Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Out of the Blue

I did this rather peculiar thing recently: I joined Facebook. I did it for one reason: I had no other way to get messages to my almost 20 year old granddaughter. It didn't quite accomplish that. Nonetheless, it's been a rather interesting journey. At first there was a great welcoming clamour from my kids. Then mutual friends gathered around. Then, out of the blue, people I never thought I'd meet again. With a few folks, I walked around for a couple of days trying to place the name, the face, something -- without saying "who the hell are you?" Gratefully, I'd eventually remember them in my old mental movies so I could be genuine in my response.
I don't much like the yik-yak. Just posting something without really having anything to say. So a few days ago I did a search for people I attended high school with. (Not my favorite four years, but the search was amusing.) I contacted a few of the women whose names I
recognized. They didn't respond. Maybe they weren't who I thought they were. Maybe they were! I contacted a couple of guys who don't really remember me, but responded anyway and we've been typing to each other. There are three of us now who can share the delightful memory of being at the printer's with our high school newspaper when the Brooklyn Dodgers won the World Series in 1955. These folks have many of the same memories, but can't really see me in their look-back. I don't care. It's great to connect with people who came from the same world; who know the Brooklyn that's been lost in time. But it would be such fun, I think, to find someone from long ago who does remember me and is glad to have found me -- and perhaps will unwittingly remind me of who I was then. It's very possible I've been the invisible traveler for a very long time.

Most folks will send me a thumbnail sketch of their lives and I'll reciprocate or send them the url to this blog. Then, as though we were strolling at a cocktail party, they move on to the next discovery or to engage in the yik-yak. Facebook is sort of like an old fashioned cocktail party. People are there mostly to be seen. And once you notice them they scurry away to make another entrance or impression. I never liked cocktail parties for that reason; I was never very good at them. I suppose I've always wanted more notice than that. You know, drop by for a 30 year weekend. We search always for our real identities, believing we'll discover ourselves in someone else. While I was in Italy, traveling alone, I couldn't help being who I am. There was no one with me to require me to be in a particular role. That's what happens in the familiar -- we walk in and out of various roles, characters, personna. But being far away, being alone, encountering new places and faces, sounds, smells..... one relaxes into ones self. When we come back, it's not always the place we've visited that we miss. It's ourselves in that place. I liked who I was there.
I've heard folks on National Public Radio talk about net-working on Facebook; promoting their work or themselves. I don't really see how one would do that. I'm getting better at dealing with the simpler Facebook environment. I don't hang out there; I drop in to say hello. If there's too much yik-yak, I leave. If there's someone there who wants to talk, we take it into another room. I don't think I've introduced the Mickey I met in Italy. Maybe it's not possible in a room filled with people all talking at once. But it's fun to drop in at the party, see what's shaking, and -- maybe -- run into a buddy from a long time ago.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

The Invisible Traveler: Venezia

I have been in love with Venice for so long. Long before I actually went there on Pete's Trip. Eleven years ago, when Jamie and I arrived in Venice I just sobbed. I vowed not to do that this time. I welled up but the rude officials at the Vaporetto (the ferries) helped me to hold back. My first impressions after so many years: huge crowds for March; graffitti, litter, artisan shops replaced by big names -- Guess, Timberlane, Disney, Gucci, Burger King, etc. etc. But I am here -- older; a bit worse for wear. And so is Venice. The power of place: places that we belong to, recognize; that touch something in us -- awake something in us. Well. My hotel was lovely; the room was charming (the TV is behind the mirror on the dressing table-- you turn on the TV and see it through the mirror); and dear Jamie had a bouquet of yellow roses waiting for me. I lost it. Had one helluva good cry.
I walked out looking for the familiar. I found the hotel where Jamie and I stayed on our 1998 trip. Not remembering the name
of the hotel or the street, I walked right there. I found that amazing, since I can't remember yesterday's breakfast. Also found my way to the "Crazy bar" which was our favorite lunch spot. I looked for the Trattoria alla Madonna, but though the signs for it were there in the Rialto, I couldn't find the restaurant. I walked and walked the rest of the day. Venice is a
great place for getting lost. I did quite a bit of that my first afternoon.
All the eateries looked like tourist traps to me, so I wound up with an espresso and pastry for supper. I hope I live long enough to visit Venice again in like November or late October. To see it when mostly residents are there and not visitors. On Thursday I walked to Teatro La Fenice -- La Fenice means the phoenix; and like the phoenix this theatre has risen from its ashes three times -- having burned to the ground three times. There wasn't a production while I was there, but one could tour the theatre with an audio tour. So I did. Spectacular theatre. I sat in the Royal Box and watched the stage hands working on the flies. Then I walked to the Ghetto Nuovo, through a part of Venice that had few tourists roaming about. People shopping in a mini- super- market (is that an oxy- moron?) Kids coming from schools; women shouting to each other across the courtyards. An intimacy. The Ghetto is stark and filled with ghosts. This hasn't changed. I crossed the Accademia Bridge to visit the Peggy Guggenheim Museum. I love the sculpture garden there. One passes lots of unwelcome art along the way, as you can see from the photo to your right.
For supper I found a Venetian style Bar (their word for cafe) where I had some lovely soup and red wine and a salad. Then I treated me to an espresso and strudel at a pasteriere in Campo San Luca. I strolled through San Marco. Orchestras were playing albeit the very chilly night.
It was Friday too quickly. The week went too quickly. I took the Vaporetta to the station where I had seen an "Italian Barbie;" well not really a Barbie but like that, dressed for an opera! I got it for Keira. Then I took the boat to the Rialto and did the rest of my shopping. Not too much buying going on from me -- didn't budget it in. Dropped off the loot and walked again across the Accademia Bridge to visit Campo San Barnabas, where all of this romance with Venice began for me back in the 1950's with Kate Hepburn and Rossano Brazzi in Summertime. Kate falls into the canal at Campo Barnabas attempting to photograph Brazzi's glass/antique shop. On our trip in 1998, Jamie and I would spend each evening strolling Venice with Gelato in hand searching for the Campo. We found it our last night. The shops boarded up; the old church holding only Sunday mass; a few elderly gents hanging out in the courtyard; the old coffee shop the only place open there. Deserted; quiet; clean. No more. Campo Barnabas has been turned into a destination by the Venice tourist office which toted out Kate and Rossano for additional revenue. The church has exhibits; gelato shops are there; tacky tourist shops; tables and chairs in the courtyard. Litter. Something lost. Change can't be stopped.
On my way back from San Barnabas I saw a toy shop with a little rag doll in the window. It's an Italian made favorite called "My Doll," and can be purchased with a full wardrobe. I have a small collection of rag dolls so went in to see it I bought myself a red-headed reminiscence of Raggedy Ann. As I walked away with my treasure, I remembered an early family trip when I was perhaps 8 or 9; I felt lonely on the trip and my dad bought me a little red headed rag doll at a souvenir shop. I called it Mopsy. I still have Mopsy. Had I just had a little-girl-moment? And another Mopsy? We don't ever really grow up. I walked through San Marco; went to the little bar for pasta and wine. And another turn around my favorite places. Then I went back to the hotel to pack up. In the morning, I took the boat to the airport where everything went very smoothly and easily. The flight to Paris was fine. I still had to walk the 3/4 mile trek to
I
the next terminal in Paris, but no flights were missed. And the seats were more comfortable and a young man of 13 from the Brookwood School charmed me all the way to Boston.
You know what was best about being away? Just being away. Seeing new things; relying on me. Not having to deal with the daily creaking of my daily world. Yes, it's hard to come back. But I was so glad to hold little Keira again and to see her face when she opened the box with the Italian Barbie and said -- "She's GORGEOUS!" I hope, I pray, I invite the universe to be good to me and allow me another trip next year, perhaps to Provence. I've never been to Provence. In the meantime, color me happy!

Thursday, April 2, 2009

The Invisible Traveler: Firenze

23 March 2009 – Happy Birthday to me!!! It felt like my birthday when the train pulled out of Roma Termini. The antiquities of the city are heart-stopping. It is not, however, the Rome of the 1950’s movies. I knew that, of course; I didn’t expect it to be. But, yeah, I wanted it to be. It would be unfair to judge it in any way having walked a city for only 4 or 5 hours. Maybe I’ll get back there again. But this day the scenery from the train on route to Florence was lovely; green showing across the farms; white and yellow flowers blooming; a cherry tree here and there. Mountains rising on the horizon. Lambs grazing. I hope that I’ll get to tour Tuscany one day soon. I felt suddenly in need of the pastorale. Not today. I arrived in Firenze and followed the directions to the hotel received earlier. I was very glad it was daylight. Pretty seedy, and a bit scary. A man on a scooter (they are all mostly on scooters) directed me to The Centrale. It’s a large, old building. The hotel is on the second floor. The elevator is a one-person-thing. I’m not good at elevators, never mind one-person-things. So I schlepped my suitcase up the stone steps (very far up) to what I figured was the second floor. In Italy, however, there is the ground floor (zero) then primo, THEN seconda. I interject here that I am in damn good shape for an old lady – I was still breathing after the second steep flight! The room was nice; the folks were nice. I dropped my stuff, and headed out. I did ask the gal at the desk which way to go to avoid the scary stuff (I didn’t really put it that way) and so I turned toward the opposite direction and was face to face with the Duomo – the glorious cathedral. (What a great hotel!!) I have no idea how many miles I walked. Firenze is a great city for walking. It’s small but packed with ancient history, interrupted by the most expensive high fashion shops the world offers: Pucci, Gucci, Ferragamo, Armani, Gigli, Prada, and on and on. I visited Piazza Santa Maria Novella where the glorious church is being repaired. And Palazzo Vecchio which overlooks Piazza della Signoria. Every piazza is like a sculpture garden. A charming carousel stands near the archway in the Piazza della Repubblica. Walking along and suddenly a carousel! No, I’m sad to say, I didn’t ride it.

When I couldn’t walk anymore I found a small place for supper. Then I walked some more. Lots and lots of teenagers strolling around, seemingly on tour with school personnel. Maybe it was spring break or the like in Italy. On Tuesday I walked early to the Uffizzi. I had purchased my ticket on-line so I would be sure to get in. I think the most beautiful place I saw in Florence is the path along the Arno River from the Uffizzi to the Ponte Vecchio, the only medieval bridge to survive WW II bombings. The view from there, of the bridge, the buildings across the way – heartbreakingly beautiful. Glitzy shops line the bridge, but right before itI found a little, classic stationary shop called Signum. I bought a few gifts there. Had to drag myself away. I walked the Uffizzi for hours; how fabulous to see “live” the paintings I’ve admired in print for so long.

I returned to the hotel to change shoes, drop off purchases and grab my umbrella. It poured all afternoon. San Marco was closed; it being Tuesday. There is a conspiracy of Tuesdays in Italy. Suddenly a shop or museum or café will be closed because it’s Tuesday. ??? I hid out in a bar (Italy’s name for café) with espresso and panini, then grabbed my umbrella and continue to walk the city. For dinner I went to Giannino’s –
recommended by the host of the hotel. Very nice. One of the wait staff was much concerned that I was alone. I explained my trip and my birthday event. For this I received hugs and kisses on both cheeks and offers for me to stay and drink liquer. I declined with abundant thanks. (I’d had my wine with dinner; I don’t do more than that at one sitting.) Spirits lifted, I bought a berry tart (tiny one) at a Patisserie and took it back to the hotel. I hadn’t scratched the surface of Florence. But I had breathed it in. And how could I be sad to leave? I was going to Venice in the morning.