-by Oy!

In 1996, I went to Europe to enjoy a honeymoon in England and Scotland, as chronicled in "Across the Pond." Seven years later, we decided to cross the pond once more. This time we decided to inflict ourselves on Italy, on the grounds that unlike England and Scotland, Italy serves edible food. Specifically, we took a 12-day tour through Venice, Florence, and Rome.

La Disidratazione Italia

If you ever go to Italy, drinking water is a major concern. It's not whether the tap water is safe to drink; it's quite safe actually. It's the availability. Most U.S. restaurants normally place a glass of ice water in front of you shortly after you receive your menu. Not so in Italy. Water is served on request only, and it's bottled water, which runs about €3 (close to $4) for a bottle. There are two types of water you can specify. There's "Naturale," which tastes just like tap water, but costs more. And there's "Frizzante," which costs the same, but it's carbonated, and based on the taste, is about 30% pure sulphur. Technically you can try to minimize your expenses by asking for tap water, but guides tell us that it's considered rude to do so, even for Americans. Ice is pretty much unheard of in Italy. I was rather surprised to learn that there is actually an Italian word for "ice cube," but it has not been in common usage since the last time glaciers were plowing across Europe.

Euronly Young Once

Like most members of the European Union, Italy has abandoned its traditional currency, the lira, in favor of the multi-national euro (€). We still saw a few items in stores with prices listed in both currencies, but we never saw any lira coins during our stay. Of course, even though the euro is currently bitch-slapping the American dollar on the foreign currency exchange, the currency itself has its own problems. For starters, in the U.S., only four coins are in standard use. They're all quite distinctive... The penny is the only copper-colored one. The other three are all radically different in size. There are eight euro-coins (1-, 2- 5-, 10-, 20-, 50-cents, 1-, 2-euros) in frequent use. Couple this with the fact that at least three or four of these coins are very similar in size, weight, and color, and it's a pain in the ass.

Some of you math-wonks may have realized that an abundance of coin denominations is not necessarily a problem. With all of those coin combinations available, most amounts can be resolved with a fairly small number of coins. On paper, you're absolutely right. However in real life, you're an idiot. You see, the merchants don't want to be bogged down with these stupid coins any more than you do. If your change comes to €4.20, you're not going to get a convenient pair of two-euro coins and a 20-cent coin. Rather, you're much more likely to receive four 50-cent coins, two one-euro coins, and two 10-cent coins. Also, the smallest bill they make is a five-euro note. This means that almost every purchase results in a massive handful of change, forcing you to walk the streets of Italy with several pounds of metal coins sloshing around your pants pockets.

Speaking of paper bills, these too are a bit of a nuisance. Yes, they're colored like Monopoly money, and some might argue that as a plus, but every bill is a different size. This means that when going through your wallet, a five-euro note can hide very effectively between a pair of 20-euro notes.

Of course, you wind up going through lots of currency. While many will correctly tell you that your credit card offers decent exchange rates, there's a hefty flat-rate fee for international credit charges, so virtually no one accepts credit cards for anything short of dinner-sized meals. And if you want a decent exchange rate for currency, you'll want to ignore the currency-exchange booths, and go straight to the actual banks.

Many of the banks in Italy, especially Rome, have secure entrances that look like Jetsons-style transport tubes. You step through a doorway into a narrow Plexiglas-walled vertical tube. If you weigh over 300 pounds, you're probably not going to fit. Once inside, the curved doorway behind you slides shut with a hiss and a click. You're now completely surrounded by Plexiglas. Some unseen machine hums and bombards you with god-knows-what type of radiation, and if you pass muster, a light turns green, you press a button, and the second door opens, allowing you into the bank. If you flunk the test (perhaps because you're carrying an unusually large pocketbook, as my wife discovered), a light turns red, you press a button, the exterior door opens again, a disembodied voice chastises you in Italian, directing you to a set of lockers in which you can store your pocketbook while visiting the bank.

An elderly female American tourist on our trip ran into some serious problems at one of these banks. Apparently, she had a small handbag containing a small knife which was detected during the security scan. Not understanding the chastising voice, and not knowing to push the button when the red light came on, the poor octogenarian was trapped inside the glass, yelling frantically and banging on the walls of the tube with her fists for several minutes while the bank security officials alternated between laughing and shouting instructions in Italian through the Plexiglas walls. She made it out, but resolved not to go into any more Italian banks unless they featured a normal door.

The Heady Fragrances of Venice

Of the three cities, Venice was my favorite. For those of you that don't know, the island of Venice was originally a swamp with a few islands poking through the mud. This is still evident in the fact that it floods regularly. I saw no cars, or even motorcycles in Venice. All transportation is either on foot, or by boat – including emergency vehicles. Venice is not the most organized of cities; a detailed street-level map of Venice bears a striking resemblance to a bucket of live bait.

The streets branch at every conceivable angle, and I have reason to believe that the locals deliberately mix up the street signs each night as an ongoing practical joke. Some of these streets are wide enough to theoretically allow Humvees to double-park. Some of the streets are so narrow that Jean-Claude Van Damme would be able to climb onto the rooftops by planting one foot on each wall. If you find yourself lost, just wander. You'll eventually locate one of several courtyards, each with as many as eight exits. Most of the exits are labeled with the names of major destinations in Venice, and further signs will ease you generally in the proper direction. Of course, my wife and I followed one of these signs into a damp, unlit tunnel with a five-foot ceiling that went under several buildings, but sure enough, when we saw daylight again, we were headed in the right direction.

While we saw the famous gondolas everywhere, we opted not to ride on them. The canals double as the city's sewer system. While the odor of the canal water was not too noticeable when walking alongside the canals (usually), I saw no reason to get up close and personal with the green, brackish waters. To avoid the longer hikes around Venice, or to travel to any of the neighboring islands, there's a convenient water taxi system. The first time we boarded one of these taxis, we milled around a bit, waiting for it to move. Eventually, another boat bumped into the taxi rather hard, and a few people boarded our boat just to walk through it and onto the island. Weird. It took us about ten minutes to realize that we weren't on a water taxi. We were standing on a floating dock that all manner of boats (including the water taxis) use to drop off and pick up passengers. Whoops.

One of the highlights of Venice, for me anyway, was a small store that sold musical instruments. In the window, I saw a €10 ($13) harmonica that I knew my three-year-old daughter would like. Once I specified the harmonica to the proprietor, he reached down, picked up a device, placed it on the counter, and then disappeared into the back of the store, presumably to locate the harmonica. The gadget he placed on the counter was really bizarre... It looked like a hybrid between a set of fireplace bellows, and some sort of carpenter's plane. It had all sorts of rails and sliders, and didn't appear to require electricity. While I was staring at it, the proprietor returned with a small box. He removed the harmonica from the box, deftly mounted it into the rails on the device, slid the mounted harmonica into position, and proceeded to use the bellows to alternately draw and blow air through each note to ensure that it worked, and was in tune. It was a harmonica tuner; I'd never have guessed that such a machine existed, but it does. Now I want one.

The food in Venice was nothing short of spectacular. Virtually any of the larger restaurants located on the bank of the Grande Canal (the largest of the canals) serves quality food from an extensive menu.

"Did you really just take a picture of your tiramisu?"
  - My wife, towards the end of a romantic dinner on the Grande Canal

Florence and David

Many of the larger cities in Italy boast a single massive cathedral, known as "El Duomo" ("the Dome"). The Dome in Florence is one of the most impressive. Decorated with fantastic interpretive biblical scenes of the Last Judgment, the arch reaches a height of over 350 feet (8721.32 decimeters).

One of the guests on our trip was bemoaning the fact that his digital camera card was corrupted, destroying the pictures, including the ones he took of the inside of the Dome after climbing up the spiral staircase. The Dome had closed for the day, and we would not have the opportunity to climb up again, so I decided to help out by finding him a postcard or something showing the detailed artwork inside the Dome. It doesn't exist, and as far as I could tell, no one knows why. There were hundreds of postcard/picture book vendors everyone, and not a single one of them had ever seen a reproduction of the artwork inside of the Dome. If I wanted to buy a pair of printed boxer shorts featuring the Penis of Michelangelo's David, I'd be set. If I wanted to buy an apron printed with the Penis of Michelangelo's David, they could be found everywhere. If I wanted to buy two dozen postcards, each with a different visual joke themed on the Penis of Michelangelo's David, I could shop for the best price. But since I was trying to find a detailed reproduction of the most visible fresco in all of Florence... I was S.O.L.

The Uffizi in Florence is home of some of the world's most famous pieces of artwork. It also costs the equivalent of about $20 to get in, the crowds are insane, and most of the rooms are not air-conditioned. On the other hand, one of the rooms is called "Hermaphrodite Hall," which as far as I know, is the only room with such a name. While waiting in line to get into another room, I noticed that many of the statues portrayed Roman soldiers that were wearing helmets, armed with swords, but were otherwise butt-naked. I wondered why soldiers would bother with the protective helmets while leaving other body parts so vulnerable. My guess is that when the legions charged, all the slapping sounds would cause the enemy to flee in terror. The Uffizi really needs better air conditioning.

Romani Ite Domum

(Kudos if you know the reference)

While in Rome we saw the Coliseum, all sorts of random ruins, the Spanish Steps... if you want to read about them, go buy yourself a copy of "Frommer's."

Rome featured lots of super-tiny economy cars. They're about eight feet long, and after a bit of research, I learned that they get a remarkable 50-70 miles per gallon of fuel, with a maximum speed of about 80mph. The catch, of course, is that they look like Penny Racers. I almost expected to see them powered by four strong people who would drag the car backward about a hundred yards and then simultaneously let go. I wanted to stick a two-euro coin behind the rear bumper to see if it would do wheelies, but my wife intervened. Of course, these cars have at least one serious advantage. While normal-sized cars have to park parallel to the curb, these tiny cars can park perpendicular to the curb without interfering with traffic, both eliminating the need to parallel park, and allowing more cars to park on a given street.

Our bathroom in Rome was... different. Instead of a shower, we were provided a bathtub. It had no curtain at all, but it had one of those spray hoses that simulates a really weak shower if you hold it over your head. Of course, without the curtain, you're spraying water all over the bathroom every few seconds. I initially made an honest effort to avoid this. Then I gave up, closed my eyes, and directed the water spray as needed. I'd been showering with my eyes closed for some time when my wife's lilting voice caused me to open them again. "What the F*CK!!!??!" was my wife's cry.

Ok, it was pretty bad. There was water everywhere. The floor was covered with water. The walls and ceiling were dripping. All of the towels were wet. The roll of toilet paper was a soggy mess. My wife was unimpressed that I had the foresight to leave one towel in the bedroom, so I had something with which to dry myself. Having already been dressed for an hour, she decided to ditch me and head downstairs for some breakfast while I dried off and got dressed.

This presented another problem. Since I was responsible for packing my own clothes for this trip, my shirts outnumbered my underwear by roughly a factor of three. Remarkably, my wife had volunteered to wash a few of them in the sink the previous night, and had hung them up in the bathroom to dry. My problems with the shower being what they were, none of them were dry any longer. Thinking fast, I put on some rubber-soled sneakers (for insulation), and tested the electric hotel hair dryer. It worked, and it was insanely hot. I held the wet underwear in front of the hair dryer for a minute, before I realized that I was being a chump. I managed to hang the underwear on the inside of the door. Then I mounted the hair dryer on the towel rack such that it was blowing scorching winds right at the underwear. Feeling like "MacGyver," I left the room, and watched "Friends" dubbed into what sounded like German. A few minutes later, I smelled something funny. I checked the bathroom and YOW! the underwear was starting to smoke. Thinking fast, I pulled them off the door, and extinguished them by throwing them onto the floor, which was still covered with water from my shower. Of course, this didn't really help my initial problem since now my underwear was once again soaking wet. I toyed with the idea of giving the hair dryer another shot, but decided that it would be a lot safer if I just turned the previous day's pair inside out. It was on this note that I finished getting dressed, walked downstairs, and headed for Vatican City.

Vatican City

"First you get down on your knees
Fiddle with your rosaries
Bow your head with great respect
And genuflect, genuflect, genuflect

Do whatever steps you want if
You have cleared them with the Pontiff
Everybody say his own kyrie eleison
...doin' the Vatican Rag!"

- Tom Lehrer "Vatican Rag"

While in Italy, we must have visited over a dozen churches and cathedrals. There's a general dress code in effect stating that short pants are not permitted. Of course, when the temperature is above 90 degrees Fahrenheit (314 degrees Celsius), they tend to bend the rules a bit, and allow standard shorts into the building. Bare shoulders, including the "spaghetti straps" seen on many women's fashions, are forbidden at all times. No idea why. Those with unacceptably visible shoulders are issued a disposable garment that resembles a light blue, highly flammable tablecloth with a hole in it for your head. The first time we encountered this rule, my wife Heather was unprepared, and had to don the tablecloth and endure my wisecracks at a rate of about one every forty-five seconds.

"Hey Heather, check it out, your name is printed on the back!"
"What???"
"Your name... Oh wait, my mistake... It says 'Heathen'."

No such flexibility in the rules was to be found in the Vatican. No shorts at all. I expect that if you tried to enter with bare shoulders, the Vatican Guard would shoot you on sight*. Of course, thanks to God's wacky sense of humor, it was about 97 degrees Fahrenheit (141 degrees Celsius), and my inner thighs are still raw from chafing, thanks for asking.

* This initially read "... the Vatican Guard would crucify you" but I thought that might be too over-the-top. My wife agrees.

After a tour of the Vatican and St. Peter's Basilica (the size of which is mind-boggling) we stopped at the "official" Vatican City souvenir shop. We were told that any religious icon souvenirs (rosaries, charms, crucifixes, replica eight-inch nails, etc.) we purchased could be blessed by members of the Papal clergy, and then shipped directly to our hotel, packaged with a certificate authenticating the Papal blessing. If we were lucky, and the Pope was in town, it was very possible that His Holiness himself would bless them, and the certificate would state as such. I think that if you returned to the St. Peter's with the certificate, you could go on a private tour of the secret candy factory beneath Vatican City, staffed by dancing Oompa-Loompas in white robes and tall hats. I really don't do well in hot weather.

Gelato – It's not just for breakfast!

Finally I can't possibly conclude this piece without mentioning gelato. "Gelato," as most people know, is a type of ice cream. It's softer than hard ice cream, harder than soft ice cream, and remarkably good, regardless of the flavor. I gather that unlike most other ice creams, gelato has no air mixed in during the churning process. Despite its softness, it does not melt nearly as fast as one might expect in hot weather.

While gelato was available in every city, the prices varied. A small gelato in Venice could be found for 0.90 euros (about $1). At two scoops, a "small" cone really isn't all that small. I saw someone order a "large," and he walked out with a cantaloupe-sized mass of gelato perched on his cone. In Rome, prices went as high as 2.5 euros (about $3) for the same product. Fortunately we found a small, convenient gelato parlor in Rome that charged only one euro for a small cone. Every time we went there, it was staffed by the same pleasant young woman who spoke virtually no English. I came to think of her as my friend, the "Gelato Lady." She probably came to think of me as another typical American tourist ass that she was paid to smile at. I didn't care; the gelato was great.

A typical gelato parlor will have a large selection; a dozen flavors at the absolute minimum, and often as many as 40 distinct flavors. By "distinct," I mean that they are totally different flavors; they're not just adding nuts or chocolate chips to an existing flavor, and slapping a new name on it. These are new flavors designed from scratch.

Here's a typical list of gelato flavors. They're rarely translated into English, so you have to rely on those you can safely translate, plus you can see the gelato bins through the glass, Baskin-Robbins-style, so you can get a general idea of what you're ordering.

Fior di latte Vaniglia Lampone Cioccolato Noce Banana Nocciola Bacio Menta

Stracciatella Caramel Melone Malaga Tiramisu Mirtillo Zuppa inglese Amarena Pesca

Caffé Fragola Pistacchio Limone Nutella Cocco Liquirizia Meringa

I was particularly fond of "Nocciola," which is a chocolate-hazelnut (or possibly chocolate-walnut) blend. Again, the flavors are rarely displayed in English, and while some are easily translated, others are clearly "slang." For example, one of the flavors listed above is "Zuppa inglese" which means "English soup." This may seem bizarre, but no more so than "Rocky Road," "Tutti Frutti" or virtually anything marketed by Ben & Jerry.

"The Gelato Lady is the perfect woman! She doesn't talk much, and she gives me gelato. What more could I ask for?"
  - Me, completely failing to score points with my wife

Homeward Bound – In Style

The flight home was especially nice. I was a little concerned when the tired-looking Air Italia security guard indicated that I shouldn't bother emptying my pockets before walking through the metal detector. I shrugged, walked through, and of course all the alarms went off, since I was wearing my wristwatch, my wedding band, and I still had a metric ton of euro coins in my pockets. Nonetheless, he ushered me through. While I was worrying who else on my flight might also have enjoyed the "convenient" security screening process, my name was called over the public address system. Due to the low-fidelity of the equipment, coupled with the thick Italian accent, they paged me at least three times before my wife alerted me to the fact that it was my name. Turns out we both got bumped up to First Class.

All I can say is "Wow." Actually, I think the actual exclamation I used when I saw the First Class seating was "Effing sweet!," thus establishing myself as a suave and sophisticated traveler. The chairs were enormous, and had individual electronic controls for reclining the body and raising the feet. I could recline the chair to the point where I could comfortably sleep with my head in the lap of a passenger in "Coach." Also thanks to all the free magazines, newspapers, toiletry bags, sleeping blindfolds, toothbrushes, toothpaste, earplugs, socks, shoehorns, micro-fiber eyeglass cleaners, tissues, combs, moisturizing creams, ... I was spoiled rotten.

I think we were served something like four meals during the eight-hour flight, and each one included a tablecloth for my dinner tray, hot towels for my hands, appetizers, salads, entrees, chocolates, pastries... I lost track in my decadent bliss.

"Hey, think I can ask the steward to send over a few peasants from Coach to fan me for a while?"
  - Me, after flying First Class for about three hours

I've been home for almost two months now. The Gelato Lady still hasn't written to me. Of course, international mail from Italy is slow. I can wait.