Day 1 [August 25, 2003]
Awoke at 5:30am, Susie picked us up at 6:30 and we were checked in at the airpot by 7:15. Our Northwest Airlines flight didn't depart until 9:10 so we had a little time to kill. One smoothie, one call to PEMCO and a few stretches kept us busy until it was time to board the 757-300. Decent plane, but we were, again, shocked at the sardine container conditions they make you endure now. Minneapolis was the first stop en route to Italy. The lay over was only one hour so we grabbed a drink and some chips at Starbuck's, stretched some more, and boarded the 747-200 that would take us into Canada, over the Hudson Bay, above the wastelands of Greenland, north of Iceland, over Scotland and into Sciphol Airport in Amsterdam.
It's now Day 2 [August 26, 2003]. Landing was easy, but we had that strange, entirely anti-euphoric post 8-hour flight pit in our stomachs. Airplane food is NOT good. The in-flight movies, "Bringing Down the House" and "Down with Love" were absolutely horrible and decent respectively. "Bringing Down the House" might be the worst movie I've ever seen. Watching a white man (Steve Martin) say "honkey" and "criznib" while assuming the poor black lady (Queen Latifah) he's with is uneducated is such a poor platform on which to base a 90-minute movie. Terrible! The next movie, "Down with Love", was much more entertaining. In fact, it may have saved the flight. I selected some decent seats when booking the flight, so even though the seat layout was 3-4-3, we were in a 2-seat section next to the galley. Difficult to see the movie screen but fairly spacious which more than made up for bad sight-lines.
Ok, back to Amsterdam. The lay over was 3 1/2 hours, which is a long time to sit and eat cheese and prosciutto, but not long enough to really venture from the airport and see the city. Besides, we were in a kind of international no-man's land which would have been difficult to escape. I was excited to see Katrina's first reaction to Europe, but she was fairly unimpressed. Sciphol International is far too much like the States. Ok, so we'll see how she handles Milan. The 1 1/2 hour puddle jump from Amsterdam to Milan was easy, and we flew directly over the Swiss Alps (1st photo opp). They seemed to reach up to the airplane, and then fell away as we entered Italy. The smog in the Milano (Arno River) Valley was earily evident, and only got worse as days went by (more later).
Once we landed, the true challenges presented themselves. As usual, patience paid off as we found ourselves on a fairly cool bus headed toward Stazione Centrale in Milan. The airport at which we landed (Malpensa or MXP) is 30 miles NW of Milan so the bus trip was about an hour. The air was thick with humidity, and it was pushing 85 so the cool breeze on the bus was welcome. The bus dumped us at the steps of the largest train station we've ever seen. Inside was chaos - quite possibly the worst combination of crowds, heat, lack-of-time and fatigue either of us had ever experienced. We made a mad dash to find the ticket booth, purchase tickets to Varenna, and jump on the 2:15 train -- it was 2:12! Needless to say, we didn't even have tickets until 2:30, and were left sweltering in a dirty train station for almost 2 hours waiting for the next train to arrive. It finally came, and we were whisked off to a land seemingly so far away from the mess that is Milan, yet the trip took only an hour. We fell off the train, luggage in tow, and wandered down a steep drive toward the water to find our hotel (Hotel Olivedo) perched elegantly adjacent to the harbor. Car and passenger ferries frequently dropped off loads of tourists and locals alike, and we watched all of them until gravity and fatigue were too overwhelming to ignore.
Checking in at the Hotel Olivedo was a situation long awaited. Laura was there to greet us, and handed us keys to an absolutely fabulous room -- amazing 3rd floor room (camera) with both a window and a small balcony, each of which were perched directly above the passenger ferry terminal. Rick Steves mentions Laura and recommends her excellent hotel in his Italy 2003 guide book. I'll be sure to thank him when we return, but I'll also be sure to tell him to add a huge footnote to his Varenna chapter -- the beds are firm (fine, we can deal), but the pillows are like sleeping on freshly quarried marble! So hard and unforgiving. A few days later we find out, via conversation with other American tourists (Kelly and Jamie), that they don't get much softer as you travel further south. Perhaps that's why they feed you so much for dinner -- so as to put you in such a deep food coma you don't realize your head just landed on a grand foyer floor. I'm getting ahead of myself a bit. I should mention that we were so exhausted from our 24-hour journey that we both fell asleep before our heads became sore from the mineral composite that was to be our pillows for the next 4 nights. We slept soundly for about 7 straight hours, woke at 5am, then crashed again until 11:30. Almost 14 hours of much deserved rest. Enough to ensure a terrible night's sleep the following evening.
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Day 3 [August 27, 2003]
Our first full day in Varenna consisted mostly of exploring the small town, a lot of which was done incorrectly :) For instance, because we woke so late in the day, it was time for lunch instead of breakfast. There are numerous little cafes with inviting patios and pastel views. We quickly decided upon the Cafe Milo and weren't disappointed. However, this is where we committed our first laughable act of "Americanism". We didn't know Italians only drink caffe after a meal, never before. However, the affected look on our waiter's face as we first ordered uno caffe machiatto e caffe prior to ordering our paninis tipped us off. So we asked him outright. With a precious and understanding smile, he let us know in broken English where we went wrong. No worries. We just finished our caffes before our food arrived in an attempt to mask our mistake. If the locals didn't see us with caffe at our table the same time as our food, perhaps we'd get away with it. Honestly, we have no idea if our plan worked. No matter. We were full of bread, cheese, meat and veggies as a result of feasting on the best cheese-oozing paninis we've ever had. Fueled up and prepared to take on the day, we headed straight to the glorious gardens of the Villa Monastero and Villa Cipressi.
7 euros got both of us in to both gardens - well worth the money. It was hot and humid, but the many trees and marble structures kept us shaded when the sun was too intense. The first garden, Villa Monatero, had a brilliant collection of succulents, fruit trees, poisonous flowering bushes, and simply amazing romantic vistas complete with marble benches. It was impossible not to feel more connected to my new wife here -- and despite seeing many tourists walking the gardens, we couldn't help but feel like we were the only ones here. Immediately adjacent to the Villa Monastero is the Villa Cipressi which, converted into a hotel, houses rooms, a bar, a restaurant, and its own splendid gardens. Just prior to entering these gardens I insisted on Katrina trying acqua con gas. To me, it's a very fun and refreshing way to quench your thirst, but the gal just didn't dig it. I can understand though. We were hot and sweaty from strolling the first expansive gardens so she was in the mood to guzzle her water. Fizz or no fizz, it was still water and it was still cold. Done. Back to the gardens.
The gardens of the Villa Cipressi were equally as beautiful for entirely different reasons. The many trails twisted and weaved their way down to the water criss-crossing and interconneting to form a magnificent maze of shaded, folliage-lined pathways. These trails were awesome, some opening out to views of the surrouding towns of Bellaggio and Menaggio. We reluctantly left the gardens alone and vetured off to find ourselves some gelato, a task not difficult to achive on a hot day in Italy. They seem to be on every corner, in every Piazza, on every little "lover's walkway". On our way, we stumbled upon the bar at the Hotel du Lac, with a terrace so inviting we vowed to return after our mocha and pistacchio gelatos from heaven.
Upon returning to the bar it came to our attention were were the only people there. The terrace was so nice we were initially convinced they must be closed, but it didn't hurt to ask. Question: "Is there somwhere near by we can get a drink?" Answer: "Yeah, here." So we plopped our butts in the wicker seats and promptly ordered a caiparinha for Katrina and a Manhattan for Ry. The drinks appeard a few minutes later, accompanied by a small collection of various appetizers, including olives and Pringles. Yep. Pringles. We passed the time writing a few postcards and studying our Italian phrase book. By the time our waitress came out again, I was able to form complete sentences resulting in another excellent Manhattan. But it wasn't the drinks that kept us there. This place is awesome -- probably the nicest patio bar I've ever been to. We predicted we'd hit that bar no fewer than 3 times before leaving this lovely town. Two hours at the Bar de Hotel du Lac took us right up to dinner so we headed back to our hotel where dinner comes free with each night's stay.
The food at Laura's is excellent. The first night, prior to passing out from travel fatigue, we easily made our way through ravioli, risotto, fish, salad, desert and wine. Knowing there were far more options on the menu, we were more than happy to go back there. This night, we mixed things up a little. Katrina ordered eggplant parmaggiana and I went for the gnocchi with meat sauce. This was followed by grilled beef and grilled lamb, salad, potatoes and desert, all accompanied by a bottle of local white wine. The food in Italy is undeniably the best (Il Migliore) anywhere, but I feared Katrina wasn't enjoying the gluttonous feeling at the end of each meal. We may have to cut down on the number of courses she devours each meal, or the number of Pringles she eats at the Hotel du Lac prior to dinner :)
Off to bed with stomachs crammed with goodness isn't always the right thing to do. Both of us tossed and turned on our slate sleeping pads trying every which way to make nice with our anvil pillows. We folded them, bent them, shook them, squished them, but no matter how we attempted to manipulate those pillows, they only grew more unforgiving -- like fingers in a chinese finger trap device -- the harder we tried, the worse it became. Unfounately, unlike most nights where you wiggle and squirm until you just can't stay awake, we managed to keep ourselves up most of the night. That night will certainly go down as one of my worst nights of sleep ever.
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