of a long and interesting journey en route to the Cinque Terre – one that we probably soon would not forget. Our new driver Giorgio, who had come in Rosario’s place, loaded our bags into his minivan cab and we piled in. Again, I got plenty of use out of my rudimentary Italian since after informing Giorgio of our train schedule, he informed us that there was a sciopero - nationwide train strike – this morning from 9:00 to 13:00. Four hours of canceled trains, not long enough to bring the country to its knees, but enough to mess up several people’s travel plans. I had heard and read about these dreaded strikes (Italians assume they will happen just like the sun will rise), but what perfect timing on Trenitalia’s part to have one on our big rail travel day. Per-fetto. Luckily, after much back and forth with Giorgio regarding our train, whether we wanted us driven to Padova or elsewhere to try and catch another train, etc. etc. we pulled into Castelfranco station with plenty of time to spare. Our 8:34 regionale to Venezia Mestre was even delayed 5 minutes. So, we got into Mestre with little fanfare.

That’s when the proverbial cow poop hit the fan. Our train to Milan wasn’t on the departures board. We queued up with numerous other people, assuming our original train had been canceled. The first agent we interacted with was a complete jerk to put it mildly (this is a family-friendly blog). Since we had bought our tickets in Venezia Santa Lucia, he claimed he couldn’t do anything, was extremely uncooperative, and in the end, obliged to only change our first ticket to Milan, saying when you get there, deal with your connection to Monterosso (Cinque Terre). Feeling flustered as I do when travel goes awry, we left the ticket line to regroup and have a cappuccino (next to a McDonald’s, pretty funny). Our next viable train to Milan left four hours later at 14:42, so we had a while to kill.

Feeling needy for more info, I went to a different desk and asked to see if I could get our second ticket changed for later that day. The gentleman studied our situation and finally endorsed the back of our Milano-Monterosso ticket, told us the train we wanted, and said to go back to the ticket agents inside as soon as possible. Here. In Mestre, not Milan. So, back in line I stood, hoping I wouldn’t have to speak to the same jackass. Luckily, I didn’t and got a much more helpful agent (“why didn’t the first agent change both tickets? Mio dio“). Again, he studies our tickets and itinerary with much care and intensity before agreeing to go ahead and issue a new second ticket.

This was becoming an Italian comedy of errors, as his ticket printer decided to jam up while printer our ticket. The nice agent cut his hand while trying to unjam it, and about three other guys came over to assist. Finally, we had our fully reissued tickets and were satisfied that we would be on our way, at least sometime today. Oh, and maybe we should ask or check the papers before our next train ride to see if there’s an impending strike! Did I mention the scioperi are announced in the Italian newspapers, radio, AND TV?!

While sitting waiting wishing for our train to Milano, I struck up an Italian conversation with a young college girl who was also waiting for her train back to school in Venezia. I just asked how often the strikes occurred, and I guess my Italian was good enough to converse about Asolo, Venice, what it’s like in the U.S. compared to Italy, even politics (“No one in Italy speaks out against the politicians”, “the trains only go on strikes for a few hours, they don’t have the guts to strike for four days”). She didn’t believe I had only taken Italian once a week, 2 hours a night, for 9 months, as she said she’d studied English for 5 years, and it wasn’t as good as my Italian. That made me feel pretty good hearing that from another native Italian speaker, who was studying economics at Ca’ Foscari University in Venice – where we had happened to stop for a spritz earlier in the week. What a great way to spend 30 minutes at Mestre station.

We also saw many of the feather-capped gents (Gli Alpini) who were also in Asolo for some sort of celebration. Kirstin could only describe them as sort of grown-up Boy Scouts, decked out with medals of honor and so forth. We never did figure out exactly why they were there, other than celebrating some sort of northern Italian/Austrian/German alpine heritage. (We found out later thanks to Wikipedia about the true heritage of the Alpini – the elite Italian army corps stationed in the north). Our first train Venezia Mestre-Milano Centrale was thankfully empty and event-free. Milano Centrale is a complete zoo of a station, and luckily we spent only an hour there.

Our next train Milano-Monterosso was 180 degrees opposite: packed, crowded, hot, oversold (I think a number of passengers just bought tickets knowing they were going to stand). Plus, I need to describe the cast of characters seated around us. Working businessmen, the guy on his cellphone headset from Milan to Genoa (about 1 hr. 40 min.), the guy next to Kirstin about to nod off on her shoulder, the stinky long-haired hippie dude next to me who reeked of alcohol and B.O. (he had a reserved seat) who borrowed reading glasses from the aforementioned dude, young girls yelling “Eh?” into their cells, the list goes on and on. Anyhow, passengers played musical chairs the whole ride to Genoa and then the train pretty much emptied. I think they must’ve been mostly day commuters.

At long last, we arrived in beautiful Monterosso and were so happy to exit the train. We chatted up another couple from L.A. who had a very similar itinerary, used TripAdvisor and Rick Steves for research, and the gent even worked as a civil engineer for competitor TetraTech in Pasadena and knew people at my company Kennedy/Jenks in our L.A. office. Very small world, especially here in Italy. While we waited for the milk-run train to Manarola, we each took turns dashing out of the station to glimpse the Cinque Terre, smell the salt air, and listen to the waves crashing. A short regionale ride and we had finally arrived in Manarola, around 10 PM – we left Asolo at 7:45 AM.

Dazed and confused dragging our bags at night through the crooked streets of Manarola, I ducked in to ask where and how to find Claudio, the proprietor of A Casa 5 Terre where we were staying. Turns out he was having a glass of wine right next to where we were standing and had left us a voicemail – perhaps back home in Portland? He urged us to drop our bags at his door, sit down, have a glass of rosso from La Spezia, and relax. We had finally arrived in the Cinque Terre. Over some prosciutto, cheese, and tasty stuffed mussels, we exchanged stories and chatted with Claudio who spoke excellent English and told us about living and working in Manarola. He was a most gracious host, a local known to other residents, and he wanted us to “stop think and just enjoy”. In fact, he though we should spend a fourth night here and skip Lucca altogether!

It was getting late, we settled our bill and he showed us up, up, up to our room with a view, Maria #2 at 70 Via Baluardo. We’d have to wait ’til morning to see it, but I was sure the view was awesome. The room was simple with a kitchenette, dining table, bathroom with open shower (no walls or curtains, kinda splashy), and creaky bed that could probably stand replacing. Despite the minor suggestions, we felt at home and had our best night’s sleep thus far in Italy. Who wouldn’t after 15 hours of travel across Italy and 70 steps up to our waterfront room?

Buona notte, sogni d’oro.

(Good night, sweet dreams.)

If I had one complaint, and only one, with regard to our fantastic hotel, it would be that the walls are too thin. We did not get sound sleep due to our noisy neighbors slamming doors, flushing toilets, and even talking to loved ones by cell phone speakerphone at 2 AM – go figure. I guess it’s not the hotel’s fault. I mean the place was built in the 1800s. Anyway, we sort of “slept in” until 9 AM and mosied down to Caffe Centrale in Piazza Garibaldi, the local meeting place for coffee, a smoke, or chat. We had our now standard cappuccini and pastries (almond torte and chocolate croissant, yum!), along with some fresh squeezed spremuta, or blood orange juice. What a nice way to start the lazy morning.

After breakfast, we walked uphill towards La Rocca, an ancient walled fortress atop the town that dates back to the early 1000s and whose earliest origins, construction, and use are still somewhat unknown. It was exactly 276 steps to La Rocca, according to the signs, and a good warmup for hiking the Cinque Terre paths methinks. We were surprised to find the monument open on a Thursday, as it was only supposed to be open on Sundays – plus, thanks to the Cultural Week celebration in Asolo, the entrance was libero - free! Walking the ramparts was a great way to relax and take in the splendid vistas surrounding Asolo.

After an hour or so, we headed back into town to grab some lunch at a local bar – the usual panino, “toasty”, and bellinis with fresh peach juice. We noticed a trend of sorts when it came to lunch: ham, cheese, bread. Be it prosciutto or speck, local Grappa or gorgonzola, flat bread or toasted white – it all went together so well. There was an important gathering at the bar and next door at the museum, with local political and governmental types meeting today to decide how to protect the future for Asolo’s historical center. Naturally, the conference attendees were having a little drink at lunchtime, just like in the U.S., right? Afterwards, we stopped by a restaurant that I had researched to make a dinner reservation on the terrazza, the smell of grilling drawing us inside. We headed home to sit in the garden, write in our journals, and take an afternoon snooze (I love that Italian tradition).

We freshened up after our nap and went to buy some apple foccacia, asiago cheese, and water for breakfast in the morning before Rosario picked us up at 7:45 – the same store we had bought some sweet fruit-filled tortelloni from earlier in the day. Just enjoying more time in the garden watching the sunset before dinner alle otto (20:00 hrs.), and another stroll around Asolo’s centro storico, historical center.

Finally, it was chow (ciao) time. We had been anticipating this dinner since earlier in the day. We can say that this was our favorite meal to date in Italia. After picking out a corner table on the terrazza, we reviewed the menus. Definitely a quarter liter of prosecco and a quarter of the house cabernet. We have definitely been spoiled by good cheap Italian vino della casa (house wine), the complete antithesis of U.S. house wines. Kirstin started with tagliatelle with asparagus while I had agnolotti (big tortellini) with ham from San Daniele. Utterly amazing, molto buono, fresh handmade pasta! Then for secondi, Kirstin had roast pork with mushrooms, I had venison with polenta, and we split a plate of cooked seasonal vegetables. So amazingly good, overlooking the Asolo hills from our corner terrace table. To finish, naturally, due espressi.

As we left the restaurant, I spotted numerous photos of previous patrons, include Phoenix Suns coach Mike D’Antoni and family! (Kirstin was not nearly as impressed.). I had my second Italian conversation with the lady proprietor of the ristorante. I told her where we were off to on our trip, and she had glowing reviews of the Cinque Terre and Lucca. She said she was afraid of Florence, Room, and Padova – make sure to use your money belt and keep an eye on your possessions. Thieves can cut your handbag and make off with it! We had to finish the evening with a double cone of gelato (cinnamon and caffe) from Caffe Centrale, where we had sampled gelato the night before – the best to date per Kirstin’s palate. What a great way to end a perfect day in Asolo.

Ciao, Tom

Today was our last day in Venice. I think we’d seen most of what we wanted to see. More days could probably be spent soaking up the atmosphere, but I think we were ready to leave a lot of the hoards of tourists and tour groups denoted by their pastel baseball caps. I definitely liked the area around Accademia and Dorsoduro the best – more residential and quiet. Our first business of the morning was queuing in PSM to enter Basilica San Marco. The line wasn’t too bad at 9:30 (it opened at 9:45), so Kirstin held our spot while I ran to check the vaporetto (water bus) schedule to Torcello out in the lagoon. Fighting my way back through the crowds, I noticed Kirstin was close to getting in, so just in time.

Basilica San Marco is grandiose, it’s meant to make you realize how small you are in the presence of God. Furthermore, the tiny details and minutia are simply stunning, with ceilings and walls adorned with small pieces of glass mosaics all hand crafted and placed. We moved through the church fairly rapidly wit hother tourists (the gruff ticket taker at the Pala d’Oro or Golden Chapel saw to that) as we also had to make the 10:15 ferry to Burano, and then the short connection to Torcello. We had a lunch reservation at 12:30 at the famous Locanda Cipriani, the same owners as Harry’s Bar in Venice. We snoozed most of the way to Burano, the island famous for its lace-making, which we unfortunately had to skip. Once across the lagoon to Torcello, one could definitely sense a different ambiance than the one left behind in PSM.

Torcello was once an island of commerce with 50,000 inhabitants during the early millennium. It now houses some ancient ruins, a cathedral, bell tower, and few other homes and eateries. After poking around for an hour, it was time to sit down for what was to become our most extravagant (and expensive) lunch of our young 30-something lives. Given the reservation I had made by fax and email nearly a month ago, they seated us in the lovely garden under a trellis and grape arbor. The setting could not have been more perfect, with sun shining and cool breeze. We both had risotto with shrimp and new asparagus (I don’t think they understood “splitting” the dish – or that’s just not done here) which was very good. I had a steak fillet with artichoke and grilled vegetables while Kirstin had a pasta e fagioli soup and mixed green salad. We both had drinks and espresso to finish. After a leisurely meal, it was time for the bill – let’s just say it was memorable. We had to hurry to catch our scheduled ferries back to PSM. Then we bid arrivederci to the Westin E&R and boarded a packed vaporetto with our bags toward Ferrovia/Venezia Santa Lucia, the train station.

Kirstin chatted with a friendly lady from Manchester, UK who was touring Italy with 39 other “sterling” mates. Upon disembarking at Ferrovia, we dashed to get on the regionale train to take us to Castelfranco Veneto. I actually had to run back from the platform into the station to validate our ticket, or face a fine on board – amazingly, no one ever checked our tickets unlike on Amtrak! The regionale was pretty full with businessmen commuting home and a notable group of machismo young college dudes. I had a hard time hearing and seeing the stops, but luckily Kirstin caught a glimpse of the right sign and we got off at the prescribed station Castelfranco Veneto, about 50 minutes from Venice.

Next up was a very interesting taxi ride with our driver Rosario who would: drive us to Asolo, tell us about the weather, inquire if we needed or wanted to reserve a return to the Castelfranco Veneto station, ask why I booked our train tickets the way I did (“why Castelfranco Veneto – Venezia – Milano, and not Castelfranco Veneto – Vicenza – Milano?”), and curse (“Ma donna!“) when the road to our hotel was closed for construction. All in Italian. Finally, I had gotten the conversation with a non-English speaking native just as I had secretly hoped for and dreaded simultaneously. I think I managed ok (explaining how the other train route would only leave us 15 min. to switch in Milano Centrale to Monterosso, if the train was late we’d be out of luck, etc.). In the end, we secured a return with Rosario (or another driver if he couldn’t come or traffic was bad, etc.) for Friday morning. “E importante e sicuro” he kept telling us – this is important and your reservation is safe, don’t worry. Kirstin and I laughed about our ride and beamed with pride at my Italian skills while wheeling our bags down the closed cobble streets of Asolo to our hotel, the Villa Cipriani.

Starwood came through for us again. We were given a 3rd floor corner room #307 with view of the garden and Veneto hillside, as well as a hand-signed note from the manager, a bottle of chilled prosecco, and fresh fruit. Simply amazing. It was so beautiful and peaceful, sipping our wine from the garden terrace, enjoying the birds and cool breezes, sheep grazing on the hills amidst grapes and olives trees, just…..peaceful. Tranquillo. A great place to unwind from the frenzied tourists and hawkers selling knockoff handbags in Venice (“You like Fendi? Gucci by Gucci?”). Asolo is called the Land of a Thousand Horizons, famous for its resident, the English poet Robert Browning. After an evening stroll and reasonable meal at a local tavern, it was time to retire to our room and savor the wonders of Asolo.

Ciao, Tom

Suffering from jet lag, we were up for hours when we should have been sleeping. But the alarm went off and we had plans. So up at 7:00 am, ate some bread and cheese in the room, and headed out to see the Rialto Fish Market. We got there when many vendors were still setting up, and a few customers were already shopping. Not many tourists, though. We wandered around the stalls, translating as many signs as we could, identifying the familiar fishes and just looking and guessing at the rest. We got up the nerve to snap a few photos and then found a corner bar for due cappuccini. Sitting at a little table with our litttle cups, Tom and I both agreed, this is the way to drink coffee. Our barista (do they call them that in Italia?) made our drinks swiftly, but they still had the perfect foam and feathery mark. Molto bene! So we sat and people watched. The chain smoker lady, kids on their way to school, ordinary life on a Tuesday in Venice.

Next, we caught the water bus to Murano to see the famous Murano glass. That trip, in Tom’s words, was “underwhelming” and we didn’t stay long. Didn’t learn much (anything really) about the historic glass-marking tradition, so we caught the boat back and went to a little glass studio we had window-shopped the day before. The artist – Trina – was there marking beads. I picked out a bracelet and we chatted a bit. She came to Venice for school and has been there since (15 years). She’s from Indiana of all places! Her husband has a shop on the corner where he makes amazing glass pendants. So, I got my souvenir and we had a conversation with a local (okay, she’s expat – but also techincally local). Next, an arrotolata (rolled up sandwich and a nap).

Rested up, we went for a walk to see the Chiesa dei Frari (Friar’s Church) and the art work inside by Donatello, Bellini and Titian. We followed Rick Steves’ advice and counted this as our “museum” prerequisite for Venice, and exited back into the campo to window shop and find some snacks to call dinner — cheese pizza, gelato, cicchetti (Venetian-style tapas), and prosecco, then a foccacia caprese on our way back to the hotel. It was fun to sample and snack our way through the streets, people watching and listening.

Our evening capstone was the Interpreti Veneziani, featuring the Four Seasons by Vivaldi. The concert was at Chiesa San Vidal. Tom had read reviews about the performance and performers, but seeing and hearing it first hand turned out to be a highlight of our trip so far. First, the music – magical. Close your eyes and you’re just filled with the sound. Second, the musicians. Of the group of 8, most were rather serious and sedate. Then there was Davide Amadio – renowned on Internet reviews for his flamboyant style. And one woman in the ensemble, whom we assumed – by their last names and the unspoken conversation between them – could only be Davide’s wife, Sonia. I felt like I was watching the man seduce his wife there on stage – the foreplay was nearly obscene, considering the church setting. But the whole experience was such a treat and by the end of the encore, Davide had popped a button from his shirt, and we could smell his sweat as he passed by our seats. Fantastico!

Ciao, Kirstin

Our first morning in Venice was spent over some good cappuccino and an apricot torte. This country really makes you value good strong coffee; the Italians have condensed coffee down into it’s best format in a small cup. No venti 20 oz. triple shot extra hot extra dry Starbucks here, no way! Rick says the Italians take breakfast about as seriously as flossing. I could get used to this.

We had reserved an English speaking tour of the Palazzo Ducale (Doge’s Palace) at 9:55 AM so we made our way through the sea of humanity in Piazza San Marco and into the ticket office. This was no ordinary tour — the Secret Itineraries tour takes you through the back rooms and secret passages not accessible to the general public. Our tour guide Nicoletta was a young cutesy Italian woman who had an excellent knowledge of Venetian history. The Doge ruled as a political figurehead over Venice for nearly 600 years (not one Doge, but many). The tour was very fascinating, showing us where decisions were made, torture was conducted, and Casanova was jailed (and subsequently escaped!).

After an on-the-go lunch of piadina (rolled up sandwich), we went for a walk. A long walk. We headed north through Rialto into the Cannaregio sestiere (or province). We’d come this far, we figured we might as well get our train tickets at the train station. The Trenitalia ticket machine was pretty finicky, but after a few tries we managed to get our tickets to the Cinque Terre. On our way back to rest at the E&R, it started to rain. No, to pour. Luckily, we had brought along our travel umbrella to huddle under while walking home. After a short nap, we had dinner at a small trattoria Da Fiore that I had researched online (naturally). The decor was a bit “odds and ends”, but the food was true Venetian. Kirstin had a zuppa di pesce that truly embodied the essence of the sea. I had grilled branzino (sea bass) simply prepared and we split a plate of grilled seasonal veggies. Very simple, very delicious. We finished the night with gelato from supposedly the best place in Venice – Gelateria Nico.

Buona notte, Tom

We started off our northern Italy vacation by bidding “arrivederci” to Casey and my folks and heading to PDX. We took full advantage of flying United International Business by camping out in the PDX Red Carpet Club and acting like total tourists (which we pretty much were). After a short hop to SFO, we ascended the “magic staircase” to the upper deck of our 747 and settled into the last pair of seats starboard side. Now THIS is the only way to fly across the Atlantic! Kirstin and I got sucked into watching too many movies and probably slept only about 2 hours. We arrived to a sunny day in Frankfurt, disembarked, and proceeded to navigate the maze that is FRA. After passport control and security, we finally located our Lufthansa gate for the aircraft to take use to Venice. I was pretty exhausted and tried to nap while Kirstin went for a stroll. The LH flight was short and we both slept hard until touching down at VCE. We had finally made it to Italy!

Since we had carried our bags on, it was a quick exit from Marco Polo Airport and a short walk to catch the Alilaguna ferry boat to Piazza San Marco. The boat ride was lovely, watching Venice grow in the distance, yet we were still fairly tired and most was a blur. We finally landed and rolled our bags off at San Zaccaria near Piazza San Marco. Oh the mass of humanity near PSM on a sunny Sunday afternoon! Our hotel, the Westin Europa & Regina, was tucked away down a long calle (alley or street in Venice), literally – luckily we saw the sign for it, and I had naturally done some pre-planning and mapping on Google Earth. Upon check-in, we were pleasantly surprised to hear we’d been upgraded to “a very nice room” on occasion of our 5th anniversary (and probably my SPG Gold status). Nice is an understatement. The room (619) was fantastic, with a partial view of the Grand Canal, lavish decor, and a bathroom larger than our ones at home combined. The impeccable staff at the E&R had left us a bottle of bubbly, a box of pralines, and a hand-signed note congratulating us and offering their utmost service. Kirstin and I proceeded to crash for an hour before showering and heading out to explore the town.

We had a dinner reservation at 8 PM in Dorsoduro, one of the neighborhoods in Venice, so we walked over the Accademia Bridge and killed time exploring the area around Zattere. It was such a lovely evening, people were out for their passeggiata (evening stroll), kids were running around chasing one another. We were early for our reservation at Taverna San Trovaso but were seated shortly. Our first dinner in Venice was good albeit way too much food. We split a half-liter of house prosecco (dry sparkling white from the Veneto region) that proceeded to go straight to our heads! I had the fixed price menu turistico with spaghetti al vongole (clams) and frittura mista (mixed fried seafood). Kirstin had a caprese (tomatoes and mozzarella) and pizza with prosciutto and mushrooms. It was all so good and we were stuffed…but my dinner also came with dessert. We split a light and yummy tiramisu before leaving completely satisfied. It had started to drizzle while we were in the restaurant, and Kirstin and I managed to get as lost as one could on an island before finding our way back to Piazza San Marco to gawk at the incredible architecture and scenery of Basilica San Marco, the Doge’s Palace, and the Campanile (bell tower). The orchestras were not “dueling” tonight, perhaps another evening then. We retired at the end of our first day, full of food, wine, and love here in “La Serenissima”.

Ciao, Tom