Its been very difficult for me to keep up my blog posts as I've given myself a goal of finishing my novel. As a bulldozer, its hard for me to ignore that particular challenge. That said, I'd like to introduce you to an amazing writer and even better friend. My guest blogger for the next few entries is my husband Jon. I've selected some of my favorite stories that he's written. Beginning with the "Hotel Snob" 40th Birthday present for Jon. It begins in Rome. Take the journey with us in his own words.
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Turning 40 hit me like a ton of bricks. Or at least it tasted like a ton of bricks, and will take me a year to digest. So why is a ton of bricks any different than a ton of sausage (or ice cream or stoopewaffles or any other delicacy)?
Travel is not just reaching a destination, it is a journey. All allegory aside, we embarked on a personal journey that would not only open our eyes and hearts, but our mouths as well (gosh, the food was good and I have a waist line to prove it—it can’t be the wine or beer, so it must be the tiramisu and schnitzel). How nice it is to have healthy and willing grandparents to come and parent our boys for ten days, not to mention paint our walls and fix our drains and furnace.
Kristy and I never had a desire to go to Europe, only a mild curiosity. But brother Pete has always spoken so highly of Germany that we finally decided to just go before we changed our mind. Honestly, if we hadn't gotten the passports, we would have never decided to just do it. Sisters Pam and Jen had a very detailed, painstaking plan that we admired, but upon hearing about their journey, we decided we needed a vacation instead of an education. And since Rick Steeves slighted Heidelberg, I joined forces with Kristy and became a hotel snob. After all, that is the American way and birthright!
It was easier leaving home as the cold weather arrived just in time for my birthday. The flight over was almost painless, now that the transatlantic airplanes now have personal TV monitors with the ability to choose your own movies/shows/tunes (note, IPods are no longer a necessity, so I sold my Microsoft stock before sales decline—I guess that isn’t such a problem since traveling adults and not the only market for MP3 players). Even the Northworst meals were not too bad, better than the $10 meals you have to pay for on domestic trips. The big surprise when entering the Amsterdam airport was how modern it is, with McDonalds, Sbaro and all the comforts of home. With three hours to kill, we were pleased to find the overstuffed reclining chairs, and agreed that if we ever got stuck for a day, Amsterdam would be better than St. Louis or Sioux Falls.
The KLM/NW flight from A-dam to Rome was a breeze, and included lots of interesting, free food (for a flight under 2 hours) and friendly crew. Once in Rome, however, the smiling faces were over. Kristy’s view of grumpy Italians come from What About Raymond (an episode with a mean Italian uncle), while mine from the Sopranos. Lack of sleep impaired our judgment, so we took the first cab we could find, which probably cost us an extra $20. That was the last time I’d be rooked. After that it was only public transportation, baby.
When we got to Hotel 47, I was determined not to let a bellboy help us with our bags, so we left them strapped to our back. Well, that was a mistake, ‘cause then we missed out of the tour of our room, which would have included a lesson in the latest in European security. So we had to figure out how to turn the power on, which is needed to unlock the safe, metal window shades, as well as the lights and TV. But even stubborn Americans can figure things out, eventually. I finally noticed a slot near the light switch that looked like the key card entry thing at work. You have to insert your room key to get any power. Now that that was behind us, we crashed (against the advice of many relatives). Waking up past 7 p.m., we wondered if we’d even find a restaurant still serving dinner. Upon reading the guidebooks, we found we’d be lucky to find a good place open BEFORE 7, which was right on. But first we had to learn how to cross the busy Via Della Rosa (the crosswalks are a joke in Rome. Even we, fast walkers that we are, were barely into the street when it turned red. We felt bad for the old and frail). Maybe that’s why we saw so many grumpy faces, or maybe we just had to let the effects of wine set in before we could relax. Because of the many political signs posted about, we realized there must have been some elections in process, because there were signs of grumpy-faced politicians in a contest to look the grumpiest.
As fast moving as Rome is, the hustle bustle did not bother me much as we were on vacation, but I think it would exhaust me as much as any large city. I am just glad I did not have to be in a hurry because traffic sometime inches along. After dodging the fast moving cars, busses, Vespas and bikes on the busy road, we thought we were safe on the narrower streets, until we were nearly run over (note to self, it’s a good thing the boys were not along). Dinner was great, and wine good and cheap. The bottle water, with “gas or no gas” was more expensive than the wine!
Next morning, we set out for The Vatican, and the bus stop was just down the street. The driver did not even look at me when I tried to pay him, just kept driving. Then we noticed people validating tickets on a time clock, but it was too late to jump off. Kristy looked and me and said “I’m just along for the ride” so we just enjoyed the tour. Arriving near the Vatican, tour guides offered English speaking trips, but we are more of the fast and furious types. So we went it alone, and followed a large Asian group. For awhile, I thought we had somehow gotten a free ride, but then realized St. Peters is free for everyone. Once inside, we were amazed at the incredible workmanship and beauty of such intricate detail. A silent side chapel beaconed us in, but once I smelled in incense, I knew we were in trouble (and I could not cope with Kristy’s possible week long migraine set on by some lousy incense). It we sensed God’s presence in this chapel and left after a short prayer and donation to the union of some holy order or another.
Being off-season, we wondered just how busy the Vatican and Sistine Chapel must be in the summer. There were no lines of people to speak of, but could not find any signs to the Sistine. I then figured it must be part of this exhibit just outside St. Peters, which was virtually empty, so we paid and entered. OK, we’d been rooked again, but not to worry. This time, we followed the map and crowds to the Sistine, which was busy but nothing like a regular summer day. Still, I clung to our camera and money, mindful that the pickpocks are in the big crowds. But the bigger crowds yet awaited us at the Metro station. I thought Kristy would enjoy yet another form of public transportation, and had read that the reason the Metro does not expand is because more ruins would be uncovered, which would halt the process (which is true).
After a short Metro ride, we found the Coliseum and Avenue of the Roman ruins themselves, while beautiful in the night lights, does little for us in their historical context. To appreciate the rise and fall of a great empire, I find it much easier to read historical fiction and have purchased (but not yet finished) two books.
Leaving Rome behind was easy, as we were in no hurry, or so we thought. We know holidays are frequent in Europe, but we were not sure if the parade was a celebration or a union/political rally. In any event, it sure slowed traffic down, and we wondered if we should ditch the slow-buss-in-traffic option or take a taxi. Then I remembered the Metro has a connection to another bus line that left the airport. It worked like a charm.
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