Enjoying the Fall for a week before beginning Leg 3

A week back home for a quick regroup and a shuffle of clothes from Fall to Summer was all I would have before heading back out on the road. It wasn’t the most relaxing week. I had a job to do. I was playing Mom to my 11 year old niece, Mini Me (as I call her). I performed all of the job duties including morning carpools, curling the hair, driving to dance, piano and gymnastics, carpool to CCD, cooking dinner, homework and bedtime rituals. There were fun and silly moments and moments filled with frustration at an 11 year olds back talk and attitude. There were reprimands and reminders of chores to fulfill. I did it all and I am still left with the sense that being a Mom is not so bad. My only complaint is the early morning call time. 6:30 on weekdays and 7 on a weekend is just vulgar to me. Why anyone would volunteer to do anything at these times is beyond me.


It is Fall here, but you wouldn’t know if from the temperature. It’s been in the high 60’s and low 70’s all week. I was really looking forward to getting a good week long dose of the Fall. Something I have missed so much living in LA. The leaves were in full color. One good thing that came out of getting up that early was being able to see the vibrancy of colors on the leaves in the morning. In my opinion, it is the best time of the day to catch the colors at their best. When the sun is first coming up, you experience a multitude of golds, brasses, oranges, rusts, yellows and greens. Browns, beiges, tangerines, reds and plums.

All were glistening and straining to catch a touch of the rays that so gently beamed softly against the morning backdrop. Casting flickering shadows on the sidewalks and creating the first touch of warmth for the day. The small town of Ft. Thomas is seeing its first signs of Fall in the trees that lined the center of town and in the fresh pumpkins that have been laid early boosting the eminent Halloween spirit.

Next to Christmas, it is my favorite time of the year. I usually come home for Halloween weekend and love to take the kids trick or treating and to the pumpkin patch. We spend the evening carving pumpkins and roasting pumpkin seeds, but this year I will sadly miss my favorite night. I will be in Singapore.

I wasn’t about to miss all of the activities, though, so I planned to take the nieces and nephew to the pumpkin patch early and go ahead with our annual night of pumpkin carving and roasting pumpkin seeds at my sister’s house.

Surprisingly, even my brother joined in this year. That never happens. We got lucky since there was no Bengals game on the day we planned to go. He would cut off a limb before ever missing a game.

And I am off again in the morning. I will stay one night in NYC before heading to Singapore for a month long tour of Southeast Asia.

Back to Berlin and Paris. Onto London and Home. The End of Leg 2.

I caught my flight back to Berlin at 7am dragging my feet. Thankfully, it was a fairly short flight. I leaned my head against the window and was able to catch about 20 good minutes of sleep. It’s miserable to be this tired, this run down. Life is so much more enjoyable when you’ve had a good nights sleep. I am so much more enjoyable when I’ve had a good nights sleep. I’m just not one of those people that can function without a solid 8 hours. Never have been, never will be. I’m not an early morning person. Never have been, never will be.

Still, even this tired, I am committed to doing it the way the locals do. I drug my 80 lbs of luggage, that gets heavier each day I am closer to leaving Europe, to the train station. I, again, struggled to figure out which way to go, which subway to transfer to and where to walk to get to the hotel I booked. I missed the first train and the second was cancelled. It took me nearly two hours to get to my hotel and when I arrived, the room was not ready.

I demanded a room. I am now losing my tolerance and gaining irritability. The poor front desk staff. They were sitting ducks. At the wrong place at the wrong time. Unfortunately for them, they were in the line of my fire on the wrong day of the month. I was irritable and angry and had to take it out on someone. They would be the perfect target for my venom over the next 24 hours. 

After I made it in the room and rested for about 30 minutes, I showered. While still in the bathroom an employee of the hotel decides to let herself in my room. I was furious and of course, had to yell at the front desk for such an inappropriate move. I called, but the phone in my room was missing the directory plate with instructions on how to dial out. I ended up calling the Fire Department. I am now boiling under my skin that their carelessness in this detail is prohibiting me from properly yelling at someone. I threw whatever clothes on I could find and marched downstairs to the front desk fueling my anger even more that I have to leave the comfort of my room to deal with this. I unleashed on the first person I could find. Damning them for having employed such an ignorant staff that would enter into a guests room without knocking. Damning them for their carelessness in having a phone in the room that is useless. 

Ahhhh....I feel better.

I accepted an invitation for dinner that turned out to be a big mistake. I really should have stayed in and slept. But my friend didn’t have a lot of free time, so I obliged. I was counting down the minutes until I could finally go to bed. That time came late Sunday night. I don’t know what time it was and I didn’t care. I just wanted to go to bed. Where is that day off I have been longing for? I’m still due for that day off. 

The next day was another travel day. Get up early, pack up the suitcase, check out of the hotel, walk to the subway, transfer to the train, head to Brussels, learn a new map, figure out the subway and walk the 80 lbs of luggage to the hotel, check in, find food and plan the next day of sightseeing. It’s really getting to be too much, but the end is near. Brussels for a day, a quick stop in Paris, then onto London for the flight back to the US. 

Brussels was a pick up city. I originally intended to visit it in the beginning of my trip, but was talked out of it by a man in Paris. I regretted not going the whole trip and made it a point to stop in on my way out. I’m glad I did. 

It is a sweet city that is easily visited in an afternoon. I sampled the Belgian waffles, picked up some Belgian chocolates for souvenirs and took a picture by the famous Manneken Pis.

A small, famous statue of a little boy peeing. I am told it is as important to Brussels as the Eiffel Tower is to Paris or the Statue of Liberty is to NY. 

I made my way to the train station for yet another train ride. I needed to make it to London by the evening to meet up with a friend for dinner. But I had to detour through Paris to pick up a bag I left there almost 4 weeks ago when I first arrived. You see, when I first arrived in Paris, the handle of the brand new piece of Samsonite luggage I had purchased for this trip, conveniently broke. I thought it to be because the bag was too heavy, so in an attempt to lighten up the bag, I unloaded some of the heavier pieces and left them in a locker at the train station. Now, the 80 lbs of luggage will soon turn into a 100 lbs, thus adding insult to injury. 

I made it to London in the knick of time. I was due to meet my friend that I will be, coincidentally, meeting up with in Southeast Asia, at Gordon Ramsey’s restaurant in Claridge’s hotel. I rolled into the hotel with all of my luggage in tow and darted towards the bathroom for a quick fresher upper. As I rolled in, my friend had just arrived. Perfect timing. We dined on beef wellington and Thai-spiced lobster ravioli. We planned and plotted our upcoming escape in Southeast Asia. I accepted her invitation to stay the night with her and head out in the morning to the hotel that I had booked. Maybe tomorrow I can get that day off.

I woke up early and headed out in a London fog to my hotel near Gatwick. Another train system and another subway system to figure out, but at least this time, it was all in English. Finally, a break. 

I finally had my day off. I unpacked and reorganized the luggage to accommodate the airline’s weight limits and assumed my favorite position in bed: pillows propping me up, computer on my lap and connected to the internet. This is my relax position. I stayed in this position for hours. 

I took a quick trip back into the city later that night to grab some fish and chips. I didn’t want to come all the way to London without a small walk through the city streets.  

The next morning I was to fly out to NY and then onto Cincinnati to regroup and repack for Southeast Asia.  This marks the end of Leg 2. 16 cities, 14 trains, 4 planes, 4 currencies and 8 languages in 30 days. No wonder I am so exhausted, but it was well worth every groggy yawn and every frustrated pout. 


Now, bring on the sun!

Assisi, Bettona and Perugia

I took the train the next day to Orte where my friend picked me up and drove us to Assisi. We toured the church where St. Francis is buried. A church, I was told, may be even more important than the Vatican to Catholics. 

We left the church to find a heavy drizzle of rain. Monks strolled fully robed with their umbrellas overhead through an ancient town sitting high atop a hill. Fog rolled in blocking any view of the towns below. 

We hopped back in the car and made our way to the next town, Bettona. He wanted to show me where he was from. A tiny town of about 200 that dated back to the middle ages. We passed a wall built 4,000 years before Christ. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything that old.

We drove to the next town of Perugia for dinner. We sampled the local flavor of cinghiale (wild boar), drank wine and laughed until we cried. But the laughs were cut short in an attempt to catch the last train back to Rome at midnight. 

My friend in Rome had a deadline to leave early in the morning and I had to vacate her apartment by 7 am. My friend in Umbria felt bad and offered to drive me back to Rome instead of loading me on the train that late at night. In an attempt to find a way to sleep in, I decided to grab my things out of my friend's apartment and check into a hotel. Good idea until I found out that all of the hotels are booked in a 10 mile radius. We headed out to a hotel near the airport and I checked in there. It was almost 4:00 before I got to sleep. This would be, yet, another sleepless night. 

The next day, my friend and I headed out to the outlets for some discount shopping and that was where I hit a wall. I could have laid down on the pavement in the parking lot and slept comfortably for hours. Please!!!! I need sleep!!! I convinced my friend to allow me some time to sleep before we were to leave for a birthday dinner in Viterbo.

Again, dinner, drinks and a late night ensued. I had to get up at 7 the next morning to catch my flight to Berlin. I didn’t get to sleep until 3:30, but I had so much fun. It turned out to be the best weekend of the entire trip.

It's been day after day after day of nonstop go, go, go.  A new city almost every other day and a new train system to learn, a new schedule to get used to, a new map to figure out. Booking hotels, trains and planes. Lugging nearly 80 lbs of luggage around with no help. I am beyond exhausted. I really need a vacation. A real one equipped with sun and beaches and fruity drinks. One where a warm breeze will massage my skin without any effort and bring me into a somber that will relax my soul. 

I am really looking forward to leg 3 in Southeast Asia. It is completely booked and planned thanks to my friend, Kelly, in Singapore. It has a warm weather climate with a backdrop of sunshine, palm trees and $10/ hour beach massages. Paradise is less than a week away! 

Rome, Naples and Pompeii

How do I say, “I am fat” in Italian?? Mio Dio!!! I have eaten myself silly while in Rome.

I have been to Rome before, so I am not interested in sightseeing. I am only intereseted in eating good food, drinking good coffee and wine, finding lbs of capers in salt for my Mom and grabbing some gelato along the way. 

I did all of these things and I feel as if I am capable of rolling out of this city, lb by lb. There is a spot near where I was staying at my friend's place in Piazza Bologna that I have grown to love. She turned me onto it while here last year. It's called Pizzeria Novecento. It is a family run, authentic Sardinian restaurant. What we would call in the States a “hole in the wall”, old school, Italian restaurant. None of them speak English. I was able to get by with them the first night, but the second night, the miscommunication turned into about 1000 calories more than I wanted to eat, but the food was there and I couldn't waste it, so I ate it all.

Culurgiones with crayfish and fiori di zucca (translate: Large pasta shells stuffed with the flower of zucchini, topped with crawfish)

I ventured out of Rome to Naples my third day there to get the best pizza in the world at Pizzeria Da Micheles as suggested by the author of the book Eat, Pray, Love (it's the place she goes to in the movie). This would be my 4th time eating there. It is now a tradition that every time I am near Naples I have to stop in for a pizza. 


On the train ride to Naples, I sat next to a very tired couple just arriving from Macon, Georgia. A sweet couple coming to Italy for the first time. They were headed to the Amalfi coast for a few days before heading to Rome. We struck up a conversation. It’s always so nice to talk to Americans along the way. 


I remember my first time in the Naples train station. That city is like a war zone. Scary to visit if you are not familiar with its heartbeat. I told them I would make sure they made it to their driver before I went on my way. I think they were grateful I did, since the driver was not there to greet them and their phone had conveniently run out of battery as we stepped off the train. I sprung into action with my Italian phone, called their hotel and coordinated a pick up point for a driver to get them. I escorted them across the awaiting war zone to a nearby hotel where a driver would pick them up. 


I invited them to join me for the pizza, but I could see they were punchy from the overnight flight and I’m sure they wanted to get to their hotel and rest up. I’ve been there, done that. Sleep and comfort can outweigh any invite on a long travel day.

I walked to the pizzeria, downed a pizza and a coke and hopped on the subway headed for Pompeii. The subway in Naples has a lot to be desired. Very old, very rickety and very, as we would say, “ghetto”. Graffiti covered most of the stop names along with the windows making it hard to even see where I was headed. A rough crowd was aboard. It was a brave venture, but I am committed to doing it the way the locals do. I am learning each and every time a little more about each city. Stop by stop on each train, subway and metro. 

An afternoon in Pompeii was all I spent and it was time to head back to Rome. I had two days left in Rome and I wanted to rest, catch up on my sleep and catch up on the blog. I was feeling rundown, sleep deprived and really needed a day off. I planned to have that day off the next day until I received a phone call while on the subway in Naples with an invitation from a Facebook friend. I was invited to travel out of Rome to a small town in Umbria. I thought about it, took a look at the train schedule and decided since it was not very far, I figured I could manage it, head up for the afternoon and be back in Rome in time for a good nights rest. That afternoon trip turned in to a 2 day long venture filled with laughs, wine and more socializing. No rest for the weary. My day off would have to wait. 

Venezia. Everyone has a story to tell.

I decided to fly into Milan from Budapest since the overnight train would have cost me 14 hours, no sleep, and two days on my Eurorail pass. I hopped on a train from Milan to Venice and arrived in the small town of Mestre, just outside the city. It’s a 10 minute train ride to Venice from here and a much cheaper alternative to the pricey Venice hotels. A referral from my friend, Elizabeth, who would be staying with me.

I arrived Friday night to a beautiful thunderstorm. Something I have missed for the last 15 years in LA. Elizabeth was scheduled to arrive Sat morning so I had the night to explore and get my first taste of real food since Paris. Don’t get me wrong, the Eastern block of Europe has had its moments of good food, but there is nothing like the food in Italy. A good pizza, a plate of pasta, beautiful wine and fish to make a mermaid jump out of the water and directly onto the plate of an Italian chef.

I made my way to the banks of the canals near the train station in Venice. I saw the sign  “Pizzeria”. This was me. I ordered a margherita pizza, a glass of vino and began to savor the difference in food only to be experienced in Italy. The olive oil drenched the pizza and made it like a soggy, floppy friend I had missed so much. I sank my teeth into the pizza as the olive oil soothed my tongue that has for so long missed its glistening caress down my throat. The sweetness of the fresh tomatoes and the savory of the basil melted in my mouth. I gulped a swig of pinot and smiled. I am back in Italy. 

I sat alone on the canals savoring each bite and tasting grape after grape in each gulp. I was in heaven. I could have cried. I had a moment like this in Prague, walking the city streets alone, scanning the beauty around me, breathing every breath as if it I hadn’t had breath in a week. I was sooo happy. Being alone, surrounded by beauty, eating what my heart desired, not having a care in the world. Completely free. This was bliss. I can say I was truly happy in these moments. I had no one, needed no one. Had no cares and no commitments. I thought to myself, ‘How do I continue with this? I only have one life. I want it to continue exactly this way. I am truly happy.’

Everything is wet around me. It is raining in Venice. I was told not to come to Venice while it rains. I was also told not to come while alone. Tonight, I did both and I am still smiling. I walked along the canals and down the streets watching people cower under their umbrellas. I can hear the street vendors complain and haggle prices down to their bones. I can smell their desperation. I am getting wet underneath the piece of crap umbrella I just purchased for 4 euro and within 20 minutes of use has completely caved in. I am now holding an umbrella of wires above my head as the nylon screen tears away with the wind. Yet, I am still happy. The same kind of happy I felt in Prague. I am walking alone in Venice with a smile on my face and a wince of a cry in my lungs. It is beautiful. Thunder and all. Not even rain can rain on my parade right now. How long will this last? How many more cities do I have to experience for the first time like this before I run out? 

I made my way back to the hotel in Mestre with the sounds of the thunderstorm to keep me company. I made a friend on the train. A local. He spoke a bit of broken English and described to me how much he hated Venice. “Ahhhhh....it is shit”, he said with his hands. The tops of his fingers touching and moving up and down. “Venezia!!!”, he said. He hated it here. But he didn’t have the English words to explain. He didn’t need them. I understood. 
I told him, “How you feel about Venice is how I feel about Los Angeles”. 
He looked at me and said, “Los Angeles??” Ohhhhhh. Caleeforneea!!”. His eyes lit up like he was envisioning his own fairy tail of sunshine and crashing waves. His dream. He couldn’t understand how I could feel that way about California. 

It’s ironic how one mans hate for a city is another’s refuge. Like the Moroccan that described to me his hate for Paris and his love for London and how the Scottish man adored Paris but hated London. Like my Dad who adored Cincinnati and I can only tolerate it. I hate LA, yet love Prague. Another loves LA and hates Europe. We’re all different. We all have a story to tell. We are all a result of experiences. We all have our reasons to love or hate a city. My Dad had his, my friend in Paris had his, my friend in Morocco had his, the local in Venice had his and I have mine.

I awoke Sat morning to my friends’ arrival. We have known each other for close to 14 years. Not close through that time until recently, but we share common experiences that will tie us for life. She left California 5 years ago with a similar angst for Los Angeles. She met and married an Italian soccer player and now lives her bliss in northern Italy with a sweet bambino to solidify her grasp here. She speaks the language and fits in to Italy like a starlet being recognized in a foreign country. The locals are impressed with her that she speaks the language, more impressed that she is as pretty as she is and that she is officially one of their own.

We walked the canals, reminisced, ate, drank wine and lots of it. We didn’t have a lull in the stories to tell of the friends we share and the books we could write. After spending time with her I am again reminded, everyone has a story to tell. Ever since I have known her she is always met with laughter and happiness. I have always admired her ability to see everything positively and understand everyone to their core. She comes across as grounded, content, balanced and mature. But she too has a story that led her to where she is now.


Our hangover the next day drug our feet a little slower than we had planned. We were feeling that we were not so young anymore. Bed time at 11 was invited and simply more than appreciated. 

A quick visit for a weekend was quickly over. We said our goodbyes at the train station as she went her way towards the West and I went mine to the South. Another city, another stop. Another experience to tell. Next stop, Roma.

Vienna, Budapest

I hopped off of the train in Vienna, walked to the sightseeing spots, took pictures, ate wiener schnitzel and apple strudel, bought a souvenir and hopped back on the train headed to Budapest. That’s all the time I gave to Vienna.

Budapest-

 I have been using this answer since I was in my early 20’s when asked if I would move to another city for a man, “I could live anywhere if I was in love. I’d move to Budapest for the right guy”. I never really knew where Budapest was or even what country it was in. I just knew it sounded far away and very foreign. And far away and very foreign it is.

It’s a beautiful city, but it took me a few days of searching for its beauty to find it. The daytime and nighttime are just that....day and night. In the day, the sky is grey and smoggy. There is construction literally on every corner. Scaffoldings everywhere, cranes, bulldozers and detours through walking paths. The buildings look as if they need a good power washing to rid itself of years of filth and graffiti. But at night the city it able to mask the grime with soft lighting and take your eyes away from the construction with the reflections of lights in the Danube River.

The first day I arrived I had a cough that wouldn't stop. I thought maybe it was from the air quality being so bad and the debris from the construction. I had heard about the Hungarian baths and that they were supposed to be healing, so I ventured out to find one and take a swim. Maybe it would rid me of this cough. It was interesting to say the least. It was basically a spa, but a little rough around the edges. Certainly, not like the spas I'm used to at the Four Seasons or William Burke. The workers are rough Hungarians. They don't seem like very happy people. No smiles. No sweet reception girl willing to hold your hand as she slowly walks you to your massage room and smiles as she tells you where to hang your clothes. No soft music to gently carry away all of your stress. They were rough, tough and not interested in helping you out in any way. 

When it was time for my massage that another American had talked me into getting with a male masseur instead of a female, the "receptionist" didn't say a word to me. She just kept pulling apart pistachios with her teeth and said, "Vour minuts. You wait."

I stepped into the massage room where my 6’4 Hungarian massuese was preparing the table. He laid a thin white sheet on the table and said sternly.” You undress.” I said, “Everything?” He said “Everything but the bottoms”. He walked out briefly and pulled a thin curtain for my protecton. I laid faced down on the table not knowing if I should be on top of the sheet or underneath. Well in the US, we lay underneath the sheet so it only seemed appropriate since I was practically naked. He came back into the room ripped the sheet off (I guess I was wrong), lathered up his hands and proceeded to give me the strangest and most unrelaxing of massages. At times, he was only using one hand. I envisioned him checking his watch with the other hand. He was literally just going through the motions. There was no soft music, no dim lights, no relaxation techniques and no real technique at all. He proceeded for 20 minutes and when finished said “Thanks” and walked out the room. Just left me there to fend for myself. No instructiona on where to go next. No small glass of water served to me to rid me of any dehydration I may have.

I went back into the thermal baths to relax a bit longer. It was relaxing, so much so I returned the next day to try it again. And I did notice that night, my cough was completely gone and did not return!

I walked around Budapest the next day, took a walking tour of the castle, hit the spa and decided to stop at the Marriott on the way home for a bite to eat. As I sat, I was cordially invited to join another solo traveler getting ready to break bread. Coincidentally, my new friend, Chris, was from Cleveland, now living in St. Louis. Two solo travelers all the way from Ohio sharing a meal in Budapest. We exchanged stories of our trip and shared our knowledge of the local Hungarian liqueurs, Palinka and Unicum. We exchanged a taste and went our seperate ways.

Next stop, Venice. Finally, I can eat.

Typical Hungarian meal. Meat or chicken with a paprika sauce.