tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86776699507446042372024-02-22T23:44:40.405-08:00Notes from a broadpretty pictures and piecemeal proseUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-31104712453120449132012-07-28T17:50:00.000-07:002012-07-28T17:52:37.849-07:00Welcome to PhotoViaggio<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Introducing <a href="http://photoviaggio.com/" target="_blank">PhotoViaggio</a>: a new way to keep up with my travels and help you plan your own! It's the new and improved <i>Notes from a broad</i>. Happy travels!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-73122568401447261292012-03-08T20:14:00.000-08:002012-03-08T20:17:39.554-08:00Wayfare Magazine: Love!<div>
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My word it's been a long time since I last posted! Where has the time gone? Hoping to post a couple of nice juicy pieces on last year's travels to Liguria and the French Riviera. While you wait, take a look at <a href="http://issuu.com/wayfare/docs/wayfare-pilot-final-1?mode=window&backgroundColor=%23222222" target="_blank">Wayfare Magazine.</a> If you love armchair travel and are a fan of <a href="http://www.afar.com/users/risamay/trips" target="_blank">Afar</a>, I think Wayfare will blow you away. I'm an <a href="http://www.afar.com/users/risamay/trips" target="_blank">Afar</a> subscriber and supporter, but to me <a href="http://issuu.com/wayfare/docs/wayfare-pilot-final-1?mode=window&backgroundColor=%23222222" target="_blank">Wayfare</a> is <a href="http://www.afar.com/users/risamay/trips" target="_blank">Afar</a> on travel steroids. It's the perfect experiential travel publication! Check it out.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-87130334737853718582011-07-03T13:45:00.000-07:002011-07-03T21:07:30.901-07:00All Aboard: Let's Go to Liguria<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/5898169595/in/photostream/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 563px; height: 912px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5032/5898169595_2c5cc4005f_b.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I've had a few questions via private message on Trip Advisor about <span style="font-weight: bold;">how I planned my day trips in Liguria using Genoa</span> (Genova) as my home base and I thought that others might benefit from my answers. Thus, this post.</span><br /></div></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To start, yes. <span style="font-weight: bold;">I think Genova is an excellent home base</span> for the region, all <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Liguria_Provinces.png">four provinces of Liguria</a> (Genova, Imperia, La Spezia, Savona). Most of the places that tourists want to visit are along the coast and are well serviced by train, bus, boat, or some combination thereof, either from Genova or using other towns in the region as your starting point.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As a travel photographer, much of my day trip planning from any home base begins at my computer. Guidebooks, photo tomes, travel shows and mags or movies are a nice resource, but I find that simply spending some time online with Google Maps, Flickr, and other sites is a great source of information and discovery when it comes to deciding where I want to go. Beaten path destinations are easy enough to research, but it's the un- or lesser touristed towns that I'm more interested in identifying and visiting, and to find them I have to get a little more creative than Rick Steves' Europe and the like.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Using the method described above, <span style="font-weight: bold;">I generally start on Google Maps at my home base (e.g., Genova) and surf</span> down or around the map for interesting-sounding city names. I pick a city and look it up on Google Images and Flickr or elsewhere and if it looks like a place I might enjoy spending a few hours, I delve deeper, searching for train, bus, or boat schedules to determine if it's a feasible day trip.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This approach works for me, and <span style="font-weight: bold;">works for pretty much anywhere you'd like to go</span> and trip by day from. Especially in Europe where public transportation is generally pretty fantastic.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">For Liguria specifically, <span style="font-weight: bold;">I settled on the following towns as my day trip destinations</span> from Genova:</span> Alassio, Albenga, Albisola, Boccadasse, Bogliasco, Bonassola, Camogli, Campo Ligure, Celle Ligure, Cervo, Cinque Terre, Cogoleto, Finalborgo, Laiguelia, Lerici, Nervi, Noli, Pieve Ligure, Portofino, Portovenere, San Terenzo, Santa Margherita Ligure, Sarzana, Sestri Levante, Sori, Tellaro, and Varazze.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Once I had a list of places I wanted to visit, I organized them into manageable chunks. <span style="font-weight: bold;">I listed them out in order of their distance from Genova and worked backwards</span> with train, bus, and boat schedules to figure out how many I could reasonably and leisurely enjoy in a day. The furthest I was willing to travel was three hours, so I figured out which far-lying cities fit within that max, chose a few, and worked backwards. The daily plan was to go from Genova to the furthest point, and make stops along the route home. That makes the most sense to me because who wants to have a three-hour schlep home <span style="font-style: italic;">at the end</span> of a long day when you're tired and just want to be in bed already?<br /><br />After I'd sorted those details I looked at how many travel days I had total, and began cutting. The list of cities two paragraphs above comprises my final cut. In the end, I didn't make it to all because I fell wildly ill with a lovely cold on the second week of my two-week trip. But had I been healthy all 13 travel days, I likely would have made it to every stop on the list.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In the olden days before my iPod touch, I would use MS Word to type up all my custom travel details. These days, <span style="font-weight: bold;">I create a document in Google Docs and access it on the fly</span> - sans WiFi, even - with the <a href="http://gogodocs.com/">gogo Docs</a> app. Couldn't be more convenient. I also rely on my iPod touch to make changes to my plans on the fly by going online with <a href="http://www.apple.com/safari/">Safari</a> to check bus, train, and boat schedules (with WiFi access). Because <a href="http://www.ilborgodigenova.com/?Lang=ENG">I was staying at a B&B</a> where WiFi was included, it was always available in the mornings or afternoons before I wanted to head out. It was perfect. Further, I could also make changes to my plans on the fly, on the fly (sans WiFi). For example, if I thought I might like to stay for a longer or shorter duration of time somewhere, I could simply pull out my iPod and take a quick pic of bus, train, or boat schedules and consult them as I needed. Awesome, right?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Screenshots from portions of my Genoa 2011 Google Docs custom guide:</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5111/5899080849_c40ecc5bb6_z.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 564px; height: 390px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5111/5899080849_c40ecc5bb6_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6016/5899080011_c43511293d_z.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 565px; height: 379px;" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6016/5899080011_c43511293d_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">With a little work (or a lot, in the end) I had a document that best prepared me to focus on enjoying the trip and not scrambling each day to figure out where I should begin, end, what the timing of transportation between towns was like, how many towns I could reasonably see in a day, etc. I did not, I repeat - I did (and do not) - plan my trip down to the minute. <span style="font-weight: bold;">I just got the minutia out of the way so that I could get from A to B smoothly and get to enjoying B</span> already before moving on to C, carefree. See? Much more enjoyable vacationing, that way. It's easy to get flustered in a foreign country and planning like this puts me at ease and minimizes that sort of stress.</span><br /></div></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I used the following sites and apps for this trip, both in pre-travel planning and in Genova:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.ilborgodigenova.com/index.asp">il Borgo di Genova</a><br />I can't recommend this place highly enough. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Alessandra and Giovanni are the best.</span> And I don't say that lightly. They truly tops!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.atclaspezia.it/index.php?lang=en">ATC La Spezia</a><br />Province of La Spezia bus information.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/">Commissione di Garanzia e Sciopero</a><br />Commission of Strikes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.navigazionegolfodeipoeti.it/">Consorzio Marittimo Turistico 5 Terre</a><br />Golf of Poets and Cinque Terre boats.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.fsitaliane.it/homepage_en.html">Ferrovie dello Stato Italiane</a><br />Italian State Railways' official site.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://translate.google.com/">Google Translate</a><br />Both the website and the iPod app.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.summerinitaly.com/planning/strike.asp">Italy Strikes</a><br />One of several sources to track strikes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.raileurope.com/index.html">Rail Europe</a><br />Gives some idea of schedules and prices, but not exhaustive.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.orariotrasporti.regione.liguria.it/JourneyPlanner/bin/query.exe/en">Regione Liguria Transport Timetable</a><br />Bookmark this site. It will be your best friend in planning and on the once you're on the ground in Liguria.<span style="font-weight: bold;"> An invaluable source for train and bus timetables and options between all towns throughout the region</span> of Liguria, in all four provinces (Genova, Imperia, La Spezia, Savona).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://liguria.angloinfo.com/countries/italy/strikes.asp">Strikes in Italy</a><br />One of several sources to track strikes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.trenitalia.com/cms/v/index.jsp?vgnextoid=ad1ce14114bc9110VgnVCM10000080a3e90aRCRD">Trenitalia</a><br />The Italian railway system's official site.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.viaggiatreno.it/viaggiatreno/">ViaggiaTreno</a><br />Another helpful Trenitalia site.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.viamichelin.com/">ViaMichelin</a><br />Better maps for Europe than Google.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">An idea of ticket prices:<br /><br />Bus tickets were from 1,50 to 3,00 each way from various towns. I took the bus from the train station at La Spezia to Lerici (and back), from Lerici to Tellaro, from Genova to Nervi, and from Sarzana to La Spezia (to the train station).<br /><br />Corsa Semplice train tickets were 6,60 for 90km; 3,00 for 30 km; and 2,40 for 20km rides.<br /><br />Genova Brignole to Camogli was 20km and 2,40 for a Classe 2 treno ordinario seat.<br /><br />Genova Brignole to Campo Ligure was 33km and 3,50 for a Classe 2 </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">treno ordinario </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">seat.<br /><br />Genova Brignole to Sori was 15km and 2,10 for a Classe 2 </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">treno ordinario </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">seat.<br /><br />Genova Brignole to La Spezia Centrale was 13,50 for a Classe 2 Eurostar seat.<br /><br />Genova Brignole to La Spezia Central was 87km and 6,60 for a Classe 2 </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">treno ordinario </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">seat.<br /><br />Genova Brignole to Manarola (one of the Cinque Terre towns) was 79km and 6,00 for a Classe 2 </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">treno ordinario seat.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">La Spezia Centrale to Sarzana was 16km and 2,40 for a Classe 2 </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">treno ordinario seat.<br /><br />Monterosso to Genova Brignole was 71km and 6,00 for a Classe 2 </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">treno ordinario seat.<br /><br />Riomaggiore to Genova Brignole was 80 and also 6,00 for a Classe 2 </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">treno ordinario seat.<br /><br />Note that you have six - yes, 6 - hours <span style="font-weight: bold;">from the time of validation</span> (you must validate your train ticket before boarding the train, otherwise you face a fine if caught) to get from A (partenza) to B (arrivo) as printed on your ticket. <span style="font-weight: bold;">If you plan well, you can see several towns on a single one-way train ticket, en route from A to B.</span> This is where all that pre-travel planning can really pay off to save you precious time and money.<br /></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Do you have any questions for me? If not, how about a question for you: What are some of your favorite day trips from Genoa or elsewhere in Liguria by train, bus, or boat?</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-62658381958467888262011-04-20T17:22:00.000-07:002011-08-24T11:19:18.587-07:00Get off the Couch [or the Computer] and Go!<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/5650650019/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 575px; height: 865px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5107/5650650019_02a348dc14_b.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Question: Why are some people happy to venture afar sans a fellow traveler in tow, while other would-be adventurers pass precious time at home (when they could be away) waiting for family, friends, or partners to find either the time, money, desire, or some combination thereof, to get out and about abroad?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />Answer: Sheer fear. Of the unknown. Of potential loneliness. Of who knows what. I can't tell you the number of times a friend has said something like, "Oh, you're so brave to travel by yourself." Or, "I've always wanted to go to _______. But I don't like traveling alone and can't find anyone to go with me." And when I ask if they've ever actually <span style="font-style: italic;">tried </span>solo travel, the answer is invariably, "No."
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<br />I can understand the hesitation. The idea of roaming alone used to freak me out, too. And I still can't cotton to the idea of things like remote solo hikes or driving across the country by my lonesome. Too many real life horror stories spring to mind! But anyway. It wasn't until a friend invited me along on a trip to Europe that I finally got to Europe. Had I not had someone to hold my hand on that maiden voyage, I may well still be sitting at home dreaming of gondola rides down the Grand Canal, staring up at the <i>actual </i>Eiffel Tower (rather than that half-pint knockoff in Vegas), partaking of bona fide French pastries - hot out of a French oven, <i>in </i>France, and a million other priceless, cherished experiences, nuanced and not.
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<br />Europe in particular - I can say having been now, many times alone - is a joy to navigate without crutches. I mean, travel companions. There's so much to see and do, whether for a fee or for free, getting bored is hardly an option. And though the big, looming-L (loneliness) is a constant possibility, it's not to be feared. Feeling lonely is just a natural facet of being, after all. It's a mood that can strike anyone, anywhere, and at any time. Whether one is <span style="font-style: italic;">actually</span> alone or not.
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<br />How often have we felt lonely at a party or among friends and family or with a romantic partner? It happens. <i>C'est la vie</i>, from time to time. And we get through it somehow, don't we? So don't let something lame like the mere <span style="font-style: italic;">possibility </span>of a little loneliness, so commonplace and insignificant - in the grand scheme of things - stop you from taking a trip by yourself. Plus, when you're traveling alone, it's nearly impossible to avoid striking up a conversation of some kind with strangers. You'll meet people. Really, you will. Unless you go out of your way <span style="font-style: italic;">not </span>to interact with anyone, that is! And yes, you can meet people and have a conversation, even if all you speak is English. How do you suppose someone from say, China and someone from Portugal are going to communicate with each other, beyond gestures? Why in English, of course.
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<br />Whether it's asking for directions, shop hours, how to find the nearest metro, or any number of queries one might expect from an out-of-towner, you're going to have myriad opportunities to make a buddy. Even if it's just a temporary connection.
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<br />And speaking of connections, have you not seen <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0112471/">Before Sunrise</a> or <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0381681/">Before Sunset</a>? What about <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0237539/">Bread and Tulips</a>? <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0335266/">Lost in Translation</a>? <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0283900/">L'Auberge Espagnole</a>? Surely you got sucked into the <a href="http://risamay.blogspot.com/2008/06/eat-pray-loathe-venice.html">Eat, Pray, Love</a> blitz or were at least vaguely aware of the basic storyline.
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<br />Where ever it is you've always dreamed of going, chances are it's a trip that you can safely take alone (provided you use common sense). If the destination is a bit more daring, you may have to organize a spot with a tour group or take a class of some kind, but hey - instant travel companions, right? You have only to be open to a different kind of trip, when traveling alone. Take the plunge without expectations and just enjoy it. You never know who you might meet or the kind of time you may have. Essentially, if you have the means and the free time, it boils down to Nike and De Niro - Just do it (Nike). <a href="http://www.esquire.com/features/what-ive-learned/ESQ0103-JAN_DENIRO">If you don't go, you'll never know</a> (Robert De Niro). And that - not going, never knowing - would <span style="font-weight: bold;">truly </span>be a senseless tragedy.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">8/24/2011: Celebrate senior solo travel! <a href="http://blog.budgettravel.com/budgettravel/2011/08/solo_travel_websites_for_senio.html">Solo travel sites and tips for the mature traveler</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">8/15/2011: <a href="http://www.bootsnall.com/articles/11-08/indispensable-resources-for-solo-travelers.html">19 Indispensable Resources for Solo Travelers</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;">What is holding you back from a solo adventure afar? If you used to be afraid or hesitant to travel alone, what finally got you to go? How did the trip turn out? For those who love solo travel as I do, what movies, books, blogs, or other media would you recommend to those who are still a bit timid when it comes to this kind of travel?</span>
<br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;"></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-20360809391147642712011-01-31T14:26:00.000-08:002011-01-31T16:25:26.191-08:00Woulda Coulda Shoulda<div><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/18886355?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" width="575" height="323" frameborder="0"></iframe><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I gotta study abroad. It's never too late, methinks. Even if it's <a href="http://cestchristine.com/">à la Christine</a> on an extended work/stay/study afar, <i>après </i>college (or well after, in my case). <a href="http://pretavoyager.blogspot.com/2011/01/study-abroad.html">Thanks for the inspiration, Anne.</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-35404719065754084932010-12-10T22:29:00.000-08:002010-12-11T20:02:32.350-08:00Giving Thanks on [and for] America's Riviera<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 500px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5247/5250363845_333f5e42c3.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />I had the pleasure of spending an extended Thanksgiving holiday this year with family (you're the host with the most, Dames) and a friend (you're a trooper for driving up and hanging out, Kurt) in Santa Barbara - the coastal California town that bills itself as <a href="http://www.santabarbaraca.com/">The American Riviera.</a><br /><br />Having been to both the French and Italian versions, I was skeptical about the comparison. Though I'd been to S.B. once before on a quick day trip up from L.A., I couldn't recall being struck by anything resembling a riviera vibe. But then, there's not much that I can recall from that early visit; I think it comprised a quick lunch downtown, and that's it. Maybe it was on a drive up to San Fran along Hwy 1? I can't be sure (early onset Alzheimer's, what can I say).<br /><br />Anyway ... in addition to spending a little cherished quality time with family, I had a lot of free time to amble about town. And amble I did. Left to my own devices in a new place, I can while away the hours in no time, accomplishing a lot or a little. It's all the same to me (fun). This trip was pretty low-key in terms of accomplishments. But the one thing I did go buck wild with and really tackle in satisfying fashion was the Spanish tile situation. Santa Barbara is crawling with the critters. My favorite application was adorning the city's many steps and staircases. With eyes were on permanent peel, I was amply rewarded for the effort. Check it out.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5124/5250335199_858df50742_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5048/5250334883_8d9d77fab7_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5009/5252604943_cdb4a6d267_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5086/5250334133_e4cf08ca40_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5207/5253332844_9769767525_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5285/5253329600_5c5326064e_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5081/5250332309_03f9a2b874_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5129/5250332841_fff9efed76_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5207/5250937660_abde58ed5c_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5243/5250938094_73fcdc9dc8_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5043/5253330698_97e55129ff_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5248/5253331282_7654f66d16_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5248/5250331935_cd753b8207_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5249/5252606287_b01970e4de_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5123/5253215100_13bb96e169_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5245/5252722883_00935ef75f_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5285/5252721563_1f2d8ea79f_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5290/5252719509_454bc49177_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Gorgeous, right?<br /><br />I only wish I'd been maybe a hair more productive on the photographic front and taken a few shots of the drop-dead lush 'n lovely hills - the drive we took up there through Montecito and beyond was fairytale-caliber beautiful - or at least one of the amazing technicolor sunsets (with a full moon, to boot). Oh well. Next time. There was plenty I didn't get around to. So I shall return soon (prepare your bowling arm, Damon) and hopefully it'll be a tad warmer; particularly after dark so I won't have to brave the elements to break out the camera - the 33F nights were a bit crispy for my comfort, though inside by the fire was quite cozy.<br /><br />Despite the chilly and very un-Riviera-like nights, what a fitting trip to kick off my 2011 travel plans - fresh off my visit to America's Riviera (which <span style="font-style: italic;">is </span>exactly what it looks and feels like), I've got my sights set on a spring stint in the Italian Riviera and a fall fling on the French. Even though I've been to both regions in years past, those trips weren't well captured because, at the time, I had only a crappy little point-and-shoot. So I've got high hopes for the photos this time around.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh là là!</span> It's going to be <span style="font-style: italic;">magnifique</span>.<br /><br />In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled for more pretty pictures from Santa Barbara in my <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/">Flickr</a> stream, on <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/risamay">Etsy</a>, and via <a href="http://www.istockphoto.com/risamay">iStock</a> and elsewhere. The post-processing fun has only just begun (but first I have to clear out a backlog of far more pressing photographic work, so please be patient).<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 332px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5086/5253216402_b97c49480e.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157625448029265/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 332px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5169/5253215936_836caa225b.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-23796580956241750802010-08-29T19:21:00.000-07:002011-08-24T11:17:33.904-07:00Fall into the Gap<div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 600px;" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4049/4577262240_b264339ea4_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>The gap year, that is. The gap <span style="font-style: italic;">what</span>, you say? Are you an American? That's probably the problem then. A sabbatical or gap year away from one's career is not uncommon in Australia or the UK (or elsewhere in Europe and perhaps Canada), but it's largely a completely foreign concept to the typical overworked and under-traveled American.
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<br />There's also the gap year after high school and before college that is commonplace in Europe, when kids travel to immerse themselves in another culture, explore specific interests, work, and/or volunteer. But that's not the year I'm talking about. I'm talking about walking away from one's career for a year. At least.
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<br />Though I don't like its touting of Elizabeth Gilbert's best-selling piece of BS (how nice to get a $200,000 advance to go and travel the world and write about it) - "Eat Pray Love" - I do like what <a href="http://meetplango.com/about/about-meet-plan-go/">Meet, Plan, Go</a> is about - helping people make their gap-year dreams a reality.
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<br />I only just learned about the group, having stumbled upon a blurb announcing an upcoming event (for which I am now on the waiting list; guess I'm not the only American hankering for a career break). At any rate, hope the spirit of the gap year catches on Stateside. We Americans could definitely use a real vacation from our workaday lives - the three-day weekend a few times a year just doesn't cut it. Neither does a two-week trip, once in a blue moon!
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<br />While I wish it would transpire sooner rather than later, I'm just beginning to gear up for my gap year - five years in advance of when I'm aiming to take it. And, in truth, I'm hoping it'll extend well beyond a single year and transition into a new full-time "career" altogether.
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<br /><a href="http://meetplango.com/about/about-meet-plan-go/">Meet, Plan, Go</a>: Seeking to teach Americans about the benefits of extended travel via a gap year or career break. The group helps to motivate prospective travelers, help them build contacts and resources necessary to planning their year off, and get them on their way to making concrete steps forward toward a sabbatical.
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<br /><a href="http://www.transitionsabroad.com/">Transitions Abroad</a>: Portal for work abroad, study abroad, cultural travel overseas, and international living. While the site looks a tad <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Janky">janky</a>, it's recommended or referenced all over the place. For instance, Yale. Ivy League approval says to me it's kosher and worth delving into without hesitation.
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<br /><a href="http://www.interimprograms.com/">Interim Programs</a>: The first - founded in 1980 - and longest-running gap-year counseling organization in the United States. The group has designed creative gap-year opportunities for thousands of people of all ages. It has an extensive database of program options.
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<br /><a href="http://www.projects-abroad.org/">Projects Abroad</a>: The leading volunteer projects abroad organization, offering a diverse range of projects internationally. Promises that your experience will be far more worthwhile and genuine than that of the average tourist.
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<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">8/23/2011: <a href="http://inside-digital.blog.lonelyplanet.com/2011/07/30/career-break-travel-myths/">Career break travel myths - Lonely Planet</a>
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<br />10/12/2010: <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2010/10/17/travel/17Prac.html">Tips</a> for making that dream trip - dropping everything to roam the globe for a year - a reality. From The New York Times' <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2010/10/17/travel/17Prac.html">Practical Traveler</a>.
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-56090011283690661532010-08-05T15:06:00.000-07:002010-11-09T14:01:00.241-08:0015 Days<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 602px;" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4054/4236495917_6e7bf1d435_z.jpg?zz=1" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">So many places to see, so little paid leave. </div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">A certain day in December 2010 marks year three with my present employer. How do I know this? Because I've been counting down the days since the day I started to maxing out my paid-leave accrual - 15 days. Add on a paid personal day and a handful of paid holidays, and as it goes for working Americans, I actually have it pretty good. I take my time off seriously. <a href="http://risamay.blogspot.com/2008/04/state-of-unions-approach-to-travel.html">Seriously!</a> Though when I get instant messages from my European friends on one of their two (or even three!) three-week paid vacations, I must tell you. I feel pretty, well, not good about my pretty good American time off.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2010/8/4/why-dont-americans-have-longer-vacations?">Why don't Americans have longer vacations?</a><br /><br />Why, indeed.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;" >How much annual paid leave do you get? How about unpaid leave? How much vacation time do you actually take off, at one time? Three days? One week? Two weeks? More? Is the amount of time you take at a go dependent on what you can afford or how long your company culture or official policy allows, no matter how much time you have banked?</span><br /><br />---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />11/09/2010 - <a href="http://www.direct.gov.uk/en/Employment/Employees/Timeoffandholidays/DG_10029788">Oh, to be born a Brit.</a><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-27909513422024684422010-05-09T09:32:00.000-07:002010-07-27T17:16:41.245-07:00Aid for Ash Cloud Affected Travelers<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/4377758016/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 401px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2749/4377758016_959cbcea90_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://risamay.blogspot.com/2010/05/paris-is-for-survivors.html"><br /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://risamay.blogspot.com/2010/05/paris-is-for-survivors.html">In light of my own recent experience,</a> I thought it might be handy to dedicate a post to enlightening links and info for those affected by the ongoing volcanic eruption in Iceland and the resulting clouds of ash that hinder, or otherwise hamper, air travel. It's probably even more beneficial to be up on some of this stuff before your trip is even booked.<br /></div></div><br />★ On <span style="font-weight: bold;">what to know</span> before you go:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/02/travel/02prac.html">List o' lessons</a> from the Practical Traveler at The New York Times.<br /><br />★ On <span style="font-weight: bold;">affordable accommodations</span> (i.e., free):<br /><br /><a href="http://www.couchsurfing.org/">http://www.couchsurfing.org/</a><br /><br />★ On <span style="font-weight: bold;">European airspace</span> (the latest):<br /><br /><a href="http://twitter.com/eurocontrol">http://twitter.com/eurocontrol</a><br /><br /><a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_depth/europe/2010/iceland_volcano/default.stm">http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_depth/europe/2010/iceland_volcano/default.stm</a><br /><br />★ On <span style="font-weight: bold;">reimbursement </span>from the airlines:<br /><br />"Today thousands of consumers affected by flight disruptions are still rightly clamoring for their rights to be respected in practice," said EU Health and Consumer Policy Commissioner John Dalli.<br /><br />"My message to them is: do not hesitate to claim what is yours. If an airline or a tour operator continues to ignore your rights, a European Consumer Centre near you can be your next port of call," he added. <a href="http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5gyKhTe_EGcJAojEvAK2l6Lyp5khA">Source.</a><br /><br />On 4 May 2010, the network of European Consumer Centres (ECC-Net) published a practical complaint package, which is designed to help consumers affected by recent flight disruptions to exercise their consumer rights guaranteed under EU laws. The package includes a standard complaint letter, contact details of all airlines and other practical advice. <a href="http://ec.europa.eu/consumers/ecc/index_en.htm">Source.</a><br /><br />Your rights as an air passenger apply to flight cancellations or delays caused by the volcanic ash cloud. They include (see <a href="http://ec.europa.eu/dgs/health_consumer/icelandic-volcanic-cloud/index_en.htm#consumers">source</a>).<br /></div><p style="text-align: justify;">If the canceled flight has been purchased as part of a package holiday, you have more extended rights. If you have not yet started your trip you have the right to obtain a refund for the entire package (including e.g. the flight and the hotel) and if you are stranded you have the right to assistance on the spot. </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> You can find more information here (see <a href="http://ec.europa.eu/dgs/health_consumer/icelandic-volcanic-cloud/index_en.htm#consumers">source</a>).<br /><br />If you are affected by the situation, you should contact your airlines or travel agents first. If you booked a package holiday you can download a complaint form here (see <a href="http://ec.europa.eu/dgs/health_consumer/icelandic-volcanic-cloud/index_en.htm#consumers">source</a>).<br /><br />If you only booked an airline ticket, you can find a similar complaint form here (see <a href="http://ec.europa.eu/dgs/health_consumer/icelandic-volcanic-cloud/index_en.htm#consumers">source</a>).<br /><br />You should first send your complaint to your airline or your travel agent. You can search for the contact details of your airline's head office in the membership directory of these airline associations (see <a href="http://ec.europa.eu/dgs/health_consumer/icelandic-volcanic-cloud/index_en.htm#consumers">source</a>).<br /><br />If you are experiencing problems having your consumer rights respected, you are advised to contact a <a class="body" href="http://ec.europa.eu/consumers/ecc/index_en.htm">European Consumer Centre</a>, a national consumer organization or a national enforcement body. </div><p style="text-align: justify;">A European Consumer Centre (ECC) supported by the European Commission exists in every EU country as well as in Iceland and Norway. All the ECCs are working together to ensure a coordinated response to the crisis. Your local ECC can help and advise you. <a class="body" href="http://ec.europa.eu/consumers/ecc/contact_en.htm">Find a European Consumer Centre near you</a>.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">If you do not reach an agreement with your airline or your travel agent and the value of your claim is less than 2000 €, you can under some conditions use the <a class="body" href="http://ec.europa.eu/justice_home/judicialatlascivil/html/sc_information_en.htm?countrySession=21&" target="_blank">small claims procedure</a> to resolve the dispute. Your local <a class="body" href="http://ec.europa.eu/consumers/ecc/contact_en.htm">European Consumer Centre</a> can give you more information and advice on this procedure. <a href="http://ec.europa.eu/dgs/health_consumer/icelandic-volcanic-cloud/index_en.htm#consumers">Source.</a></p>★ On being <span style="font-weight: bold;">stuck in Paris</span> (yay and yikes, both):<br /><br /><a href="http://www.davidlebovitz.com/archives/2010/04/10_things_to_do_stuck_stranded_in_paris_france.html">http://www.davidlebovitz.com/archives/2010/04/10_things_to_do_stuck_stranded_in_paris_france.html</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-70794268010634602802010-05-04T18:33:00.000-07:002010-09-11T13:40:20.690-07:00Paris is for Survivors<div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4055/4576632727_1e7e982e69_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 265px; text-align: center; width: 399px;" border="0" /></a><br />In celebration of my (gasp) 35th birthday, I'd planned (over a year ago!) to spend four splendid spring days in Paris and another 12 on the French Riviera, using Nice as a home base from which to flit from one picturesque hill- or seaside town to the next, with a final night in Paris before flying back home the following afternoon. Sounded dreamy to me, too. Well, what was to be a dream trip come true morphed into a nightmare of sorts at 2AM on the dot, the day I was to depart.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3362/4576633081_b9cb706de1.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />Having been fully packed nearly a week before, I was looking forward to an easy-breezy crack-of-dawn departure. Wake up at 2AM with an hour to shower and dress before rolling out the door and catching my 3AM shuttle to the airport. Instead, I woke up at 2AM to a voicemail that my landlord had not received my April rent check (14 days into the month, at that point). The last time that happened, I got a notice on my door to "pay rent in 3 days or quit" (eviction proceedings would begin). So, as you might imagine, this is the last news I wanted to hear at 2AM the day I'm leaving the country for two+ weeks.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4044/4577266898_e462ed371a.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I frantically spent the next 50 minutes trying in vain (half because I was only half awake and the other half because online banking isn't what it should be and 24-hour customer support by phone isn't an offering where I bank) to get the matter sorted. The remaining 10 minutes I spent brushing my teeth, washing my face, and throwing on my clothes, sans shower. <span style="font-style: italic;">Sans</span> shower before a 6AM flight, followed by a 5-hour layover (in Toronto), followed by (finally) the flight to Paris. That is many, many hours to be without a shower and in transit via the close-quarters airborne nastiness that is economy-class modern commercial aviation. Yuck! (I'm not the camping type, can you tell?)<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4013/4576633671_a19047622f_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 602px; text-align: center; width: 401px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4011/4577264946_b6263dee7e.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />At any rate, I finally got to Paris. But only by the grace of god, or rather, France, which had yet to close its air space due to the volcanic eruption in Iceland. In preparation for landing, our pilot announced that we'd taken a 1-hour and 300+ kilometer detour around "a cloud of volcanic ash" and that it hadn't been noted in the flight-tracking info that we could follow along with on our personal TV monitors, and he was sorry. We all just looked at each other like, whatever. So you cleared a cloud. Who cares? Just land the freaking plane already.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3325/4577264080_c469a4ac90_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />It wasn't until the following day when I began to receive wild emails from family and friends -- Did you make it? Are you stuck in Toronto? Why haven't you contacted us to let us know you're okay?!! -- that I realized the gravity of the situation; I hadn't seen the news or read the papers, as I was just trying to get over my jet lag and directly into vacation mode.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4047/4576632291_146180a09b_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mon dieu</span>. What a <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=debbie+downer&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&aq=t&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a">Debbie Downer</a> the impact of Iceland was, once I started tuning into the latest via TV and the Internet. It freaked me out. It killed vacation mode (which was already suffering due to the stress of my missing rent check). It jiggered with my travel plans.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4022/4576631727_dfccde6267_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />Come day five, the day I was to fly to Nice, I'd come to find out my flight was canceled. Which, at that point, I was expecting. I'd spent several hours the day before at a train station to inquire about riding the rails down to Nice if air travel was not to be an option. In short, I came up short here as well because there was a train strike in the south of France in addition to train tickets being outlandishly expensive and in short supply per the strike and the airport closures across much of Europe.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4004/4576631507_a14f68cbd3_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />And so, I embraced the reality that I would be stuck in Paris for the duration of my vacation. At which point I promptly got sick with a wicked cold (of course), requiring that I spend much of my first week <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowUserReviews-g187147-d189228-r63251625-Hotel_Jeanne_d_Arc-Paris_Ile_de_France.html">at the hotel</a> and in bed. And when it wasn't the jet lag or the cold or the stress of not knowing if my rent check would ever arrive or if the volcano would keep me in Paris indefinitely (how long should I wait before lining up a job?), it was problems with my back-up bank (a huge international bank with no listed number for Americans travel<span>ING (hint hint)</span> overseas to call should their card be lost or stolen or whatever), suffering a semi-severe burn to my gums from a piping hot falafel, or other bodily ailments that would be TMI to detail here (even for open-book me).<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4049/4577262240_701d5fa1de_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 602px; text-align: center; width: 401px;" border="0" /></a><br />In brief, I find it something of a miracle that I managed to enjoy myself at all. But then, I was in Paris. And Paris is, even under the worst of circumstances or annoyances, a pretty damn enjoyable place.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4009/4577261002_dd1ff6a3d8_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 602px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />While the point of Nice was to experience something that is renown to be so very nice, it was also (and moreso) to see something new. Although I do love to return to favorite cities, I find that I take fewer and fewer photos upon my return trips because as I get to know a place more intimately, the familiarity does little to inspire fresh photography. Unfortunately, that's just the way it seems to work, for me. The more a place becomes home, the fewer images I make (just like at home). Which is why I had only planned to be in Paris for four days. Having gone to Venice the year before (where I've also been multiple times and twice for one month at a time), I was really (really) looking forward to the newness of Nice. It was going to be oh so nice, and would result in a glut of colorful and inspired new pictures. Something that I was in urgent need of, both professionally and personally.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3352/4577263670_dba953a7b1.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4012/4576628523_e9090c77e3.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 267px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />But Nice was not to be. So I made a point in Paris to venture into corners of the city that I'd not seen before and to hit a few of the touristy spots or things-to-do that I'd always avoided like the proverbial plague. In desperate need of inspiration, I was now open to braving an evening (never a morning or an afternoon, per the hordes) at the Louvre. But although I even made it to Versailles (finally), I didn't get around to (finally) going up in the Eiffel Tower. And I must say, thank god I've already been to Paris on a number of occasions and wasn't looking forward to seeing or photographing the Eiffel Tower, or the Arch de Triomphe, or a handful of other monuments that scream "Paris" because it seemed as though they are all currently undergoing major restoration or maintenance work that detracts (and majorly) from the expected aesthetic awe.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4062/4576631281_60948163a7_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4034/4577259366_86f48fcaf1_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4001/4577258602_b9f9d7c1fc_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 399px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3339/4576626595_6f867c04b7.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4023/4576621071_b9c652919e_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 602px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4012/4576619119_93381c8647_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3379/4576635033_ee6d75eb4c_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 602px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4044/4577265524_c88e21d9c0_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 602px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />In the end, I discovered a passion for the city's pretty portals. Of which Paris has no shortage. There are delicious doors in a rainbow of paints and patinas around every corner. And I have the pictures to prove it!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4069/4576630389_eec64cc0f8_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />And while I would love to regale you with stories, I don't actually have that many. This trip was far from exciting, I think per the non-newness of Paris (for me). I did serendipitously meet more than my fair share of interesting or (purely) entertaining people, but those moments aren't nearly so worth recounting as the half-day spent with an old friend who just happened to be in town at the end of my trip.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4060/4577260472_3bc9ac833a_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 602px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />After a leisurely lunch at <a href="http://www.mosquee-de-paris.org/">La Grande Mosquée of Paris</a> (wonderful Algerian food in an amazing setting that makes you feel a million miles away from France and transported directly to North Africa; can't recommend it highly enough, even just for mint tea in the garden), window shopping, treats-come-true from <a href="http://www.lapatisseriedesreves.com/">La Pâtisserie des Rèves</a>, and just doing whatever, my friend and I decided to have dinner at <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=angelina%27s+paris&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&aq=t&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a">Angelina's</a> before taking advantage of the reduced crowds and fare offered up by the Louvre every Wednesday and Friday (the only way to see the Louvre, in my opinion; it's 6 Euros after 6PM and stays open until 10PM on these evenings).<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4027/4576628157_d9e19b3958_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 604px; text-align: center; width: 401px;" border="0" /></a><br />With 19 Euro big salads (with the tangy mustard dressing, you can't go wrong; worth each and every Euro) and its world famous hot chocolate, Angelina's is an old (founded in 1903) and swanky joint on the ritzy Rue de Rivoli in the heart of Paris.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4003/4576627983_1505671afe_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 602px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />Wrapping up our meal and in mid-chat, my friend suddenly let loose a blood-curdling scream. I turned to look in the general direction where the horror seemed to be sourced, and witnessed a small mouse weaving its way frantically toward the wall and into a hole one table over from ours.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3412/4576627469_f9b489eb12_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 602px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />Lucky for Angelina's, they were closing in under 20 minutes and the palatially proportioned dining area wasn't overflowing as it is nearly every afternoon. Even still, there were plenty of people and after the scream, you could hear a pin drop. Several ladies at table near us asked what had so upset my companion, and they were visibly upset to learn it was rodent-related.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4049/4576627177_bdd556abfe_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 399px;" border="0" /></a><br />The best part was, perhaps, the manager's cool estimation of events (we're doing some renovation and construction work, and so there are mice, and you've already finished your meal, so why not just leave) and suggestion that we not mention it to anyone.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4053/4576620407_558411bc85_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 600px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3349/4577257512_18a2129355_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 602px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3399/4576625521_a4379fd68c_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 602px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3381/4577257070_639695591c_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 600px; text-align: center; width: 399px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4005/4577256342_5efdb3c8b1_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 600px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4062/4576623699_0890c5b6aa_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 602px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4062/4576623277_5a43979f29.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3377/4576622681_3d5432cf30_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 399px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3332/4577254776_f40b67b8f0.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />They say there's no such thing as a free lunch. Perhaps we noshed on mouse droppings and that's what made the salad so good, though I'm hoping not. I'm just glad the bill was forgiven, and get the feeling ours wasn't the first waived with regard to a <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=remy+ratatouille&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&aq=t&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a">Remy</a> sighting. And while he did suggest we not recount our experience, we didn't shake on it or anything, so I can't feel too bad about going public with it here. Plus, there's no such thing as a free lunch (or dinner). For either party!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4029/4577254292_08e23eebba.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4069/4577253942_f98d75fd65_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 600px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />In closing I am happy to report that my rent check was finally received toward the tail end of my time in Paris. I had three whole days to enjoy without that hanging over my head, and with things looking pretty quiet on the volcano front. So that was nice.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4050/4576617273_710f4c7ebd_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4021/4577253422_d8176b2fc2.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3390/4576618741_a180673925.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />What was not nice was the trek home. At the airport in Paris, I was asked to remove each and every item from my camera bag and place it in a plastic bin. Two DSLR bodies. Four lenses. Six external hard drives. And I don't know how many batteries and cords and memory cards. It was total bull <span style="font-style: italic;">merde</span>, if you ask me. I thought that'd be the worst of it, but I had to empty my camera bag all over again in Montreal. Took nearly 40 minutes and if I hadn't sprinted to the gate directly after, I would have missed my connection to Toronto. As it was I got there right as they were announcing the final boarding call.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4057/4577253092_39c9c90dc2_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />Toronto should have been a breeze. I had 2 hours to kill before my flight on to San Francisco. Sadly though, most of it was killed in customs. Air Canada flights had been delayed all day due to a reduced number of customs agents. The line was unreal. All said an done, the customs affair took a good hour and 20 minutes. Then there was security. I was starting to freak that I'd miss my flight home and be stuck in Canada for the night, but -- praise the lord -- the security agent I got was an angel. I simply said to him that I was a photographer and that my backpack was full of camera and camera-related gear and could he please allow it to go through the scanner without unpacking the contents. Whether because he was just a nice guy or because he could perhaps sense that I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, he chipperly said sure. No problem.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4007/4577252750_7906a9150e.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4033/4577252560_101974a727.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Whew!<br /></div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4028/4577251292_46ffe7a40d_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 603px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />That time-saver bought me just enough on the clock to buy a drink and a snack before boarding began. And it got even better. So many people were delayed or otherwise detained in the customs debacle that the flight was only half full, if that. I got an aisle seat, and between me and the nice man seated by the window (a fellow shutterbug with whom I shared a lovely conversation about travel and travel photography) was luxurious emptiness. Hassle-free security screening, awesome. But no middle-seat travel companion on the last long leg home? Priceless.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3314/4577252224_12a747ff33_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 602px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4072/4577248924_4358dbd82b_o.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 601px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4002/4577251974_1526638825.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157610215696210/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4041/4576619721_04d3af33e1.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br />As for Nice, I hope it's still as nice as they say when I mange to (finally) get there. One day.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Update, Saturday, May 8, 2010: <a href="http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/n/a/2010/05/08/international/i044343D29.DTL">"The eruption of the glacier-capped volcano has shown no signs of stopping since it began belching ash April 13. It last erupted from 1821 to 1823."</a> So, with no end to the eruption in sight, it appears that ash cloud related airport closures and flight delays, cancellations, or rerouting will continue. Indefinitely. Therefore, it's handy (if not of the utmost importance) to </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/02/travel/02prac.html">know your rights</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> when your European travel plans fall through. And, ideally, know </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">before </span><span style="font-style: italic;">you go!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Update, Sunday, May 9, 2010: I have an <a href="http://risamay.blogspot.com/2010/05/aid-for-ash-cloud-affected-travelers.html">all ash cloud post</a> now, which I will try to keep updated with fresh and relevant info; so long as the Icelandic volcano remains an issue to air travel.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;" >Questions? Ask away! Please use the comments feature to ask questions rather than contacting Marisa directly. That way everyone can learn a thing or two, too.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-57213742837190213312009-11-04T11:32:00.000-08:002010-11-05T16:27:48.213-07:00Footnotes<div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2478/3897961845_5b33038964.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2478/3897961845_5b33038964.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"></span><br /></div><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Pieces of Venice</span><br /><a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2010/10/31/travel/31venice-hours.html">36 Hours in Venice</a> | NYTimes<br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2009/08/venice/newman-text">Vanishing Venice</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> | National Geographic</span><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2009/08/venice/venice-animation">Venice Versus the Sea</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> | National Geographic</span><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.newsweek.com/id/220748">Why Are the Venetians Fleeing Venice?</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> | Newsweek</span><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.dw-world.de/popups/popup_single_mediaplayer/0,,4814756_type_video_struct_3065_contentId_4476532,00.html">Acqua Veritas</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> | DW-TV Global 3000, Story at 20:00 into video</span><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/12/world/europe/12venice.html">City Known for Its Water Turns to Tap to Cut Trash</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> | NYTimes</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Pieces of Paris</span><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.davidlebovitz.com/archives/whining/">Whining</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> | David Lebovitz, an American in Paris</span><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://littlebrownpen.blogspot.com/search/label/paris">Paris Posts</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> | Nichole Robertson, Little Brown Pen</span><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.paris-26-gigapixels.com/index-en.html">Paris 26 Gigapixels</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> | Interactive virtual tour of Paris</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-15936294493433431212009-09-07T18:16:00.000-07:002010-07-22T21:24:22.262-07:00NEW York<div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157622171052959/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3442/3898743116_a4a923380f.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span><br /></div>While my friends were at work, I played. And generally ran myself ragged walking, busing, and riding the rails all over Manhattan.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157622171052959/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 403px; height: 604px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2634/3897962395_54f2b6f0a3_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span><br /></div>For New Yorkers it was hot, but not hot as hell. For me, it was blazing hip-hop R&B a little too loud at 80+ degrees Fahrenheit, and humid. I'm glad it didn't rain and wasn't 90F or hotter, but damn. I could have showered five times a day and still felt funky.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157622171052959/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 403px; height: 604px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2657/3897963321_c708780234_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span><br /></div>Even though it was blazing bullets, I still wanted to be out-and-about outside. So much so that I didn't even hit any of the many museums that I'd planned on visiting. That said, I did make a point to visit many a museum <span style="font-style: italic;">store</span>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157622171052959/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 403px; height: 604px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2603/3897960763_debe2f5d04_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span><br /></div>Other than a few minor purchases at museum shops, I didn't buy much. A few pairs of fun $5 earrings (talk about a cheap thrill) and a cute little etching of the classic "I ♥ New York" sentiment scrawled on a t-shirt by an artist selling her limited edition prints on the street near the Museum of Modern Art. That and a bunch of swim gear; I want to join a masters swim team and had been having the darnedest time finding a brick-and-mortar sporting goods store at home. I rightly figured that if I could find a Speedo retailer anywhere, it'd be Manhattan. Praise the lord people still shop the old-fashioned way - in person - there.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157622171052959/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 403px; height: 604px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2482/3897961337_a182f54e89_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span><br /></div>Did I mention that it was hot? Had I not had my camera gear to worry about, I would have ditched my bag and ran a lap, too.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157622171052959/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 403px; height: 604px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2498/3897961223_4894bb8afc_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span><br /></div>Once upon a time I was accepted to NYU and Columbia, went for a visit, and ultimately declined their generous offers. Occasionally I wonder if I made a mistake in choosing UCLA, but on each of my handful of visits to New York since I regret nothing anew. While New York is a vibrant and exciting city to be sure, I am not a traditional big city girl (yeah, L.A. is a big city, but it's very different in big city feel and layout from a Manhattan). Visits to the Big Apple are fantastic (especially when you have good friends there to visit), but I think living there would be too much for crunchy California me. That said, you couldn't pay me to live in Los Angeles again, but if you paid me enough you just <span style="font-style: italic;">might </span>be able to coax me into the luxe life in New York. It'd have to be a really pretty penny though and I just don't see that ever happening. Good thing making mountains of money and living in New York isn't a priority in my life.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157622171052959/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3040/3898742046_c0c8026674.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span><br /></div>I don't do double-decker tour busing. But maybe I should reconsider. I bet people snap some pretty sweet photos from up there.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157622171052959/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2484/3898742564_ba626f92ab.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span><br /></div>I meant to see a show, but it never came to pass. Next time.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157622171052959/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 403px; height: 604px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3268/3897960165_c926289874_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div>This is the kind of pretty penny Big Apple posh that a girl could get used to. Looks like Paris, but without all the bloody bureaucracy. Delicious living, if you can afford it.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157622171052959/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 403px; height: 604px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2529/3897962973_41047644c7_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div>My favorite aspect of New York is by far the mix of old and new architecture. I love the majestic Old World look and feel of the city, but I'm also strangely taken with the imposing scope and scale of the city's many towering structures of glass and steel. The way they make one feel small and insignificant as you pass below is frightening and awe-inspiring, both. Even some of the old brownstones and other buildings with a European charm and flair appear so large as to make you feel a flea. Frightening-fantastic architecture. That's New York to me, in a proverbial nutshell. I don't think I could ever tire of gawking at the buildings and snapping my impressions.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157622171052959/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 403px; height: 604px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3482/3897963149_71a05d860a_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span><br /></div>Well, that's about it. I came, I saw, <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/sets/72157622171052959/">I snapped.</a> I got a lot of sun and had a lot of fun. I hope to repeat the experience again, many times, in the years ahead. Thanks again to Alexis and Fatimah both, and happy 35 ladies! Glad we got to spend a few too short days together in this milestone year. Cheers.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Questions? Ask away! Please use the comments feature to ask questions rather than contacting Marisa directly. That way everyone can learn a thing or two, too.</span><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-42186576809875185192009-07-30T13:28:00.000-07:002010-07-22T21:22:22.545-07:00Paris On My Mind<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/3086904241/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 398px; height: 599px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3102/3086904241_65126c1af1_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div>In preparation for my next trip to Paris, which will be next spring and not soon enough, I've been wading through the Flickr photo fields and elsewhere online for info and inspiration. Half the fun of taking a trip is mapping out the details in the days prior, right? It should also be in brushing up on <span style="font-style: italic;">mon français</span>, but I haven't quite got 'round to embarking on that particular portion of the blast, just yet. Anywho, thanks to <span>my</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><a href="http://www.marriedwithdinner.com/">Married</a> <span style="font-style: italic;">amie</span>, I've recently discovered the joys of <a href="http://www.davidlebovitz.com/archives/whining/">whining à la David Lebovitz.</a> And by discovered I mean instantly obsessed. So much so that <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/asin/0767928881/davidleboviswebs">I bought the book</a> after reading only a handful of his blog entries, and have it in hand today via Amazon Prime. Oh how I love my Amazon Prime. <span style="font-style: italic;">Et mon</span> brand-spanking new <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/asin/0767928881/davidleboviswebs">Sweet Life.</a> Perhaps the perfect and perfectly <span style="font-style: italic;">drôle </span>companion for <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Me-Talk-Pretty-One-Day/dp/0316776963/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1248986626&sr=1-1">Sedaris' soujourn en France.</a> I imagine <span style="font-style: italic;">les deux Davides</span> are good friends. And if they're not, they should be. <span style="font-style: italic;">Immédiatement</span>.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-60193064573936765822009-05-23T19:35:00.000-07:002011-01-20T13:14:27.838-08:00Venice Revisited<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/2761455329/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3121/2761455329_e60196e758.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Visit number five, to be exact.<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />Other than my very first trip to Venice, this is my second visit to the fabled city, with friends. Lovely, but very much different than seeing the city alone. No better, no worse. Just different. Less intimate, I think.<br /><br />Being there with two first-timers allowed for a few first-time experiences for the tour guide, too. My first gondola ride was a highlight in that category, for sure. It's so smooth and, well - serene. Really. I know it sounds cliche, but it truly was. As you'd expect to experience it in a dream, not your unscripted and oft lackluster-letdown of a reality. We hired a gondolier off the main drag, in a backstreet canal near our Castello home base. And yes, we hired him mainly for his dashing good looks. Christian was his name, I think. The 40-minute glide through heaven ran us 80 Euros in total. Split between the three of us, it was quite the deal when you consider how idyllic the surroundings, how cute the captain, and how smoothly serene the ride itself.<br /><br />By the end of the trip I'd pretty well worn both my friends and myself ragged with sight-seeing. All the Venice standards, plus lesser known churches, nooks, and many a canal-lined cranny. It was wonderful to wander the streets again, seeing how much I remembered and finding how easy it was to get lost. Still. But by far the favorite part of the trip was seeing my friends there and picking up a few new ones, meeting their kids and loved ones. It wasn't nearly enough time, but the time I had I am grateful for. And besides, I'll be back. I'll always be back.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;">Questions? Ask away! Please use the comments feature to ask questions rather than contacting Marisa directly. That way everyone can learn a thing or two, too.</span><br /></div></div></div><br /><div style="text-align:center; width:575px"><object id="myWidget" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" data="http://www.blurb.com/assets/embed.swf?book_id=159043" width="575" height="300"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><param name="movie" value="http://www.blurb.com/assets/embed.swf?book_id=159043"></param><a target="_new" href="http://www.blurb.com/books/preview/159043?ce=blurb_ew&utm_source=widget"><img src="http://bookshow.blurb.com/bookshow/cache/P184950/md/wcover_2.png"></img></a></object><div style="display:block;"><a href="http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/159043?ce=blurb_ew&utm_source=widget" target="_blank" style="margin:12px 3px;">Death Becomes Her by Marisa Allegra Williams</a> | <a href="http://www.blurb.com/landing_pages/bookshow?ce=blurb_ew&utm_source=widget" target="_blank" style="margin:12px 3px;">Make Your Own Book</a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-48648831040312839932009-03-17T14:49:00.000-07:002010-08-29T21:33:26.711-07:00Happy St. Patrick's Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/2761449745/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 599px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3122/2761449745_7dc2ee919d_z.jpg?zz=1" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://vivaca.blogspot.com/2009/03/that-was-my-answer-to-question-about.html">Go behind the Green Door.</a><br />Signed prints available at <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/risamay/search?search_query=green+door+montenegro&search_type=user_shop_ttt_id_5168165&shopname=risamay">http://risamay.etsy.com</a> exclusively.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-84511035427483064312009-03-07T12:28:00.000-08:002010-07-22T21:19:22.147-07:00Anticipation<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I think Regina Nadelson hit the nail on the head when she mused, "Most travel is best of all in the anticipation or the remembering; the reality has more to do with losing your luggage." Though I've never lost my luggage, knock on my IKEA wood-derivative desk.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Now fully in anticipation of my upcoming trip to Venice, I've been strolling down memory lane and enjoying a look back at past visits. I've even retooled a picture or two to make the dusty dreamy and new again.</span><br /></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: left;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/3328077408/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 601px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3377/3328077408_ede59ebf8b_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;" ></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" class="corpotimes" ><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/3327242085/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 599px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3580/3327242085_0c7e3f2fd8_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;" ></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" class="corpotimes" ><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/3312785061/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 598px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3304/3312785061_28c2f93e54_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;" ></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" class="corpotimes" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/3305371709/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 600px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3416/3305371709_11ea8373ec_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;" ></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" class="corpotimes" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/3305371211/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 603px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3657/3305371211_ca67032325_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;" ></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" class="corpotimes" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/3306201038/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 601px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3479/3306201038_ff5c022f04_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;" ></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" class="corpotimes" ><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Allora</span>. Enough reminiscing. Back to reality and brushing up on the basics of Italian. I'm happy with what I've been able to learn and retain over the last eight-odd months, but I should really be far further along by now. My research on the Venetian dialect has made no progress since my July post last year though, I'm afraid. Where does the time go?</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;" >Questions? Ask away! Please use the comments feature to ask questions rather than contacting Marisa directly. That way everyone can learn a thing or two, too.</span><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-2741262522908414002008-07-03T15:52:00.000-07:002010-07-22T21:12:55.105-07:00Vìva Venièxia<div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.raixevenete.net/images/flag.gif"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://www.raixevenete.net/images/flag.gif" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><blockquote><p style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><a href="http://www.omniglot.com/writing/venetian.htm">Venetian is a Romance language spoken by about 2 million people mainly in Venice and the surrounding area, and also in Trieste, Croatia, Slovenia, Mexico and Brazil. The language is more closely related to French and Spanish than it is to Italian. </a></p> <p style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><a href="http://www.omniglot.com/writing/venetian.htm">When Venice was an independent republic (between the 9th and 18th centuries), the Venetian language enjoyed considerable prestige. However literary Venetian lost out the the Tuscan dialect, which eventually became the national language of Italy. </a></p> <p><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><a href="http://www.omniglot.com/writing/venetian.htm">Today Venetian has no official status.</a><br /></span></p></blockquote><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >Ci</span><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">ào!</span> </span></span><span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ciao">Which is to say, in its original Venetian meaning well before it was embraced by the whole of Italy and the world over as the chic way to say hello or goodbye, <span style="font-style: italic;">I am your slave</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">I am your servant</span>.</a><br /><br />Though I am most certainly not your slave, it is my hope that this blog serves you well in either the way of entertainment or education. Or both.</span></span><br /><br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;">If I had no want for money, I'd spend a substantial amount of my ample free time traveling and learning the language of each country or region on my itinerary. For lesser known or "unofficial" languages however, learning on your own outside of immersion - i.e., living there and coercing the locals to engage you patiently in conversation on a regular basis - can be difficult. That seems to be the case with the Venetian or <span style="font-style: italic;">Venet </span>dialect. At least if you're a native English speaker, with only a passing grasp of official <span style="font-style: italic;">Italiano</span>. As there is far more written for Italian-Venetian vs. English-Venetian interests or learning.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/2762315852/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3014/2762315852_3dd78f204e_o.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;">I'm hoping to learn more (both Italian and Venetian), but for the time being these are the only helpful resources I've come across (for the Venetian dialect). If you know of something else handy or enlightening about the Venetian dialect, <span style="font-style: italic;">piàxare</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;">.</span><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"> Post a comment. <span style="font-style: italic;">Gràsie </span>in advance!</span><br /><br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Venetian Language Online Dictionaries</span></span><br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.elgalepin.com/">http://www.elgalepin.com/</a></span><br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.dizsionario.org/dizsionario.php">http://www.dizsionario.org/dizsionario.php</a></span><br /><br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Venetian Language Rules of Engagement</span></span><br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.sitoveneto.org/rules.html">http://www.sitoveneto.org/rules.html</a></span><br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.sitoveneto.org/some_persuasions_about_venetian.html">http://www.sitoveneto.org/some_persuasions_about_venetian.html</a></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" class="corpotimes" >Venetian Language Phonetics and Pronunciation</span><br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.veneto.org/gvu/">http://www.veneto.org/gvu/</a></span><br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.veneto.org/language/galepin/how_read.html">http://www.veneto.org/language/galepin/how_read.html</a></span><br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.sitoveneto.org/one_writing_many_pronunciations.html">http://www.sitoveneto.org/one_writing_many_pronunciations.html</a></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" class="corpotimes" >Venetian Language Resource Bibliography</span><br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.veneto.org/language/galepin/bibliography.html">http://www.veneto.org/language/galepin/bibliography.html</a></span><br /><br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Venetian Language Variations in Brazil and Mexico</span></span><br /><blockquote><a href="http://www.sitoveneto.org/venetian_language_in_the_world.html"><span class="ff2 fc2 fs10">In Rio Grando do Sul, Santa Catarina e Paranà (states of Brasil), about five million people speak a koinè based on ancient </span><span class="ff2 fc2 fs10 fi">Vicentino-Trevigiano</span><span class="ff2 fc2 fs10"> variant moderated by other north-italic languages (in the last century immigrants came even from Trentino, Friuli, Lombardia) and influenced by Portuguese. This Venetan koinè is the said to be newest romance language and its speakers call it "Taliàn" , i.e. Italian in opposition to Brasilian, i.e. Portuguese, that is the main language. Indeed, Talian is not Italian!<br /><br />In the town of Chipilo, Mexico, people speak a </span><span class="ff2 fc2 fs10 fi">Trevigiano-Belunese </span><span class="ff2 fc2 fs10">variant as most of the immigrants came from the town of Segusino, in the northern part of the province of Treviso. It's influenced by Spanish.</span></a><br /><br /><span>and from another source:</span><br /><p><a href="http://www.travel-italy.com/community/feature_articles/looks_like_italy.php"> When you pass through Chipilo, Mexico (about one hundred miles outside Mexico City), you might mistake it for Veneto, Italy. </a></p><p><a href="http://www.travel-italy.com/community/feature_articles/looks_like_italy.php"> For the last one hundred and fifteen years, the people of Chipilo have spoken Venet, the main language of Veneto, almost exclusively. Time seems not to have passed much there, as the Venet people in Chipilo have preserved their heritage. </a></p><p><a href="http://www.travel-italy.com/community/feature_articles/looks_like_italy.php"> On any given day in Chipilo, you can travel from the shoe store owned by Bortolotti to the supermarket run by the Minutti family to the Stefanoni-operated dairy. The last names of the original fifty or so families who traveled here in 1882 with only some rags and hopes of a new country are still pervasive in this quaint Central American town. </a></p><p><a href="http://www.travel-italy.com/community/feature_articles/looks_like_italy.php"> One of the largest companies in Chipilo is an international company called Seguisino, a word taken form the mother country of Italy. The company makes a Venet specialty: imitated antique furniture. </a></p><p><a href="http://www.travel-italy.com/community/feature_articles/looks_like_italy.php"> Their ancestors first came to the small Mexican village in 1882, searching for fertile land to farm and to run away from the poverty that was plaguing Veneto at the time. </a></p><p><a href="http://www.travel-italy.com/community/feature_articles/looks_like_italy.php"> Although the village is very reminiscent of Veneto, Chipiloís citizens do not think of themselves as Italians. While they share a language and culture with their relatives, they see themselves as members of a different race of people. </a></p><p><a href="http://www.travel-italy.com/community/feature_articles/looks_like_italy.php"> The two cultures are similar, yet distinctly different. Veneto has progressed and has changed much in the last century while Chipilo remains as a sort of isolated throwback to a different time. </a></p><p><a href="http://www.travel-italy.com/community/feature_articles/looks_like_italy.php"> Just as in Veneto, the three thousand citizens of Chipilo speak Venet, which is a language in the Romantic tradition, like Italian or French. Although the language has strong Latin roots, it also contains many words of Germanic origin, especially in the more mountainous regions. </a></p><p><a href="http://www.travel-italy.com/community/feature_articles/looks_like_italy.php"> The Venet language can be characterized by softly articulating some words, while changing from voiceless to voiced consonants at other times. At the same time, Venet speakers avoid lengthening consonants in their speech.</a><br /></p></blockquote><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Examples from a </span><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://venetianblog.blogspot.com/2004/12/venetian-dialect.html"><span>Venetian Blog</span></a></span><br /><blockquote><span style="font-size:100%;">ENGLISH: May you help me?<br />ITALIAN: Potresti aiutarmi?<br />VENETIAN: </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Ti me dà na man?</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br />ENGLISH: I'd like to book a hotel in Venice.<br />ITALIAN: Vorrei prenotare un albergo a Venezia.<br />VENETIAN: </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Voria prenotar un albergo a Venexia.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br />ENGLISH: What's your name?<br />ITALIAN: Come ti chiami?<br />VENETIAN: </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Come ti te ciami?<br /></span></blockquote><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Selected <a href="http://www.travelphrases.info/languages/venetian.htm">Travel Phrases</a></span></span><br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span><blockquote>Where is my room?<br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span><span style="font-style: italic;">Dove xela la me camera?</span></span></span><br /><br />Where is the beach?<br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span><span style="font-style: italic;">Dove xela la spiajia?</span></span></span> <br /></blockquote></span></span><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span><blockquote>Where is the bar?<br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span><span style="font-style: italic;">Dove xelo el bar?</span></span></span><br /><br />Don't touch me there!<br /><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span><span style="font-style: italic;">No stà tocarme lì!</span></span></span><br /></blockquote></span></span><span class="corpotimes" style="font-size:100%;"><span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">And, as Published in </span><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/1559892/Venice-charges-rude-tourists-extra.html">The Telegraph</a></span><br /><blockquote style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><p><span style="font-size:100%;">Please can I have the bill?<i><br />Ti mi fa el conto?</i></span> </p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">I don't believe it! <i><br />No ghe credo!</i></span> </p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">Please can you pass me a fork/spoon/glass? <i><br />Pasame el piron/scuglier/bicer?</i></span> </p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">Why do I have to pay double? <i><br />Parcossa go dar pagar el dopio?</i></span> </p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">I'm bankrupt. <i><br />A sò restà in braghe de tela.</i><br />(Lit: I'm left wearing light trousers)</span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">Do you think I am made of money? <i><br />Pensi che go le man sbùxe?</i><br />(Lit: Do you think I have holes in my hands?)</span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">I'm never coming back to Venice! <i><br />Mi no tornarò piu a Venesia!</i></span><br /></p> </blockquote><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Questions? Ask away! Please use the comments feature to ask questions rather than contacting Marisa directly. That way everyone can learn a thing or two, too.</span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-19647397805281127072008-06-18T15:20:00.000-07:002010-07-22T21:07:26.870-07:00Eat, Pray, Loathe Venice<div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3180/2427852531_4cd72d9c5e.jpg?v=0"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3180/2427852531_4cd72d9c5e.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Serene like they say? Well, yeah. In a slit your wrists, suicidal sort of way. If that's your thing then, sure. Dive right into the book. Personally, I'm hoping the movie's more enjoyable. If nothing else, I'm banking on its shot-on-location, eye-candy appeal.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="postbodytext"><p>I'm in the middle of the oft touted and much recommended <span style="font-weight: bold;">Eat, Pray, Love</span> by Elizabeth Gilbert and just had to vent on her Venice bit, for a bit.</p> <p>Anyone else miffed by her dark take on La Serenissima?</p> <p>I'm still enjoying the book (generally), but ...</p> <p></p><blockquote>"Her cheer, her optimism - they in no way match this stinky, slow, sinking, mysterious, silent, weird city. Venice seems like a wonderful city in which to die a slow and alcoholic death, or to lose a loved one, or to lose the murder weapon with which the loved one was lost in the first place. Seeing Venice, I'm grateful that I chose to live in Rome instead. I don't think I would have gotten off the antidepressants quite so quick here. Venice is beautiful, but like a Bergman movie is beautiful; you can admire it, but you don't really want to live in it."</blockquote><p></p> <p>Oh, but it gets better. Meaning, of course, worse.</p> <p></p><blockquote>"The beautiful young Venetian woman who owns the restaurant near where we are staying is miserable with her fate. She hates Venice. She swears that everyone who lives in Venice regards it as a tomb."</blockquote><p></p> <p>Sounds like our traveling author met a depressed woman in Venice and allowed this one person's view of the city to reinforce her own negative first impressions as fact. But, now that Ms. Gilbert is on her merry way to happiness without help (i.e., sans antidepressants), it seems she can no longer recognize clinical angst in others and take what such sad souls say with a grain of salt.</p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/2761468933/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3205/2761468933_8610e3c82b_o.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a></p> <p>Sigh. Just <span>had</span> to get that off my chest. As you were.</p><p style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">So. Love it or loathe it? Elizabeth Gilbert's take on Venice, that is. Post away! Please use the comments feature to share your own Eat, Pray, Love (or Loathe) thoughts rather than contacting Marisa directly. That way everyone can learn a thing or two, too.<br /></span></p> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-86800962347806274732008-04-27T15:53:00.000-07:002010-08-05T14:14:19.276-07:00State of the Union's Approach to Travel<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/2434885673/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3060/2434885673_ef36891bdb_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">A leisurely vacation overseas escapes the vast majority of American working dreamers. For most U.S. workers - lacking the time or the money, or both - traveling abroad essentially amounts to an unattainable or once in a lifetime (if they're lucky) luxury.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><br /></span>Having just returned from a quick four-day visit to Montreal, I was already lamenting having to wait a full calendar year to accrue the allotted 12 days of paid time off so that I could take something more akin to what I consider a real vacation. For me, if there isn't a trip on the horizon I'm just not a happy camper. So I put in for my time away next spring, this spring. That's how serious I am about taking time off. I was chatting about this with a friend in Paris and he mentioned to me that the new job he's considering offers―now would be the time to sit down and brace yourself before reading on―48 days of paid vacation. Um, yeah. I was floored, too.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I was reminded of that scene in Sicko where, </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"Sitting at a restaurant table with a bunch of American ex-pats in Paris, Moore is treated to a jaw-dropping recitation of the perks of social democracy: 30 days of vacation time, unlimited sick days, full child care, social workers who come to help new parents adjust to the strains and challenges of child-rearing." - Ezra Klein</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">In stark sobering contrast to what workaday Americans are guaranteed, in the way of paid time off in particular: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"We guarantee zero. Absolutely none. That's why one out of 10 full-time American employees, and more than six out of 10 part-time employees, get no vacation. And even among workers </span><i style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">with </i><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">paid vacation benefits, the average number of days enjoyed is a mere 12. In other words, even those of us who are lucky enough to get some vacation typically receive just over a third of what the French are guaranteed." - Ezra Klein</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Sigh. And a very heavy one, at that.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I'm now one of those Americans who enjoys "a mere 12" paid vacation days. After three years with the company that will increase to a whopping 15. If it weren't for the the fact that I love the company, the work, and the people, I couldn't commit to such a setup. Not unless there were the possibility of unpaid leave, which is what I enjoyed at my former place of employment.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Although, </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">to quote Ezra Klein - "Very few individual workers in the United States can ask for four weeks of vacation. It is not only outside the benefits of their job but far outside the culture of our workplace. The incentives for most every individual, particularly if they want to keep their position and amass a reputation as a good employee, is to abide by those norms,"</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> I worked up the gall to ask my last employer for unlimited unpaid leave in addition to the standard two weeks (i.e., only 10 days) he outlined in the company benefits package. For some crazy reason, my request was deemed reasonable and I got my wish. It was fantastic. I even took it a step further when I opted for less monthly income in favor of a four-day work week.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">That arrangement lasted for nearly six travelicious years before I decided it was time to move on and pursue my work as an artist more seriously, along with a career/day job that more closely matched personal passions; first and foremost, my love of travel. I consider myself exceptionally lucky to have found just such a place and position. Although I lost my lobby for unpaid leave in lieu of more fully-funded with my new employer, the fact that I enjoy my work counts immensely. Not many people―American or otherwise―can say that.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">All that said, this still strikes me as shockingly medieval. </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">This </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">being where the U.S. ranks with the rest of the industrialized world in time paid to step away from the grindstone and catch up on some much needed R&R:</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.worktolive.info/poen_vaca_worl.cfm"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaG0Hg56pmUbaGkxhQGcFhzmECR2_tBdzZl_ZUDX9xnaz8iIA6ipS6VA9NeE-7RNO9nBLQFGsefE8jwTP7R2XdxkRGxUBl7b3RMCN29OH2RPKRDUbiCDsLq88gkVsY3JbGbxC3wBxOXUs/s400/work+to+live.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219241409749674450" border="0" /></a></div><br />Kinda makes you want to scream and wish you'd been born a Brit or a Brazilian, right?<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><blockquote><a href="http://www.worktolive.info/poen_vaca_worl.cfm">The reason it's so hard to get a vacation and so hard to enjoy one when you manage to squeeze part of one in is that the U.S. is the only country in the industrialized world without a minimum paid-leave law. As you can see from the chart [above], we've got a death grip on last place in the paid-leave standings. The first column details figures for statutory minimum annual leave and the right-hand column lists combined mandated leave with average additional time off by agreement with employers.</a><br /></blockquote></span>One of the most frequent remarks I'd encounter on my extended two, three, and four week trips abroad in the last five years is how atypical my length of leisure was <span style="font-style: italic;">for an American</span>. Americans are often criticized for being an insular clan of overworked folks who take quick trips of five to seven days abroad and aim to squeeze in as much as possible within that tiny time frame. Going from Venice to Florence to Rome in the space of five or seven days doesn't sound like leisure to me; it sounds like stressful work. How can one possibly achieve a state of relaxation when so much time is spent traveling and sprinting about on the vacation itself? But given that "the average number of days enjoyed is a mere 12," what's a Yank to do? Spend the whole 12 on a single trip without saving time for family events or other piecemeal days off needed throughout the year? It's not like most companies allow a plethora of "personal days" or sick leave. That's right. For many Americans, sick time can often dip into vacation time because we're also lacking a logical allotment of paid sick leave.<br /><br />It's kind of sad―though it's brought me unmeasurable pleasure, but I'm more and more thankful to be single and without dependents. Life is expensive these days and it's difficult to coordinate time off with friends, family, and partners. Especially when you're unwilling to take a five or seven day trip to somewhere 10 or more hours away by plane. I can't even imagine affording a real vacation, with kids. Let alone enjoying one! Not that it's not possible for those of us making less than $100,000 a year. I'm just saying that <span style="font-style: italic;">I </span>can't imagine it.<br /><br />In conclusion, I think that when one's government does not espouse or encourage a proper vacation by law, it is unarguably apparent that said government does not truly expect its people to be citizens of the world. Particularly puzzling when the nation in question is one of the richest in the Western World. The part that shouldn't come as a shock, then, is that in the United States, the vast majority of Americans can afford to be nothing other than what they are: untraveled people whose idea of a vacation is a three-day weekend (often spent working, from home!) It might also explain why Americans can be such ugly travelers, as they say. We don't get out much. Out of the country, that is. Our culture both in and outside of the workplace doesn't allow for much else (lack of support or mandate from the federal government; professional/social peer and personal pressure to work longer hours and to value material rewards rather than experiential rewards like vacations). Coupled with the ever increasing cost of living and the well-traveled American becomes the true overseas oddity. It's the truth, and it's a travesty.<br /><br />Update: August 5, 2010 - <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2010/8/4/why-dont-americans-have-longer-vacations?hp">Why don't Americans have longer vacations?</a><br /><br />Sources:<br /></div><ul style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><li><a href="http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/la-op-klein15jul15,0,6435203.story?coll=la-opinion-rightrail">Land of the overworked and tired</a><br /></li><li><a href="http://www.worktolive.info/poen_vaca_worl.cfm">http://www.worktolive.info/poen_vaca_worl.cfm</a></li></ul><div style="text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Questions? Ask away! Please use the comments feature to ask questions rather than contacting Marisa directly. That way everyone can learn a thing or two, too.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-11430397545546795242008-04-26T08:48:00.000-07:002010-10-01T16:55:25.602-07:00A broad at home<div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2381/2428664578_41a5cc83dd.jpg?v=0"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2381/2428664578_41a5cc83dd.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Take-home trips: Titillating travel designed for use at home or away.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;">While either ramping up for a trip and seeking inspiration or just because, I read these books and found them to be entertaining or informative or both. At the very least, definitely worth delving into. Thought you might derive some virtual vacationing pleasure from them, too. Alphabetical by country and continent, note that the books themselves appear in no particular order of preference or importance. The list includes fiction and non-fiction titles, both. If it's not here, it is quite possible that I found the tome insufferable and wouldn't recommend it to a soul. For example, I can't do Frances Mayes. After attempting <span style="font-style: italic;">Under the Tuscan Sun</span> on more than one occasion, I finally gave up for sheer boredom. While I did get through <span style="font-style: italic;">A Thousand Days in Venice</span>, I found it flat and devoid of any real charm; an accomplishment for a book set in Venice, one of the most charming cities in the world. But that's no reason to read it. On the contrary! Anyway. As with my "When in ... " list, I'll try to keep this collection of recommended reading fresh. So check back periodically for the latest suggestions.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Travel with a capital T</span><br /></div><ul style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><li>The Art of Travel, by Alain de Botton<br /></li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Cuba</span><br /><ul style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><li>Dirty Havana Trilogy, by Pedro Juan Gutierrez</li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >England</span><br /><ul style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><li>Notes from a Small Island, by Bill Bryson</li><li>The Other Boleyn Girl, by Philippa Gregory<br /></li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Europe</span><br /><ul style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><li>Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe, by Bill Bryson</li><li>A Perfect Red: Empire, Espionage, and the Quest for<br />the Color of Desire, by Amy Butler Greenfield<br /></li></ul> <span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >France</span><br /><ul style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><li>Paris to the Moon, by Adam Gopnik</li><li>Athenais: The Life of Louis XIV's Mistress,<br />the Real Queen of France, by Lisa Hilton</li><li>A Place in the World Called Paris, by Susan Sontag</li><li>A Year in Provence, by Peter Mayle</li><li>Toujours Provence, by Peter Mayle</li><li>Encore Provence, by Peter Mayle</li><li>French Lessons: Adventures with Knife, Fork, and Corkscrew,<br />by Peter Mayle</li><li>A Year in the Merde, by Stephen Clarke</li><li>In the Merde for Love, by Stephen Clarke</li><li>The Sweet Life in Paris, by David Lebovitz</li><li>Mediterranean Summer, by David Shalleck</li><li>Mistress of the Sun, by Sandra Gulland<br /></li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Iran</span><br /><ul style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><li>The Complete Persepolis, by Marjane Satrapi<br /></li></ul> <div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2072/2446120374_e22b8c8bb9.jpg?v=0"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2072/2446120374_e22b8c8bb9.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Set in Venice and peppered with truth about the town, Donna Leon's Guido Brunetti Mysteries are always good reads.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Italy</span><br /></div><ul style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><li>Pompeii: A novel, by Robert Harris<br /></li><li>The Smell of the Night: An Inspector Montalbano Mystery,<br />by Andrea Camilleri</li><li>The World of Venice: Revised Edition, by Jan Morris</li><li>Venice Observed, by Mary McCarthy<br /></li><li>The City of Falling Angels, by John Berendt</li><li>Fatal Remedies:<br />A Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery, by Donna Leon</li><li>Death and Judgement:<br />A Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery, by Donna Leon</li><li>Dressed for Death:<br />A Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery, by Donna Leon</li><li>Death at La Fenice:<br />A Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery, by Donna Leon</li><li>Through a Glass, Darkly:<br />A Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery, by Donna Leon</li><li>Quietly in Their Sleep:<br />A Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery, by Donna Leon</li><li>Death in a Strange Country:<br />A Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery, by Donna Leon</li><li>A Noble Radiance:<br />A Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery, by Donna Leon</li><li>Acqua Alta:<br />A Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery, by Donna Leon</li><li>Doctored Evidence:<br />A Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery, by Donna Leon</li><li>Uniform Justice:<br />A Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery, by Donna Leon</li><li>Blood from a Stone:<br />A Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery, by Donna Leon</li><li>Falling Palace: A Romance of Naples, by Dan Hofstadter<br /></li><li>A Venetian Affair: A True Tale of Forbidden Love<br />in the 18th Century, by Andrea di Robilant</li><li>Dreaming Venice, Photos by Fernando Bertuzzi</li><li>Italian Dreams, Photos by Steven Rothfeld</li><li>La Bella Figura: A Field Guide to the Italian Mind,<br />by Beppe Severgnini</li><li>Pagan Holiday, by Tony Perrottet</li><li>Mediterranean Summer, by David Shalleck</li><li>Imprimateur, by Monaldi & Sorti<br /></li></ul><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3251/2434884339_3c3499b968.jpg?v=0"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3251/2434884339_3c3499b968.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Hawaiians have some of the most beautiful proverbs and poetical sayings anywhere. A joy to collect and read.</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >United States</span><br /><ul style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><li>I'm a Stranger Here Myself: Notes on Returning to America<br />after 20 Years Away, by Bill Bryson</li><li>The Lost Continent: Travels in Small-Town America,<br />by Bill Bryson</li><li>Ciao, America!: An Italian Discovers the U.S.,<br />by Beppe Severgnini</li><li>In the Garden of Good and Evil, by John Berendt</li><li>Olelo No'Eau: Hawaiian Proverbs and Poetical Sayings, by Mary Kawena Pukui<br /></li></ul><div style="text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Questions? Ask away! Please use the comments feature to ask questions rather than contacting Marisa directly. That way everyone can learn a thing or two, too.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-72584463701139592402008-04-19T09:45:00.000-07:002010-09-26T17:08:47.467-07:00Montreal notes from a broad<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/2425787433/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3094/2425787433_0ea0648190_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cocoa Loco</span><br />It isn't often that one meets a brownie worth blogging about. But I encountered (and inhaled) just such a specimen on my quick introduction to Canada, via Montréal. Based on the photos and descriptions found in my Eat Shop Montreal, I made it a top priority to swing by Cocoa Locale. Come rain or shine. It ended up being a shockingly cold day, made all the more frigid by an icy and persistent precipitation. But I made it to <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=cocoa+locale+montreal&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&aq=t&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a">Cocoa Locale</a> in one wet piece, just before closing. My choices were an entire key lime pie or two slices of the much touted (per my pre-trip research) Valrhona spicy brownie. Being that it was my birthday weekend and I'd already had more sweets than was either healthy or warranted, I opted for the brownies in luau of the pie (<span style="font-style: italic;">Mais oui</span> - that luau was for you, Jenny.) Oh man. Score. The taste, the texture. The spicy kick! Far more delicious than a brownie should be and gone before I was ready to stop savoring. You must go to Montréal and have one. You simply must.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Airport Encounters</span><br />As per usual, the airport proved the place to make the acquaintance of friendly strangers: A new mother and her happy daughter (the little girl of 6-months smiled so much that I smiled so much my cheeks cramped up!) on the way to Montréal; a Venezuelan mother taking the first plane trip of her life (well the second, technically, because she didn't arrive in Canada by osmosis) after visiting her grandchildren in Montréal, on her way back home via Toronto (where I met her). The new mom was Italian, born in Lucca, now living in Napa. Though she'd love to return to Europe sooner rather than later, her family and friends still in Italy assure her the best opportunities to be had remain Stateside. With so many people out of work and unable to afford homes (even those like her best friend, a lawyer), <span style="font-style: italic;">la </span><span style="font-style: italic;">vita </span>isn't so <span style="font-style: italic;">dolce </span>as it should be for many Italians (and Spaniards, and, and, and) per the move to the Euro, which has made the gap between rich and poor only the grander (or more grandiose). Just because the Euro is up and the Dollar down does not spell wealth and celebration for all those paid in the favored currency. On the contrary. People are struggling now as ever and perhaps even moreso. Unable to find work. Unable to afford property. And all the while the cost of basics like bread and milk and eggs rises. As for the mother from Venezuela, she attached herself to me immediately based first on the assumption that I must speak Spanish (<span style="font-style: italic;">Hablas español, sí? </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Pero usted es de México o de América Latina, sí? </span><span style="font-style: italic;">No? </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Negra? Qué?</span>) and then out of sheer <span style="font-style: italic;">nueva</span>-traveler fear and the fact that I can in fact speak Spanish. Kinda. Painfully <span style="font-style: italic;">poco</span> though. <span style="font-style: italic;">Loco poco</span> even (particularly after spending the last three months brushing up on the French I'd last studied as a student some 15 years ago; as for <span style="font-style: italic;">el </span><span style="font-style: italic;">español</span>, it's been about 12 to 13 years). And her Venezuelan accent didn't help any. I may not be Mexican, but it is Mexican Spanish one learns in California schools (makes practical sense, <span style="font-style: italic;">sí</span>?) So I think the misunderstanding went both ways. I can't think of an example to use, but on words I knew that I knew, her pronunciation was vastly different from the Spanish I'd been taught. Reminds me of learning Spanish at UCLA and my mother asking, "What the hell am I paying them to teach you?" Being a Spanish teacher herself (and shame on the woman for not raising me bilingually, or trilingually; she also teaches French) she didn't understand the benefit of one's learning Spanish in California with an Argentinian pronunciation or dialect. It's true it was pretty useless given the circumstances, but it was fun and I did learn basic Spanish, in the end (I also didn't continue on with that particular professor.) Anyway, back to my lost in translation experience at the Toronto airport. Every time I tried to think of the Spanish I'd deliver a French-Italian-Spanglish fiction that only made sense to me and caused my new friend's brow to crinkle in confusion. I'd try again and eventually put together something loosely reminiscent of the desired language in that it finally made the vaguest of sense, I think, because she'd relax a little and <span style="font-style: italic;">S</span><span style="font-style: italic;">í</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>a lot. I got her on the plane and to her connecting flight in the end, and that's all that matters. <span style="font-style: italic;">S</span><span style="font-style: italic;">í</span><span style="font-style: italic;">?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cafe Culture</span><br />I found the cafe life in Montréal to be among the friendliest and most open anywhere. Though I was only in town for three full days, I felt like a fixture in an old haunt from the moment I set foot in Olive + Gourmando. On my first visit to this most delightful of cafes, just down the street from where I was staying, I met a New Yorker who has a flat in Old Montréal. <span style="font-style: italic;">My little piece of Europe</span>, she called it. Our conversation threaded from travel, to reality TV, to the cost of living and the growing gap between rich and poor, to the economy in general, to bankruptcy, to art, and back to travel. Nicest New Yorker I've ever met. On my second visit to the same cafe the next day I met a native of Montréal. We chatted. We watched the passersby and took note of the impeccably chic clientele who glided in and out of the posh boutique across the street. Before I left she gave me her cell number, a few city tips, and invited (and treated) me to coffee (I had a hot chocolate, actually) the morning of my birthday at <a href="http://www.flickr.com/search/?s=int&q=cafe+olympico+montreal&m=text">Cafe Olympico</a> (another cafe with a very friendly, all-in-the-family feel) in Mile End. How nice was that?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bilingual Bliss</span><br />Well before coming to Québec, I'd cooked up a romantic notion of it based on nothing more than the knowledge that both French and English are spoken here. Being something of a rudimentary Francophile, not nearly fluent in the language, there is a certain coolness and comfort factor in knowing that one can use either language and likely be understood (rather than laughed at, the way one's less than commanding grasp of French can sometimes be received in the environs of say, Paris.) My imagined Montréal did not disappoint, in this regard. It was wonderful. I'd been brushing up on my French for a month or three and it proved to be worth the effort. I could read signs and menus and descriptions of things with little difficulty. When people spoke to me directly I think I fared alright. But eavesdropping on conversations of two or more people proved fruitless. I blame the <span style="font-style: italic;">Québécois </span>accent and dialect. Not the French one leans in school, but we'll come to that later. The <span style="font-style: italic;">Montréalaise </span>woman I met at Olive + Gourmando who treated me to a birthday hot chocolate seemed to mirror my sentiment about the uniquely Franglais culture one finds only in Québec. She spent some time living in London and noted that, "I really missed the French." A marvelous <span style="font-style: italic;">Montréalais </span>man I had the pleasure of talking with explained that, "Québec is a separate country, whether it is officially recognized or not." He pointed to the language for support; "How can you claim to know a place if you don't speak the language? I am modest enough to say that while I know something of English-speaking Canada, I do not <span style="font-style: italic;">know </span>it. My English is okay, but it is not my first language." He makes a good point. Even if one knows or speaks some French, unless one also knows <span style="font-style: italic;">Québécois </span>specifically, one can never truly know Québec.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Fun with Qu</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">é</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">b</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">é</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">cois</span><br />I studied up on my French, when I should have been learning to <span style="font-style: italic;">Speak Québec!</span><span> I had no idea there are so many distinct and nuanced differences in everything from pronunciation to structure. I suppose I should have guessed as much; judging from how English is or can sound worlds apart within the U.S. itself or as compared to the various dialects of Mother England, Australia, etc.) Oh well. When I go back I'll have a native phrase or two to kick around like a local. Learning <span style="font-style: italic;">beaucoup </span>from my souvenir copy of </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Speak Québec!</span><span> by Daniel Kraus. If you can't find one at home, there'll be plenty for sale<span style="font-style: italic;"> au Canada</span>. It's a great little <span style="font-style: italic;">livre </span>and one of the only English-</span><span style="font-style: italic;">Québécois </span><span>(as opposed to French-</span><span style="font-style: italic;">Québécois</span><span>) resources out there.</span><br /><br /><span>A few of my favorite entries:</span><br /></div><ul style="text-align: justify;"><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">An?</span>- The <span style="font-style: italic;">Québécois </span><span>equivalent of</span><span style="font-style: italic;">, </span>Huh?</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Atchoumer</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>- To sneeze. From the onomatopoeia, "Atchoo!"</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Avoir un face de boeuf</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>- To be in a bad mood. Literally, to have a face of beef.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Avoir les baguettes en l'air</span> - To gesticulate wildly.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Avoir juste le cul et les dents </span>- 1. To have no personality. 2. To be extremely thin. Literally, to have just an ass and teeth.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Avoir le feu au cul</span> - A rude expression meaning, to be furious. Literally, to have fire in one's ass.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Avoir du fun</span> - To have fun, to have a good time.<br /></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Avoir vu neiger</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>- To have experience. Literally, to have seen it snow before.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Baptême!</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>- Shit! Literally, Baptism.<br /></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Chat sauvage</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>- <span style="font-style: italic;">Chat </span>is cat. <span style="font-style: italic;">Chat sauvage</span> is raccoon. What a great way to describe a raccoon.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Être game </span>- To be game, to be willing.<br /></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Faker</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>- To fake, to pretend.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Flusher </span>- To purge, to flush, to dump. <span style="font-style: italic;">Ils sortent plus ensemble, elle l'a flush</span><span style="font-style: italic;">é</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> il ya a trois mois. </span>They're not going out anymore, she dumped him three months ago.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Il n'y a pas de trouble!</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>- No problem!</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kodak </span>- Camera.<br /></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Koss</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">é? </span><span style="font-style: italic;">- </span><span>What is it? A condensation or deformation of the French, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Qu'est-ce que c'est?</span>"</span></li><li><span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Oreilles de Christ</span> - Fried pig ears.</span></li><li><span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Parlure </span>- Slang.</span></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">P</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span>éter de la broue </span></span><span>- To brag about one's abilities. Literally, to fart suds.</span></li><li><span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pis </span>- 1. And, next 2. "So?" 3. "What's new?" <span style="font-style: italic;">Pis toi?</span> And you? <span style="font-style: italic;">Et pis?</span> And so?</span></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Quess</span><span><span style="font-weight: bold;">é? </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">- </span><span>Another form of "What is it?" from the French, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Qu'est-ce que c'est?</span>"</span></li><li><span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Questa?</span> - What do you have? What's wrong? From the French, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Qu'est-ce que tu as?</span>"</span></li><li><span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Shafter </span>- To give someone the shaft.</span></li><li><span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Swinger </span>- Nope. Not the noun. A verb. To party, to dance, to have a good time.</span></li><li><span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tiguidou </span>- Okey-dokey.</span></li><li><span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tourlou </span>- Toodleoo. Used as "goodbye".<br /></span></li><li><span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Trippant(e)</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>- Impressive, amazing.<br /></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tripper </span>- To dig something, to find something cool, to really like something.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Zozo </span>- Idiotic, foolish.<br /></li></ul><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Snow Pants</span><br />Is that a dog? No. OMG. It's a cat! I met a girl walking her cat on a little harness and a leash. The cat was stopping every few feet to window shop. Yes, to window shop. A long-haired orange beauty, "Mooshe" looked like a lion up close. A lion with snow pants. His fur was so long that it swayed and billowed in the breeze like a pair of pants one might sport in the dead of a snowy winter. Much like the snowy winter he was plodding through right then, on the streets of Montréal. His owner kindly gave me directions to the street I was seeking and she swooped him up and began to carry him. "He gets tired of walking sometimes. Especially today. We've been walking for nearly two hours." "How'd you train him to walk on a leash," I wondered aloud. "It's easy if you train them from when they're kittens. I've done it several times before." I would have never believed it if I hadn't seen it firsthand. And unfortunately you'll just have to take my word for it since I didn't snap a picture. Anyhow, something to remember for when and if I ever find myself on the market for kittens.<br /><br />A special <span style="font-style: italic;">merci </span>to Liz for turning me on to the term, snow pants. Parfait man. Parfait.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mall Mania</span><br />Montréal boasts an underground city spanning some 19 miles of passageways with 11 subways, 2 railway stations, over 10,000 parking spaces, 37 movie theaters, and 18,000 businesses. Over 500,000 people traverse this subterranean city beneath the city each day. I don't know exactly how many malls they've got down there, but I can say that it's a whole bunch of them and that on a Saturday afternoon when it's raining ice outside, the mall situation below is absolute mayhem. I browsed a bookstore at street-level, exited the same store two floors down, and wandered through three distinct malls before deciding I was completely lost and that there were far too many people to enjoy myself. The first Metro sign I saw I bolted and made my way out of Hades shopping hell. It's a nice idea, but not my idea of fun. Something to see on your first trip to Montréal though. I'd never seen anything like it before (and hope never to see, again.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">L'Architecture</span><br />If the dollar continues to dip and you find yourself craving a trip to Paris for the cafe culture, <span style="font-style: italic;">la langue</span>, or<span style="font-style: italic;"> l'architecture</span>, hop on a plane to Montréal instead. Or Québec City. I'm told that Québec City's old town is far larger than that of Montréal with architecture that is even more quaint and charming and French-European. Québec City is also said to be more conservative and traditionally French. Many people there do not speak any English.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Airport Security and Other Jokes that Aren't Amusing</span><br />Why is it so difficult to uphold consistent security rules from airport to airport, or even in a single airport? I flew from San Francisco to Toronto with the same stupid little ladies' Coach pocketknife key chain that I've had on my keys for years. Meaning, it's flown with me to Hawaii, Los Angeles, and Europe multiple times post-9/11 without ever having been confiscated. Truth be told, I didn't even know there was a legitimate blade on the damn thing. When the security person at Toronto showed it to me, I was genuinely shocked, but pointed out that one would be hard-pressed to do any real cutting with the pathetic-looking thing. Scissors and nail file in the event of an emergency is all I'd ever used it for. It was a gift. Would I like to check it for C$7 or lose it? I'm going to miss my flight. Happy birthday. It's my birthday, but keep it. It's yours now lady. The two gentlemen behind me weren't quite so curt with their security situation. A special lighter that they'd specifically been told could be brought on the plane no more than 10 seconds earlier by another security type was now an issue. "You should have checked with the rest of your baggage, sir. I don't care what that woman told you. She's wrong. Check it for C$7 or lose it. Your choice." Being that they were also about to miss their connecting flight, they opted for a loss. But not after losing it with the security guard pretty heatedly (though briefly), first.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;" id="result_box" dir="ltr"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sí, nevando</span>.<br />On the way home, waiting for my flight from Montréal to Toronto, it started snowing pretty convincingly. "<span style="font-style: italic;">Nevando</span>?" I asked my friend from Venezuela. <span>"</span><span style="font-style: italic;">Sí, nevando</span><span style="font-style: italic;">.</span>" I don't know how I remembered the Spanish for that. Thought it was one of my muddled, made-up words.<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Extreme Passenger</span><br />I don't know the how's and why's of it, but I'm continually blessed with making the acquaintance of nice (if not plain interesting) folks when I fly. The flight home didn't pan out any different. Though this was certainly one of the more interesting people I've met on a plane. <span style="font-style: italic;">Extremely </span>interesting. A fellow "mutt" (with a far more interesting mix; thought his last name was Portuguese but he said no, Spanish-East Indian and that his roots are a melange of French-Egyptian, Spanish-East Indian, Caribbean-Canadian, and who knows what all else) and self-proclaimed "extreme traveler", the man in the middle (I had the window) had gone sky-diving, bungie-jumping, mountain-climbing; you name it. Next on his list? Swimming with sharks and night-diving. No joke. He was dead serious. Anything sporty and dangerous, he's all about it. Sharks or scuba-diving in the dark. Hmmm. I can't decide which is more terrifying or insane, or both. What a nice guy though. Offered to show me around Toronto if I ever get out there for a visit. Total sweetheart. Assuming he hasn't had an extreme accident of some kind (which wouldn't be a shocker), I look forward to the (terror-free) tour.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">On est Back</span><br />In <span style="font-style: italic;">Québécois</span>, rather than using the typical French <span style="font-style: italic;">nous </span>form for we, the <span style="font-style: italic;">on </span>form is used with verbs and conjugations. Thus, "<span style="font-style: italic;">On est Back</span>" rather than "<span style="font-style: italic;">Nous sommes Back</span>". The use of the English word "back" is <span style="font-style: italic;">très Qu</span>é<span style="font-style: italic;">b</span>é<span style="font-style: italic;">cois</span>. According to my copy of <span style="font-style: italic;">Speak Québec!</span>, English words are folded in with the French to enhance an idea or to express an extreme. And now, I leave you with some <span style="font-style: italic;">Québécois </span>hip-hop. Note, I didn't say it was good. But it's what's popular at the moment, unfortunately. Perhaps when <span style="font-style: italic;">je suis</span> (pronounced "chwee" in <span style="font-style: italic;">Québécois</span>)<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">back </span>one day, something a little more flavorable will be in fashion.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Fq7_YsapyUw&hl=en"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Fq7_YsapyUw&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;" >Questions? Ask away! Please use the comments feature to ask questions rather than contacting Marisa directly. That way everyone can learn a thing or two, too.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-59677410127222362552008-04-06T08:19:00.000-07:002010-09-30T11:26:12.177-07:00When in ...<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2206/2443078153_a0fda09a41.jpg?v=0"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2206/2443078153_a0fda09a41.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;" >A trip to Venice is not complete without a visit to Alberto Valese's shop. Alberto makes beautiful marbled papers and books. All by hand.</span><br /></div><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span>When in Rome.</span> Though I've not been there, yet. But you know. That sort of thing. Was just reminiscing about the highlights of trips past and thought I'd put together a broad list of things missed (as in looking forward to seeing or doing, again.) And, therefore, things not to be missed. Anywho, check back periodically. I'll try to keep this little collection of lists up to date as I discover new things one must endeavor to experience when in where ever. I've even included some Stateside favorites.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://flickr.com/photos/risamay/2761465497/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3018/2761465497_0b18aab0b8_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">When in Amsterdam</span></span><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><li><span style="font-size:100%;">Day trip by train to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=haarlem">Haarlem</a></span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">Day trip by bus to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=keukenhof">Keukenhof Gardens</a></span></li></ul><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">When in Barcelona</span></span><br /><ul style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: left;"><li>Get lost in the <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=barri+gotic">Barri Gotic</a></li><li>Eat lots of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=barcelona+hot+chocolate">hot chocolate</a> (too thick to drink)</li><li>Day trip by train to the beach town of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=sitges">Sitges</a></li><li>Day trip by train to the town of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=girona">Girona</a> on the Riu Onyar</li><li>Food to go from <a href="http://www.fargabarcelona.com/">Farga</a><br /></li><li>Picnic at <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=parc+guell">Parc Guell</a></li><li>Watch the sunset from the roof of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=casa+mila">Casa Mila</a> (aka <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=la+pedrera">La Pedrera</a>, same thing)</li><li>Watch whatever's playing at the <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=+coliseum+cinema+barcelona">Coliseum Cinema</a></li></ul><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">When in Berkeley</span></span><br /><ul style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: left;"><li>Go gourmet with your glace, <a href="http://www.ici-icecream.com/">Ici</a></li><li>Go cocoa-loco at <a href="http://www.bittersweetcafe.com/">Bittersweet, The Chocolate Cafe</a></li><li>Enjoy an order of the best crispy chicken tacos on the planet at <a href="http://www.cactustaqueria.com/">Cactus Taqueria</a><br /></li></ul><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">When in Budapest</span></span><br /><ul style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: left;"><li>Enjoy the <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=fisherman%27s+bastion">Fisherman's Bastion</a> and surrounding Buda Castle Hill sites at sunrise, before the shops open and the bus loads of tourists arrive to alter the ambiance</li><li>Have a piece of paradise at <a href="http://www.ruszwurm.hu/flash/angol.html">Ruszwurm</a> while you're up on Castle Hill in Buda<br /></li><li>Return at sunset for the view of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=pest+hungary">Pest</a></li><li>Lounge for hours in the baths at <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=gellert">Gellert</a></li><li>Day or night, gawk at the grandeur of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=heroes+square">Heroes Square</a><br /></li><li>Sit for a bit in the <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=great+synagogue+budapest">Great Synagogue</a> on Dohany Street</li><li>Ogle <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=basilica+door+budapest">the door at St. Stephen's Basilica</a></li><li>Wander around and ogle <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=architecture+budapest">the architecture</a></li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >When in Dubrovnik</span><br /><ul style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: left;"><li>Explore the old town at sunrise (it will be all yours) and again at sunset (when you'll have to share)</li><li>Day trip by bus to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=cavtat">Cavtat</a></li><li>Day trip by bus to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=korcula">Korcula</a></li><li>Day trip by bus to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=bay+kotor">The Bay of Kotor</a> and the town of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=kotor">Kotor</a> in Montenegro</li><li>Eat lots of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=figs+dubrovnik">dried figs</a></li><li>Eat lots of pastries from <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=niko+dubrovnik">Niko</a><br /></li></ul><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">When in Liguria, on the Italian Riviera</span></span><br /><ul style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: left;"><li>Day trip by train to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=camogli">Camogli</a></li><li>Day trip by train to each of the <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=cinque+terre">Cinque Terre</a></li><li>Day trip by train to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=santa+margherita">Santa Margherita</a></li><li>Day trip by train to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=sestri+levante">Sestri Levante</a></li><li>Day trip by train and bus to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=portofino">Portofino</a></li><li>Day trip by train and bus to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=portovenere">Portovenere</a></li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Far </span>a whole lot of <span style="font-style: italic;">niente</span></li></ul><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/2761464589/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3036/2761464589_c94ca164ac_o.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >When in Hawaii, on the island of Oahu</span><br /><ul style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: left;"><li>Rent a car and get as far away from Honolulu-Waikiki as possible</li><li>Hope for a slice (or two) of homemade <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=okinawan+sweet+potato+pie">Okinawan</a> (which is to say, <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=okinawan+sweet+potato+pie">purple</a>) <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=okinawan+sweet+potato+pie">sweet potato pie with fresh haupia</a> from <a href="http://www.foodcompanykailua.com/">The Food Company in Kailua</a></li><li>Lounge on <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=lanikai+beach">Lanikai Beach</a></li><li>Eat a pineapple burger at <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=l&view=text&hl=en&q=kua%27aina+sandwich&near=Haleiwa,+HI&ie=UTF8&latlng=21588860,-158102927,5240626232291258852&ei=fAD5R7W4J5WmigOu7Ii3CA&sig2=35z-qmgIq6UplPI-pfyi-A&cd=1">Kua'Aina Sandwich in Haleiwa</a></li><li>Enjoy the big sand, sun, and fun of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=waimea+bay">Waimea Bay</a></li><li>Head for the hills and escape everything at the <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=Mu-ryang-sa+Korean+temple">Mu-ryang-sa Korean temple</a></li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >When in Montreal</span><br /><ul style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: left;"><li>While away the hours at <a href="http://www.oliveetgourmando.com/">Olive + Gourmando</a> (351 Rue Saint-Paul Ouest)</li><li>Dessert from <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ie=UTF-8&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&q=cocoa+locale&near=Montreal,+QC,+Canada&fb=1&view=text&latlng=45518183,-73592456,11603679184874256156">Cocoa Locale</a> (4807 Avenue du Parc)</li><li>Or from <a href="http://www.lesglaceurs.ca/">Les Glaceurs</a> (453 Rue Saint-Sulpice)</li><li>Book-browsing (or buying, if you're up for a supreme splurge) at <a href="http://www.librissime.com/">Librissime</a> (62 Rue Saint-Paul Ouest)</li><li>Pick a church or two to sample in addition to a requisite visit to the <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=notre+dame+montreal">Basilique Notre-Dame</a>. Lots of lovely churches, if I do say so myself. And I've not a(n organized) religious bone in my body.</li></ul><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/2762315684/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3271/2762315684_8dfc384b1f_o.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >When in Paris</span><br /><ul style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: left;"><li>Wander around with your spiral bound copy of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Michelin-Paris-Arrondissements-Plan-Atlas/dp/2067105922/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1207502127&sr=8-7">Michelin Paris Par Arrondissements</a> and a keen sense of curiosity and adventure</li><li>Skip the Louvre (or go on a Wednesday or Friday night after 6PM when it stays open until 10PM, the crowds have thinned, and it costs less, to boot) and go straight for a hot chocolate with Chantilly at <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=angelina%27s+paris">Angelina's</a></li><li>Walk it off in the <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=tuileries">Tuileries</a></li><li>Catch a sunrise at <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=sunrise+eiffel">La Tour Eiffel</a> (tout seul) and then, later, share a sunset with the hordes</li><li>Repeat with <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=sunrise+sacre+coeur">Sacre Coeur</a></li><li>And again with the <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=place+des+vosges">Place des Vosges</a><br /></li><li>Have plenty of pastries from <a href="http://www.paul.fr/">Paul</a></li><li>Macaroons and tarts from <a href="http://www.laduree.fr/">Laduree</a></li><li>Lots of <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/travel/guides/europe/france/paris/restaurant-detail.html?vid=1154659353324&inline=nyt-classifier">L'As du Fallafel</a> (34 Rue des Rossiers, Paris, 75004)</li><li>Beaucoup de glace from <a href="http://www.berthillon.fr/">Berthillon</a></li><li>Hot and sweet mint tea at the <a href="http://www.mosquee-de-paris.org/" target="_blank">Grande Mosquée de Paris</a> and a meal fit for a sultan, inside<br /></li><li>And of course, shop til you drop<br /></li></ul><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">When in San Francisco</span></span><br /><ul><li>Pretend you're in Paris and get yourself over to la pâtisserie <a href="http://www.miettecakes.com/index.html">Miette,</a> and/or one of Bay Bread's little Paris-parfaît <a href="http://www.laboulangebakery.com/">Boulangeries</a><br /></li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >When in Sorrento</span><br /><ul style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: left;"><li>Eat lots of gelato from <a href="http://www.primaverasorrento.it/index.php">Primavera</a> (on the Corso Italia) or <a href="http://tasteofsorrento.sorrentoinfo.com/shops/gelateria-david.asp">Davide</a></li><li>Drink in the sunset with a glass of something special at <a href="http://www.bellevue.it/">Hotel Bellevue Syrene</a></li><li>Day trip by train to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=herculaneum">Ercolano</a> (Herculaneum)</li><li>Day trip by ferry to the island of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=procida">Procida</a></li><li>Day trip by ferry to the island of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=capri">Capri</a></li><li>Indulge in the moist chocolate magnificence of a <span style="font-style: italic;">torta caprese</span> and a warm, <a href="http://flickr.com/photos/greenlancechicken/1440284041/">handmade waffle cone</a> with icy fresh gelato from Raffaele Buonacore (Via Vittorio Emanuele 35, Capri)<br /></li><li>Visit the <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=blue+grotto+capri">Blue Grotto</a></li><li>Visit the <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=villa+san+michele+capri">Villa San Michele</a><br /></li><li>Day trip by train to Naples (and keep a close eye and a firm grip on your valuables)</li><li>Visit the cloister of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=santa+chiara+cloister+naples">Santa Chiara</a> in Naples</li><li>Day trip by bus or boat to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=positano">Positano</a></li><li>Day trip by bus or boat to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?q=amalfi">Amalfi</a></li><li>Visit the crypt of the <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?s=int&q=Sant+Andrea+amalfi">Basilica Sant' Andrea</a> and lounge on the steps<br /></li><li>Day trip by bus to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?s=int&q=ravello">Ravello</a></li><li>Visit the <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?s=int&q=villa+cimbrone">Villa Cimbrone</a></li></ul><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/2762293992/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3033/2762293992_15285bd276_o.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >When in Venice</span><br /><ul style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: left;"><li>Item number one, get lost</li><li>Ponder the leaning tower of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?s=int&q=san+pietro+castello+venice+leaning">San Pietro di Castello</a></li><li>Ponder the leaning tower of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?s=int&q=san+giorgio+dei+greci+venice">San Giorgio dei Greci</a> and the golden interior of its church<br /></li><li>Sunrise in <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=st+marks+square+dawn">St. Mark's Square</a> and sunset there too, at <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=caffe+florian">Caffe Florian</a> or elsewhere on the Piazza San Marco</li><li>Sunset with a picnic on the steps of the church at <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=san+giorgio+maggiore">San Giorgio Maggiore</a></li><li>Sit for a bit and contemplate <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=paradise+tintoretto">the largest oil painting in the world</a> in the Doge's Palace</li><li>Savor several flavors from <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=gelateria+nico+venice">Gelateria Nico</a></li><li>Ginger gelato and other unique mouth-watering choices from <a href="http://www.travelandleisure.com/thingtodo/shop/alaska">Alaska</a></li><li>Keep your eyes peeled at all times for shops carrying uniquely delicious genius of glass designer <a href="http://www.barbaraproverbio.com/index.asp">Barbara Proverbio</a><br /></li><li>Drinks and dinner at <a href="http://www.centrale-lounge.com/en/index.htm">Centrale</a><br /></li><li>Paper/goods from <a href="http://www.albertovalese-ebru.com/">Alberto Valese</a><br /></li><li>Paper/goods from <a href="http://olbi.atspace.com/index_eng.htm">Paolo Olbi</a></li><li>Acqua tint etchings from <a href="http://www.bacart.com/">Cadore</a></li><li>Chocolates to die for from <a href="http://www.viziovirtu.com/en/index.htm">Vizio Virtù</a></li><li>View from the campanile of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=campanile+view+from+san+giorgio+maggiore">San Giorgio Maggiore</a></li><li>View from the campanile of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=campanile+view+from+san+marco">San Marco</a></li><li>Day trip by train to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=padova">Padua</a> (Padova)</li><li>Day trip by train to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=vicenza">Vicenza</a></li><li>Day trip by train to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=verona">Verona</a></li><li>Day trip by train to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=bassano+del+grappa">Bassano del Grappa</a></li><li>Day trip by train to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=bologna">Bologna</a></li><li>Day trip by water bus to the island of <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=burano">Burano</a><br /></li><li>Day trip by train to <a href="http://flickr.com/search/?ss=2&ct=6&q=treviso">Treviso</a></li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >When in Vienna</span><br /><ul style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: left;"><li>Spend endless hours, rain or shine, at the bistro-cafe <a href="http://www.lebol.at/">Le Bol</a> (Neuer Markt 14)</li></ul><div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;" >Questions? Ask away! Please use the comments feature to ask questions rather than contacting Marisa directly. That way everyone can learn a thing or two, too.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-8965836394420180612007-11-15T05:51:00.000-08:002011-01-20T13:17:41.206-08:00Oahu notes from a broad<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/4827688573/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4082/4827688573_79e4fc540d_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The first time I ventured to Hawaii (to the island of Oahu), I was lucky enough to stay with an old friend who'd just moved there from The Mainland, as locals call that big continental bit of the United States, just over yonder across the Pacific. Since that first visit over 10 years ago, I've been back many times and have also explored a couple other islands in the chain. But my first is still my favorite, despite its also being the most populated and touristed. Thankfully, I know how and where to escape the droves. In order to do that, wheels are essential. Which reminds me again of my first trip (to Oahu) and of the instant illiteracy I felt as I tried to navigate streets with names like:</span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kapukawai Street</span> (Waipahu): Handsome</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kupu'eu Place</span> (Waipahu): Hero, wondrous one</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lakimau Street</span> (Diamond Head): Always lucky</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lakoloa Place</span> (Kalihi): Very rich, prosperous</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lalawai Drive</span> ('Aiea): Successful, well-to-do</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pahukula Place</span> (Kuli'ou'ou): Chest of gold</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">'Apake'e Street</span> (Wai'anae): Deceitful</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kahekili Highway</span> (Kane'ohe): Thunder</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kaie'e Street</span> ('Ewa Beach): Tidal wave</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kalapu Street</span> ('Ewa Beach): Ghost</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ka'onawai Place</span> (Manoa): The liquid intoxicant</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Nakiu Place</span> (McCully): The spies</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Na'opala Lane</span> (Kalihi): Rubbish</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">'Aikanaka Place/Road</span> ('Ewa Beach): To eat human flesh</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">'Ilipilo Street</span> (Kailua): Smelly skin</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kauhako Street/Place</span> (Hawai'i Kai): The dragged large intestines</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mo'omuku Place</span> (Kuli'ou'ou): Mutilated lizard</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lumi'au'au Street </span>(Waipahu): Bathroom</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Helekula Way/Place</span> (Wai'anae): To go to school</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ki'ona'ole Road</span> (Kane'ohe): Without dung heaps</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Komai'a Drive</span> (Manoa): Dragging bananas</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ki'i'oni'oni Loop/Place</span> (Wai'alae): Motion pictures, movies</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Wai'aka Place</span> (McCully): Laughing water</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">'Ano'ilei Place</span> (Hau'ula): Cherished, sweetheart</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hanakealoha Place</span> (Palolo Valley): Love-making</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ho'oha'i Street/Place</span> (Pearl City): To flirt</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pa'ale'a Street</span> (Palolo Valley): Pleasure-loving</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Poli'ala Street</span> (Waimanalo): Fragrant breast</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">'Eu Lane</span> (Kalihi): Rascal</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lukini Place</span> ('Ewa Beach): Perfume</span></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Kani'ahe Street/Place </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">(Wahiawa): To giggle or laugh softly</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Wela Street/Lane</span> (Kaimuki): Lust, passion</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kuewa Drive</span> (Waialua): Wanderer, homeless</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Nalulu Place</span> (Wai'alae 'Iki): A dull headache</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Meahala Street</span> (Waipahu): Sinner</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hepa Street</span> (Waipahu): Idiot, imbecile, moron</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kahalewai Place</span> (Hale'iwa): Prison, jail</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pokapahu Place</span> (Diamond Head): Bursting bullet</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">'Onaha Street</span> (Kahala): Bow-legged</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kalena Street </span>(Wahiawa): The lazy one</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ma'ipalaoa Road</span> (Wai'anae): Whale genitals</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">'Iole Street/Place</span> (Kane'ohe): Hawaiian rat</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ka'uku Place</span> (Hawai'i Kai): Louse</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kaluamo'o Street</span> (Kailua): Lizard pit</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ke Ala Mano Street</span> (Kalihi Valley): Shark's road</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Miula Street</span> ('Ewa Beach): Mule</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Popoi'a Road</span> (Kailua): Fish rot</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://the.honoluluadvertiser.com/article/2007/Feb/24/il/FP702240314.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Source</span></a></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Granted, of course, I didn't know the meanings of such street names. Not that it would have helped me find my way any better. I don't know what I was expecting on that first trip, other than for Hawaii to be an even more Americanized, Disney version of its former or true self. So though confused, I was pleasantly surprised by something so simple as the plethora of Hawaiian street names, in Hawaiian. Hawaii, at present, can still be a very watered down take on its authentic past, but there are pockets of authenticity (both things modern and things throwback). An attempt is being made to reclaim what was lost and remake history into something relevant for today. Reclaiming the language is a first step. And I'm happy to report that my friend's children are learning the mother tongue of their island home. Very cool. It's such a beautiful language. Both written and spoken. Once you get the basics down, even a mainlander like me can learn to read the street signs at a good clip and get from point A to point B without any difficulty!</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/4828294948/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4081/4828294948_d5239a738d_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But enough about street names and navigation. Let's talk beaches. They're all different and unique and for me anyway, they do not blend into a single strip of sun and sand. I've surveyed strips from Kauai, Oahu, and Maui and have a list of clearly defined favorites. But at the top of my list is Lanikai, the chain's most honored beach; it's won Best Beach awards for years (and years).</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">On this last trip, I was out one postcard-perfect afternoon, snapping photos of the twin Mokulua Islands. A woman came up and stood next to me. "Beautiful day, isn't it? Perfect day." I agreed with her and we struck up a little conversation. She was from Germany, on vacation with her husband who was back at their hotel taking a nap. Typical of Germans, she and her husband were exceptionally well traveled. She rattled off for me, as proof, all of the beach-ladened countries that they'd visited over the years. So, when she told me that Lanikai was "by far" the most beautiful and "perfect" beach in the world, I didn't question her. Though I hadn't seen nearly as many beaches with which to compare it, I agreed wholeheartedly. "Some beaches have nice scenery to look out on, but the sand is too big. Other beaches have powder fine sand and nothing to gaze at. Others have both perfect sand and scenery, but the water isn't clear or the waves are too rough or it's too cold. Lanikai has everything. Everything about it is perfect. The sand, the scenery, crystal clear water that is as calm as a lake. Perfect. Don't bother traveling the world in search of the perfect beach. Trust me. You've already found it."</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/4828294664/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px;" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4115/4828294664_064b89b1f5_z.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lucky me. (And lucky you! Now you know where to find the world's best beach, too.)</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;" >Questions? Ask away! Please use the comments feature to ask questions rather than contacting Marisa directly. That way everyone can learn a thing or two, too.</span></div><br /><div style="text-align:center; width:575px"><object id="myWidget" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" data="http://www.blurb.com/assets/embed.swf?book_id=156980" width="575" height="300"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><param name="movie" value="http://www.blurb.com/assets/embed.swf?book_id=156980"></param><a target="_new" href="http://www.blurb.com/books/preview/156980?ce=blurb_ew&utm_source=widget"><img src="http://bookshow.blurb.com/bookshow/cache/P182063/md/wcover_2.png"></img></a></object><div style="display:block;"><a href="http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/156980?ce=blurb_ew&utm_source=widget" target="_blank" style="margin:12px 3px;">The Beach Beckons by Marisa Allegra Williams</a> | <a href="http://www.blurb.com/landing_pages/bookshow?ce=blurb_ew&utm_source=widget" target="_blank" style="margin:12px 3px;">Make Your Own Book</a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-3014565646037538782007-05-22T16:12:00.000-07:002011-01-20T13:13:19.293-08:00Sorrento notes from a broad<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/2762298842/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 600px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3132/2762298842_e19d0e52ea_z.jpg?zz=1" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Well, that's what happens when you enjoy a trip to its fullest and opt out of the detailed mass email to family and friends. You start to forget. What was so funny. What was so cool. What was what. Sigh. But at least you've got those warm and fuzzy memories, right? Fuzzier than warm with the passage of time, to be sure. Here's the little that I can remember from those three wanton weeks in the land of lemons and limoncello. In bullet form, no less. Probably not even mildly exciting enough to warrant sharing (or reading), but here goes. Knock yourself out.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong face="trebuchet ms" style="font-weight: normal;"></strong></div><ul style="text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Naples</span> had been on my list of places to visit for a long while. Mainly because it was held in such high esteem by a boy I once pedestaled. Thinking we had the same taste, or at least something similar, I was looking forward to exploring and developing my own amore for the city. Not to be. The city's allure was absolutely lost on me. While I get why other people may deeply dig Napoli, people who likely love the grittier edge and energy of New York City, for example ... I didn't dig it. The friend I was traveling with passed three attempts at having her purse snatched with admirable calm (and a vice grip on her bag). Especially in the face the big picture. I've never experienced such free-flowing chaos in a European city before. This was my first trip to Southern Italy and I scoffed at all the warnings from every Northern Italian I'd met who'd warned me away from Campania. And Naples in particular. Worth a visit, to be sure; don't get me wrong. Naples is just a whole hell of a lot poorer, dirtier, and fringe than I was expecting. I'd read so much about how the city had been cleaned up and made safer. And perhaps that is the case. But it begs the question, What was Naples like before the big PR effort? No fewer than seven couples saying at the tiny B&B (the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Casa Astarita</span> in Sorrento and I'd highly recommend it, by the way) with us over the course of sixteen nights had their wallets, purses, or bags stolen either on the train to/from Naples or in Naples itself. I'm happy to say that both my travel companion and myself came away from our two day trips to Naples with all of our belongings. Peace of mind though, not so much. As one local from the Sorrento area told us, "I don't like going to Naples. If I do have to go, I always take a shower when I get home to Sorrento. Naples makes you feel so dirty." Dirty and unnerved. A simple stroll down the street can be a triumphant, death defying experience. Try it sometime in the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Spanish Quarter</span>. I dare you. Diving into the Spanish Quarter proper isn't even necessary, if you're feeling a little chicken. Just walk straight up the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Via Toledo</span> and you'll immediately be plenty on edge navigating the onslaught of people, mopeds, and cars. All traveling at top speed, often going the wrong way (the scooters and the cars), and nearly always without helmets (the scooters). Unfortunately, a banged up moped being driven by a young woman with a kid under ten and a baby, maybe even a family dog, all without helmets, doing hairpin turns at a blinding clip against traffic down the tiny side streets and up onto the sidewalks through packs of pedestrians is not an uncommon sight. Anyway, Naples is (in a word) intense. And not in my favorite fashion. But I'm glad I went and I might even go back, someday. The frescoed and hand-painted tile cloister of <span style="font-weight: bold;">Santa Chiara</span> church, for example, is definitely worth experiencing again.<br /><br /></li><li>If you ever go to Sorrento and get hungry, I'd recommend swinging by L'Abate or Photo for lunch and/or dinner. L'Abate had the best funghi (mushroom) <span style="font-weight: bold;">pizza </span>and Photo's <span style="font-weight: bold;">ravioli </span>was to die for fresh and delicious. If you get thirsty, imbibe<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">a drink</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> and a sunset</span> from the terrace of Hotel Syrene. Amazing view of Vesuvius, the Bay of Naples, and the coast. Delightful. Very romantic. As for <span style="font-weight: bold;">gelato</span>, Primavera on the Corso Italia has a dizzying array of flavors and portions fit to fill the tummy of every over-eating American in town. I actually preferred it to the much touted Davide. Buon appetito.<br /><br /></li><li>Easter week processions on the island of <span style="font-weight: bold;">Procida </span>are where it's at. Go for Good Friday and spend the day.<br /><br /></li><li>How do all these women manage to walk the uneven cobblestone streets in <span style="font-weight: bold;">stilettos</span>? I just don't understand. I'd break my neck and my ass.<br /><br /></li><li>What's in <span style="font-weight: bold;">fashion </span>at the moment are jeans tucked into boots. It's unattractive if you ask me, but everyone's doing it. And I mean everyone. All the ladies, that is.<br /><br /></li><li>The guys are rocking <span style="font-weight: bold;">bomber jackets</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">argyle sweaters</span>. Don't ask me why.<br /><br /></li><li>Everyone has a pair of crazy, tricked out <span style="font-weight: bold;">jeans </span>with chains and embroidery or studs or some crap decorating nearly every inch of the denim. Especially the real estate at the rear. My favorite are the jeans spelling out <span style="font-weight: bold;">RICH </span>across the ass. Turns out it's a designer's name and not necessarily about wealth. Although I'd hazard a guess that the double entendre is intended.<br /><br /></li><li>Riding a <span style="font-weight: bold;">bus </span>along the Amalfi Coast is pretty darn spectacular. A little nauseating, but in a good way. Scary, sure. But oh the fun you'll have telling friends and family when you get home. Seriously it's not so bad. My friend had a bit of motion sickness but even she was glad to take the ride. We got lots of great pics. The views are incredible.<br /><br /></li><li>Boat rides along the Amalfi coast and to the islands of Capri, Ischia, and Procida are a must. If you go to Ischia, visit the gardens at <span style="font-weight: bold;">La Mortella </span>near Forio. Gorgeous.<br /><br /></li><li>Namesake of the coast it once dominated, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Amalfi </span>is a charming town with the most incredible church. If the exterior doesn't make you swoon, the <span style="font-weight: bold;">crypt </span>surely will. Once you've been in a few European churches, they start to all look the same. Don't skip this one. The cloister isn't anything special (the frescoes and mosaics are badly damaged, though nice) and the church itself is okay, but the crypt is incredible.<br /><br /></li><li>We met three inspiring and interesting American couples who were each on <span style="font-weight: bold;">marathon trips</span>. A seriously atypical situation for stock from the United States. I go away for two, three, four weeks at a time and pick one or two cities to call home for the duration of the trip. A travel timeframe and tactic that ceaselessly impresses Europeans who are used to encountering Americans enjoying (though how is that possible?) the Grand Tour in five days; ten, tops. At any rate, I quickly envied each of the three couples in question. The first were sailing around the world. From the American Midwest, they'd paid off their house and made good on a promise to then leave work behind for unrushed, indefinite travel. When we bumped into these two in Ravello, they informed us that they'd be wintering in Turkey and had been sailing and living on their boat (saved lots of would-be hotel monies) for three years. Yup. Three years. The second couple were living in Italy for a year and traveling all over the country and to other parts of Europe as well. Visit their <a href="http://www.expatsinitaly.com/cjumbria/">http://www.expatsinitaly.com/cjumbria/</a> for wonderful entries and photos. The last couple was in fact a family of three with a young, soon-to-be teenage son. They weren't sure how long they'd be traveling and had already been away from their home on the East Coast for over a year. The boy asked if he could windsurf in Amalfi. "Wait until we're in Aruba in a few months. The windsurfing will be great there." Some bank of childhood memories this kid's racking up, eh?<br /><br /></li><li>Yes. People talk with their <span style="font-weight: bold;">hands</span>. Moreso here than in Northern Italy, I think. There's more unabashed <span style="font-weight: bold;">staring</span>, too. Because you're attractive, because you're unattractive, because you're obviously a foreigner, because ... oh, who the hell knows. I'm used to Europeans staring, for whatever reason, but for my friend (her first trip to Italy) it was a new experience. The staring is definitely more intense in Italy. In my experience. I have no idea what exactly it's all about. But I've learned to ignore it. When all else fails, just stare back and turn it into a contest.<br /><br /></li><li>So the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Blue Grotto</span> on Capri. Should you go, should you not go. I say go. Sure you only get five minutes inside the grotto, but it's creepy and why would you really want to be in there any longer than you have to? Go in the afternoon when the sun gives the grotto its most intense and glowing blue. The color is truly amazing. But it's creepy town. I'm telling you. You take a motor boat to the outside of the grotto, hop in a row boat and pray you don't capsize and fall in, lay down flat in the boat to enter the grotto so's you don't smash your head in on the top of the cave enterance, row around for a few minutes, snap a few photos, and you're done. Seems expensive until you hop back on the motor boat and tour around the rest of the island. All in all the whole excursion takes about an hour. It's worth it. The <span style="font-weight: bold;">Villa San Michele </span>was also advisable. Not as grand as <span style="font-weight: bold;">Villas Rufolo</span> or <span style="font-weight: bold;">Cimbrone </span>in Ravello, Villa San Michele is cozy and charming with lovely grounds and a great view.<br /><br /></li><li>The Bourbon palace at <span style="font-weight: bold;">Caserta</span>, built to rival Versailles, did at one time; that much is clear. The royal apartments are spectacular, but like the rest of Napoli and the surrounding area, the splendor has fallen into a somewhat dingy bout of prime past. Work is being done to restore former glory, and I look forward to viewing the fruits of this monumental (and no doubt pricey) labor. My friend and I didn't have the energy to venture the mile or two into the famed gardens. But then that gives me another reason to return.<br /><br /></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pompeii </span>is bigger than you think. A lot bigger. We spent six hours there and didn't see everything. The one must-see site for me was the Villa dei Misteri (Villa of the Mysteries). On a much smaller scale, but far more interesting in many ways, is <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ercolano </span>or <span style="font-weight: bold;">Herculaneum</span>. A smaller, once seaside town, we saw all of Ercolano in two hours. It was fantastic. While Pompeii was buried in ash, Ercolano was done in by a pyroclastic flow of molten lava, mud, and gas. This allowed for the amazing preservation of items you rarely find from ancient times. Items like wooden doors, staircases, furniture. And papyrus "books" from the time. We're talking 79 A.D. folks. How wild is that? The Villa dei Papyri (Villa of the Papyrus) where over 1,000 papyrus scrolls were discovered in the 1700s was the inspiration for Getty's Malibu museum (the old one, not the newer one). Having seen both sites, if I had to choose just one to recommend it'd be Ercolano. Without a doubt. Smaller, but better preserved, more intimate, and to me, more interesting.<br /><br /></li><li>The surprise hit of the trip that wasn't even on the original list of sites to see turned out to be <span style="font-weight: bold;">Villa Reggina</span> at the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Capo di Sorrento</span>. A ruin of a seaside Roman villa, the site is serene and downright beautiful with a private cove, sea arch, and views to Sorrento. Take the public bus from Sorrento (short ride) and hike down to the ruin.<br /><br /></li><li>And the award for most entertaining and memorable framing of the question, "What are you?" goes to a lovable restaurant owner who asked, instead, <span style="font-weight: bold;">"What's your generation? Hawaii?"</span> Ah ha. Good times, good times.<br /></li></ul>And that's about all I can remember for the purpose of recounting. Ciao for now.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms,sans-serif;">Questions? Ask away! Please use the comments feature to ask questions rather than contacting Marisa directly. That way everyone can learn a thing or two, too.</span></div><br /><div style="text-align:center; width:575px"><object id="myWidget" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" data="http://www.blurb.com/assets/embed.swf?book_id=156995" width="575" height="300"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://www.blurb.com/assets/embed.swf?book_id=156995"><a target="_new" href="http://www.blurb.com/books/preview/156995?ce=blurb_ew&utm_source=widget"><img src="http://bookshow.blurb.com/bookshow/cache/P182087/md/wcover_2.png" /></a></object><div style="display:block;"><a href="http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/156995?ce=blurb_ew&utm_source=widget" target="_blank" style="margin:12px 3px;">Conjuring Campania by Marisa Allegra Williams</a> | <a href="http://www.blurb.com/landing_pages/bookshow?ce=blurb_ew&utm_source=widget" target="_blank" style="margin:12px 3px;">Make Your Own Book</a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8677669950744604237.post-30513723785335977552007-01-31T16:11:00.000-08:002012-01-28T16:02:00.608-08:00Farewell to a friend<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/risamay/3106486278/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3070/3106486278_e412a69545_o.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 534px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><a href="http://www.matadortravel.com/node/49"><br /></a><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d;">Franco Mazzucco, A silversmith with a heart of gold.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">I wrote the piece above in loving memory of Franco Mazzucco, whom I had the pleasure of befriending on one of my extended trips to Venice. One of the last silversmiths in Italy to work in the traditional way, by hand, Franco's passing is a great loss to his craft, his family, friends, and admirers of his art.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">As it turns out, the third time was a charm. My
first two week-long visits to Venice had been so quintessentially dreamy and
delightful that I planned a third escape to La Serenissima and made
arrangements to languish in this lavish waterlogged paradise of decaying
decadence for a full month. When you're in love (person or city, no matter),
you devote as much quality time getting to know and enjoying your muse as you
can possibly afford. Right? Being a long distance love affair with one of the
priciest grande dames of them all, I was lucky to find accommodations allowing
me to spend more than just a few days in Venice – let alone an entire month.<br />
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Hoping to find that intimate essence of Venice which eludes the day tripping,
Grand Tour tourist, I fancied myself a traveler and intended to spend my month
lost — and incrementally found — as the city revealed herself to me a little
more each day. Not speaking a lick of Italian and having been told that
Venetians are typically quite private, I assumed this would be a highly
personal and something of a lonely journey. I couldn't have been more wrong.<br />
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Traveling alone and on a budget can be a challenge at times, especially when
venturing to a famously expensive city like Venice. But after scouring the
Internet for deals and recommendations from other travelers, I happened upon a
real gem — the Ca' del Dose. A recently renovated room with a TV, private
shower, toilet, and a bidet, cozily suited for one at only 50 Euros a night in
low season, with breakfast included? Sold! Not only was it highly recommended
and reasonably priced, the Ca' del Dose is ideally located in an authentically
Venetian corner of the city where local life flourishes despite the daily tide
of tourists.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Not long after I'd checked into the hotel,</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> I discovered that the best feature
of my happenstance home was not the price, the location, or even the private </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">en
suite</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> bathroom and shower (a luxury much coveted by the vacationing
population as often as is affordable). The loveliest aspect of the Ca' del Dose
is without a doubt its delightful owners, Anna and Marco Lucchini. The couple
took a particular interest in me; curious and protective of a lone female
traveler. Each day they would check in to ask what my plans were, how my visit
was going, share a recommendation, and always to offer help. Peppered with lots
of smiles and laughter, we became fast friends. Before long I found myself
accompanying Anna on her errands around the city, walking her home after work,
and even sharing lunches and a dinner or three.<br />
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Flanked by the scents and sounds of Al Scalinetto to the right of my room and
the "tink! tink! tink!" of the silversmith's workshop to the left,
Ca' del Dose was a welcome reprieve of low-key authentic Venice after a morning
or afternoon of fighting the throngs of tourists for a bit of peace in
paradise. I always looked forward to "coming home" each day and
having a chat with my new friends. Of the many neighborhood characters
introduced to me by Anna, Franco Mazzucco quickly became one of my favorites.
His was the workshop next door. Without the use of modern machinery, Franco welded
and chiseled by hand the most detailed and delicate of works of art in silver
that I had ever seen. Sometimes, when Anna wasn't available to act as
translator, Franco and I would communicate in a broken babble of Italian and
English; often involving an array of hand gestures colorful by even Italian
standards and ending in shrugs and cheek-cramping laughter. More often still, I
would just stop by to watch Franco work for a while and admire his shiny
creations — platters, shell shaped dishes, goblets, bowls, boxes, crosses,
mirrors, frames, figurines — all created
by hand for wealthy patrons and private collectors.</span></div>
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As my month rapidly melted into a series of cherished memories, I began to
dread the end and wish I'd been able to lavish more time getting to know the
city and a small group of people I was growing to adore and regard as extended
family. The kind souls in this corner of the labyrinth had made my stay so warm
and memorable, I would have done anything to demonstrate my appreciation. So
when the opportunity presented itself, I jumped at the chance! Anna called a
little meeting with Franco to explain that they had been unsuccessfully
pursuing an American client of Franco's who had not paid him in full for a
large piece that had taken Franco several months to complete. Anna had tried to
contact the American via email and telephone on Franco's behalf, to no avail.
And now that we were all friends, perhaps I might be more successful — being
myself an American.</div>
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After months of international phone tag, faxes, and email, Franco was finally
paid in full. A year later, I returned to Venice to relax and celebrate.</div>
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Not unlike my experience the previous year, my fourth trip and second full
month in Venice was flawlessly delightful. When I arrived, Franco greeted me
with a smile and a long-stem silver rose. He'd already mailed me two handmade
silver picture frames as thanks for helping him collect from the American. I
thanked him again for his many kind gifts and insisted that he allow me to take
he and his wife, along with Anna and Marco, out to dinner to celebrate. This of
course never came to pass because Franco instead arranged an incredible
home-cooked meal at his house, prepared by his lovely wife Maria, for which he
had spent a day in the mountains north of Venice picking fresh wild mushrooms.
As if this weren't thanks enough, Franco saved the most generous gift of all
for my farewell. </div>
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One of the handmade items that I'd helped Franco get paid for was a large <i>quadriga
— </i>a replica of the famous four bronze horses that grace Basilica San Marco.
I'd seen pictures of the piece as part of the collections process. On one of my
daily visits to Franco's workshop I asked him how much a small quadriga might
cost to commission. He never got around to answering my question, but he did
get around to making me the quadriga. Four silver horses prancing proudly atop
a slab of rose-colored marble. I was speechless and asked what it cost, and
could I pay him for it in installments, but he wouldn't hear of it. Franco
explained that I travelled a lot and had spent much time in Venice — coming to
know it as a second home — but that maybe now I would spend my month-long
vacations creating similar roots and relationships in new cities. <i>Look at
the quadriga and remember. </i>What a beautiful gift.</div>
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I knew in my heart that Franco was right. With a list of dream destinations
long enough to fill two lifetimes' worth of yearly vacations, it was unlikely
that I would be spending another solid month in Venice anytime soon. Not long
after I'd settled back in at home and the New Year rolled around, I got the bad
news. Franco had become ill and passed away. It had all happened so quickly and
took everyone — family, friends, all — by surprise. The jovial, generous,
well-loved family man and artist who had been so kind to me was gone. Not only
had Venice lost a son, but a piece of her history and tradition as well. </div>
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The last silversmith in Venice, Franco had learned his craft from his father.
As the times and the economy had changed, fewer and fewer of Italy's young
people were apprenticing and choosing a career in the traditional or old arts.
Franco was the last of a handful of craftsmen throughout Italy who work silver
in the old way, by hand rather than by machine. The work was hard and many long
hours might go into the making of one small piece. Though the end results were
unique, one-of-a-kind works of art, there simply wasn't the reliable demand for
such priceless treasures necessary to make this career more appealing to a
young artist than say that of a graphic designer. And so it is in this way that
Italy, Europe, and the rest of the world continues to lose whole art forms.
When given the choice between a passion and a paycheck, it is the paycheck that
wins out — by necessity. It seems that the arts are hardest hit with this
reality, as one can plainly see in a city with such a rich artistic past as
Venice. Franco was the last silversmith, and how long will it be before the
city loses her last handmade paper masters, bookbinders, or glassblowers? With
more and more of these goods made on the cheap and imported from China,
Venetians will tell you that the end looms ever nearer. It was Franco's hope
and it is my hope that something might be done to preserve and encourage these
dying arts to flourish in the city where they enjoyed such a celebrated and
vital life.</div>
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My fondest memory of Franco is my last. On the second to last day of my trip,
Franco asked me where I was planning on going. Had I been to the Chiesa dei
Greci? No. I hadn't been to the Greek Orthodox Church. Was it nearby? <i>Just
around the corner from here. It is one of my favorite churches in Venice. Very
interesting. Very beautiful. I know you and you will love it. It will move you
to tears.</i> And on this recommendation I spent both that very day and a
portion of my last in this church. The first day it was full of tourists so I
decided to return the next morning when it might be a bit quieter. I was very
lucky and returned to find the church completely deserted, docent and all. Filled
with art all in gold, I sat for over an hour in silent, watery-eyed awe. It was
the sort of unexpectedly moving experience one most often finds abroad in a
fabled place like Venice, and takes home to relish for a lifetime. Thanks to my
silversmith with a heart of gold, it is for me but one of many. </div>
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Practical Information:</div>
<b><div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Franco Mazzucco</b></div>
</b><span style="color: blue;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://www.francomazzucco.com/" target="_blank">http://www.francomazzucco.com/</a></div>
</span><div style="text-align: justify;">
Franco's works are available for viewing
and purchase by appointment only. Contact Franco's wife, Maria, to schedule
your visit: <strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">0039.41.5229292. Please note that Maria does not
speak English fluently. If you are uncomfortable speaking Italian, the kind
folks at Ca' del Dose might be willing to help you make your arrangements with
Maria.</span></strong></div>
<b><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Ca' del Dose</b></div>
</b>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://www.cadeldose.com/" target="_blank">http://www.cadeldose.com/</a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://www.cadeldose.com/" target="_blank">Map to the bed and breakfast</a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Calle del Dose, Castello,
3801 - 30122 Venice, Italy</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
+39.041.5209887 Phone</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
+39.041.5209887 Fax</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<b><div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Al Scalinetto</b></div>
</b>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://maps.venicexplorer.net/venice-mapquest/index.php?hlangs=en&s=v&p1_id=791&p1_db=esercizi&src_module=esercizi&action=search&nome=Scalinetto" target="_blank">Map to the restaurant</a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Calle del Dose, Castello, 3803 - 30122 Venice, Italy</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Open for lunch and dinner, but hours vary. Check in with the restaurant and
make a reservation if possible. Small establishment and popular with both
locals and tourists, so sometimes difficult to get a table.</div>
</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">Questions? Ask away! Please use the comments feature to ask questions rather than contacting Marisa directly. That way everyone can learn a thing or two, too.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2