Toss a Coin and Return to Rome

Legend has it that if you toss a coin over your shoulder into Trevi Fountain you will return to Rome. That coin toss over thirty years ago must have worked -- we were back!

With one jet lagged day to revisit some of Rome’s famous landmarks we set off from our hotel to the nearby metro station. It was remarkably easy to find one’s way, but the underground was hot and crowded. Loud music played on the platforms and once the train pulled up, we found ourselves moved forward on to the train by the swell of people.

Our first stop was the Colosseum. It was pretty spectacular climbing the steps from the underground station to street level and seeing the walls of this famous amphitheatre reaching up skyward in front of us.

What we had not expected was the sheer mass of people and it became evident that the only way to gain entrance without a lengthy wait was to join an English speaking tour.

Salespeople worked the crowds and in spite of our better judgment paying up and joining a tour turned out to be a good decision. Not only did we fast track ahead of those patiently lining up for tickets, we had an excellent guide who after the walk through of the Colosseum took us on to Palatine Hill and the Roman Forum.

Unless you are a historian or faithful to a guide book, the scale of Rome's landmarks is so large that despite best intentions, it isn’t long before these remnants of ancient history take on the look of an endless pile of stone. But thanks to a knowledgeable guide we had a wonderful morning in the sunshine.

A sidewalk cafe served as a timely resting spot after the morning’s cultural assault, probably serving the best chocolate and strawberry gelato we have ever tasted anywhere.

We continued on foot down a labrynth of winding alleyways to Trevi Fountain.

The Square bore no resemblance to our past memories – today it was crammed with people enjoying the ambiance created by the fountain’s rushing water.

The central figure of the fountain is Neptune riding a chariot in the shape of a shell pulled by two sea horses. One of the horses is calm while the other is restive - symbolizing the fluctuating moods of the sea. But the mood of the people in the Square today was upbeat and almost festive.

After wandering past a very crowded Spanish Steps, we ended the day with one final metro ride to St. Peters Square. By this time the pavement had somehow joined forces with our bodies and we had slowed down dramatically.

It was time to recoup and ponder the beginning of our Roman Holiday.

Venice and the Grumpy Gondolier

I had always wondered why people raved about Venice. Now I know. Imagine opening a glossy coffee table book. As we sailed into Venice it was as though we were looking at a picture that was slowly coming to life.

The early morning sun made the cityscape sparkle and church bells were ringing the hour in all directions. Activity in the harbour and on the Grand Canal had already started.

It was hard to know where to look first as we travelled the Grand Canal with narrow offshoots of the waterway going to the right and left past buildings that stretched and curved upward to the sky, ornate bridges connecting the maize of streets.

St Mark’s Square, the very heart of Venice, was heaving with people. Temporary elevated boardwalks stacked in readiness for the coming winter’s high tide - little did we know they would be in use several days later as St Mark‘s was awash after several days of rain, even flooding the interior of the Basilica. It seems that all Venetians are in possession of a pair of waders.

Sitting alfresco in St. Mark's Square at Café Florian, which began business in 1720, we drank coffee that would have bought a decent dinner at home. No matter, we were rewarded as the Basilica’s bells played out their noon hour refrain, with the ringing echoing throughout the Square. Over the next couple of days we spent hours discovering St. Mark’s Basilica, the Bell Tower, the immense Doge Palace and Bridge of Sighs.

The crowds swelled in the Square throughout the day and visiting Venice as we were in shoulder season, it was hard to imagine the onslaught in the height of summer.

Once you are in possession of a vaporetto pass the world is your oyster in Venice. Basically the floating bus system in this city of canals, once the map has been digested, it is a remarkably easy city to get around - if you don’t mind a few elbows in the ribs.

We ventured from our wonderful hotel on the Grand Canal eventually reaching the colourful island of Burano - a stark contrast to the ornate buildings of Venice.

Here the buildings are painted in strong colours, stacked on top of one another like a house of cards - orange, turquoise, emerald, red and purple - no holds barred on the colour palette. The paved streets curve along narrow canals with small boats vying for position in the water. It was raining but somehow it just didn’t matter.

One short ride on the vaporetto from Burano and we reached the island of Torcello - a sleepy place renowned for its ancient church. In a world of ABCs, this was a place of worship not to be missed - the frescoes, murals, multicoloured floor tiles and ancient brickwork that seemed to reach up to the sky. The uneven arches and large wooden fractured beams spoke its age.


Back in Venice it was dinner time. He was lightning fast - his fingers working the pizza dough as though it were a concerto. All this in contrast to our waitress - it wasn’t exactly indifference, more that she seemed to be somewhere else. Always looking for a challenge we engaged her in conversation and eventually were rewarded with a genuine smile. She told us that the restaurant had been owned by her grandfather and began operation 72 years ago. The restaurant, more a hole in the wall in a curving alleyway to the Scalzi Bridge and Lista di Spagna, was always busy despite the indifferent service.

After roaming the endless shopping area flanking the Rialto Bridge, acquiring a stunning lime green leather handbag and beautiful gloves from Fanny’s – purple polka dots and all – it was time to start thinking about the trip home.

But before leaving Venice, we simply had to take a gondolier ride by moonlight. And while there were stars in the sky as the gondola moved silently through the black waters of the winding canals, our gondolier was not playing his part. Call it “end of season blues” – whatever the problem he was not in a singing mood.

Evidently you can’t have everything in Venice, but almost!

The Rooftops of Dubrovnik

In another life, summertime on Lake Muskoka was dull when it rained. The jigsaw puzzles would come out on a card table set up in the brightest part of the cottage overlooking a rain drenched dock.

Many hours were spent one rainy August weekend trying to solve the puzzle of Dubrovnik’s clay tiled roofs.

It was challenging - the colour hue was narrow, ranging from golden brown to pinkish red at its most extreme with the majority of pieces seeming to be a roof tile. There were sighs of joy when a piece of shutter or limestone somehow fit into the developing picture of those red rooftops.

Who would have imagined years later we would be standing on Dubrovnik’s massive stone ramparts overlooking those very roofs and the fairy tale city below.

The city walls were constructed during the 13th century and later reinforced with towers. Dubrovnik is a UNESCO World Heritage Site but during the recent independence war, the city came under heavy siege and a great deal of damage resulted. A restoration project followed and few signs remain of the damage although shrapnel is still visible in the walls of one of the city’s beautiful churches.

We began our day - a bright, crisp morning - walking the picturesque palm-lined waterfront of the nearby fishing village of Cavtat. The bura and jugo winds are a phenomenon in this part of Croatia, and this morning's icy blast had the effect of cutting easily through our various layers of clothing.

We drove south to within six miles of the Montenegro border - gathering at a riverside restaurant for samples of the local cheese and smoked ham, served with liberal quantities of wine. The restaurant had a festive atmosphere with waitresses dressed in National costume against the sound of the fast flowing river, rushing hurriedly over the rocky banks.

On our return to the old town of Dubrovnik we wandered the parallel streets that flowed into the central marketplace but we were anxious to walk the city walls. We were not disappointed as we laboured up the uneven steps to the highest part of the wall.

The view was glorious and with the sunshine replacing the wind, the colours of the city intensified, framed by a sparkling seascape.

Kotor – A Medieval Curiosity

Forget about that high stakes poker game. Sadly, there is no Casino Royale in Montenegro as M intimated to Bond in a recent 007 movie.

There are however a lot of surprises when you are formally introduced to Kotor’s old town, a UNESCO World Heritage site, as well as the scenery beyond it.

The old medieval town of Kotor, a maze of winding cobbled streets, is encased within well preserved walls built in the 9th century. The walls meander up the side of a steep mountain to a fortress high on the hillside.

Outside the walls the locals had brought their produce to town to sell and gossip in a makeshift market – there was an impressive display of chestnuts, olives, vegetables, fruit, flowers, cheese and cured ham.

Things didn’t get off to the best start that morning as the ship approached Kotor. Eating breakfast on the Terrace patio at the aft of the ship, the raindrops quickly turned to a raging torrent with the clouds sinking over the mountaintops and the wind whipping up white caps on the inlet, the southernmost fiord in Europe.

Prepared for the deluge we stepped ashore with umbrellas and rain gear to begin our drive along the old road to Cetinje.

As the old road snaked its way up the mountainside we realized it was going to be a drive of extreme hairpin bends with sheer drops and few barriers. Undoubtedly we had a good driver but there were a few moments when I truly wondered if this was going to be it.

As we climbed our ears popped and the weather began to change with blue sky appearing. Later sunshine lightened the valleys and brightened the deciduous trees that were changing colour in shades of yellow, lime and orange. This, against a backdrop of the limestone cliffs, blue sky, old stone buildings and curving roads was spectacular.

We broke our journey for a sample of home-made bread, cheese and smoked ham, served with honey wine and the local brew.

Seated on animal skins in a rustic cabin looking out on the colours of autumn, we did wonder why were eating (and drinking) so soon after breakfast.

At the highest point of our drive we were at 3500 feet and the weather had become noticeably cooler. The descent was equally thrilling, at one point the driver went to the very edge of the road before it dropped off into nothingness, reversing and making the turn into the next hairpin. Beautifully done we thought thankfully.

As we travelled on the other side of the mountain the beaches of the Budva Riviera came into view. Popular with Europeans and Russians it has become a high-priced summer resort where apparently the Serbian jet set come to be seen. At this time of the year it was quiet as the local residents prepared for winter with the town their own.

Things have changed since the breakup of Yugoslavia with three quarters of the old stone buildings of beautiful Kotor purchased by foreigners. In spite of all this I am still troubled by the fact that there is no Casino Royale in Montenegro.

Mount Etna Sleeps Awhile

The drive from the port city of Messina to Taormina on Sicily’s eastern coastline is picturesque, even in the pouring rain. Messina on the island of Sicily is akin to a football on the toe of the Italian mainland, just two miles away at its narrowest point and yet Sicily has a completely different feel from the rest of Italy.

Medieval Taormina is lined with jagged cactus-covered cliffs and on clear days the snow capped peaks of Mount Etna are visible with white puffs of smoke rising against the blue sky - a sight we had to imagine on a rainy day with thunder and lightning performing above us as we stood on the grounds of Teatro Greco.

The ancient Greeks were well known for seeking out spectacular locations to stage their performances and the site they selected on Taormina’s hillside was no exception. Built in 300 BC, the acoustics are so good that a whisper on what was the stage can be heard in the last rows of the terraces. A music and arts festival takes place at the site today with such luminaries as Elton John and Jose Carreras having performed there.

The winding cobblestoned alleyways of Taormina are fun to wander and as a marzipan devotee the almond based specialties sold in the bakeries are not to be missed - or the chocolate and ricotta filled cannoli. That, and a hearty cappuccino in a sidewalk café, and who cares about the inclement weather.

Driving up the lower slopes of Mount Etna, we stopped at the mountainside village of Zafferana and enjoyed a Sicilian lunch of bruscetta, pasta and cassata, pondering why our pasta just doesn’t taste as good as that.

The striking thing about Mount Etna is the number of communities nestled on its hillsides with old lava flows all around them. Life goes on normally, the citrus and olive groves flourishing in the rich soil - normally that is until the giant roars. One of the world’s major active volcanoes, Mount Etna is the largest and highest in Europe at almost 11,000 feet, erupting 12 times in the last thirty years, most recently in 2006.

The rings of vegetation change markedly as one ventures up the mountainside. Vineyards and citrus groves give way to pines and then to broom and lichen, the latter having made its home on the ancient lava rock. The road snakes it way upward through the lava fields until eventually a series of dormant craters at the 6000 foot mark of Crateri Silvestri is reached.

The experience of walking the lava dunes and what appears as a moonscape of dead craters is a little eerie as one considers fleetingly whether or not Mount Etna plans to make some kind of statement in the very near future.

Fortunately for us, today would not be the day.

Postcards from Sorrento

The drive along the winding Amalfi coast towards Sorrento in Neapolitan Italy is both spectacular and heart stopping.

The views speak for themselves but what defeats logic is the vigour with which the locals take to their vehicles.

For the uninitiated, cars appear to shrink as they pass one another without skipping a beat. Occasionally a bus driver will stop his vehicle in the middle of a melee of stalled vehicles on a hairpin, all vying to pass and refusing to give way. He will direct traffic, ordering cars to back up so that larger vehicles can maneuver the bend without losing too much paint or ego.

Taking one’s eyes off the road and looking out to sea is almost a contradiction in terms. Bougainvillea tumbles lazily over the pastel coloured buildings, fishing boats bob in the water while the waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea lap over the black volcanic beaches. In the distance across the Bay of Naples lies Mount Vesuvius and it isn’t a stretch of the imagination to consider the reality of living in a volcanic region.

Take the town of Pompeii for instance which lies directly beneath Mount Vesuvius. People were likely going about their business as usual that sunny August morning in 79 AD when the top of the mountain erupted in a massive explosion, drowning the town in twenty feet of ash and killing 6000 of the town’s residents either by asphyxiation or falling buildings.

The ash had the effect of preserving Roman life intact for over 2000 years and when the archaeologists began work in 1748 they were amazed at the story that unfolded of everyday life in Pompeii. We too were amazed and it’s impossible not to be moved at what one sees.

Pompeii’s roadways with carved indentations to guide chariots so that they wouldn’t collide with massive stepping stones placed for pedestrians. The stones were placed at intersections so that people would not dirty their feet in the mire that collected from man and beast. The street grid of homes and businesses all aligned perfectly, the brothels with their colourful paintings leaving nothing to the imagination, the amphitheatre and the forum, all with Mount Vesuvius looking down on the remains of the town, seemingly inert yet potentially menacing.

While only two thirds of the town has been excavated, the poignancy of what we saw was not without its impact as we imagined those early Romans and that instant when all hell broke loose changing their lives forever.

This brings us back to the present day and all those modern day gladiators in their Fiat chariots barreling down the Amalfi coast road. Perhaps they should rein in the horses and take a moment to ponder on Mount Vesuvius, what might have been and what could be.

Siena and San Gimignano - Golden Moments

It had been 18 years since I had walked in awe of the medieval buildings of Siena - today, as then, the city felt untouched by time - yet somehow thriving in a bustling confluence of residents and visitors. The bakeries, gelaterias and coffee shops were brimming with patrons, the hustle and bustle of the crowded, narrow walkways adding to the atmosphere.

The October sun slowly travelled its way across the buildings making “burnt Siena” the colour of the moment. All augmented by the ironwork, coloured shutters, flower boxes and gargoyles of the town’s architecture - and of course Siena's magnificent unfinished cathedral.

Piazza del Campo, site of the biannual horserace and the central part of the city was full of people enjoying the sunshine and watching the comings and goings in the piazza’s cafes and restaurants.

The surrounding Tuscan countryside was picture perfect - gently sloping hills scattered with vineyards, olive groves, cypress trees, farmlands and winding roads. The red clay roofs of the farmhouses and the yellow hues from the buildings’ walls positively glowing in the sunlight.

This couldn’t have been more so when we viewed the landscape from the walled hilltop village of San Gimignano. A golden glaze bathed the countryside in the late afternoon sun, church bells rang in the distance and we thought how wonderful to have shared those moments in time.

Portovenere – Not Quite Cinque Terre

As luck would have it Cinque Terre was not approachable by sea because of strong winds.

We were disappointed but the nearby UNESCO World Heritage site of Portovenere, with a more sheltered harbor, provided an unexpected and pleasant alternative.

Sailing from La Spezia to Portovenere, multicoloured homes lined the hillside, giving way to impressive naval facilities. Turning the headland, the village of Portovenere with its castle and churches was a sight to behold.

One only had to imagine medieval times and life in this fortress village under ownership of the state of Genoa, its tall, sloping, colourful buildings - themselves acting as fortifications against regular marauders from lands held by the state of Pisa across the bay.

Its violent history in the past, today the village is considered less commercialized than its sister villages of Cinque Terre. The buildings are mostly occupied by locals whose families have lived there for generations, who are either farmers, fishers or workers in nearby La Spezia.

Stepping ashore we were greeted by fat felines who meandered aimlessly in the village square stopping periodically to roll lazily on the cobblestones that had been warming in the morning sun.

Stores along the main street welcomed us within to sample mouth watering pesto, tastings of olive oil and focaccia. A hole in the wall café along the way provided a fabulous view over the harbour from a small balcony while we enjoyed morning cappuccino.

The olive oil, the focaccia, the pesto and the cappuccino – now that’s Italian!

And we seem to be assimilating rather nicely.

Monte Carlo and Saint-Paul de Vance – Two Worlds

An hour’s drive from Monte Carlo in Monaco lies the medieval hilltop village of Saint-Paul de Vance in France.

With its Roman walls intact, Saint-Paul has endured remarkably well over its long history.

The narrow, winding, cobbled walkways snake their way through the village to the church of Saint-Paul and after the climb you are rewarded with stunning views over the Cote D’Azur and the Alps.

In its more recent history, Saint-Paul became a haven for artists with the village and its surrounding landscapes providing inspiration to the likes of Marc Chagall and his contemporaries – in fact Chagall is buried in the village churchyard.

Popular with visitors, the village is predominated by elegant art and antique shops as well as holiday rental homes but its ancient buildings are unspoiled by modern day trends.

Back in Monte Carlo we looked out over the Principality's unquestionably beautiful harbour and the concrete jungle of overpriced apartments crammed into every available inch of land. The green domes of the Casino – Monaco’s hallmark - appeared to have a defiant look. Who are you people it seemed to say.

In spite of the Bentleys, Ferraris and Aston Martins vying for position in Casino Square, the high priced real estate and the rarefied air taken in by the Monegasques, one unfortunate conclusion remained that day. No deep inhaling of that sea air recommended outside the Casino - the drains were making their presence felt. How awful for those poor people!