Prickly Pear Bloom

I am using up almost all of my vacation time this year in the space of about 6 weeks. Tomorrow, very early, I am leaving for the Mexican Riviera to attend a good college buddy’s wedding. This right on the heels of jet lag from returning from Italy. I know, must be tough, right?

Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining, I am looking forward to a short, but much different vacation, involving much sitting by and in a pool, with many fruity cocktails and buckets of corona {La serveza mas fina!}. I am looking at it as a bit of recuperation from the craziness that was our amazing honeymoon in Europe. It took a full 4 days for my legs to stop being sore from “the workout that was Italy”, walking up hills and stairs for 3 weeks. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but I am glad that Mexico will not be the adventurous sort of vacation, but more of the “sitting on my bum” sort. And I am excited to see B+K again, and reciprocate their presence at our wedding.

There are quite alot of projects that I want to get started though, most notably, to pick up the explosion of wedding things and arty materials and magazines that litter every inch of our house right now. Life has been so wonderfully full and we have been away so much that nothing can quite get itself taken care of. It is also incredibly important for my sanity {and for The Husband, should he decide he wants to make me a candlelight dinner one of these nights} to start to transition the guest room into an office for me so that all of my creative clutter no longer has to reside on the dining room table as it has for many months. And then I want to start to make things. Fabric things and paper things and design things and gifty things and organized things. I miss being creative. This few days at home just wasn’t enough to get started on anything, really.

Shane gave me the blessedly obvious suggestion that I take my new sketchbook to Mexico and sit by the pool and sketch, which I will do. That is my goal for the weekend. Likely I will come home with drawings of palm trees and drinks with umbrellas and my feet - sort of like the photographs I will likely take - and little notes to myself of things to write here.

Bikini - check. Reading book - check. Sketchbook - check. Passport, camera - check. That should be all I need, right?

If I didn’t mention this now, I was afraid it would end up on the list of “posts that I procrastinated publishing because other posts took precedence, and thusly never got published”, so please forgive my multiple posts today.

Thanks to Kirsten, I had myself quite a few chuckles while reading this site, and subsequently, also found the “blog” of “unnecessary” quotation marks, which just so appealed to my sense of superiority over inappropriate and otherwise incorrect grammar (except for the occasional run-on sentence, of course).

In addition to those couple of gems, she also pointed the way to Trauma Queen, a funny, articulate, and provocative blog written by an EMT/ambulance technician in Edinburgh.

As if it weren’t a daunting enough task sifting through my feed reader after 3 weeks away…now I have more interesting things to read!

Thanks Kirsten!

We started the trip out drinking cappuccino in Rome. The place that we frequented made really good cappuccino, in tiny little cups, only slightly bigger than their traditional tiny espresso cups. They were strong, creamy, and frothy, and I just loved the balance of those elements in them.

When we went to the south of Italy, we had a few cappuccinos there, but they seemed to have more milk in them, and we wanted something bolder, so we started drinking straight espresso. We tried cappuccino in a few places there and in Florence, but none of them could rival the lovely Roman ones. We started to develop the taste for straight espresso, or “caffé” in Italian, and we began to comment on the differences in each cup, either from different beans, different roasts, or just a different person or machine.

In Venice, we started drinking “macchiato”, which is a shot of espresso, with a very small drop of milk, and foam to top if off. These things were lovely, giving that punch of espresso, with just a little smooth element of foam, without being too “milky”.

We also noticed in Venice, with the masses of tourists, that almost every time we ordered caffé, we were asked to clarify if we wanted caffé espresso or caffé americano (American coffee, or watered down espresso). That made us a little sad, to think that people would actually order watered down espresso in ITALY, rather than either be adventurous and experience the culture, or simply refrain. Because, really, there are alot of ways the Italians take their caffé, you would think one of them would be palatable to someone who is used to american coffee.

American espresso drinks taste so wrong to me now. Yummy, but wrong. The lattes we got on Saturday morning seemed like they needed so much more coffee in them. We bought espresso cups in Venice (well, they are a little larger than true espresso cups, so likely they are meant for macchiato or cappuccino), and espresso beans too, and after watching real Italians make espresso, we realized that our machine is “Americanized”. The filter cups for the espresso grounds are much smaller than they actually use in Italy, and a “shot” of espresso is much smaller than we originally thought - much smaller than the cups that come with the machine. So we are now experimenting with using the double size for a single shot of espresso, and only filling the cup up a third of the way, and it tastes much more like real Italian espresso. I could only assume that is how it would be, though. We of course would have to bastardize anything we take from another country, even if it is only fancy coffee.

Well, we returned on Friday night to the country where our house and pets and cars and jobs reside, and have been slowly creeping back to reality for the past few days, cleaning the house, weeding the garden, making phone calls, downloading pictures, trying to catch up on sleep. There are so many images and stories that I still want to share, and so I anticipate some more Italy-centric posts are on the way.

Venice is really most interesting in the morning, and at night, before and after the throngs of tourists are in full force. We sat one morning and watched delivery boats deliver fruit and meat and all sorts of things, garbage barges collecting the weeks trash, water busses, gondolas moving their boats and getting ready for the day’s fares, boats parking and maneuvering around other parked boats, their drivers stepping over other boats to get to the dock seeming to be an understood situation.

At night the sunset lights up the Venetian buildings, and the lights start to come on. The gondolas drift through the darkening canals, with their little lantern at the front. The busses motor by in a stream of headlights, all reflected in the water. Things quiet down after a bustling day. We enjoyed a bottle of Prosecco by the side of the Grand Canal on our last night in Venice, and watched it get dark. It was beautiful.

After leaving Venice, the land of expensive everything, we took a train to Lecco, at the base of the Italian Alps. We nearly got separated disembarking the train, when the doors started closing on The Husband. He sustained a minor arm injury trying to restrain them and make sure I didn’t get stuck going to the next town without him, which, upon reflection, we realized really would have been sort of an emergency, since we would have had no way to contact each other, and The Husband had possession of my passport…and all of the money…and my ATM card. Who knows where I could have ended up alone, with no money or identification, just some crackers and tank tops and sunblock. But at least I wouldn’t have gotten a sunburn.

We took a ferry from Lecco to Bellagio, on Lake Como. You know, the town that the Bellagio Hotel is named after in Vegas? We thought it was going to be like Puglia, with no tourists whatsoever, and noone that spoke English, and all rural and stuff. I’m not sure why we thought that, since a major hotel in Vegas is named after it, but we did. There were tourists, but not really that many. Bellagio is a small town on a large hill on a peninsula in the middle of the crook of the lake. It was gorgeous, with the mountains rising straight up all around it. It was also like 95 degrees there. In the Alps. We had a few adventures there though, most notably, after the heat broke on Wednesday afternoon and we schlepped back to our Bed & Breakfast in a thunderstorm over treacherously slippery cobblestone streets and got thoroughly soaked.

We felt like wet dogs when we got there, and had to carry around wet clothes and shoes for a day, but it felt free and exciting. We spend so many days in our lives trying to outrun the rain or snow, to get whereever it is we are going without messing up our hair or getting our shoes wet, that it was exhilirating to just barrell through it and accept the consequences.

The next day we hopped a bus over the mountain to Lugano, Switzerland, where they really didn’t care that we had just crossed the country’s border. We had no map or plan when we got there, just an address for our hotel, but luckily Lugano has alot of maps around, and I had the idea to take a picture of one of the maps so we could reference it should we get lost, and we managed to find the train station, where we hopped a cab up yet another large hill.

They have funiculars in Lugano, which until just now I actually didn’t think we had in the states, but we do, just not in the Midwest. It’s a wonder we don’t have more of them though, considering how lazy the American public tends to be. Funiculars are fun, and that is pretty much all we did in Switzerland, ride funiculars. We took the public transportation funicular twice, from the bottom of a hill to the train station at the top. We also took another funicular to the top of Mount Bré, where the clouds started to swirl violently and we feared being struck by lightning.

On our last day, we took the train through the Alps to Zurich. The trip was breathtaking. The clouds hung low around the mountains, and we couldn’t see the tops. We went through tunnel after tunnel, and in between the darkness, we caught glimpses of small alpine towns perched on the hillsides and in the valleys, and sheer mountain faces and waterfalls. We went up up up, and on the opposite side of Gotthard Tunnel, the houses started to turn from Mediterranean style to Bavarian style, and the conductor switched from speaking Italian to German.

The Alps are an interesting mountain range. They are extremely steep and tall, similar to the Tetons in Wyoming, only they are all like that, seemingly. They just go straight up. And there doesn’t seem to be miles and miles and miles of foothills either, like in the Rockies. The Alps just sort of start. And then stop. Straight up from practically nothing. It is amazing.

Switzerland is a strange country, where everything is in 5 languages. It was an odd feeling to keep thinking and speaking in the limited Italian that we knew when everyone was speaking German or French or even English. It was even a strange transition leaving behind the background noise of the Italian language, airport and train station announcements, people muttering or conversing in Italian. We had gotten quite used to that, soaking up as much of it as we could, to learn some of the things Italians say in conversation. We miss that now, although we are definitely back in our “comfort zone”.

A great thing about Florence is that we were able to meet Sylvia, a graphic designer that I met from the HOW forum, who has lived here for seven years. She met us on Tuesday night for a drink, and took us to a bar she likes, and then to a “piazza party”, on the other side of the Arno River. Piazza San Spirito is a palce where Florentines gather to hang out and drink on the street. It was alot of fun to see what the young people who live in Florence do at night, when all of the tourists go to bed. It was all Italians there. Sylvia is wonderful as well, she told us alot about her life and experience living in Florence. We got yelled at in Italian by some construction workers for going where we shouldn’t, and she yelled right back at them, and we met her boyfriend and a handful of other Italian friends, one named Michelangelo. It was a welcome change from all of the tourists. Unfortunately, we didn’t get a picture with her, though, we must have been having too much fun, staying out until 1 a.m. Thanks for a lovely evening, Silbug! You are truly such an inviting person!

We arrived in Venice a few days ago, as our journey around Italy begins to wind down. There are definitely alot of tourists here as well, but the city is so strange and interesting that we don’t mind as much as in Florence. We knew sort of what to “expect” from Venice: lots of people, throngs of pigeons in Piazza San Marco, and streets of water. But we weren’t really prepared for just how strange it all is. The streets are incredibly narrow, very few are wide enough for a vehicle, and many are less than six feet wide. It feels like you are walking through someone’s back alley, and sometimes a movie set. There are only three major bridges over the Grand Canal, otherwise you can take traghettos (gondola ferries) across at a number of spots for €1 for two people. The water taxis are very expensive, so we have walked everywhere. There are small canal “streets” everywhere, and small bridges with steps to cross them. It is just so bizarre.

The first night we were here, the tide was so high and the sea started coming up in puddles through the storm drains. Piazza San Marco was half flooded with a few inches of water. This happens sometimes in the fall and winter, but it is abnormal for this time of year. The canals were all so high that the boats looked like they were sitting on land at the same height as us. In the morning, the water was low again, and the difference was nearly two feet.

Yesterday we took the water bus system to Murano and Burano, small islands near Venice. Murano is famous for handmade and blown glass. Burano was tiny, and all of the buildings seemed to be freshly painted with bright colors. It was so different from anywhere else we have been.

We of course took a gondola ride. It was incredibly touristy and silly, and expensive, but it was really alot of fun, and we are so glad we did it. We took a bottle of Prosecco with us, and had a nice little time floating through the streets. Our gondolier, Marco (go figure, the most popular name in Venice) would chat with other gondoliers as they passed, and sing every so often. He said he has been doing the job for 10 years, and when we asked if the gondolas ever tip over in the bigger waves of the lagoon, he said, “No, but sometimes I fall in”, which we found hilarious. Obviously, they must fall in from time to time, but you just never think about it happening.

After a few days searching for authentic Venetian food that wasn’t exhorbitantly expensive, we found this “fast food” place off the beaten path, where they have plates of food out that you choose little bites, like tapas, that you want, they heat it up, you eat it with a tiny glass of wine, and you’re out. It was fairly cheap, for Venice, and pretty good food, and we didn’t have to sit around for hours. We found it especially interesting that they can just leave the food out, which of course would be out of the question in the states. And of course, it was wonderful.

We love Venice, despite the high prices and tons of people. It is such an odd place, built on the water like it is, and it is the most visually inspiring place we have visited in Italy so far. It makes me want to get out a pencil and sketchbook and draw.

Ciao!

We arrived in Florence yesterday morning. After being in Roma (big + touristy), and the small towns of Puglia where practically no English is spoken, and really few tourists can be found (we saw maybe 4 tourists while in the historic center of Ostuni one day), this city already feels MAJORLY different. I wonder what our opinion of it would be if it were our very first glimpse of Italy?

It is beautiful here, of course. And on a few recommendations of our hostel owner, we had an absolutely fantastic meal for lunch at a trattoria with seven tables and an open kitchen the size of a king sized mattress with two guys working it - and hunks of meat just sitting out. It was a gastronimic orgasm, to say the least. The Tuscany region is known for its minestrone soup, and we tried it at this place, Mossacce, and it was phenominal.

We climbed the cupola of the Duomo that afternoon also. The view was spectacular, after 463 steps to the top. There was no cage around the railing, like you would find everywhere similar in the US, so the view was unobstructed. Yet again, disregard of safety for the return of beauty. We sort of like that about non-US countries.

Apart from the beauty of this city between the hills, and the fabulous food of Tuscany, this city sort of feels like a theme park. The ratio of tourists to locals seems much higher than even Rome. We think there are more students here, and so the community seems more educated and forward-thinking. But we hear so much more English spoken - it seems like every other person on the street is from an English speaking country. Apparently, this is the city to visit when in Italy.

Another difference which we think goes hand in hand with the density of tourists and students is that there are alot more people wearing less clothing. In Rome, and ESPECIALLY in Puglia, I felt so naked wearing a tank top, or short shorts, or God forbid, both. That, combined with my blond hair, made me feel very much different, and like I needed to cover up and blend in. Here in Florence, I don’t feel that at all, because everyone looks like that.

This doesn’t feel all that “authentic”, we suppose Venice may feel similarly as well, we shall see. We just feel like this city is a roller coaster ride of camera-toting foreigners, walking from store to store to shop to shop for handbags and shoes and sunglasses. The streets around the tourist areas are literally LINED with vendors selling the same stuff - sunglasses, scarves, and handbags. The rest of the streets are lined with expensive shops, and since the city is so compact, there are fewer out-of-the-way streets to chill out and get away, which was one of our favorite things about Rome.

People say to shop the San Lorenzo markets, but we don’t know why, because the locals don’t shop them. All they sell is touristy stuff. The Ponte Vecchio, a bridge that is covered in small buildings, which are now shops, is interesting in itself, but the shops all sell jewelry, and we swear, every tourist in the city goes there and takes pictures of each other. It’s almost like you have to stand in line to get your own photo if you want it. It’s a wonder they don’t have photographers there to do it for you. Now that we think about it, that would definitely be worse. In the “I’ll take your picture if you take mine” exchange, we even met a group from our home state. When they asked us what we did for a living, and The Husband told them, he ended up getting a dissertation on why the company he works for sucks, which put him off for a few hours. Who wants to talk about work on your honeymoon? I had even said something to that effect to the lady, but she was so irritated that she kept going nonetheless.

We are by no means saying we dislike Florence, it is just different. There are alot of tourists packed into a compact city, bouncing off one another like pinballs. It’s a very different experience. On the other hand, there was the lovely local man yesterday morning, who offered his help when we were sitting on the curb with our bags and a map looking lost, even though we weren’t lost, just waiting for the internet point to open. Local Italians are still quite nice.

Oddly, we ran into two people that we know from our hometown. We were walking down the street when they caught up with us, and we chatted for a bit. They are on their honeymoon as well. Talking with them made us realize they are doing their trip so much differently from us. We are seeking out the authentic and the culture in this country, and doing it all on our own, whereas they are doing the big hotel/dinner on the piazza with the accordion player/romantic/travel agency package trip. Not that there is anything wrong with that. It’s just not our style, as anyone who knows us can attest.

So I guess, when in Florence, it really IS a small world. Now could you please take my picture?

Since we are a team on this trip, The Husband and I are also a team for the sake of this post as well, and likely any other posts we have the chance to make on this trip. I think I have convinced him to get his own blog soon too, since he seems to be having fun coming up with things to talk about!

After Rome, we spent a few days road tripping around southern Italy, in this little car.

For Italian standards, this car is actually midsize. We were almost hoping to try life in a SmartCar, but we got lucky with a Renault. Luckily, the drivers there aren’t QUITE as crazy as in Rome, but they are still a bit - shall we say - erratic. And impatient. HONK!

The experience of getting said car was a little stressful, when the rental car guy couldn’t figure out how to charge our credit card. After trying 3 different cards, he realized that he was doing something wrong, and got it all squared away, and we breathed a big sigh of relief.

So off we went!

The Husband did all of the driving, since he signed for the car, and everything he read in preparation is true - speed limits really ARE just a “suggestion” in Italy, the drivers are impatient, and the parking is “unique” to say the least. And now, The Husband’s tips on how to park in Italy:

1. Find a public parking spot marked with blue lines
2. Park car, even if it is facing what appears to be the wrong direction
3. Locate a parking pay box
4. Insert coins
5. Begin pressing random buttons in an attempt to produce the receipt/ticket
6. By now, your wife, having deciphered the pictogram directions, has reached over your shoulder and pressed the correct button, producing the desired ticket

—

We did so much on our 3-day Southern Italian roadtrip. We trekked off to Gallipoli, only because we liked the name, and it was such a cute little fishing town. Everything there is pastel.

Driving through Ostuni, “The White City”, The Husband decided to drive up this road. This NARROW road. This STEEP road. With stairs within inches of either side of the car. I thought I was going to have a heart attack.

We found a beach and swam in the Adriatic Sea. We stayed at a Masseria - a southern Italian farm. They had peacocks. Why? We don’t rightly know.

We stayed in a Trullo in Alberobello, which seems to us to be like a gnome house:

We happened upon a wine museum and vintner there, in our attempt to buy a bottle of wine. The lovely man stayed open late for us so we could taste their wines, and described everything to us, even though he knew no English, and we really knew little Italian. We seemed to understand quite alot though, and it really was such a great experience. Of course we bought a bottle and drank it that night. {I won’t mention which one of us got a little tipsy - *cough - Husband*} We found an olive plantation, where again, noone spoke English, and we stopped and tried some olive oil, and wandered around in the trees for awhile. It smelled so amazing there, it’s hard to even describe. And then we went to Monopoli, for obvious reasons, but it really wasn’t that interesting there, so we ate some gelato, and left.

We caught a train last night to Florence. People hang out of the train windows here, something you can’t do in the US, according to The Husband. Silly safety. We had a private 2 bunk cabin, which seemed to be from the 70’s, but it was really quite comfortable. There was even a little sink!

The car attendant brought us cappuccino in the morning. We are tired, but ready for the next adventure as we explore Florence! Arrivederci!

I say that not only because we are staying in “Upper Rome”, which is higher ground than “Lower Rome”, where alot of cool stuff is - (see: Coliseum, Vatican, Trevi Fountain, The Pantheon, and innumerably cute, narrow, tiny car and scooter (motolino!) filled streets lined with shutter filled Roman buildings). I say that because the hostel we are staying at, Blue Hostel, is 4 flights up from street level. With no lift. I believe this is why Italians are in better shape than us lazy Americans, because I suspect that most buildings here do not have elevators. But I think that is a good thing. This is no problem, because we are relatively fit people, but after a day walking around Rome, lots of miles - let’s say 6-8 miles per day, or more - those stairs are alot more work.

And the Vatican? It was brutal. 320 steps to the top of the cupola. That’s after an elevator ride. The view was well worth it though. Then there was the standing in the massive line to get into the Vatican Museum, and the Sistine Chapel, with who knows how many thousands of our closest friends. We were under the impression that we needed to get there early (thanks internet!), but that line? It was nonexistent by 2pm. So if you ever go to the Vatican Museum, on a Tuesday, if you wait until afternoon, there probably won’t be a line.

We have found a couple of fabulous, hole in the wall restaurants. One of them I seriously think may have been someone’s home kitchen. But those are the places with the best food. Last night we ate octopus!

As was recommended, white Roman wine is great; fruity, sweet, young, and served slightly warmer than we are accustomed to. It was a nice surprise. We have gotten ourselves a couple of bottles of local wine to take back to our room with us the past couple of nights while we watch some Italian TV. One night it was Columbo, dubbed over in Italian. Another night it was some crazy Japanese movie also dubbed in Italian. Then there was the animé…in Italian. There is no closed captioning, for obvious reasons, so we really never know what is going on when we watch TV, but it’s hard to look away.

Unfortunately, it seems comic sans is everywhere in this city, I am wondering if there are graphic designers in Rome?

And our biggest debate has been how to actually prounounce “bruschetta” correctly.

Oh, and I haven’t mentioned the cappuccino. It is out of this world.

Tonight we will get on a train and head south, to the Puglia region, to see some of the small towns there. It should be a huge change from Rome. We are renting a car, so are hoping that the drivers are a little less crazy than here, where they don’t ever stop, except for pedestrians.

Passports are ready. Backpacks are packed. And this is MY travelling hat.

In a matter of hours we will be many thousands of feet above the Atlantic Ocean headed to Italy for our honeymoon. I can’t wait to show you. This will be my first expedition to Europe, and The Husband’s second, but we will be experiencing Italy for the first time together. We are doing it semi-bohemian style, living out of backpacks, taking the train, and staying in hostels and bed & breakfasts. I really hope he kicks his cold so that he can enjoy the travels.

I hopehopehope to find a computer a few times along the way to post some adventures and hopefully a few photos as well, so check back. Regular posting will resume upon our return! {or a few days after that, once we have readjusted our sleep patterns}

For now, Ciao!

“The bad thing about opportunity is it’s blind, we have to knock first.”

-Patti Bachelder {PadThai}

Happy June! A couple of days ago I started a list of some goals for this summer, in an effort to “knock” a bit, strengthen my online presence, and just be creative:

- Redesign my portfolio website, simplify it and really figure out which pieces deserve to be in it.
- Make a creative hotlist portfolio.
- Make a jobster profile.
- Decide on and print business cards.
- Calendar 2008 collaboration project with Shane.
- Howiezine 10: Robots.
- Do some research and blog about some places that I eventually want to work in the design field.
- Make these citrus cornmeal biscuits, thanks to the idea plant from Jen.
- Convert our guestroom into an office. This is a huge undertaking, as the guestroom currently has a bed, lots of beer brewing equipment, and painting supplies in it. We really probably just need another room. My “office” currently is in one corner of our living room, but it is starting to get a little ridiculous with the stuff overflowing and the commandeering of the dining room table for assembling things. I also need storage for boards, paper, and ideas, as well as a place to put the new printer I plan on investing in, a place to assemble projects, and a wall to hang my own “inspiration wire”. So hopefully we will get a futon for the guest room for the occasional guest {see: Mom}, and get rid of the bulky, rarely slept in bed, and have a bit of an organization tornado.
- Last, but certainly not least, find a new kitten friend {hoping for orange} to join our family, and keep Carter and Suzie on their toes {as well as us, I’m sure!}

It’s a pretty healthy list. Here’s hoping all of it can get accomplished successfully!