Even something as mundane as going to the grocery store is a very different experience in a foreign country. I arrived back in Switzerland this morning, and since I will be staying for well more than one night, I opted to make a pit-stop in a nearby town, Veyvey, to take advantage of their large, well-stocked supermarket. I went there about 6 months ago when I was here with Jane and Katrina, so I remembered how to find the mall in which it is located from the train station. That was apparently the only easy part for me today.
Not seeing the store on the level I was on when I first walked in, I promptly went up the escalator of the 5-story building. Then up again. And once more to the top. Where the heck is that enormous supermarket? When I finally bother to study the sign, I determine that it is on the bottom floor. Lovely. So back down I go…5..., 4…, 3…, 2…voila.
I walk into the store, daypack on my back and purse on my arm, and study the shopping cart situation in the vaguely familiar store. The shopping carts are chained together like you see luggage carts chained together at the airport. There is a slot on each for coins to be inserted. I think about how many ways I could screw this up, and then also think about the fact that I can’t buy more than I can carry since I still have two trains and a five-minute uphill walk to go. I wisely grab a shopping basket, hoping I’m not supposed to also be paying for it, and off I go.
I start with picking up a big loaf of freshly baked bread. I’m able to ask for it and thank the lady in French, but when she says something after handing it to me, I just nod and smile. I have no clue what she just said, but she didn’t seem upset, so smiling seemed appropriate. Next I grab tons of fruits and veggies (I need to make up for my eating in Italy and everywhere else), some goat cheese, chicken, shampoo and conditioner, and a couple of other odds and ends. I make my way to the checkout line and attempt to study other patrons to make sure my checkout process goes smoothly. Apparently my study skills are a little poor at the moment, because when I get to the front of the line I’m told I’ve done this wrong and I need to remove everything from my basket and put it on the conveyor belt – the basket is supposed to be left behind in the stack in front of the belt. I promptly unload all my goodies onto the belt and the plump little lady in line behind me is kind enough to take my basket and stack it with the rest.
I feel we’re finally getting somewhere as the lady at the register is scanning all of my stuff and pushing it towards me to bag. I have just paid 60 cents for two nice paper bags because they don’t provide free bags of any sort. I get to work until we realize there’s another problem. There is a man somewhere in the produce department who was supposed to weigh my fruits and veggies that are priced by weight. The line is growing behind me, so fortunately the clerk just takes the few produce items nearby, weighs them, and slaps price stickers on them. From there everything goes well – she scans those items, I bag them, hand her my credit card and off I go. As I am walking away, the sweet little lady behind me told me in English that she hopes I enjoy my time here. I told her without doubt I would, thank you.
At this point I am loaded down with two large grocery bags in addition to my daypack, purse and jacket that I was forced to shed before even entering the store. Wearing a wool sweater with two layers under it, I feel as though I am going to die of heat exhaustion, so I make a beeline to an area with tables and chairs, set my things down and began fanning myself with a piece of paper. A minute later, a lady carrying a tray walks over and says something in French. I respond, “Non, merci,” and she then advises me that I am sitting in an area for restaurant patrons only. My goodness, can’t a girl get a break around here? Apparently not, so I pick up all of my bags, feeling a bit like the homeless person that I am, and head outside where at least it’s cold.
I head back to the train station and have a good 15 minutes to relax and cool down. The train arrives and I hop on without paying attention to the time. A few minutes go by and when I check my watch, I realize that I have probably just boarded the wrong train as it is just now supposed to be arriving. Crap. I stay on until we get to a stop that confirms my suspicions, as it is the last stop and all passengers must get off – and it’s not my stop. Dang it. So off I go. When I check the train schedule, there isn’t a train that needs to go further down the line where I need to go for several hours. My best option is to wait 20 minutes and board the exact same train I just got off of, so I can go back to the exact same town from which I came. If only I had paid attention and waited those 4 extra minutes. When I get back, I have 25 minutes to wait around again for the train to arrive – which it does, on time. I check with the conductor before boarding to make sure I don’t make the same mistake again, and it’s confirmed. I’m on my way. Two trains and a five minute uphill hike later, my groceries, my daypack and I are back at the Chalet, safe and sound… and I’m starving. Time for lunch!
Monday, March 30, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Indecent Exposure
I arrived in Budapest with nothing but a tiny backpack filled with a few days worth of clothes and my laptop. Unfortunately, my choice of clothes did not include a bathing suit. When I left Switzerland, I had no idea I would be going to a city known for its baths, but, hey, such is life. The two must-do things in Budapest, I was told, were to go to a show in the Opera House and to go to the Baths. Aileen and I went to the Opera House for a short ballet (which was incredibly enjoyable) and required nothing out of the ordinary as far as attire. But the Baths... well, the Baths were different. After searching the hostel high and low, I was told that no bathing suits had been left behind, but they thought I could rent one once I got to the Baths. A flashy nude-colored one-piece with a deeeeeep scoop neck and high arches over the leg. I could think of nothing less flattering. Another option was to wear all black underwear - with bathing suits as they are these days, who would be able to tell? Alas, however, I decided on my fourth and final option - to stop somewhere and buy an inexpensive bathing suit. We headed in the direction of the tram station, not seeing the bathing suit store we were told about. This was rather unfortunate, because it meant that instead of a clothing store, we ended up in the sketchiest of lingerie shops tucked into a corner of the tram station. We walked in and were greeted with a shiny black pleather suit with three holes cut into it... in three strategic spots... hanging proudly for all to see. Right next to the pearl g-strings, I found a selection of about fifteen bikinis, ranging in tacky patterns and loud colors. I narrowed my choices down based on what had the chance of covering most of what I wanted covered (this was not a shop that wanted to cover much up) and after a quick spin through the dressing room, I emerged, less-than proudly, with a neon orange and brown string bikini with tiny sparkly flowers. It was hideous and cost me 3500 HUF - about $15 - but they let me into the Baths and I wasn't even the worst dressed person there. Lucky for me (and anyone who had to see me in my suit) it was dusk, so my neon orange wasn't quite as flashy as in the sunlight. So yet another lesson has been learned: from now on I'm taking my bathing suit everywhere I go. You just never know when you'll need one.
Making New Friends
One of the great things about staying in hostels while traveling, other than the low cost of accommodations, is that it is an easy way to meet people. There is generally an obvious shared passion for traveling, but beyond that, there’s no telling what you have in common with others until you ask.
On my trip to Budapest I met a gal from Dublin on my second night and we ended up touring the city together for the remainder of my time there. Aileen and I are the same age and are both traveling solo, so we enjoyed swapping stories about our lives and what it is like in our respective countries while wandering around a country new to both of us. Topics ranged from food (of course), to family/ friends/ boys, to the economic crisis. I love hearing what it is like in other countries, and also what the people of other countries think about the USA and its people. The latter topic can be a very interesting one at times and I do my best to make a good impression of what Americans are like.
It was great to have Aileen with me to go to the baths yesterday and to a ballet at the Opera House this morning. Both of those big attractions in Budapest and are things I certainly could have done on my own, but sometimes it’s nice to have someone to talk to about what you’re seeing and doing, and Aileen proved to be good company. In fact, Aileen was such good company, we agreed that she would try to make a trip to Switzerland while I am there, and I will try to go to Dublin in May (which she tells me is the optimal month for a visit to Ireland thanks to the lovely weather). Through the wonders of the internet – and Facebook in particular – we will stay in touch and hopefully make this happen.
On my trip to Budapest I met a gal from Dublin on my second night and we ended up touring the city together for the remainder of my time there. Aileen and I are the same age and are both traveling solo, so we enjoyed swapping stories about our lives and what it is like in our respective countries while wandering around a country new to both of us. Topics ranged from food (of course), to family/ friends/ boys, to the economic crisis. I love hearing what it is like in other countries, and also what the people of other countries think about the USA and its people. The latter topic can be a very interesting one at times and I do my best to make a good impression of what Americans are like.
It was great to have Aileen with me to go to the baths yesterday and to a ballet at the Opera House this morning. Both of those big attractions in Budapest and are things I certainly could have done on my own, but sometimes it’s nice to have someone to talk to about what you’re seeing and doing, and Aileen proved to be good company. In fact, Aileen was such good company, we agreed that she would try to make a trip to Switzerland while I am there, and I will try to go to Dublin in May (which she tells me is the optimal month for a visit to Ireland thanks to the lovely weather). Through the wonders of the internet – and Facebook in particular – we will stay in touch and hopefully make this happen.
Friday, March 27, 2009
A Lesson Learned
I find that traveling teaches a lot of important lessons like budgeting and navigating. One of the most important things that my travels thus far have taught me though is how to be flexible with my itinerary. A late train, a missed bus, no vacancies at a hostel, or bad weather can all change plans drastically.
With several more days of free time before I need to be at the Chalet, I decide to take advantage of the opportunity to do some more traveling. After doing my laundry from 2 weeks in Italy and Greece, I pack the necessary clothes, toiletries, and technology into my small red daybag and hop a few trains until hours later I find myself in Munich, Germany.
My idea is to catch some shut-eye at the hostel, then get up and hop a train to either Prague or Vienna the following morning. I’d researched both cities and knew of good places to stay, as well as some of the must-see attractions. Being a bit of a sun worshipper though, I get on the internet the next morning and determine that these two cities are not my optimal destinations: both are forecasting 4 days of rain, possibly mixed with some snow. Hmmm.
I look through my book of train schedules at all the cities that the train goes to from Munich, including Ljubljana, Slovenia, Zagreb, Croatia and Budapest, Hungary. I know absolutely nothing about any of these cities, but after a quick trip to a European weather website, I discover one important fact: Budapest is anticipating sun and 60 degree weather for the next couple of days. Sold. I have 25 minutes to get to the train station and find my platform.
I quickly book a hostel that has good reviews on http://www.hostelworld.com/, then pack up my laptop, grab my bags and make a mad dash for the station. I manage to get there with time to spare and grab a cappuccino for 1 euro. What’s supposed to be a 7 hour train ride though somehow turns into an 8 hour ride, but I entertain myself by perusing and editing the photos I’ve taken, by gazing out the window as Austria whizzes past, and by surfing the web to find out a little information on this city I couldn’t even locate on a map the day before.
As we approach Budapest, the butterflies take flight in my stomach. I’ve learned a couple of key facts in my web surfing: the people of Hungary have their own language (Hungarian… duh), very few Hungarians speak English, and they have their own currency (the Florent). This means two things to me: first, I will pretty much be on my own in navigating the city since not many people will be able to answer my questions, and second, it means the 3 currencies I have on me (Euro, Dollar, and Swiss Franc) will not be accepted. Brilliant. No wonder I suddenly feel a little nervous.
The nerves are not helped when I study the map of where we are going and see that my train will stop at two different stations in Budapest, neither of which is the one I have directions from to get to the hostel, and neither of which I can even pronounce. Once again… brilliant. I shoot off a quick email to the hostel (thank goodness for my Blackberry and excellent wireless coverage in Europe) and within 30 minutes have details on where to go and what to do.
I get off my tardy train at the correct train station (Step 1: check!) and wander outside to find a place to exchange money for yet another currency. I hand over a 50-euro bill and am given 14,750 Florent. Dear God, that’s a lot of dough. [I later find myself taking out 25,000 Florent from the ATM, which does indeed include (2) 10,000 bills and a 5,000 bill – never have I felt like such a high roller].
Cash in hand, I am able to complete the final legs of my journey: locate and take the red line of the Metro to Blaha Lujza Ter (see what I mean about being a hard language to pronounce?!), then find Tram 4 or 6 and take that to Nyugati (the other train station). There is only one minor mishap during all of this: I get on the correctly numbered tram, but it’s going in the opposite direction of where I need to go. Fortunately I discover this after only going one stop and hastily disembark. I run across the tracks to board the correct tram and am scared for my life. In my mind, I’m thinking how I am running the risk of being imprisoned for taking a second ride with a previously validated ticket, even if it was only 2 minutes before. I’m okay with being flexible while traveling, but at no point in time do I want this to include a jail sentence in a foreign country. I make it to the other train station without being questioned or jailed and manage to walk the couple of blocks to the hostel without taking a wrong turn or doing anything else stupid.
At the door to the hostel building, it takes me a few minutes to figure out how to operate the keypad, thanks mainly to the directions being in Hungarian. I don’t know what I hit, but it works, and a voice comes on the other line. I awkwardly say “Hi – uhh, it’s Mary. I’m staying here tonight.” An Australian voice replies, “Okay, come on up!” Up? I hear a buzz and am able to push open the enormous antique door, which reveals a staircase that goes so high it surely leads to Heaven. Great. 100 stairs stand between me and my home for the next 3 nights. I plod my way to the top and discover that this is indeed a little slice of Heaven. I’m greeted cheerfully by all the folks sitting in the common area, and then led to my dorm room where I’m given my own little loft with added privacy. As I get settled I’m offered coffee or tea and am invited to join everyone for a traditional Hungarian goulash meal that is almost ready. I hand over many thousands of Florent to pay for my bed and meal, and sit down to eat the tasty dish and hear just what there is to do here in Budapest. The journey here has been long and interesting, and I can’t wait to wander around on my own two feet tomorrow!
With several more days of free time before I need to be at the Chalet, I decide to take advantage of the opportunity to do some more traveling. After doing my laundry from 2 weeks in Italy and Greece, I pack the necessary clothes, toiletries, and technology into my small red daybag and hop a few trains until hours later I find myself in Munich, Germany.
My idea is to catch some shut-eye at the hostel, then get up and hop a train to either Prague or Vienna the following morning. I’d researched both cities and knew of good places to stay, as well as some of the must-see attractions. Being a bit of a sun worshipper though, I get on the internet the next morning and determine that these two cities are not my optimal destinations: both are forecasting 4 days of rain, possibly mixed with some snow. Hmmm.
I look through my book of train schedules at all the cities that the train goes to from Munich, including Ljubljana, Slovenia, Zagreb, Croatia and Budapest, Hungary. I know absolutely nothing about any of these cities, but after a quick trip to a European weather website, I discover one important fact: Budapest is anticipating sun and 60 degree weather for the next couple of days. Sold. I have 25 minutes to get to the train station and find my platform.
I quickly book a hostel that has good reviews on http://www.hostelworld.com/, then pack up my laptop, grab my bags and make a mad dash for the station. I manage to get there with time to spare and grab a cappuccino for 1 euro. What’s supposed to be a 7 hour train ride though somehow turns into an 8 hour ride, but I entertain myself by perusing and editing the photos I’ve taken, by gazing out the window as Austria whizzes past, and by surfing the web to find out a little information on this city I couldn’t even locate on a map the day before.
As we approach Budapest, the butterflies take flight in my stomach. I’ve learned a couple of key facts in my web surfing: the people of Hungary have their own language (Hungarian… duh), very few Hungarians speak English, and they have their own currency (the Florent). This means two things to me: first, I will pretty much be on my own in navigating the city since not many people will be able to answer my questions, and second, it means the 3 currencies I have on me (Euro, Dollar, and Swiss Franc) will not be accepted. Brilliant. No wonder I suddenly feel a little nervous.
The nerves are not helped when I study the map of where we are going and see that my train will stop at two different stations in Budapest, neither of which is the one I have directions from to get to the hostel, and neither of which I can even pronounce. Once again… brilliant. I shoot off a quick email to the hostel (thank goodness for my Blackberry and excellent wireless coverage in Europe) and within 30 minutes have details on where to go and what to do.
I get off my tardy train at the correct train station (Step 1: check!) and wander outside to find a place to exchange money for yet another currency. I hand over a 50-euro bill and am given 14,750 Florent. Dear God, that’s a lot of dough. [I later find myself taking out 25,000 Florent from the ATM, which does indeed include (2) 10,000 bills and a 5,000 bill – never have I felt like such a high roller].
Cash in hand, I am able to complete the final legs of my journey: locate and take the red line of the Metro to Blaha Lujza Ter (see what I mean about being a hard language to pronounce?!), then find Tram 4 or 6 and take that to Nyugati (the other train station). There is only one minor mishap during all of this: I get on the correctly numbered tram, but it’s going in the opposite direction of where I need to go. Fortunately I discover this after only going one stop and hastily disembark. I run across the tracks to board the correct tram and am scared for my life. In my mind, I’m thinking how I am running the risk of being imprisoned for taking a second ride with a previously validated ticket, even if it was only 2 minutes before. I’m okay with being flexible while traveling, but at no point in time do I want this to include a jail sentence in a foreign country. I make it to the other train station without being questioned or jailed and manage to walk the couple of blocks to the hostel without taking a wrong turn or doing anything else stupid.
At the door to the hostel building, it takes me a few minutes to figure out how to operate the keypad, thanks mainly to the directions being in Hungarian. I don’t know what I hit, but it works, and a voice comes on the other line. I awkwardly say “Hi – uhh, it’s Mary. I’m staying here tonight.” An Australian voice replies, “Okay, come on up!” Up? I hear a buzz and am able to push open the enormous antique door, which reveals a staircase that goes so high it surely leads to Heaven. Great. 100 stairs stand between me and my home for the next 3 nights. I plod my way to the top and discover that this is indeed a little slice of Heaven. I’m greeted cheerfully by all the folks sitting in the common area, and then led to my dorm room where I’m given my own little loft with added privacy. As I get settled I’m offered coffee or tea and am invited to join everyone for a traditional Hungarian goulash meal that is almost ready. I hand over many thousands of Florent to pay for my bed and meal, and sit down to eat the tasty dish and hear just what there is to do here in Budapest. The journey here has been long and interesting, and I can’t wait to wander around on my own two feet tomorrow!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
It's Begun
Well, I’m here. Been in Europe for two weeks, actually. I have my backpack, complete with a mere 2 pairs of shoes and a pair of flip-flops, a daypack, and a surprisingly heavy shoulder bag. I quickly realized that I should have one straight to the Chalet in Switzerland to drop some of this mess off, but instead I’ve lugged it all around Paris, Italy, and Greece.
The night I landed, Matthew and I met up in Paris and have been going non-stop since then. We were in a different city every single night, except for the last destination, Florence, where we spent two nights. We slept on trains, on ferries, in hotels, and in someone’s flat in Italy – not all of these were conducive to a good night’s sleep, and there were a couple of nights where I was lucky to get a few hours in, but that comes with the territory.
Somehow, all the baggage and the occasional lack of sleep mattered little: we had the best time roaming around each of our destinations, sometimes off the beaten path, and sometimes seeing what the typical tourists go to see. Matthew and I proved to be excellent travel companions – for the last couple of weeks we have been together 24/7 – something we realized neither of us has ever done with anyone before. We never fought, never wanted to kill each other, and pretty much got to do everything we wanted to do – all except for riding mopeds. No one in Greece would rent them to us with our licenses, so instead we opted to ride donkeys through the streets of Hydro, Greece. Not nearly as fast or exciting as mopeds, the donkeys didn’t quite satiate our need for speed and cruising through the countryside, but it was a fun and added substantially to the full Greek experience.
There’s no doubt that I should be absolutely exhausted – but I’m not. I get such a natural high off of traveling and seeing new places. Instead of going to the Chalet and hibernating for days on end, I feel as though I could keep this pace up for quite some time. I was excited to learn that I do indeed have a few more days to continue my pace as I don’t need to arrive at the Chalet until 5 days after originally planned. I intend to keep up my intense traveling, but first I will indeed stop in to lighten my load and do some serious clothes washing. One can only wash so many things in a sink, and for simplicity’s sake, I usually limit this to underwear and socks.
It’s weird being on my own now after these couple of weeks. In Charlotte I had tons of alone time, but they say you can develop habits after a couple of weeks. I guess I got used to having a co-pilot in my travels. Now I feel as though I need to break myself back into doing all the navigating on my own. I don’t mind this at all, and really look forward to it, but it was a nice change of pace to see the sites with someone and be able to share and discuss the experiences and all of the interesting and funny cultural differences. We had many laughs, indeed.
The night I landed, Matthew and I met up in Paris and have been going non-stop since then. We were in a different city every single night, except for the last destination, Florence, where we spent two nights. We slept on trains, on ferries, in hotels, and in someone’s flat in Italy – not all of these were conducive to a good night’s sleep, and there were a couple of nights where I was lucky to get a few hours in, but that comes with the territory.
Somehow, all the baggage and the occasional lack of sleep mattered little: we had the best time roaming around each of our destinations, sometimes off the beaten path, and sometimes seeing what the typical tourists go to see. Matthew and I proved to be excellent travel companions – for the last couple of weeks we have been together 24/7 – something we realized neither of us has ever done with anyone before. We never fought, never wanted to kill each other, and pretty much got to do everything we wanted to do – all except for riding mopeds. No one in Greece would rent them to us with our licenses, so instead we opted to ride donkeys through the streets of Hydro, Greece. Not nearly as fast or exciting as mopeds, the donkeys didn’t quite satiate our need for speed and cruising through the countryside, but it was a fun and added substantially to the full Greek experience.
There’s no doubt that I should be absolutely exhausted – but I’m not. I get such a natural high off of traveling and seeing new places. Instead of going to the Chalet and hibernating for days on end, I feel as though I could keep this pace up for quite some time. I was excited to learn that I do indeed have a few more days to continue my pace as I don’t need to arrive at the Chalet until 5 days after originally planned. I intend to keep up my intense traveling, but first I will indeed stop in to lighten my load and do some serious clothes washing. One can only wash so many things in a sink, and for simplicity’s sake, I usually limit this to underwear and socks.
It’s weird being on my own now after these couple of weeks. In Charlotte I had tons of alone time, but they say you can develop habits after a couple of weeks. I guess I got used to having a co-pilot in my travels. Now I feel as though I need to break myself back into doing all the navigating on my own. I don’t mind this at all, and really look forward to it, but it was a nice change of pace to see the sites with someone and be able to share and discuss the experiences and all of the interesting and funny cultural differences. We had many laughs, indeed.
The Last Supper, Italian Style
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One of my favorite books is Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. In this book, she spends 4 months in 3 countries: Italy, India, and Indonesia, each country coinciding with a word in the title. Italy is of course paired with the word Eat. I’ve been to Italy a couple of times before and have always adored it. In fact, it was my first trip there when I realized that I wanted to live there at some point in my life. I love all things Italian, and their food is no exception.
As luck would have it, on our last night together Matthew and I are in Florence, Italy. It's our second night here and we opt to return to the same restaurant as the last night because it is so delicious, authentic, and reasonably priced. When we arrive, we sit at a different table from before, but still with a view of the brick oven and pizza chef who makes one masterpiece after another. The one from the first night we dubbed “Mario” and the one tonight we creatively nickname “Luigi.”
Luigi looks like he needs something to do, so we order a Calzone, as well as a plate of Ravioli with meat sauce, both to share. This place makes calzones bigger than my head. It’s a good 12 inches in length, about 6 inches wide, and another few inches deep when straight from the oven. This thing barely fits on the plate it’s delivered on. Within 10 minutes of the calzone and pasta being set before us, the plates are clean. Apparently we were hungry from all the walking around.
I’m comfortable after that, but Matthew (who is perhaps the female version of me when it comes to appetite, and even being moody when hungry) thinks another dish is in order as he is still starving. We order what we think to be Mushroom Risotta, but instead another large plate arrives with Mushroom Rice. I tell Matthew to eat most of it since risotta was what I was really after, and he happily obliges. Finito. Still hungry.
One order of Brushetta, please. 4 big slices of white toast rubbed down with olive oil and garlic, carefully topped with the chopped and seasoned tomato mixture are brought to our table. We eat 2 apiece. Hungry still? Why yes.
We’ll have the Fried Calamari and Shrimp. The waitress who speaks very limited English is no longer hiding the fact that she thinks the spectacle of us eating is hilarious. When she goes back to the kitchen to tell the chef, we hear laughter and look up to see her, the chef, and several others looking our way. Good thing we’re not embarrassed easily. Really, though, we think it’s pretty funny too.
The Calamari and Shrimp were lightly fried and deeply delicious. We polished them off as expected and decided it was time to call it quits. After dessert, of course. There’s always room for dessert. We order pineapple (which turns out to be 1/3 of a pineapple carefully sliced and presented still in it’s peel) and ice cream with Bailey’s liqueur poured over it. Done and done.
Our check is in front of us and has been handwritten by the waitress. You can see how her handwriting got noticeably smaller as she realized we were ordering so much she might need to start a new ticket. We stopped eating just in the nick of time. Rolling ourselves out of our chairs, we take our hefty ticket to the cash register and pay about 25 euro each (about $32 USD) for what will surely stand as one of the best meals of my life.
Ahhhh, Italy, how I do love you and your food.
As luck would have it, on our last night together Matthew and I are in Florence, Italy. It's our second night here and we opt to return to the same restaurant as the last night because it is so delicious, authentic, and reasonably priced. When we arrive, we sit at a different table from before, but still with a view of the brick oven and pizza chef who makes one masterpiece after another. The one from the first night we dubbed “Mario” and the one tonight we creatively nickname “Luigi.”
Luigi looks like he needs something to do, so we order a Calzone, as well as a plate of Ravioli with meat sauce, both to share. This place makes calzones bigger than my head. It’s a good 12 inches in length, about 6 inches wide, and another few inches deep when straight from the oven. This thing barely fits on the plate it’s delivered on. Within 10 minutes of the calzone and pasta being set before us, the plates are clean. Apparently we were hungry from all the walking around.
I’m comfortable after that, but Matthew (who is perhaps the female version of me when it comes to appetite, and even being moody when hungry) thinks another dish is in order as he is still starving. We order what we think to be Mushroom Risotta, but instead another large plate arrives with Mushroom Rice. I tell Matthew to eat most of it since risotta was what I was really after, and he happily obliges. Finito. Still hungry.
One order of Brushetta, please. 4 big slices of white toast rubbed down with olive oil and garlic, carefully topped with the chopped and seasoned tomato mixture are brought to our table. We eat 2 apiece. Hungry still? Why yes.
We’ll have the Fried Calamari and Shrimp. The waitress who speaks very limited English is no longer hiding the fact that she thinks the spectacle of us eating is hilarious. When she goes back to the kitchen to tell the chef, we hear laughter and look up to see her, the chef, and several others looking our way. Good thing we’re not embarrassed easily. Really, though, we think it’s pretty funny too.
The Calamari and Shrimp were lightly fried and deeply delicious. We polished them off as expected and decided it was time to call it quits. After dessert, of course. There’s always room for dessert. We order pineapple (which turns out to be 1/3 of a pineapple carefully sliced and presented still in it’s peel) and ice cream with Bailey’s liqueur poured over it. Done and done.
Our check is in front of us and has been handwritten by the waitress. You can see how her handwriting got noticeably smaller as she realized we were ordering so much she might need to start a new ticket. We stopped eating just in the nick of time. Rolling ourselves out of our chairs, we take our hefty ticket to the cash register and pay about 25 euro each (about $32 USD) for what will surely stand as one of the best meals of my life.
Ahhhh, Italy, how I do love you and your food.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
A Message Out of Nowhere
It amazes me how an email out of the blue from someone you haven’t talked to in ages can make your day. I recently received one of these from someone (who will remain nameless) whom I haven’t spoken to in about 4 years, and I was so touched I have gone back and read it several times since then. Without much chit-chat, he went straight to the point:
So you’re backpacking across Europe! That has to be one of the most awesomest (and yes, I know that’s not really even a word) things I’ve ever heard anybody do. I wish I had the tenacity to do something that extreme. The crazy thing is though, there’s no reason why I couldn’t. I don’t have anything holding me back besides myself, but I guess that’s a big enough hurtle to prevent me from doing something like this. I’m truly in awe that you’re actually going to do this.
You know, Mary, I’m not really 100% sure why I’m writing this to you. I know it’s partly to say “hi” but also it’s partly because I admire what you are doing and just wanted to convey that to you. You are one of those rare people that is going to take a real chance and not just let things pass them by. Congratulations, and I wish you the best of luck on your adventure.
I was truly touched by this email – thank you to that person!
So you’re backpacking across Europe! That has to be one of the most awesomest (and yes, I know that’s not really even a word) things I’ve ever heard anybody do. I wish I had the tenacity to do something that extreme. The crazy thing is though, there’s no reason why I couldn’t. I don’t have anything holding me back besides myself, but I guess that’s a big enough hurtle to prevent me from doing something like this. I’m truly in awe that you’re actually going to do this.
You know, Mary, I’m not really 100% sure why I’m writing this to you. I know it’s partly to say “hi” but also it’s partly because I admire what you are doing and just wanted to convey that to you. You are one of those rare people that is going to take a real chance and not just let things pass them by. Congratulations, and I wish you the best of luck on your adventure.
I was truly touched by this email – thank you to that person!
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