Istanbul...not Constantinople

Why did Constantinople get the works?
That's nobody's business but the Turks!

Sorry, couldn't help myself; I love that old song, and actually I DO know why Constantinople "got the works". This blog may be a three-parter as there is so much to tell; you may have to tune in to future postings for an answer. Listen to me, I'm marketing the blog! Do read on.

When I knew I would be coming to Slovakia last year, I decided early on that one of the cities I really wanted to visit was Istanbul. (say ee STAA bol) This city offers a unique history of Byzantine Christianity reconstrued as a Muslim metropolis, and now part of a republic presently seeking entry to the EU. Only a two-hour flight from BA, Turkey seemed a world away from Slovakia and a country I probably wouldn't have targeted as a destination point from Chicago. So flying Turkish Air, Istanbul here I come! (Turquoise leather seats and some of the best food I've ever had!)

But first the trip to the airport, where Branislav, our Fulbright-friendly airport service driver, assured me he would be water-spraying his girlfriend on Easter morning. I asked why and he said, "Tradition!" Cue Zero Mostel in "Fiddler on the Roof"! (When Branislav picked me up after Easter, he said he stayed home and only sprayed his family: his sister, his mother and his 74-year-old grandmother, who thought it was funny. Sometimes perfume is also sprayed, but he had stuck with plain water.)

I arrived at Ataturk Airport, named after its first president who is larger than life even though he's been dead for years. It was Mustafa Kemal 'Ataturk' (father of the Turks), the brilliant statesman and military genius who was the first president of Turkey following Allied occupation after WWI. The Republic of Turkey came into being in 1923, and Ataturk instituted sweeping reforms in an effort to keep pace with Europe. The european calendar was adopted, then the Swiss civil code and the Italian penal code, which abolished the role of religion in law. The turban had been banned 100 years prior, and now it was time to toss the fez. Language reforms were instituted, and although Ataturk's speeches were said to be compelling , almost no one could understand him as he was communicating in an as yet undescipherable language! And the name Constantinople, thought to have imperial associations, was changed to Istanbul; some decades later westerners finally got the message.

My hotel included an airport transfer where I found myself squeezed into the front of a seatbeltless van with some Muslim women filling up the back. After a highway drive involving some creative merging, I was let off first at my place, The Apricot Hotel. Met curbside by Mehmet, manager and all-around-concierge at The Apricot I was shown to my place, the new acccomodation around the corner. There I had 2 pairs of complimentary slippers so I wouldn't trample the turkish carpet. My room had no telephone, but everyone had complimentary internet in the reception and everyday was a surprise. One night I had no water, another no electricity, still another no heat but never all in the same day. And we never could figure out how to work the TV. But Mehmet partially comped me on the room, opened a bottle of wine the last night, and sent me home with another bottle of wine. When in Istanbul, stay at The Apricot!

Mehmet encouraged me to rest, freshen up and when I felt like it, return to the main hotel to discus what to do and how to see Istanbul. As our place was only 3 blocks from the Blue Mosque, that was where I began my mid-afternoon tour of the city. (Mehmet had written down the five daily prayer times, and it being 3:30, I decided it was a good time to visit.) I could see the mosque from my hotel, but rounding the corner, the sight was breathtaking: gardens surrounding the huge multi-domed building with its six minarets. We visitors walked through the huge courtyard to the entrance where we were instructed to remove our shoes and store them in plastic bags. Also provided were scarves which were for use as wrap-around skirts or head scarves. One woman wearing a denin skirt that didn't cover her butt (it was more like a wide belt) over leggings was sent back to use a wrap: good call in terms of respect AND fashion.

The Blue Mosque, officially called Sultanahmet, was the last of Istanbul's imperially commissioned mosques, completed just before the fall of the Ottoman empire. Mostly the Blue Mosque is big and smells a bit "feetsy". The interior is a mish-mash of tiles, giving the appearance of a predominantly blue mosque, but the space is still overwhelming. I would pass the Blue Mosque everyday on my way out each day, but I think it was the dramatic night time lighting which really set off the structure.

From there I strolled down to the Grand Bazaar, 15th century forerunner of today's mega-malls. There are sections for gold, textiles, carpets and more. in fact, there are 5,480 shops spread over 65 alleys; take THAT, Mall of America! Shopkeepers are usually the owners, who joke, cajole and use come-on lines to get you to stop. "I remember you..." "Excuse me,..." or "Are you a movie star?" It is expected that you will barter, and come away paying about half of what he (always a he) started out at. I probably could have done my Christmas shopping there but didn't have the energy. Instead I enjoyed browsing (not exactly encouraged) and did buy a few small things.

Dinner that night was at The Metropolis cafe near my hotel. The enticing wood burning fire drew me in, and the food was wonderful, especially the eggplant which I ate in some form or other everyday. I ordered meze, a sort of hors d'oevre plate and then had manti, pasta filled with lamb and served with yogurt and mint. Washed it down with an Efes (I think) beer and went home and collapsed in bed.

My stay at The Apricot included breakfast, as do many places in the city. I woke up plenty early as I did everyday because the first amplified call-to-prayer is at 5:30! We were served our meal up on the rooftop, looking away from the Blue Mosque but with a view of the Bosphorus Sea. Breakfast was a huge spread, including eggs made to order and drip coffee catering to the many english-speaking people staying there. (The Apricot, and especially Mehmet, had received rave reviews on tripadvisor.com, so the place attracted people who had read the recommendations.)

My first full day I headed out to Topkapi Palace which was also walking distance from my place. I wasted a lot of time in line and was anxious to get in; there is so much to see that I was told to allow at least half a day. It was Good Friday and I saw lots of school groups on field trips, always with male teachers.

When you enter the palace you walk through Disney-like Imperial Gates, but complete with very un-Walt-like niches to display the severed heads of rebels and criminals. I had purchased my ticket over by the Executioner's Fountain, where the axe would be washed after the deed was done. They seemed to be big on the bloody display since this was flanked by columns where heads could also be displayed.

The Palace was the main imperial grounds for the Ottomans for over 300 years, a combination of military command central and residence for the royal family and their entourage which numbered in the thousands. As you visit the palace you go through a series of gates, passing through areas that go from most public (Court of the Janissaries, the palace guards) to most private, The Third Court, where the sultan would receive (but not speak to) foreign ambassadors. No sultan would ever speak to a non-Turk so the Grand Vizier would conduct the conversation. In the Sultan's private chambers was a grandfather clock presented by Queen Victoria and set to 11:05, the time of Ataturk's death.

Need a diamond-studded set of chain mail? Searching for the perfect dagger, with emeralds as big as ping pong balls? The Imperial Treasury has it and a lot more outrageous items, many of which have never left the confines of the Palace. Also included in this display were medals that they awarded to themselves and others, including ones traded back and forth between the Pope and Sultan. This whole complex guards the Golden Horn and has a spectacular view of the Bosphorus.

Next door at the Archeology Museum, one of the most interesting things I saw was the long section of iron chain (with links the size of my forearm) that had stretched across the Bosphorus to bar the entry of invaders. Not to be outdone, the frustrated sailors took to the land, putting rollers on their ships, detouring above the Horn and putting in to water below the no-longer-restricting chain.

Part of the reason the museum had been established in the mid-19th century was to prevent the further flow of antiquities out of the country. Thanks mainly to the Crusades and various Venetian vessels, many pillars, mantles and statues left the country only to be installed elsewhere. When I visited Venice last February I saw St. Mark's Basilica, where much of the facade is older than the building itself. The famous Horses of St. Mark's had been "appropriated" from the Hippodrome in Constantinople, and these horses subsequently hoofed it around Europe. Napoleon managed to secure them in 1797, but they were restored in 1815. Since 1990 they have been in a exhibition room, I think in Venice. I didn't know it at the time, but what I saw were bronze reproductions. Inside St. Mark's is a purple marble statue of The Four Tatrachs...but the missing foot of one of the represented emperors is in Istanbul, with little chance of man and foot ever being reunited.

After this I hustled over to wait in line again to buy a ticket "for one people" for the Harem. When I finally attached myself to a tour, I realized our guide had probably done one tour too many that day, namely ours. It didn't help that our Spanish contingent was complaining that the tour was in english, although just barely. She had such a heavy accent it was difficult to understand her. What was all this "ultimate" stuff she kept referring to? Oh, OTTOMAN! And then we're in the Sultan's sun room - sun room -sun room, she kept repeating Oh, THE SON'S ROOM! (A-hah, as they say in Slovakia.)

Harem means forbidden but it may just as well mean prison. The sultan was the only male, plus princes and eunuch guards allowed in; the harem was "home" and entire world to its women for almost four centuries. I bought a book titled, The Mystery of the Ottoman Empire, that said harem meant the "home of happiness". Hardly. Originally, sultans kept female slaves but only married the daughters of Christian princes for political reasons, slaves being less valuable than a good (or even not so good) horse. Eventually, this tradition changed and the Harem became a place where wifely candidates could be kept and selected. This contributed to a life of intrigue where women jockeyed for favor and hoped to mother a son, who could eventually become sultan, and she the valide sultana (like a queen mother). The head eunuch was also one to be consorted with and it wasn't unusual to kill a mother or son who got in the way. A concubine could rise to the level of Odalisque, then Favorite. If a Favorite became pregnant she moved up the ladder to Felicity, making it possible to become one of the sultan's four to eight wives. Talk about stressful! Meanwhile, princes were also kept in the harem, virtual prisoners until the eventual time when they might become sultan.

My book turned into an unexpected laugh out loud read because of the translations, some of which sound like they've been written by a fourth-grader. There were many references to "chemical sons" sitting on the throne, and here are a few quotes:

"He became a father after he had sat on the throne." So THAT'S how they did it; probably had something to do with being a chemical son...

One hundred years later, "Abdulaziz sat on the Ottoman throne after he had died in 1861." Eeew! " Abdulaziz was not so fond of women as much as his father and brother had been." Mmmm...

Speaking about one of the Sultan's wives: "Hurem was ruthless. While she was taking the steps with great confidence, discarding anyone who might create problems for her. She was completely done except for Ibrahim Pasha. She became jealous of her husband's affection to that guy, too."

The building complex is magnificent in its decadent splendor. Adorable? Well, not so much but that's how the book describes Murad III's mansion, as well as Ahmed I's library on the following page. Must have been a vocabulary word-of-the-week.

I wrapped up my tour and grabbed a simit, a sesame seed bread ring sold on the street. The vendor was selling them to men and GIVING them away to women. Although it had been a little drizzly earlier on, it cleared up quickly. Each day in Istanbul was sunny and became increasingly warmer throughout my stay, reaching into the low 70's. (In BA it was in the 80's.)

Steps away, between the Blue Mosque and the Sultanahmet sits the majestic but comparatively shabby Haghia Sophia (Ayasofya). Dedicated in AD 537 by Emperor Justinian, Haghia Sophia ( Divine Wisdom), was meant to prove the new capitol's worth, following the fall of the Roman Empire. Justinian's cathedral towered over all else and was topped by an amazing dome, the largest one ever built. In fact, it took over 1,000 years to out-do the dome, when Michelangelo did so with St. Peter's in Rome, 1590. The church also served as a huge reliquery which was extensively looted by its own "Christians" in the Fourth Crusade; bronze horses and footless statues weren't the only items that ended up in European cities. Later, the Turks took control and the church grew minarets, turning into a mosque. Buttresses were added at different times, most mis-matched. The exquisite mosaics were plastered over, but that actually saved them as they weren't discovered until the middle of the 19th century.

When the Ottoman Empire fell, there was a push to return Haghia Sophia to the Greeks and another campaign to return it to the Italians. The solution of the new Turkish Republic was to deconsecrate the building and declare it a museum. It remains a mixture of a church-turned mosque, now museum in a country with not quite enough funds to adequately restore this gem. Nevertheless, it was still the most amazing thing I saw in Istanbul.

I visited one more site that day, because the Yerbatan Sarnici (Basilica Cistern) is right across the street, hidden under a simple one-story building entrance. Built during the Haghia Sophia days of Justinian, the cistern is an ancient reservoir that was pretty much forgotten for centuries. In 1545, A Frenchman named Peter Gyllius noticed people getting water by lowering buckets through holes in their basements; one thousand years later, the cisterns were "re-discovered" Playing havoc with Istanbul's infrastructure, the Yerbatan is an engineering feat: 336 columns supporting brick vaulted ceilings spaced about 13 feet apart. Walkways have been installed so you can go see the entire undergound system. Long before the cistern's restoration, James Bond explored by boat here in "From Russia with Love".

Dinner that night was another wonderful celebration of lamb and eggplant, and dessert was good too. I discovered "Turkish Delight" (lokum) a chewy, bite-size, hand-made candy in many flavors dipped in powdered sugar. I had pistachio, coconut, caramel, lemon, saffron, orange, rosewater, mint and lots more. Many of my friends enjoyed the apple tea, a popular drink here. I tried it, but I'm not a great tea afficionado. And I do love coffee, but not Turkish coffee. I ordered it one night after a meal (the only time it's really taken). I couldn't get more than two sips down my throat. I knew that the coffee was going to be thick, but I didn't realize it's prepared by boiling it with sugar. It's extremely sweet, thick, strong, and for this tourist, undrinkable! One night back at The Apricot we were having a coffee discussion. Mehmet explained that preparing Turkish coffee is a time consuming, fussy process and many folks just don't bother. The most popular coffe by far in Turkey...NESCAFE! (Another yuk.) More in another blog...

Happy Easter...Get Out The Whips

Yes, this one goes in the "couldn't make this up" category. Two odd Easter customs here seem to provide hijinx for the guys and dread for the girls! On Easter morning, boys and men go around squirting or pouring water on women! This, I believe is thought to be complimentary; the girls are so happy they hand over an egg to the guy. Then after getting doused with water, the whipping starts. Willow branches are woven into weapons and girls are playfully(?) whipped with said branches. Once again, the girls respond by giving a colorful ribbon to the guy, with his goal trying to collect as many ribbons as possible on his willow whip. Let the fun begin! (Zuzka said she used to hide Easter morning in an attempt to keep dry. Not sure if she ever received a whoopin' though.)

At dinner with some Fulbrighters last week, someone was talking about having seen a folk dance performed by girls on my square, and then repeated down by the river. The girls had dolls on sticks which they threw into the Danube at the end of the performance. I asked Luba and she said they were throwing out Morena (winter). It must have been the first day of spring and traditionally girls dress up a doll (Morena) and perform the dance to cast out Morena and usher in spring. (So that later the drenching and whipping can commence.)

This blog is a sort of odds and ends piece, trying to catch up before I leave for Istanbul tomorrow. (Doesn't everyone go to Muslim country for Easter?) When I last wrote about Italy and spring break, I didn't mention leaving the next day for Berlin to attend the Fulbright Winter Seminar there. That was poor planning but we never knew about Berlin until much later, after we'd already booked Milan. Kathy, Jon, Chuck and Susan and I all attended. Our Slovak Fulbright Commission had said this was optional but highly recommended. Translation: we'd really like you to go but you'll have to pay your own way. But the fees were nominal and we discovered Air Berlin: leather seats and lunch on a 1 hour flight. Not bad.

As with everything Fulbright does, it was a first-rate conference. Germany has the largest number of Fulbrighters and there were over 300 of us there. I met an exchange teacher from Germany who was teaching P.E. so we had some great talks, having had very similar experiences. (Germany starts school in July so this teacher had not been at the Washington D.C. Fulbright Orientation last August.) Some of the sessions were research-oriented and appealed to a select number of attendees, but the opportunity to network or just catch up with others was excellent. We had many musical galas (international language) and even met the mayor at one of the last sessions at the Radhaus. Skipped the disco party but others said it was well attended and lots of fun. (OK, feeling a little old here; about half of Germany's Fulbrighters are 22-year-olds, so a disco party held limited appeal for me.)

Had a little time to tour so saw some of the great modern architecture on a boat trip, visited the Jewish Museum, Berliner Dome and Checkpoint Charlie Museum, including seeing some of the Berlin Wall. It was quite rushed and by the time of the close on Thursday we were all surprised that it was time to go. Operating on the good old American work ethic, we'd all said we would be in school on Friday. Without exception, upon returning everyone's principal had said, "Oh, you should have stayed longer." Now they tell us!

Remember the ear wax issue? Well, that was followed by three more doctors over this past week. The clinic says they hope to never see me again and I feel likewise. My ailments weren't serious but I did need medical attention nonetheless. Funny how when you walk down there for the fourth time it's suddenly no big deal, as you know what to expect and have sorted things out. I now have an amazing variety of ointments, lotions, drops, and meds to take, all with directions hand-written by the chemist on the outside of the package.

Sona, by the way, has connected with Andrea, Dagmar's sister-in-law. (Remember I met Dagmar at the hospital last week when I was "lost in translation".) They talked last Thursday and met at the Art Institute last Sunday.

This past Saturday some 20 of us from church drove 1 hour south to the refugee camp to attend a concert held to entertain the residents. The numbers vary, but right now there are about 150 refugees there waiting for asylum, some of them for over one year. In the meantime, they can't work, can't attend school, can't really do anything. Of the 150, about 75 showed up, only 2 of them women. We had a band, headed up by our "rockin' reverend" Dave, and they were great - to our American ears anyway. At one point, the north Indians commandeered the mikes and the place heated up. (In terms of manners, it may have seemed rude, but the idea was to engage the people to eventually do this themselves. Hopefully, they will pursue this.) We had brought food and drinks and everything was devoured or taken back home. The place was a former university, long abandoned and in the middle of nowhere. It was very depressing and I was exhausted when I got home, having done nothing but try to talk to some Indians, Ukraines, Ugandis, and Pakistanis.

Liba, Vlado and I hiked last Sunday. We cooked sausages again and this time our goal was Devinska Kobyla, and yes it really was a small sand dune. I could hardly believe where I was. By the time we reached it, it was about 4:00, and many people were sitting and/or lying around, as the area sits on the east bank of the Danube. Liba again picked flowers, being careful to "save some for the bees". She showed me net (I think we call this stinging nettle.) and said that would be the next thing she'd harvest but it was too early right now.

So I'm packing for Turkey tonight. Christian has cautioned me to not eat the street food even though it all looks so good. Everyone says be careful and I intend to. Oh, and even though I won't be here for Easter, I have purchased my own whip, 40 crowns outside of Tesco. Just trying to be proactive!

Buongiorno, Part II

SPRING BREAK! Yee-ha! We'd book a cheap flight last fall flying Ryan Air (dreadul but puctual; you get what you pay for) from BA to Bergamo, Italy, just outside of Milan. Our plan was to stay in Bergamo, travel to Cinque Terre and return to Bergamo for our week-long holiday. Incredibly we met Alison and Aubrey at the BA airport, two young English teachers at Jon's Lyceem, who were headed to Milan on our flight, then Florence and a few days of wherever. I told Alison about going to La Spezia which they ended up doing and had a great time. (Good thing too, because I'd never actually been there. I was just reading the book and talking the talk.)

Fulbrighter Nicole had advised us on accomodation in Bergamo and once again the dymanic duo of me and Zuzka booked an apartment at Entro le Mura (Within the Walls) in the Citta Alta, the high walled city of old Bergamo. For a nominal fee, our B&B person, Enrica, met us at the airport and in ten minutes we were up in the old town. We had a late dinner at a trattoria around the corner, with me trying one of the Bergamasco specialties casonsei, a meat-filled ravioli that was delicious. Polenta is also a specialty, eaten as a side dish or dessert - polenta e osei are little cakes filled with jam and topped with yellow icing and chocolate birds (probably the only thing I DIDN'T enjoy in Italy)

The next day we strolled through the Piazza Veccia of the old town and caught the funicular to take us up to the castle. The funicular has been around since 1887 and has an interesting history. Much more than a tourist vehicle, it was built to connect the two levels of the town of Bergamo. The engineer who came up with the plan was already managing the horse-drawn tram service down in the lower town, and for years he operated the funicular. Finally, it was turned over to the city who has made many improvements over the years; nowadays it is simply part of the transit system. That week we would use it numerous times as we went either to the lower town or the train station which was just beyond it.

Our family-run B&B served wonderful breakfasts, especially coffee! We had a small garden outside our french doors, complete with a stone wishing well. The area was enclosed by a low wall built of the same stone, making the perfect perch for Gigia, the ever-present Springer Spaniel. Inside, the ceilings of our main rooms were all vaulted, as in a cathedral. Everything was stone and the place really wasn't comfortably warm until we returned there a few days later after our stay at Cinque Terre.

The guest book was filled with names of people from UK, Norway, Scotland, Belgium and Spain: all places on the Ryan Air routes. There were quite a few from the U.S. also, but we were the sole representatives from Bratislava - two wild and crazy guys.

After a few days we left by train (4 hours) through Milan and Genoa to La Spezia, where we would connect to the five small towns of the Cinque Terre. (Say CHINK-weh TAY-reh) We were staying in Varnazza, town #2 or 4 depending on if you're going up or down the Liguorian coast. Cinque Terre is a series of towns, connected by both walking paths and trains. They have been inhabited for 100's of years, many of the same families staying put, even speaking their own dialect. It is part of UNESCO world heritage list, and recently became a national park. There is not a museum in sight and the pace varies from slower to slowest.

We had some difficulty booking accomodation beforehand as we were about 2 weeks ahead of the season's opening, Elizabeth did have a room, though and met us at the main drag. Good planning that Elizabeth was accompanied by husband Joseph, who helped us up approximately 2,000 steps with our luggage. Zuzka was wondering what "hodge-podge" meant, the description of our rooms in "Rick Steve's Italy". Well, funky, crooked, odd; all that and more! Residents make the best out of what little space they have, much of it being vertical. We asked to see a second room after she showed us the first and ended up taking the latter. Two walls of our place were made of the natural black rock of the cliffs, and mysteriously a black cat joined us on the second night. We did not spend much times in our rooms.

Even though it was late the day we arrived, I took off and did the hike to Corniglio and back, arriving in the dark to our place which was right on the well-marked path. I had passed the nude beach way down below me, but at about 60 degrees that day the place was vacated. Since the CT became a National Park eight years ago, you have to purchase a pass to hike the trails. but this allows the hiking to continue and repairs to be made. And also makes me think the nude beach will soon be history. The next day Zuzka was with me when we hiked through the vineyards and olive groves of Corniglio. She found it depressing; it thought it was serene.

We managed to visit every town but missed the hike to Manarola since it was closed for repairs. In some areas, like Via dell' Amore, the boulders above are all hair-netted to keep them from joining unexpecting hikers. We heard that rock climbers from the north (Dolomite Spiders) were brought in to help with the construction work of this section As you look up you see steel netting bolted to the cliff side, while right in front of you are cacti with lovers' initials carved into them and locks with ribbons, testifying one's true love along this romantic path. CT is filled with tunnels, both for trains and pedestrians. When you're in town, trains sound like a jet coming in to land, but you soon get used to it. In some villages like Riomaggiore and Manarola you walk through a mosaic-decorated tunnel to go from the train to the town.

In Riomaggiore I bought earrings that had campanula flowers pressed inside. The shopkeeper told me that that day was her first day to be open of the season. In Vernazza I bought a hand-painted tile where the owner told me that, like many others, she and her family live in La Spezia and come up to open during the tourist season. We were talking about teaching, and she was complaining because part of her childrens' Italian curriculum is the study of Greek and Latin and she thought it was a waste of time.

There were a limited number of restaurants open but we still ate well, sampling fresh anchovies, pasta and pesto and snacking on the world's best focaccio. After dinner if you're looking for nightlife you'll find it - in the form of people strolling up and down, talking, talking and talking. I loved it all.

We took a side trip to Pisa on one of the dreary days, about an hour's train trip away. On the way we at first thought we saw snow in the distance on the mountain side, but then realized as we passed through the town of Carerra, it was marble! Pisa was interesting and yes the tower really does lean...a lot! Food anywhere, everywhere, was terrific. I was looking forward to a special dinner that night at a restaurant owned by a friend of Christian's; Zuzka was having some back problems so we cut it short and ate back at CT. The next day day we checked out using the following procedure explained by Elizabeth's note: put the "kee" under the carpet- the money here. (on the table) Just like the Hyatt!

Returning to the B&B we felt like we were at the Ritz! The next day we went into Milan where I had booked us for Da Vinci's Last Supper. That sounds like a restaurant but here's how they handle viewing the special fresco: Because Leonardo used an experimental process in creating this piece, it was already deteriorating shortly after completion. Throughout the many hundreds of years that followed, well-meaning art historians have attempted to "fix" it, causing more damage in the attempt. Finally, it is felt that all possible restoration that can be done, has been done. In order to control the humidity and not incur anymore damage, 25 people are let in every 15 minutes for a viewing. We were fortunate to get in, and luckier still because March 8 was International Womens' Day - it was free!

We viewed Milan's famous Duomo (magnificent) and I trooped around on its rooftop, walking between the spires. At 333 feet, the view is spectacular. I also toured La Scala Opera House, which was just OK. We hadn't been able to get tickets as the opera that evening was by Donizetti of Bergamo, so all the locals bought all the tickets. Did some great people watching at the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, a four-story glass-domed arcade right on the cathedral square. There's lots of mosaic artwork there including the Torino bull installed in the floor. Occasional rowdy groups could be heard encouraging others to spin on the bull's testicles for good luck. With all that spinning, the tiles there were completely missing!

Outside on the balcony MTV mounts a camera, encouraging everyone to get stupid and get on TV. That day the square was filled with sign-toting Hillary Duff fans, but beyond that I couldn't explain any more. By the time we left Milan we were glad to get back to quiet Bergamo. Assistant manager Lucy says she hates Milan and makes a point to stay away. She highly recommended we pursue our plan to go to Lake Como the next day, and ferry to Varenna and Bellagio. We did and just enough was open to make it a relaxing but fun stay. Como is known for it silks, and I bought a scarf made there, although these days the silk is from China. A woodworker's store had a glass bottomed floor where you could look WAY down to see the ancient well below. He and his son create olive wood pieces and I bought some cheese knives before we continued walking through the village.

Taking the train out of there was a little confusing because no schedules were posted. BUT Rick Steves gets around; three groups out of four of us were carrying his book so we all put our heads together and figured out what to do next. (And hiking in Cinque Terre we had met ANOTHER American couple with his book.) Well, this blog does not do Italy justice. Did I mention the familes strolling in Bergamo on Saturday afternoon? Young, old, with children, without! Did I mention how put together the men were? How they can actually pull off wearing a pair of orange pants, or gold, or green or even PURPLE! And better not leave the house without your shades! Italy was sensual and slow, family and talk, good food and drink, simple but the best!

Buongiorno!

I took two opportunities to visit Italy recently, trips as different as night and day. As a matter of fact, one was mostly night now that I think of it, where in some sort of apparently weakened mental state, I let Zuzka talk me into a bus trip to Venice for Carnevale. It was one of those junkets that sounded good in early January but left you with the question, "What the hell was I thinking?" come February. The tour was scheduled to leave BA at 10:00 PM on Friday, drive through the night and arrive in Venice the next morning. After spending the day at Carnevale we would get back on the bus at 8:00 P.M., again drive through the night returning to BA about 6:00 Sunday morning. And now you're also going, right, what the hell WERE you thinking?! I'm still not sure. Yes, it got me to Venice for Carnevale, but the tour definitely goes in the do-not-recommend pile.

And at first it looked like we wouldn't even get out of Slovakia let alone to Venice. Within an hour of leaving Slovakia you are doing passport control at the Austrian border. Last fall when I took a bus tour to Austria they had required all our passport numbers beforehand. At the border control no one needed to exit the bus and we went through in the fast lane.

This evening, however, we all got off the bus, showed our passports and returned to our seats aboard the bus. It was then that we were told that there was an issue with weight of the bus, we were being fined 75 Euros AND not allowed to cross the border. There must have been more to this but that is the line the tour guide fed us, as translated by Zuzka to me.

The whole thing smelled fishy to me: the inefficient way of checking five busloads through passport control, the overweight issue with tourists who had no luggage except for pillows and blankets, and the fact that after we paid our fine we were going to the other, less convenient passport control to supposedly try our luck. What was to to keep one control from phoning the other to tell them we were overweight? Were we suddenly about to become underweight at the other station? I guess so because we did not need to get off the bus, got waved through and added about one hour to an already dreadfully long trip.

Along with other EU newcomers, Slovakia is scheduled to sign the Schengen agreement this December, 2007. This agreement means that document checks between two countries which are members of EU are abolished, more like domestic travel. Most EU countries participte; UK does not. In order to be included countries need to secure borders with other non-EU countries, in Slovakia's case with Ukraine.This date has been pushed back a number of times but from what I gather it is due to complications in putting the technology in place, December, however, is a long way off and the Austrians looked to be taking advantage of us Slovaks. (Notice how I say "us"!)

After two rest stops were made it to Italy. Another passport control roused anyone still asleep, but this check was thankfully uneventful. And finally...Venice! As the bus rolled in from the two miles long causeway and you see the city of Venice in the distance, all I could think of was, "I'm going to Disneyland!" it was that unreal looking. Our bus parked, the tour guide gave us some directions and told us to be back here at 8:00. Now we're also thinking out of all these hundreds of buses, how will we ever find ours?

We navigate the kitchy souvenir stands to find a gondola and set up a ride to share with another threesome later that afternoon. Zuzka and I continue to walk toward the center to begin our Carnevale experience. Carnivale literally means "farewell to meat" and centuries ago was celebrated for the two months leading up to the Lenten season. Wearing a mask apparently gave you leave to do pretty much anything with anybody. Nowadays, the celebration is like Mardi Gras and lasts a mere 10 days, but the masks are still a Venetian trademark.

We walked Venice's confusing alleys heading for one of its famous bridges, the Rialto Bridge along the Main Canal where we decided we needed capuccino and teramisu. It was exhorbitantly priced but the canal-side table was worth the euros. (It's so much effort to haul in everything to Venice; everything consumable is expensive.) Refreshed and renewed with our excellent stop we follow the signs per San Marco, leading us to the main district.

Venice has 400 bridges and 2,000 alleys and much of the time it seemed we were headed down a dead-end, but that's just how you get around. We saw lots of push-carts loaded with goods to stock in stores; old Venice is car-less and even bike-less (!) due to its fragile infrastructure. (as in almost none) Venice is sinking! Many years ago before the Grand Canal even existed, Venice's river emptied into the Adriatic sea. When this closed up it formed a lagoon with numerous barrier islands separating it from the sea. Venice was built on marshy land by piling millions of trees atop the mud that covered the clay soil; its Grand Canal is the leftovers from the river.

Venice also floods about 100 times a year; no surprise that its population has gone from 200,000 to 65,000. As Chicago weatherman Tommy Skilling would enthusiastically explain (because weathermen love weather), when south Egyptian winds blow in and combine with high barometric pressure on the lower Adriatic sea, the water gets pushed up to Venice, the top end of the sea. Later when we took our gondola ride we saw many bottom floors under construction and/or vacant, with real life continuing above the salt water line.

Arriving at Piazza San Marco, we began to see costumed couples parading the grounds, pausing to oblige tourists for a Kodak moment. Most were dressed in the height of Venetian 17th century fashion, color coordinated and of course, masked. It was all very elaborate, elegant and stately; this wasn't New Orleans and it definitely wasn't Rio. I visited St. Mark's Basilica, its amazing cathedral covered with mosaics. Built in the 11th century St. Mark's replaces an earlier church and even houses the saints' bones. The cathedral relates more toward Eastern-style architecture, reflecting its connection with the Byzantine Empire which protected Venice from Charlemagne and yes, here it is again, his Holy Roman Empire. I had hoped to visit the Doge's Palace next door but time didn't permit. (Doge is like Duke and for some 400 years this was power-central and the hottest real estate in Europe.)

We later hopped a vaporetto, one of the bus-boats that are part of the public transit system. This put us back at the start where we met up for the gondola ride, followed by a late lunch. (I'd like to say the ride was romantic but sorry, I wasn't feeling it, and no, he didn't sing or even talk for that matter.) Our timing was totally off though, as it took so long to navigate both by boat and on foot as we tried to return to the square to see the costume parade. As we were walking IN toward the square we could tell that parade was finished because everyone was walking OUT in the opposite direction. At least we saw many of the costumes that way, but missed the experience of viewing it from the square.

I passed up the every-other-mask stores, wondering how you ever made a living on THAT? Instead I bought a small beaded necklace and earrings made of glass on the Venetian island of Murano, another place I wouldn't get to see. Can you tell this wasn't my kind of trip? I like to really experience places, get off the beaten path and talk to locals I visit; this was more of a tease. And the last frustrating part was that just as we were making our way across town (for the fourth time) you could tell things were heating up on the square. Live music was starting, there was dancing, both choreographed and improvised. Where children (also in costume but more like bunnies and bears) had been leaving the city, the adult party was gearing up. And like a child who feels she has been excluded from all the cool "big people" stuff, I returned to the bus. Here we waited for the same couple who had kept us waiting at every single stop (I guess there's always one.) and also for the tour guide, who, turns out, had been pickpocketed. We drove out the causeway, retracing our route to the mainland, with me thinking, "So much for Disneyland."