We're having fun

Bassano, Padova, Milano, Geneva

We had arranged for Matteo to pick us up at the Locanda after an early breakfast so we could catch our 8:09 train to Padova, with a final destination of Geneva, where my sister Naomi lives with her Swiss husband Vincent. Matteo had a system for avoiding the stairs down into and back out of the underpass to get to our track -- he opened a gate marked with dire warnings about the consequences of crossing the tracks, and crossed over to the platform with my bike. We followed with the rest of the luggage, and off he went. We were not arrested.
At Padova we had about half an hour's wait for our train to Milan. When an old lady and her family seemed to be struggling with getting onto our car, we went to the other end, only to discover that the other door did not work. So we got on the next car and fought our way back through two pairs of doors into our car -- where we discovered that our seats were at the far end. And the air conditioning did not work. After dragging our bike cases and suitcases thru the aisles, we collapsed into our seats. And sweated. The conductor told us we could go into the adjoining car, which we finally did, abandoning our luggage to the first takers. The next car was a refrigerator by contrast, but a welcome change. When we had to return to our car to retrieve our luggage before disembarking in Milan, it was like walking into an oven.
In Milan, we had an hour's layover, so we headed for a little restaurant for lunch. After ordering, David headed off to find our track, which was somewhat offset from the rest. Our train was already there, but there seemed to be no hurry to board. After a pretty good slice of pizza (David) and pannini (me), we hoisted my bike case onto my back again, and schlepped around the corner to our train. Our car was the farthest away (naturally), and our seats at the far end of that. It was pretty easy to find room in the luggage section for my bike case, and we hoped we could get David's between two seats that were back to back. Although it probably would have fit, the aisle was too narrow to get it turned at right angles to slide it in. Another passenger helped him lift it into the overhead rack, where it amazingly fit. Unfortunately, we were on the sunny side of the car, and although the air conditioning seemed to work, it wasn't set very low, so we were pretty warm. In addition, the bathrooms were disgusting. In both our and the neighboring cars, the sinks were so full of water that wouldn't drain that a tusnami threatened with each sway of the train.
We were very happy to find Naomi on the platform. And all the luggage fit easily into her VW station wagon, so things were looking up. She and Vincent are currently at their country house only about 15 minutes out of Geneva in a little village called Aire-la-Ville. The house was built in about 1750 and stayed in the same family until they bought it. The woman who sold it to them had turned up with her daughter just as Naomi was leaving for the station, so they were still there when we got back. Naomi filled them in on their remodeling plans, which they seemed not to be bothered by, although they had to leave so soon after we got back that she really couldn't give them much detail. By the time we get back in September, construction will have begun, so it's great to get to see it in the "before" state. Unfortunately, the wonderful quilt-like concrete tile floor in the living room cannot be saved and still put in floor heating. One interesting thing about the village is that they have a trash incineration plant that will soon provide heat for all of the houses in the village. That and a landfill are so discreetly hidden by a clump of trees that you'd scarcely know they were there. Dinner outside under the huge chestnut tree was capped off by an herisson (hedgehog) running across the lawn. We all ran over, and he rolled himself into a ball, which allowed Vincent and David to actually touch him. Before I could, he scampered off into a clump of bushes, and we never saw him again.
The next morning, we headed into Geneva to their apartment, where we could do laundry, access the internet, and copy and fax our Italian language pre-tests to the language school in Bologna where David, Nina, and I will be taking classes next week. Mostly, the latter was a farce, as neither of us (or Nina, for that matter) speaks any Italian. I could take a stab at several of the questions, although I certainly can't transform any sentences from the active to passive, or present to future, or any other such tricks. I'm sure whoever reviews my test will have a good laugh. Still it might give them an idea of whether I should start at the lowest or next-to-lowest level.
The apartment is full of really wonderful art, and some great furniture, including a clever table in the kitchen with chairs that slide right under the lip of the table to allow easy passage by the table when not in use. We went to the farmer's market a few blocks away and to a patisserie before eating a nice nicoise salad prepared by David and a tomato, mozzarella, and mango (!) salad make by Naomi back at the flat. Oh yes, and our apricot and apple tarts (one of each). On the way out of town, we stopped at a bike shop run by an ex-racer to get a couple of tubes and a patch kit for the exhorbitant price of about $25. Geneva is NOT a cheap city. In fact, David remembers that while cycling here 28 years ago, he decided not to buy any food until he was back in France.
We put the bikes back together and assembled our bike rack, which we then tested on Naomi's station wagon to make sure it was likely to work on our rental car. Another yummy meal made by Naomi, and it was time for bed.
Vincent had warned us that it might rain today, and sure enough it did. So after a leisurely breakfast, we decided to take a walk into the nature preserve close by. By then the sun was out, and the walk, if a little muddy, was quite pleasant. The highlight was a couple of enormous muddy sows with 5 piglets between them. Interestingly, one of the sows was picking up rocks and rolling them around in her mouth apparently to eat the dirt off them before spitting them out again. Strange. The return was right along the Rhone river. Bread and cheese with our fig salsa (yum!!) and salad for lunch, a little more fussing with the bikes, and we headed off for a short ride under regathering clouds. David was delighted to pass not only a llama (so the ride was by definition a success), but also an alpaca in the same field. It began to sprinkle about half an hour into the ride, and we decided to cut it short. After climbing up to a lovely village called Dardagny that was full of wine-tasting opportunities (not taken), we made a U-turn and headed back through Russin, just across the dam from Aire-la-Ville. By now it was raining harder, but not enough to be uncomfortable. And here we are again, preparing to eat again. I'm definitely going to have to go on a diet when we get back.

Montello and Folina

I was pretty beat after the Asiago plateau, so despite the seductions of the almond cookie ride (which also starts with part of the Asiago climb), we voted for a flatter ride. We had settled on the Montello ride, only to have George announce in the morning that the Montello ride made no sense on a Monday because the bakery with the wonderful whole wheat croissants with honey was closed on Monday. So we reviewed all the options and settled on Montello without the bakery. This seemed to put George's nose out of joint and made him kind of cranky all day, but the ride was well worth it. Lots of tiny lanes and countryside, very little urban riding, and at one point we were following along an irrigation canal on a deserted bike path. Very scenic and quite pleasant. Although the canonical bakery was closed, we found an acceptable patisserie, followed closely by a bar where we had our coffees. We have discovered yet another variation on espresso: a macchiatone, which is a macchiato with slightly more milk, but less than a cappuccino. Just about perfect. Then back to the Laconda for lunch. By this time we were beginning to be amazed at George's consistency in leading the rides at 13.1 +/- 0.1 mph average, regardless of distance or terrain. We almost always got back to the Laconda at 1:00 give or take about 5 minutes. At lunch we discussed going into Bassano del Grappa to look for shoe glue (the sole of my 7 year old Diadoras had separated at the heel on one side), an Italian/English dictionary, and something to bring Vincent and Naomi in Geneva. George announced that there was no point going into town on a Monday, as everything was closed on Mondays. However, given that we had to disassemble our bikes the next afternoon and then leave the following morning, we had little choice.
We caught the bus into town, checked the return schedule and then walked into town. True, many things were closed, but enough were open to make it worthwhile. We thoroughly explored the old part of town within the old walls, including the famous wood and stone bridge by Palladio that is dedicated to the Alpinists who have always revered the bridge and arranged for its rebuilding after it was destroyed in WWII. One end lands in an area of town dedicated to ceramics shops, as well as a gelateria that makes a really mean affogato (gelato drowned in espresso). The best yet. A touristy shop at the foot of the bridge yielded a nice compact Italian/English dictionary. We found a hardware store and bought what I think was contact cement (seems to have done the trick on my shoe). We also bought some local cheese, a fig "salsa", and some almond cookies for Naomi and Vincent.
Jennifer wanted to go to the Giusegi clothing factory, which didn't interest me (David's always up for shopping), so we had decided to climb Monte Grappa the next morning. However, Jennifer turned out to be too tired to ride and Mark was more interested in going to Folina than in climbing the mountain. Since Mark characterized this as a "must do" ride, we changed our plans. George was in a better mood and rode his bike for the second day in a row. Once we got to the climb, he suggested David ride on ahead while he rode with me. We actually had a nice chat, and he had gone so far as telling us how to recognize the coffee stop after the descent, so we didn't have to stay on his wheel for the descent. David and Mark had stopped on the climb to take pictures, and I dropped George on the descent, so I was the first to the coffee stop. Which was closed. If nothing else, this is the ICC trip of the unexpected closures. However, there was a bar only a block away with a very welcoming owner with Fiat 500 rally trophies all over the place. After coffee, we climbed the hill to a 14th century Cistercian monastery that was really impressive. We were the only ones there, and walking into the cloister immediately made one feel quiet and contemplative. This was about the 3rd church on the spot, and the altar contained a statue of the madonna and child from a previous version several centuries older than the current church. The architecture was all pointy arches and soaring columns. George pointed out the grille where monks who were ill could hear mass without having to come down into the church. Back in the cloister, there was an interesting set of before and after pictures of the restoration of the monastery. Apparently at some point the Venetians banned the Cistercians and the monastery became housing for peasants. In 1927? the church as rededicated and restored. We finally tore ourselves away and headed back.The forecast for the day was for rain in the afternoon, and the heat and humidity were really getting oppressive. Even relatively small climbs sent my heart rate too high. We were happy to get home, but this may have been the prettiest ride of them all.
At lunch we were joined by Keith, a South African who has lived in the US for 35 years, and who has spent many long visits at the ICC. He seems to be being groomed as the heir apparent at the ICC. He's a very nice, personable chap, so this bodes well. After lunch and a short nap, there was nothing for it but to disassemble our bikes and pack them. Yet another trip the ICC was drawing to a close.

ICC, Asiago plateau and Rubbio

George arranged for Jennifer to ride with Edda this morning, while we followed George on his scooter back along the way we had finished yesterday's ride. This included riding by the walls of Marostica, an amazing city that continued to be contained entirely within its walls until after WWII. This time, we just stopped and let George wait for us as we took pictures. Yesterday we had ridden in one gate and out the other, but today, we skirted along outside the gates, then followed them where they turn improbably up a very steep hillside. At the bottom, George demanded that we each empty out one water bottle, as it was unnecessary to carry so much extra weight -- there is a water stop only 7 km or so up the climb. What a control freak. But he was right. We stopped with a gaggle of the cyclists who had passed us on the climb, refilled, and continued to climb (and to be passed). At one point, David realized that to that point we had recapitulated the famous "Almond Cookie Ride" he and Ben, but not I, had been on three years before. David asked George whether we would be passing thru Conco, the home of the famous cookies, but George said, no, we had to either turn that way and make it into the Almond Cookie Ride, or turn the other and go up the plateau. At the decision point, seeing how slow I was, he asked if I wanted to shorten the ride, or continue up to the town just above us, and then about 5.5 km more climbing. I wanted to do the climb. We stopped at another water fountain in the town where there was practically gridlock between cars, cyclists, and pedestrians. In the end it was rather a lot more than 5.5 km (even George admitted that they seem to have added some climbing) and pretty tough in the heat, even though it was considerably cooler at that altitude than down below. Just when I felt like I could climb no more, we reached the top. And it was worth it. We continued across the Asiago plateau, which is wonderfully pastoral with cows with large bells, small farms, and miles of lush farm and countryside on either side. At the end of the plateau, we stopped for coffee (make it fast, sez George, we're running behind), and then dropped down a descent to die for (or, if you're not careful, on). I was having trouble not riding up George's wheel, especially on the tight tornante (hairpin turns), so I passed him. We soon reached an intersection, and it was pretty obvious which way we had to go (follow the signs to Bassano del Grappa), but we waited for George, and waited, and waited. Later he explained that he thought we had turned down a steep dead-end descent, but eventually decided he should ride ahead and check. Back behind him through switchback after switchback, and we were back at the main road. George had announced at coffee that we had to eat at another restaurant owned by Silvia, the proprietor of the Laconda, because the Laconda was closed for lunch today. This restaurant was about 5 km from home, close to our usual endgame route for most rides. We got there before Jennifer and Edda, mostly because George had forgotten to warn them about the change of restaurants and had also forgotten to bring his cellphone along so he could tell them. Silvia was there and drove her cute little Smart car up to the Locanda, where she picked up Jennifer, leaving Edda, who lives close to the other restaurant, to ride back down. Lunch was just as good as what we are used to, although George groused that there was no salad bar (they brought us perfectly nice mixed salads). My prima piatta of rice salad was so filling (and GOOD) that I cancelled my order for the seconda piatta. For dessert they pressed lemon sorbettos on us, whether we wanted them or not (Jennifer didn't, and Edda had already left, so we ended up with 5 to consume between the 3 of us). This was not a hardship. A sorbetto in this neck of the woods is a lovely concoction of ice cream or some other soft cream mixed with prosecco, the local sparkling wine. This one really took me back to Christmas morning with my first in-laws. My father-in-law used to make a really deadly (and yummy) gin fizz. This was rather like, although fortunately not as alcoholic. Nonetheless, after 2 glasses of white wine -- I seem to be able to drink wine again! - and 1.5 sorbetti, I nearly created a catastrophe on the way home. We had to do a quick left-right across a busy street, and I just did not see the motorcycle on my left. David squeaked, I braked, the motorcycle swerved (and missed the car coming in the opposite direction), and we all breathed a sigh of relief. Don't drink and bike.

ICC, Lake ride and Villa Coldogno

When we had just finished eating dinner after our first day here, another person showed up to the Italian Cycling Center. Jennifer had been here earlier, then left for 10 days in Turkey, and is now back for another 6 days. We decided we'd do the "Lake Ride" which she loves and which I had messed up on last time I was here. We had a biggish group that time, and Ben's brother-in-law Casey, one or two other people, and I found ourselves between the faster lead group, led by Pat, an ex-pat American, and the slower group led by Yvonne, the American woman who was helping George run the ICC while his leg was broken. Pat and her group (including David) turned across a funky wooden bridge, and we rode blithely by thinking there was no way anyone would go over that. They saw us from the other side, but no amount of yelling caught our attention. Eventually, Pat turned back and followed the route we took (which turned out to be the return route), and took us backwards up the ride to the coffee stop at the lake. So we never saw the climb that should have been the first half of the ride. I was determined to do it right this time. So off we went, being met first by a very nice Italian woman named Edda, then, at the bus stop where so many ICC rides regroup, by Pat, her husband Leopoldo, an Italian ex-racer, and Gianluca, a very nice young Italian kid (late teens or early 20's). We set off as a group, but I soon had a flat, followed by a tube that split at the stem. George and Jennifer continued ahead, while the others waited (somewhat impatiently after the stem failure) for us. I think Leopoldo was not amused by David's refusing his CO2 cartridge and insisting on pumping up the tire by hand. Anyway, we continued on...PAST the infamous bridge. I quickly spoke up and asked why we hadn't turned, and Pat said Leopoldo preferred the other way. I explained that the whole POINT of the ride was to do it as advertised, and they reluctantly turned back. I think Leopoldo was annoyed at me, so he rode as slowly as he could across the rickety bridge. I thought I wouldn't be able to stay upright, but I was determined not to let him win, so I made it. Then he took off at a breakneck pace, which I also gamely matched. That split our group effectively, as Pat had planned a restroom stop, and David's bottle flew out of its cage for the first of several times that day. Eventually, Gianluca caught us and told Leopoldo that the others had dropped (Leopoldo speaks little English, and besides I didn't have extra breath to try). The climb under overhanging rock in lovely shade (by now it was in the upper 80's) was worth the hassle. We found George right where Pat had asked Gianluca to take us on the scenic detour, so the Italian contingent left us there, and we continued with George and Jennifer. Another wooden bridge that amazingly had been used for cars until recently, a stop in the middle of the lake to admire the view, a quick push on foot up a very steep rocky path, and then back across the "new bridge" and we were at the coffee stop. The descent takes you by some WWII fortifications built into the hill, and then we were back along the Brenta bikepath we like so well. At one point, we stopped George and made him tell us more about the Covolo di buttistone, a large cave visible across the river and across the highway, halfway up the cliff. This cage was used since feudal times as part of a fortification with castle that controlled traffic up the Brenta River. In WWII (or was it I?) it was used as a munitions storehouse. It's really huge, allowing a large number of troops to shelter inside. One can climb up to it via a steep flight of a lot of steps, and one of these trips, I'm going to do it.
The next day, we decided to go to the Villa Coldogno, which George says is interesting because the frescoes depict typical villa life at the time of their painting. It is only open on Saturday mornings (and Friday afternoons, it turns out, but George does not ride in the afternoon), so we decided we should do it on Saturday. This time, George led on his motor scooter, which we had heard about from Casey who was here earlier in the summer. He drove fairly fast, which David and I could keep up with (sort of), but we kept dropping Jennifer. I finally caught him where he waited for Jennifer and me to catch up after being caught at a long light, and I told him that it was one thing to ride the scooter to make it easier on himself, but quite another to use it to turn into Leopoldo. After that, he drove at a more moderate pace. We stopped in front of a couple of villas on the way (George said it was really a 3 villa ride, although in the end, we saw about 6), and then pulled into the courtyard of the Villa Coldogno. Unfortunately, it was closed for August vacation, although the website had not mentioned this. They allowed us to go through a couple of gates and look at (the outside of) a WWII bunker set into a hill. Then we went to the bar across the road and had our coffee and croissants. On the way back, George seemed a bit lost a couple of times (we had all voted for the shorter, more scenic, less highway-shoulder way back, so I don't think he does this often), but when we arrived back at the Locanda for lunch, it was exactly the 60 miles he represented the ride to be. It had been a really hot day, with lots of humidity, so it wasn't surprising that it rained a bit after lunch. Ride, eat, sleep. This is getting to be a habit.

Villa Maser

My apologies to those of you who tried to read this in its 2% contrast version. Google in its infinite reason decided that's the typeface I wanted, and nothing I tried would change it, partially because Apple in ITS infinite wisdom decided that no one would ever want to have any control over formatting (or picture size, for that matter) on an iPad. Go figure. Now I've tried copying it into Simple Note and then back out. If that works, great. If not, then you'll never see this version.

So we repaired to the bar/coffee shop of the Villa for coffee, but the espresso machine was not warmed up yet. So we just listed to Louie Armstrong singing show tunes (Chim-chiminee, Hi-ho, Hi-ho, It's Off to Work We Go, etc). Eventually we made it inside the villa, which is currently occupied, although the central section open to the public is not apparently used by the family. George was, as reputed, very knowledgeable. The Villa was built in 15?? to a design by the famous architect Palladio, with frescoes by Veronese, and statues by some other famous guy whose name escapes me. The fantastic fountain is one of his works, although the rather incongruously large figures flanking Neptune in the middle and the two on either end, were apparently by the owner Barbaro, who was an amateur sculptor. A wonderfully cool and inviting fountain, nonetheless.
The Veronese frescoes are great, although apparently they generated some friction between him and Palladio. Apparently, Palladio felt that he had designed rooms of ideal proportions, and then Veronese went and enlarged them with the vistas and niches he painted in trompe l'ouiel on the walls. He included a self-portrait at one end of a series of rooms, facing a portrait of his wife at the other end, and several little self-references in other rooms, including his slippers and paintbrush in one place, and a servant emerging from a hidden door to bring his slippers in another. Quite amazing trompe l'ouiel, including statues, columns, a scene of the mistress of the house on a balcony with the family nurse and a little dog, and other charming and amusing scenes. Four frescoes had been scored and then plastered and painted over by a later owner, only to be restored, more or less (one was left pretty much as uncovered, and the others still show signs of the scratches) by a German owner.
As George points out, with all those Veronese frescoes, one doesn't have much room for hanging pictures or otherwise adding personal touches, but there were statues of the current owner's grandfather, Count Somebody, and of his mother, a beautifully serene bronze with exquisite details (necklace and dress fastener).
After looking our fill at the rooms and gardens, we repaired to the bar again, where the espresso machine had finally warmed up. And David discovered that the little dog who lives at the Villa (the spitting image of the dog in the fresco), had peed on his bike tire where he had helmet-locked the bike. So he got to wash his helmet. And while we were drinking our cappuccinos, we saw the dog trot down to the bar and disappear from view beneath us. Fortunately, he did not try to repair the damage to his earlier handiwork.
The ride home was much shorter, which was good since we had worked up a pretty good appetite. But first, I needed to get some stamps, after being scolded again by George for not knowing where the post office was or when it closed (also in the pre-departure information). Lunch was great, of course, as was the nap we took afterwards. Ride, eat, sleep, what more can you ask?

Italian Cycling Center, Villa Maser

We left Rome Wednesday with a bit of drama.  We had it all worked out that we could eat breakfast as soon as it started at 7:30 and still get Dina and Ruth to the train station about 6 blocks away for their 8:22 train to the airport.  David and I went to retrieve the luggage after breakfast while Ruth and Dina set off for the station.  We were there in plenty of time and walked to the far end of the line of tracks where we knew the signs for the airport train were.  Sure enough, they directed us to turn along the last train and keep going...and going, and going.  It was probably as far inside the station as it was to the station, or at least seemed like it.  As time got shorter and shorter, David and I raced ahead to the train and told them our 86-year-old mother was coming.  Although the conductor blew his whistle, he continued to allow people onto the train until Ruth and Dina hove into sight, with Ruth looking considerably the worse for wear.  Bags heaved on, Ruth helped up the steps, and away the train went, with hardly a moment to say good-bye.  
David and I then had a little over an hour to kill and to let our arms settle back into their sockets.  A little cappuccino helped us recover.  Our car, the first we came to on the platform, was also the destination of a group of about 8 or 10 Canadians, each with a huge suitcase, and a family of about 6 Brazilians, each with about 2 huge suitcases.  Considerable confusion ensued about the numbering of the seats and jostling to get luggage into overhead racks. We managed to find space for ours and were immensely relieved to hear the both groups were headed to Florence, the train's first stop.  The rest of the trip to Padova was uneventful other than an unexplained stop high on a curve in the track built well above the surrounding countryside.  Eventually another train went by and we continued.  These trains are FAST.  David saw a trackside speed limit sign of 300 kph, if memory serves.  Part of what makes it all work is that the tracks are completely isolated from everything else, with very few level crossings.  It will be interesting to see how California build an infrastructure suitable for ours.
We changed trains in Padova for the little local train that takes one to Bassano del Grappa.  My mental map from 3 years ago worked perfectly to get us to the bus station, except that the station had been moved back to the train station.  Then, when we had walked the 4 or 5 blocks round trip, we couldn't find an open kiosk for tickets, nor a bus driver who even knew where one could buy tickets nor, for that matter, where the bus to Borso del Grappa left from.  We managed to deduce that we could buy tickets inside the station at the biglietteria (ticket window), but even that official had no idea where the bus left from nor when it would next leave.  Eventually, after asking some more bus drivers who came thru, we located the stop and found the sign, which said that the next bus wasn't for nearly an hour.  So we took a taxi.  We were eventually greeted by a somewhat sleepy George, awakened from his afternoon nap, who grumbled (for the first of several times in the next 24 hours) that we had failed to read the pre-departure information carefully enough.  We were supposed to ask the taxi to wait while we checked in, so he could take us down to the "residence," a building down the hill about half a km away where our rooms and bikes could be found.  We offered to walk, but he insisted on getting his van and driving us down. 
After unpacking our bikes and spending the better part of 45 minutes looking for the pump strap I knew I had removed from the handlebars as one of the first steps, I found it in my pocket and still had time for us to take showers and take a short nap.  Then to dinner.  As always, it was delcious, but George seemed to lack the desire to converse with such a small audience (it was only us three), so it passed mostly in silence.  We did, however, agree that the next day we would go to the Villa Masore (formerly the Villa Barberini) on our ride the next day.  One of the charms of the ICC, I had always heard, was that George knows so much about art and architecture.
Yesterday dawned cool and clear, so after breakfast we set off for the Villa Maser with George.  The route started the same as we remembered, but then wandered thru countryside we had not previously seen.  At one point, we pointed to a structure on a neighboring hill, which George explained had been a castle belonging to such a tyrant that the locals rose up and murdered him and every living member of his family to make sure his seed was not perpetuated.  Then they pulled down the castle and built a church with the building materials.  Anyway, we continued on for a bit up and down hills and thru charming towns until we reached a roundabout, where George exclaimed, "Ah, I have finally found the road to Maser."  Odd.  Nonetheless, we arrived half an hour before the villa opened to the public, as you can see from the closed shutters in the picture.

Villa Maser

Rome

We left Florence on Sunday, the 15th of August, otherwise known as Ferragosto, an important holiday (the Assumption of Mary) in Italy. Which means that when we got to Rome, most things were closed, and all the Italians were at the beach. After checking in and eating lunch, Ruth really didn't want to do anything, and it's not surprising considering how hard we'd driven her the day before (and in the rain yet). So we left her resting and went to see the Spanish Steps (not that exciting, and overrun with tourists), then the Trevi Fountain. Now THAT is something else. It looks like a giant chunk of marble was carved in place to create all these fantastic figures and an ornate building behind. Of course, it wasn't really how it happened, but it's a terrific illusion.
Dina had friends in Rome, one of whom works right at the Trevi Fountain, so we hooked up with her, her mother Naomi and her father. We walked to a nearby church, where they said there was something interesting to see, but they wanted it to be a surprise. It was turned out to be an ossuary, which was closed, but we were able to see the church briefly before they threw us out so they could close that as well. After much discussion about what we should see in the following two days, we parted from Dina's friends and headed back to check on Ruth. She didn't want to eat (slightly upset stomach), so we left her again and ate at an Ethiopian restaurant.
The following day, Ruth was fully recovered, so we went to the market at Campo de' Fiori, including the Forno Antiche, reputed by Jeffrey Steingarten (It Must Have Been Something I Ate) to have the best pizza bianca in Rome. It was pretty good, as were the cookies we got there, too. Actually, it was all a stroke of luck, as I had left my notes at the hotel, and didn't even know it was the right place until later. Consequently, we didn't also go to the other bakery close by, reputed to have the best some other kind of bread (don't have my notes again). I'm pretty sure we walked by it, though. We again met up with Naomi and another daughter. This time, they took us by the "French" church with several paintings of the life of Saint Matthew by Caravaggio. And then on to the Pantheon. That place blew me away 40 years ago and still does. Built in 27 BC and rebuilt in 126 AD after being twice destroyed by fire, it was converted into a Christian church in 609, and still stands intact. It has a central oculus, open to the sky, which provides all of the abundant light. If you ever get to Rome and have not seen this, then this, in my opinion, should be your number one stop.
We went to the Vatican and ran into yet another of the family of Dina's friends, one of Naomi's sons-in-law, who ran over to his cart and brought back two booklets of pictures of the ancient Roman monuments, with overlays showing what they think they looked like originally. The line to get into the Sistine Chapel was really long, so we just took pictures of the cute Swiss guards and left. Ruth was getting pretty tired by then, so we rested up, and then walked to a nearby restaurant (Ristorante la Famiglia, which seems to be one of two or three of the same name in the same neighborhood). The food was great, with an amazing antepasto bar, and a very cute waiter.
Our last day in Rome was devoted to the antiquities. Starting with the Colosseum, continuing with the Palatine hill with remains of several palaces, and finishing with the Forum. The tourist book really came in handy, as there was a map, but no signage to help you figure out what you were looking at. The Romans really knew how to build things. And it's great how some have been partially reconstructed enough to figure out what they must have looked at (e.g., a piece of aquaduct). Speaking of aquaducts, one of the really charming things about Rome is the plethora of public fountains, fed by the Roman aquaducts, that provide abundant fresh water to fill your bottles with. And it was HOT, making these a real lifesaver.
Leaving Ruth at the hotel again to rest and pack, we ran a few errands, then came back for dinner, this time at the little restaurant right next to our hotel. The Calo family had wanted us to meet them for pizza, but it is even harder to get them organized than it is to get Lipskys organized, so we finally all agreed it was better for them to come to us after dinner (when they would all be off work) and meet us for coffee. Which meant we were drinking coffee and eating dessert until after 10:00. Not much sleep that night, as Ruth and Dina had an 8:22 train to the airport to catch, and we had our train to Padova, and then on to the Italian Cycling Center in Borso del Grappa.

Trevi fountain, Rome

Venice and Florence

This post was mostly written several days ago, but I only now have enough bandwidth to post it. Still haven't figured out how to add pictures.
   Our trip started with a family reunion in Charlottesville VA. Not of much interest to non-family members, so I'll just say that if I were planning it again, I'd simply drive from DC to Charlottesville and back, rather than adding a flying leg.  We rented a car anyway and the layover in DC was longer than the drive would have been.  The flight was uneventful, other than hearing a flight earlier than ours had to bump approximately 30% of its paid customers.  Glad we weren't going there.
   The reunion was fun, although I never did get many members of the younger generation straight.  The highlight, in some ways, was a private showing of Nathalie Dressed, David's cousin Cara's upscale consignment shop.  Check out Nathalie Undressed, the online version.  I actually found a pair of capris to take with and three jackets that Sarah volunteered to mail home for me.
    On Monday, we flew from Charlottesville to DC to Munich to Venice, where we met David's sister Dina waiting for us before customs.  Our bikes and other luggage arrived safely, and just outside customs, we found the faithful Matteo from the Italian Cycling Center ready and waiting to pick up our bikes and take them to wait for us there.  He seemed a bit surprised not to see two things he could identify as bicycles.  David's Friday is in a regular Samsonite suitcase.
    We bought a 3-day pass for the vaporetti that included the train from the Venice airport (on the mainland) into Venice.  Then we got on the bus for the wrong train station (Mestre, instead of Venice Santa Lucia).  Oops.  By now we REALLY tired and hot.  Fortunately there is a train for 1 Euro from one to the other that runs about every 10 minutes.  Soon we were back on track and only a short walk from out hotel, the same one we stayed at 3 years ago.  Throughout this long journey, David's 86-year-old mom cheerfully plugged along, although she was looking a bit frayed by the time we landed in our hotel room.
   The next morning, David and Dina walked to the Rialto bridge, while Ruth and I ran a few errands (including getting the train tickets for the next two legs) and then took the vaporetto.  We explored the Rialto a bit, found a nice place for what turned out to be really huge sandwiches, and then headed to San Marco.  This was the one thing I had reserved in advance, having at other times been completely discouraged by the lines around two sides of the building.  Our reservation was for a 10-minute window, for which we had to enter at the Saint Peter's gate.  It took some time to find, in part because there was standing water across most of the front of the cathedral, so you couldn't read the signs well.  Finally, I found a sign indicating I was there, but....that entry was closed because of the water.  So I followed the line around to the side and asked the guard, who didn't speak English and didn't really want to help.  Someone in line helpfully translated that our tickets were invalid because St. Peter's gate was closed!  This is what you get for 4 Euros!  We could go stand in the long line (and pay again), or just give up. We did the latter. Then we took the vaporetto to the Fondamenta Zattere to see a fabric-art and sculpture show we had seen a poster for in the arrivals area of the airport. The cute little woven-ribbon spider was not to be found (it's on the catalog cover, but not in the exhibition), but the rest of the Louise Bourgeois exhibit (fabric art that wasn't quite quilts, but nonetheless some of them quite amazing, plus some of her sculpture including an enormous, wonderful spider) was worth the walk. I wasn't so impressed with the companion exhibit of sculpture by Emilio Vedova.
   By the time we got back to the Rialto, the markets had closed (should have looked at them when we were there the first time), but we did check out a great cheese shop and had lunch.  
    The next morning we returned to the San Marco, hoping the lines would be shorter (they weren't), but the water had receded form St. Peter's gate, and the "prenotazione" were being honored again. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, so I asked the nice man guarding the gate if we could go in.  An Italian woman ahead of me had asked the same thing (I think) and been turned away, so I wasn't expecting much.  He was sympathetic and said I could come back later and ask the person who "owned" the service if we could go in, but when I pressed the point about having an 86-year-old with us (she and Dina were still making their way from the vaporetto), he relented.  He told us to meet him at the exit, and he let us in.  The floor is even more wonderful than I remembered.  It's just a giant quilt of fabulous marblework.  Okay, the rest of the cathedral is pretty amazing, too, although it's kind of over the top.  You have to pay additional to see various parts, which we skipped.  
  Then on to the Accademia and a whole lot more religious art.  The floor in the first room was also pretty special, and no postcards in the gift shop to remember them by (photography was forbidden).  Ruth OD'd pretty quickly on all that Christian art, so she and Dina went outside to sit down while David and I finished looking at saints.  A gruesome St. Bartholomew being flayed alive gave me flashbacks to the marvelously horrible statue in the Duomo Milano.
   A nap restored us all, including Ruth, who really was holding up as well as the rest of us, so we went for a tour of 3 of the 5 synagogues in the jewish quarter.  The most interesting part of the tour was hearing that the word "ghetto" comes from that spot, where the first designated spot for jews to live was the "new" foundary, or Ghetto Nuovo.  Not many years later, when the Levantine jews fled Spain via Constantinople (?), they took up residence in the adjoining square where the old foundary or Ghetto Vecchio had been. So the older habitation was the "new ghetto" and the newer one was the "old ghetto." Go figure.  Anyway, other cities heard about this nifty idea and started segregating jews, and the concept of a "ghetto" was born.
    After a quick shopping trip for some things we had our eyes on, we got a recommendation for a very good restaurant on the Fondamenta Misericordia -- Ristorante Diana (after the owner's daughter, not the deceased princess).  And reasonably priced, too.
   The next morning it finally rained (it was predicted for our whole stay in Venice, so we were very lucky). We continued to be lucky as it was only drizzling on the way to the train and from the train to our hotel in Florence.  A walk along the Arno (wow) and a visit to the Uffizi gallery (more saints!  but also Venice on the half shell by Boticelli -- now I know why her hair is blowing off to one side.  The part of the picture you don't see in all those parodies are the winds blowing her to the shores of Sicily (?), and the woman waiting on shore to give her something to drape herself in).  Some somewhat underwhelming Leonardos, and a very nice exhibit of 3 Caravaggios and a lot of paintings by "Caravaggisti" or people in the Caravaggio school of painting.  Very impressive.
   The day ended with a stroll to the Duomo and the Baptistry, neither of which we went inside.
   Saturday it rained all day, but we had a great day anyway. A visit to the Pitti Palace, which is about as over the top as it gets. Ceilings covered with frescoes, walls covered with paintings, opulent furniture, and so much of it all.  By the time we were done, we were beat, and starving. Walking back to the Arno, we stopped at the first non-tourist restaurant we found, and it was WONDERFUL. Next artisanal gelato around the corner at a place David's daughter Nina had recommended. And later, a fabulous dinner at Club Culinario Toscana da Osvaldo, recommended by my brother-in-law Mike. Fortunately, it was a ways from our jotel, so were able to walk some of it off before retiring.
  We've been in Rome for the last 3 days, but I'm getting sleepy, so I'll sign off for now. Sorry this got so long.