Living on Italian Time (A Very Long Italian Story, Part Two)

Monkey and I woke in our plush accomodations in Newark (home of Cory Booker--good luck, man) and shuttled back to the airport to check in on the status of our flights. After multiple visits with multiple airline ticketing agents and other officials, we got our boarding passes for our afternoon flight to Milan and then spent some time hanging out in the spacious Newark International Airport.

The weather seemed fine in Jersey, and we boarded our flight and took off with no hitches at all. The flight, which I was not particularly looking forward to, while long, was pretty comfortable. I read, listened to some music, finished a game of travel Scrabble with Monkey, slept a bit, and generally managed to occupy my time and emerge at the other end of the trans-Atlantic leg of our journey, having passed from yesterday afternoon in Newark, New Jersey, to this morning in Milan, Italy, feeling relatively refreshed.

Once we passed (effortlessly) through customs, we found the bus that would take us to the train station, boarded it, and rolled away from the terminal of Malpensa Airport. Within minutes, we pulled up to another travel terminal-type building. Monkey was perplexed. The bus tickets had cost 7 Euro apiece. Monkey felt that this was too high a price for a five mninute bus ride, even on a double decker bus. I assured her that this was merely the other terminal of Malpensa Airport, which it was. She was happy to hear this.

The remainder of the bus ride took about 45 minutes. We sped down the autostrade, and winded (wound?) our way through the grafitti-filled streets of Milan to the train station, where we purchased our tickets on the next train to Firenze. The wait for that train was about 45 minutes, and the train ride was to be about 2 hours. It was strange and wonderful to stand in the station as the trains pulled in and out, watching the people come and go, and hearing the smattering of indecipherable conversations as people passed.

Once aboard the train, we rambled through the urban Milan and then the countryside of the Emilia-Romagna region and Tuscany. Arriving in Firenze with walking directions to our B&B, we wheeled our luggage through the cobbled streets of the central city, and, with some debate and distraction, found our address.

It was hard to stay focused on where we were going for two main reasons. The first, I was wary of ne'er-do-wells (whom were NEVER a problem on the entire trip, but, I've told you of my "urban area paranoia" before). The second, everywhere you looked, there were amazing things to see: people, eight-hundred-year-old buildings, churches with gloden doors and marble facades, restaurants, store fronts, signs, scooters and motor bikes, carabinieri, polizia, Ethiopians selling hand bags and sunglasses, tour guides carrying around all manner of things on sticks in order to maintain visiblity for their tours among the throngs of other tourists in the crowded piazzas and streets. Wow!

After we checked in, we stowed our gear, checked our maps, and strolled the streets to get a taste of the place. We had decided on a place for dinner and our host had made reservations for us (at the ridiculously early hour (we learned) of 7 pm). We strolled past the Uffizi Gallery, past the pink and green Duomo (Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore, whose dome was designed by Brunelleschi and whose campanile was designed by Giotto. We meandered the winding streets to the Ponte Vecchio bridge. We stopped at a little focaccieria for lunch and had some pretty mundane sandwiches.

Dinner, on the other hand, was great. Trattoria Cibreo, where we ate, is a little place that is served by the same kitchen as a larger restaurant owned by the same folks. The menu is about the same, with fewer choices at the smaller place, and (even better) more affordable prices. We dined on a crostini with pate, a bread soup, a mushroom soup, and a polenta that were all phenomenal. We also enjoyed the house wine (no idea what it was). We probably would have ordered more food, but, our mediocre lunch had been quite late, and we didn't have a huge appetite. This was poor planning on our part, but, it was a mistake we never made again!

After dinner, it was gelatto time. Monkey, as is her inimitable way, had done quite a bit of homework on restaurants and gelatterias, so, she knew where she wanted to go. We found Gelatteria Neri right where we expected it to be on Via dei Neri. After a few tastes, Monkey decided on her flavors. I forget what she got, but a good bet would be chocolate and banana. Whatever they were, I do remember that they were very good.

A leisurely stroll back to our home base, and, with no real feeling of jet lag at all, we brought our first hours in Firenze to a dreamy close.

Things Do Not Always Go As Planned (A Very Long Italian Story, Part One)

As is our usual habit after long journeys in which we do not take the time nor make the effort to blog in real time, we'll be visiting Italy in episodes. Our first episode begins:

Travel is an adventure. Always. Even the most mundane trip to a nearby city can be filled with wonder and unique experiences. Any time we set our feet on a path with expectations of arriving in a certain place at a certain time, there hangs the possibility, even the likelihood, that all will not go as planned. A flat tire will slow one's journey. A diversion will cause an unanticipated delay. Some form of weather will hinder one's means of transportation. It happens.

Monkey and I rose early on Sunday (the 8th), packed up the Penguin, made our way through our departure checklists, and began our journey with a short drive to Eppley Airfield in Omaha. As luck would have it, it poured buckets as we drove, but as we arrived at the airport and boarded the shuttle for our terminal, the storms abated.

We were scheduled for a flight from Omaha to Chicago, then, after a three hour lay over, or so, we were booked from Chicago to Newark. From Newark, we had a 9pm flight to Lisbon, and then a short flight to Milan, where we should have arrived at around 3pm Italian time (15:00, as they like to say). Our flight in Omaha was delayed about an hour (word on the tarmac was that one of the flight attendants was late for work), but we made it to Chicago with plenty of time to spare. Unfortunately, our flight out of Chicago was delayed. We had time between flights in Newark, so we weren't too concerned.

We boarded the plane in Chicago, where, by the way, it was also pouring buckets. We pushed back from the gate, and taxied out to the runway. The pilot told us that departures were stacked up, due to weather, and that we would leave as soon as we could (like, maybe in an hour). The plane groaned, but, we kept our cool, mostly. About two hours later, we were still sitting on the runway, and the pilot told us that departing flights had been suspended. After another hour, he said we were not going to take off, and he taxied back to the gate.

After we got to the gate and everybody started to gather their stuff, the pilot said that we were going to take off, so don't go anywhere. At this point, we had been on the plane for several hours, and there was no food on the plane. People were getting grumpy. Particularly the two kids with the young mother who had expected a short plane ride home to Newark, so didn't bring any food. Monkey offered her one of her protein bars, which she always takes for us on trips. The mother took it and thanked Monkey.

After taking on fuel or something, the pilot backed us out of the gate, but, fifteen minutes later, he pulled us back in, because the crew had gone into overtime, and, by some FAA rule or something, they had to be replaced. He gave us thirty minutes to jump off the plane and get some food, then said we were leaving, no matter what. The foodless mother hopped off and bought a bunch of bagels, which she distributed to everyone within two rows of her. That was thoughtful. But, of course, thirty minutes really wasn't as hard of a deadline as the pilot made it out to be.

Eventually, after six hours on the ground in this plane, we finally got airborne, but, by then, we had already missed our connection in Newark. We got in at about 10pm and made our way to the ticket counter to book our new flights for tomorrow. The fellow at the counter was very helpful, and, after a bit of a disagreement (a friendly one, of course), he made reservations for us on a non-stop flight the next afternoon to Milan on Continental. However, due to some wierd airline alliances or something, we had to come back to confirm our reservations before the flight. Then, he gave us a meal voucher and a free night in the local hotel.

Monkey wanted to make sure we were all set to fly, so, we planned to come back well before our scheduled flight, and hang out at the airport after we'd gotten our confirmations and boarding passes. I thought that was a fine plan. For the moment, however, we took the shuttle to the hotel, bought a couple of hotel restaurant cheeseburgers with our meal voucher, and hit the hay.

A night in Newark. We hadn't planned on that, and it certainly wasn't Florence, but, it was out of our hands. We slept, hoping that tomorrow would be a better day of travel, and knowing that, most likely, our next night's fare and lodgings would not be a cheeseburger and an Embassy Suites hotel room.