It was the best of times; It was the worst of times in the Eternal City. Joann and I on a whim decided to do something very unlike us and join a tour group headed to Rome for the weekend. A tour group made up entirely of Erasmus (a fancy word for European foreign exchange) students. On paper this was a great idea. We would get guided tours of all that Rome has to offer, two meals a day, transportation and lodging all for about $120 each. It seemed too good to be true and indeed it was.
We arrive for our 7 am bus at the fortress in Siena with sagging tired eyes, but open minds. We are on time (for once) and excited for the trip. We are, as it turns out, the only ones on time…for the first of many times. After waiting for our guides for an hour and the other Erasmus kids from Bologna/Pisa for another hour we are just about ready to leave by 9:30 am. I am irked but still optimistic, Joann commences with calming me down and coaxes me into taking a nap as the bus coasts south towards the Italian capital.
About an hour and a half into the trip the bus makes a hard right and exits into a town called Orvieto. This does not make me very happy as I just want to get to Rome already. Joann continues with the calming of Jay as we ascend into Orvieto, which as it turns out is a wickedly cool little Italian city. It is walled in, as many antique cities are here, but is built into a mountain side which makes it kind of unique. It also has something of a famous Duomo here, as from previous blogs you can tell many cities in Italy do as well. We take a series of about 400 escalators to get to what is the main floor of Orvieto, from the bottom of the mountain where we parked. We wander around the cute little city for about an hour. We hit the Duomo, which doesn’t even make my list of top 5 in the country and then head to the pubic gardens. The view from these gardens is out of this world. You can see all the way to….well, I’m not sure exactly what we were looking at or even in what direction we were facing but it was gorgeous nonetheless. Joann and I have started to converse with some of the English speaking students on the trip (most of whom turn out to be pretty cool and interesting) and stroll hand in hand around the gardens before heading back to the bus for our 12 noon departure, as insisted upon by our leaders, Wilmer and Antonello. By 1 pm most of the students have started getting impatient, Antonello is no where to be found as are about 5 of the students. This was the only time all weekend I was not incensed by these guys, as Joann and I found a nice wall overlooking, um, Italy and took a nap in the sun. So the small group we are all waiting for arrives around 1:45 with tales of a really beautiful and cool gigantic well (I know it doesn’t sound beautiful and cool, but it was…I saw pictures) that you could climb down into and there was free wine tasting at the bottom. It seemed out guides only told those in their immediate proximity about this place and decided to let those few be privy to its coolness. I know, I know it probably wasn’t all that, but when you are denies even the chance to go to such a place it seems like the Magic Kingdom in your mind. The grass is always greener, as they say.
So once again I am peeved, but suck it up as we are finally on our way to Rome. This will be the place where Mrs. Schuler’s 3rd grade Roman History class will come to life. Where I will finally do in Rome as the Romans do. And as it turns our where I will be expected to sleep in bed with another man.
Hotels in Rome are funny. Not the nice and classy ones you se in movies like The French Connection or An American in Paris, but the dirty ones. The ones that are only not called hostels because they have more than one bathroom. And all of the hotels in Rome that fit this classification feel it necessary to pull as hard as they can from the cigarette known as American culture….and have thusly named all of their hotels after various places in the states. We pass by the Hotel Miami, the Hotel Bel Air, the Hotel Delaware (not really, but how cool would that have been?!) and finally reach our destination…our home for the next two nights…the stunning Hotel Michigan. Now I am a patriotic sole and love America as much as the next guy, but even I know that naming your hotel Michigan does not invoke any glorious memories of America and probably doesn’t even attract Michiganders. I would only stay in a place thusly named if I were in fact in Michigan, and even then I would be weary. It’s a dumb name.
To further my irritation on the whole Hotel situation, We have been informed that the group would be split up by sexes and divided amongst three rooms per. This worked out to about 8 people per room. I am pissed about this. This is not how I envisioned my time in Rome with my girlfriend to be, We arrive and are split up like an eight grade dance. Because I don’t understand the damn language I am the last to understand my room assignment and when I arrive all of the single beds are taken and all that is left is a double bed that is half occupied by an unfortunately delightful German fellow. Steam is rocketing out of my ears, so I throw my bag on the bed, tell the German I am off to find the closest pub and leave the hotel Michigan behind.
Joann and I find the closest spot, a great Scottish pub down the street. The place is crawling with people in kilts, which I though hit the nail on the head a little too squarely, but I accepted it and ordered my beer. As it turns out, the Scots have invaded Rome for the weekend to watch their squad take on the Italian in Rugby (which I never knew was such a big deal in Great Britain). The city of Rome literally looks like the cast of Braveheart took a field trip.
Joann finally calms me down (well, Joann and Guinness) and we are off to meet the group. We follow the guides around the city on foot to all of the free places you can imagine in Rome. We see where the government meets, the Pantheon (one of the things I have been dying to see), Trevi Fountain (which is spectacular), the Spanish Steps (and their overpriced shopping), etc. The entire time we are with the group the Wilmer, Antonello and their Roman counterpart are vaguely giving tours, but not giving answers about dinner or bathroom breaks or anything. The hard truth kind of hits home hard for everyone at the same time. These guys are shit. The tour is shit. Everything about the weekend that involves them is complete shit. This, or rather they, is what made up the shitty part of the weekend in Rome. This was the bad part (and there will be more as you read on), but here is the thing. The good part. The tale of the other Rome is this. The place is absolutely amazing. Awe inspiring. Beautiful, bountiful and blessed (by the Pope). It is the only city in Italy that I could feasibly see myself living long term. It is New York, with ruins. It is DC, but its been the capital for a few thousand more years. It’s not really Miami, but thank god. I fell in love with this place as soon as I stepped foot in it and not even Wilmer and Antonello could drag me down from that kind of high.
Jo and I opt out of dinner with the group and instead meet up with her cousin, Enzo, and his fiancée, Laura, for a glorious meal at a Irish pub. It was only in the ballpark of being called an attempt at nachos, but they were good nonetheless. The dinner is great, the company is better, but we part ways around midnight to go to the nightclub with the group. The place the guides take us is small, hot and crowded. They seem to not have much liquor at all, but give it way on the cheap, so we stay for a few rounds and dance a little bit before heading home.
I am going to skip over most of the sightseeing stuff, as you can see the pictures at the bottom of this blog…except for three places. First, the Pantheon is amazing and a feat of human kind and should be seen by anyone in the vicinity of Rome. Second, is the Coliseum Joann and I got up before the group to head there on Saturday morning, because it has become apparent that the only tours we will be given by the guides on this trip are the free attractions and the Coliseum costs about 11 euro a head to enter. This place and the tower in Pisa are the iconic symbols of Italy and they both equally deliver. As we approach the coliseum we are approached by a very pleasant English speaking asian gentlemen who offers us a guided tour of the coliseum for 40 euro but (disappointingly) not egg rolls. We are literally in the shadow of one of the worlds 8 wonders when we are having the conversation with this guy, so I ask him, “But where is the actual Coliseum?”. The joke sails over his head and we walk away briskly giggling. The inside of the coliseum is everything I wanted it to be. Old, falling apart, but with just a hint of imagination, a completely magical place. Its kind of like standing in the middle of the court in Madison Square Garden when it is completely empty and making those crowd noises with your mouth and doing the mock ten second countdown as you hit the winning basket. It doesn’t take much, but in a second you can transport yourself back to ancient rome and the time of the Gladiators…that is how powerful this building is. Jo and I decide to only get one of those audio tour guides, so one person at a time had to listen to the info and then play tour guide for a few minutes. Some cool points from the tour that are of note:
1) One time they built a giant wooden whale that when it opened its mouth released 50 bears into the arena and the awaiting gladiators.
2) They had shows at the coliseum during holidays in Rome. Which was roughly 170 times a year.
3) The animals that they used to make fight the gladiators (when they were not fighting themselves) included lions, tigers, bears and the occasional Hippopotamus.
Ok, enough of the history lesson. We leave the Coliseum and make our attempt at taking the Roman subway. The train system in Rome looks insanely antiquated. Trains are still covered top to bottom with great graffiti and the underground is as dirty as it can be. However, the trains are remarkably punctual. Almost always right on time and they run every three minutes. Though they do not go everywhere in the city it makes getting around really super easy. We took the train to the third and final touristy spot that was of note…Vatican City.
Having gone to a Catholic high school, I had a vague idea of just how elaborate and gaudy the Catholic Institution could be (nothing to do with the actual faith…just the institution of the church), but this place goes above and beyond what my wildest dreams were. We enter the city and it massive piazza along with thousands of our closest friends (it is a week before Easter, but I have a feeling this place is probably always just as packed). There is a gargantuan line to enter St, Peters Basilica, but it is moving swiftly so we hop on its caboose. About an hour later we are inside. Religion and intention of this building aside, it is jaw-dropping. Truly an architectural and artistic feat. This is like the Mr. T (circa 1986) of churches…all muscle and gold (the mohawk being the astonishingly beautiful altar at its center). We breeze through the big guys house and meet up with the tour group outside. That lasts close to four minutes before we are again on our own and headed towards the Sistine Chapel.
The actual chapel resided within the Vatican Museum, which has numerous other chapels as well as a plethora of various depictions of Jesus (as one might imagine). We hardly stop to look at anything else, but are lost in conversation until we come upon the Sistine. It is kind of hard to describe the inside of the Sistine Chapel. It has a smell for sure. Not bad or good, but distinct. It is about the size of a small high school gym. It is packed to the brim with people. It has numerous guards who constantly are yelling at people to not take pictures and to keep silent (the irony of which kind of pushed my buttons). Finally, it is the home to probably the most impressive piece of art I have even bore witness to. It is astounding. I got lost inside Michelangelo’s Final Judgment….it has to be seen in person, in all its glory to be believed. The depiction of Adam touching God (which is smack dab in the center of the room on the ceiling) is a lot smaller than I would have thought, but was beautiful nonetheless. And lastly, towards the back, is Michelangelo’s depiction of the last supper which is not as good as DaVinci’s but is spectacular in its own right.
We finish up at Vatican City and wander around Rome a bit more before meeting up with the group for dinner. This would be the only meal we would have with everyone and it was hilariously bad. We drove about an hour outside of Rome for some reason to a small little restaurant, that served small little portions of decent food, and then they started singing. They have these rounds which would sound like traditional song if you did not know what they meant. Basically frat boy drinking songs that were projected by these guys as they encouraged everyone to binge drink red wine. It was fun in the sense that it is fun to get drunk and sing like an idiot…and in no other way. A long bus ride home and a short stint at yet another mediocre nightclub and we hit the bed for one more night at Hotel Michigan.
The morning is exhausting. We awake to the Roman Marathon, which was really cool to see and are out once again on foot with the tour guides. They cant figure out how to circumnavigate the race route in order to get us close to the Roman Forum and the Coliseum, so they audible. We end up just walking around and getting short explanations of whatever we happen to pass (given some of which was really beautiful and cool, especially the statues of Caesar, Marcus Aurelius, and the back part of the ruins of the Forum). On the program it said we would get a tour of the ghettos where Mussolini penned in the jews during the second great war, but the guide only pointed off in the distance and gave us one of those, “umm, its over there, behind those buildings…lets go we are late”.
Side note about Mussolini: he was a horrifically bad dude. However, his unhealthy and wasteful obsession making Rome what is once was procured some of the most beautiful and extraordinary buildings that are still standing in this fair city. A really really bad dude though.
Ok, so we are finally on the bus home, but are going to make a pit stop before we head for Siena. A place called Ostia. Kind of a neat story about Ostia. It used to be the major port city for Rome, the place where all imports came in and all exports went out. That was up until sometime in the 1500’s when a massive flood came a wiped out the entire city. After that it was just kind of forgotten and never rebuilt. The ruins are really fun to run around in and there were some Shetland Ponies around which I got a huge kick out of (I always do…I mean they are miniature horses!). We finally get back on the road with one innocently embarrassed tour guide, one blindly idiotic tour guide, and bus full of disgruntled European twenty-somethings…but at least we are on the way home.
PHOTOGRAPHIC MAGIC!!
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Two Guys, A Girl, and A Birthday (or Cinque Dolce Vita)
Behind every good story are two crazy men. Whether it was a cooky waiter and wine maker, Jay and Flavio putting together a birthday party, or some great Britains building the 007 set.
We had one of those weekends where unexpectedly one exciting thing after another just popped up and handed us a good time. This couldn’t have come at a better time, as this weekend was Joann’s birthday. A weekend I had been anticipating and hoping to make fun and memorable. Admittedly the planning was a bit sparse and the means to fund anything crazy had long been gone, but the universe had my back on this one and we came out on top.
Friday night was amazing for a different reason than the rest. Joann and I, after planning to go out and paint the town red, end up staying in drinking some bottles of wine, singing some Weezer and doing a puzzle. Yes, on paper this is not exciting. But when you deal with long distance for a year, these are the kinds of little nooks and crannies in a relationship that you begged for and are what make seemingly mundane, boring evenings achingly fun.
We woke up earlier on Saturday with great intentions. We were going to rent a car for the weekend to head out to the Tuscan countryside and tour some vineyards. It turns out all the cars are manual. This would not present too large of a problem except that Joann does not drive stick and I am out of practice (and the last place I want to be rusty is on a steep cobblestone street where once I ram some old Italian lady in her Alfa Romeo I could not even charm my way out of a lawsuit). The car idea is out and so, in turn, is the sun so we opt for a walk around Siena to start our day. As we are happily strolling hand in hand it becomes apparent that every woman we are passing is carrying the same lock of golden flowers. Curious, I know. As it were Saturday, March 8th is La Festa Della Donna (international women’s day). This seemed redundant to me as I thought, as men, we spent our whole lives trying to make women feel special and loved, this, after all, is why they bless us with kissing, common sense, and the like. But I was mistaken, and this is a day dedicated to the woman, Venus, The Omega, Joann, Nancy, all things fallopian and uterine. Now growing up in a household where equal rights were served daily with my Frosted Flakes, I was fully prepared and embraced the festivities (read: scrambled to find Joann some of those damn golden flowers as soon as I could).
Clouds start to loom, so we break for a nice lunch in the Campo. There is a big to-do going on, so we decide to investigate. It seems that the equivalent of the Tour De France in Italy is ending today, and will finish in our very own Siena, our very own little Piazza del Campo…in about fifteen minutes. We do the only thing we can think of, grab some Fritelle (dough fried in desert wine…umm, yes please) and become instant cycling fans cheering on God knows who as they race toward the finish. Literally as the race ends so does my interest, so we head home to get ready for the big Birthday night out.
We decide on dinner in Piazza Del Mercato and a great little place called Papei. We sit down in the back and are quickly greeted by one of the two quirky characters that would stick out this weekend. Our waiter, a man of about 70 years, arrives and immediately starts guessing our nationalities. “He is Israeli and you are Spanish”…umm, close, but no, We go through this routine two more times before he decided it is ok to serve us now. Dinner is delightful but nothing of note. I leave in the middle to go to the “bathroom” and inform our waiter, well our busboy, that it is Joann’s birthday and if we could have a small piece of cake after our main course it would be really nice. He nods in half-agreement, half-whatthefuckareyousaying. I return to our table to find that our waiter has begun listing his Jewish friends (in my honor) one of them including “the best plastic surgeon in the world”…he makes a bit boobs gesture and scurries off. Soon after, our bus boy returns with two pieces of cake, no candles, but a good effort indeed. He starts to sing the classic birthday song but only gets as far as , “Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday to…is this ok?”. I assured him that it was perfect and he quickly scampered back toward the kitchen. We enjoy them happily and are more than stuffed. It seems somewhere along the way our busboy conveyed to our waiter that it was her birthday and he hurriedly brings us dessert number 2, a small piece of a new cake, complete with an unlit birthday candle. He half-heartedly looked for a lighter on the walk over but decided that it would be just fine with the candle sans flame. We, after all, would get the point. I borrow a lighter from our friendly neighbors one table over and Joann blows out the candle making her wish. Not two minutes later the friendly waiter returns with dessert number 3. A small apple tort. Joann insists that she is full and cannot eat anymore, but implies that perhaps I would eat it. I do take one bite then do the “spread it around the plate so it looks like we ate more” move and set it aside. At this point we ask for our check, but instead receive dessert number 4. Another piece of yet another cake. I swear this one could have been the estranged Italian cousin of the chocolate éclairs at River Road Bakery. It was delicious. Some biscotti and dessert wine and we are on our way.
We arrive at our favorite little Irish Pub around 10 pm and most of the friends whom I have arranged to be there are there. Among them are the group of British girls Joann has befriended at her school (a young lass named MaLou being their leader), Flavio and our Brazilian buddies and two Brits named John and Steve who are in town working on the new James Bond Film (whom I befriended a few nights before).
Aside: They are filming the opening scene of the new James Bond film here in Siena. The guys who I met are building the set and are really, really pleasant. The scene is a chase scene through the sewers, Palio and rooftops of Siena. It should be cool, so look for that.
Steve the painter of the set upon learning of the reason for the celebration immediately starts buying bottles of champagne at the bar…2 at a time I think e got through 6 or 7 with our little group as the night progressed. They asked me if I would like to work on the set, which was a very encouraging thing to hear. I told them I was more than qualified to paint any set, carry any props, rub down any Bond Girls, be Daniel Craig’s butt double, or, if need be, be presented as 008 to the masses. Oddly, no one from the studio has called me yet, but I am holding out hope.
At midnight we brought out dessert number 5. A cake I had gotten made up the day before at a local bakery. Joann was happy and surprised, but quickly whispered that she would not be having ANY MORE cake for the remainder of the night. We passed pieces around the bar and soon the pastry was all but gone. As closing time approached we decide to head to another nightclub for some drinks…well, A drink. We enter the actually pretty nice club and I head to the bar to get Joann and I a drink. 1 glass of Prosecco and a Bourbon and Ginger…20 Euro (roughly 32 dollars)…umm, no. I offer my credit card, but they do not accept them. So I smile, take the drinks and walk away. My problem was not the price of the drinks (Ahem, Hudson and SkyBar), but the fact that they expected me to have this cash on me and not take my card was insulting. I graciously took my now free drinks and exited the club. The high heels have made their presence known and we head home for the night.
I am up early to enact plan B. I rent a scooter for a day trip out to Chianti through the Tuscan vineyards. The weather has turned and it is freezing and rainy, but we are determined. We have a huge breakfast at home and then hit the road. We are heading for a tiny little town in Chianti called Castelnuovo (New Castle), which is about 20 miles outside of Siena. A friend of ours, Giuseppe, has a restaurant there and he is expecting us for dinner. Giuseppe (or Peppe) gives us the vaguest possible directions. Only telling which road gets you in the vicinity and which exit has the name of his town on it. We make our best effort but are quickly lost. This is not a bad thing as it turns out. I believe that Peppe should have followed his really bad directions with, “oh and I want you to get lost because this is God’s country and you will see the most beautiful, breathtaking things you have seen in a while…and its wicked romantic, so don’t be an idiot and get lost with your girlfriend in the rolling hills of Tuscany, idiot”. This would have at least set me up for the beauty we were about to experience. Let us not forget that I am a man. And when I get lost all I want to do is find my way the fastest possible way and will never ask directions on how to do that. Somewhere on the road I let all of that go. It literally floated away with the wind behind our speeding scooter. And as the sun peeked out and a shadow of me and Joann riding through this postcard appeared on the road, something beautiful washed over me. I had this moment that I can only aptly describe as my “it is ridiculous that this is my life” moment. Everything was beautiful and perfect. A smile I haven’t produced in a while suddenly took away my sagging cheeks and all was just right.
We rolled through this countryside for about an hour before we found Castelnuovo. We check in with Peppe at the restaurant have some quick lunch and then check into our little bed and breakfast. As far as birthdays go, this one should have been in a romance novel. We decide to head back out on the scooter and just drive around to soak up some of the scenery. We drive for miles and miles, stopping here and there. We find and even smaller town about 10 miles away from Castelnuovo and stop to peek around. We happen upon a little shop that houses one mousy old man and some gigantic wine vats. Thus enters the second memorable character of the weekend. He opens the door for us and invites us into his house, not his store, his house. He makes wine, dessert wine, grappa and olive oil. He is the official supplier of wine to the American ambassador in Italy. This man takes us hand in hand and shows us around. His vats of impeccable chianti classico, his pungent olive oil, his private stash of vintages (’83,’81’, and ’71…I tried to buy an ‘81thinking it would be a great birthday gift, but he would not sell). He chats up Joann for an hour as we try different wines, (some of which we purchase) and then he shows us around this little town. This is pretty much the gist of his tour:
Cute old man: “There is a restaurant. I own that. There are a few buildings. I own them. Those building over there…I own them. There is a nice little café. I own that. Can I buy you some coffee?”.
Its pretty much how I imagine tours of New York City to be when I give them to my friends in about 25 years. Hey, a man can dream can’t he? We hop on our scooter and get all the way to Brolio before turning back as the sun was going down. The ride back is quick and frozen. We enjoy a very nice a quiet dinner at Peppe’s restaurant (we are literally the only customers on this night) and settle into our B&B for a cozy sleep.
A quick but once again cold ride back to Siena on Monday morning. We drop off our scooter and decide to head to the Sienese equivalent of city hall to see if I can maybe swing a work permit to work on the movie set…no such luck. I give a shout to Steve the painter to pass on the news (he is legitimately bummed, which is kind of flattering) but insists that Joann and I come by the set for a minute. We are in the neighborhood (nothing is very far in Siena) so we swing by. Steve whisks us away and soon we are decked out in our finest neon vests and hard hats. We get a really cool tour of the set! He shows us the story boards for the movie and then takes us inside one of the fake buildings all the way up to the roof where the action for the scene will take place (once again, keep an eye out for the opening scene where James will have to jump from roof to roof in Siena…we were on the roofs!). When we get to the top of the set the view is amazing and one of Siena we have not yet seen. Joann, Steve and I chat about the movie business and how cool of an experience this is for us before we climb back down, it is lunchtime after all and since we have befriended some good guys from Great Britain that means its beer drinking time. Honestly these guys drink until they are red in the face in the middle of the day,.,I decide then and there that I have to go to Britain. So we head to the pub and bullshit about anything and everything. As we are about to leave Joann gracefully gives me a look that says it all, “what a great end to a great weekend”.
CHECK OUT THE PICTURES!!!
We had one of those weekends where unexpectedly one exciting thing after another just popped up and handed us a good time. This couldn’t have come at a better time, as this weekend was Joann’s birthday. A weekend I had been anticipating and hoping to make fun and memorable. Admittedly the planning was a bit sparse and the means to fund anything crazy had long been gone, but the universe had my back on this one and we came out on top.
Friday night was amazing for a different reason than the rest. Joann and I, after planning to go out and paint the town red, end up staying in drinking some bottles of wine, singing some Weezer and doing a puzzle. Yes, on paper this is not exciting. But when you deal with long distance for a year, these are the kinds of little nooks and crannies in a relationship that you begged for and are what make seemingly mundane, boring evenings achingly fun.
We woke up earlier on Saturday with great intentions. We were going to rent a car for the weekend to head out to the Tuscan countryside and tour some vineyards. It turns out all the cars are manual. This would not present too large of a problem except that Joann does not drive stick and I am out of practice (and the last place I want to be rusty is on a steep cobblestone street where once I ram some old Italian lady in her Alfa Romeo I could not even charm my way out of a lawsuit). The car idea is out and so, in turn, is the sun so we opt for a walk around Siena to start our day. As we are happily strolling hand in hand it becomes apparent that every woman we are passing is carrying the same lock of golden flowers. Curious, I know. As it were Saturday, March 8th is La Festa Della Donna (international women’s day). This seemed redundant to me as I thought, as men, we spent our whole lives trying to make women feel special and loved, this, after all, is why they bless us with kissing, common sense, and the like. But I was mistaken, and this is a day dedicated to the woman, Venus, The Omega, Joann, Nancy, all things fallopian and uterine. Now growing up in a household where equal rights were served daily with my Frosted Flakes, I was fully prepared and embraced the festivities (read: scrambled to find Joann some of those damn golden flowers as soon as I could).
Clouds start to loom, so we break for a nice lunch in the Campo. There is a big to-do going on, so we decide to investigate. It seems that the equivalent of the Tour De France in Italy is ending today, and will finish in our very own Siena, our very own little Piazza del Campo…in about fifteen minutes. We do the only thing we can think of, grab some Fritelle (dough fried in desert wine…umm, yes please) and become instant cycling fans cheering on God knows who as they race toward the finish. Literally as the race ends so does my interest, so we head home to get ready for the big Birthday night out.
We decide on dinner in Piazza Del Mercato and a great little place called Papei. We sit down in the back and are quickly greeted by one of the two quirky characters that would stick out this weekend. Our waiter, a man of about 70 years, arrives and immediately starts guessing our nationalities. “He is Israeli and you are Spanish”…umm, close, but no, We go through this routine two more times before he decided it is ok to serve us now. Dinner is delightful but nothing of note. I leave in the middle to go to the “bathroom” and inform our waiter, well our busboy, that it is Joann’s birthday and if we could have a small piece of cake after our main course it would be really nice. He nods in half-agreement, half-whatthefuckareyousaying. I return to our table to find that our waiter has begun listing his Jewish friends (in my honor) one of them including “the best plastic surgeon in the world”…he makes a bit boobs gesture and scurries off. Soon after, our bus boy returns with two pieces of cake, no candles, but a good effort indeed. He starts to sing the classic birthday song but only gets as far as , “Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday to…is this ok?”. I assured him that it was perfect and he quickly scampered back toward the kitchen. We enjoy them happily and are more than stuffed. It seems somewhere along the way our busboy conveyed to our waiter that it was her birthday and he hurriedly brings us dessert number 2, a small piece of a new cake, complete with an unlit birthday candle. He half-heartedly looked for a lighter on the walk over but decided that it would be just fine with the candle sans flame. We, after all, would get the point. I borrow a lighter from our friendly neighbors one table over and Joann blows out the candle making her wish. Not two minutes later the friendly waiter returns with dessert number 3. A small apple tort. Joann insists that she is full and cannot eat anymore, but implies that perhaps I would eat it. I do take one bite then do the “spread it around the plate so it looks like we ate more” move and set it aside. At this point we ask for our check, but instead receive dessert number 4. Another piece of yet another cake. I swear this one could have been the estranged Italian cousin of the chocolate éclairs at River Road Bakery. It was delicious. Some biscotti and dessert wine and we are on our way.
We arrive at our favorite little Irish Pub around 10 pm and most of the friends whom I have arranged to be there are there. Among them are the group of British girls Joann has befriended at her school (a young lass named MaLou being their leader), Flavio and our Brazilian buddies and two Brits named John and Steve who are in town working on the new James Bond Film (whom I befriended a few nights before).
Aside: They are filming the opening scene of the new James Bond film here in Siena. The guys who I met are building the set and are really, really pleasant. The scene is a chase scene through the sewers, Palio and rooftops of Siena. It should be cool, so look for that.
Steve the painter of the set upon learning of the reason for the celebration immediately starts buying bottles of champagne at the bar…2 at a time I think e got through 6 or 7 with our little group as the night progressed. They asked me if I would like to work on the set, which was a very encouraging thing to hear. I told them I was more than qualified to paint any set, carry any props, rub down any Bond Girls, be Daniel Craig’s butt double, or, if need be, be presented as 008 to the masses. Oddly, no one from the studio has called me yet, but I am holding out hope.
At midnight we brought out dessert number 5. A cake I had gotten made up the day before at a local bakery. Joann was happy and surprised, but quickly whispered that she would not be having ANY MORE cake for the remainder of the night. We passed pieces around the bar and soon the pastry was all but gone. As closing time approached we decide to head to another nightclub for some drinks…well, A drink. We enter the actually pretty nice club and I head to the bar to get Joann and I a drink. 1 glass of Prosecco and a Bourbon and Ginger…20 Euro (roughly 32 dollars)…umm, no. I offer my credit card, but they do not accept them. So I smile, take the drinks and walk away. My problem was not the price of the drinks (Ahem, Hudson and SkyBar), but the fact that they expected me to have this cash on me and not take my card was insulting. I graciously took my now free drinks and exited the club. The high heels have made their presence known and we head home for the night.
I am up early to enact plan B. I rent a scooter for a day trip out to Chianti through the Tuscan vineyards. The weather has turned and it is freezing and rainy, but we are determined. We have a huge breakfast at home and then hit the road. We are heading for a tiny little town in Chianti called Castelnuovo (New Castle), which is about 20 miles outside of Siena. A friend of ours, Giuseppe, has a restaurant there and he is expecting us for dinner. Giuseppe (or Peppe) gives us the vaguest possible directions. Only telling which road gets you in the vicinity and which exit has the name of his town on it. We make our best effort but are quickly lost. This is not a bad thing as it turns out. I believe that Peppe should have followed his really bad directions with, “oh and I want you to get lost because this is God’s country and you will see the most beautiful, breathtaking things you have seen in a while…and its wicked romantic, so don’t be an idiot and get lost with your girlfriend in the rolling hills of Tuscany, idiot”. This would have at least set me up for the beauty we were about to experience. Let us not forget that I am a man. And when I get lost all I want to do is find my way the fastest possible way and will never ask directions on how to do that. Somewhere on the road I let all of that go. It literally floated away with the wind behind our speeding scooter. And as the sun peeked out and a shadow of me and Joann riding through this postcard appeared on the road, something beautiful washed over me. I had this moment that I can only aptly describe as my “it is ridiculous that this is my life” moment. Everything was beautiful and perfect. A smile I haven’t produced in a while suddenly took away my sagging cheeks and all was just right.
We rolled through this countryside for about an hour before we found Castelnuovo. We check in with Peppe at the restaurant have some quick lunch and then check into our little bed and breakfast. As far as birthdays go, this one should have been in a romance novel. We decide to head back out on the scooter and just drive around to soak up some of the scenery. We drive for miles and miles, stopping here and there. We find and even smaller town about 10 miles away from Castelnuovo and stop to peek around. We happen upon a little shop that houses one mousy old man and some gigantic wine vats. Thus enters the second memorable character of the weekend. He opens the door for us and invites us into his house, not his store, his house. He makes wine, dessert wine, grappa and olive oil. He is the official supplier of wine to the American ambassador in Italy. This man takes us hand in hand and shows us around. His vats of impeccable chianti classico, his pungent olive oil, his private stash of vintages (’83,’81’, and ’71…I tried to buy an ‘81thinking it would be a great birthday gift, but he would not sell). He chats up Joann for an hour as we try different wines, (some of which we purchase) and then he shows us around this little town. This is pretty much the gist of his tour:
Cute old man: “There is a restaurant. I own that. There are a few buildings. I own them. Those building over there…I own them. There is a nice little café. I own that. Can I buy you some coffee?”.
Its pretty much how I imagine tours of New York City to be when I give them to my friends in about 25 years. Hey, a man can dream can’t he? We hop on our scooter and get all the way to Brolio before turning back as the sun was going down. The ride back is quick and frozen. We enjoy a very nice a quiet dinner at Peppe’s restaurant (we are literally the only customers on this night) and settle into our B&B for a cozy sleep.
A quick but once again cold ride back to Siena on Monday morning. We drop off our scooter and decide to head to the Sienese equivalent of city hall to see if I can maybe swing a work permit to work on the movie set…no such luck. I give a shout to Steve the painter to pass on the news (he is legitimately bummed, which is kind of flattering) but insists that Joann and I come by the set for a minute. We are in the neighborhood (nothing is very far in Siena) so we swing by. Steve whisks us away and soon we are decked out in our finest neon vests and hard hats. We get a really cool tour of the set! He shows us the story boards for the movie and then takes us inside one of the fake buildings all the way up to the roof where the action for the scene will take place (once again, keep an eye out for the opening scene where James will have to jump from roof to roof in Siena…we were on the roofs!). When we get to the top of the set the view is amazing and one of Siena we have not yet seen. Joann, Steve and I chat about the movie business and how cool of an experience this is for us before we climb back down, it is lunchtime after all and since we have befriended some good guys from Great Britain that means its beer drinking time. Honestly these guys drink until they are red in the face in the middle of the day,.,I decide then and there that I have to go to Britain. So we head to the pub and bullshit about anything and everything. As we are about to leave Joann gracefully gives me a look that says it all, “what a great end to a great weekend”.
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