Let me ‘splain. No, there is too much! Let me sum up. Buttercup is marry Humperdink in little less than half an hour…
We got engaged! (Saw that one coming, didn’t you?)
We got married. We went on honeymoon. It was beautiful.
That really is the whole story – except that so much happened between sentences #2 and 3. Some highlights? We discovered: that French Onion Soup does taste better in France; that it is impossible to adequately see The Louvre in a day; that, unlike the airport, you don’t have to arrive early for overnight trains; the Italians know how to riot/protest in style (Hallelujah Chorus, anyone?); that you can get used to walking everywhere very quickly; that you should never let a street hawker give you anything as a gift because your wife is “so lovely”; that it can be dangerous to walk about in Florence after 11 p.m.; that strangers on a train can give the oddest of gifts; that older French men sometimes find trousers optional when sharing a sleeping compartment; that the Chicago ER is a very efficient place; and that “normal” life is just as sweet as vacation time, with its own wonderful flavor.
We arrived in Paris mid-morning on Monday, dropped our bags at the hotel, and took a walk until check-in. Our hotel was on the edge of the Montmartre area, and we wandered over the cemetery to see the sights. On our way up to see the Basilique du Sacre-Coeur, we popped into a cemetery. It was there that we first noticed the ability to be in the middle of raging bustle one moment, and within the space of two blocks be in almost absolute silence. It is pretty incredible in a city the size of Paris to find pockets of quiet, but there we were, unable to tell we were in the middle of a major metropolitan area. As we wound our way up the hill to SC, we rambled through an artists’ area, bustling with tourists, painters, caricature artists, and food merchants. It was cold and drizzly, so we bought a cup of vin chaud, basically hot sangria, and nursed that until the basilique. It was quite yummy.
Soooooo good!
As promised, the view from the Sacre-Coeur was amazing, despite being foggy. The view of the basilica was also impressive – check out the expressions of the guys at the bottom of the picture.
The view from Sacre-Coeur
Our hotel was cozy, and had a huge bathroom (as European hotel bathrooms go), and we were quite happy there, within walking distance of a snack place that sold crepes oozing Nutella. Our last night there we even had a chat with the guy who made our crepes, and he insisted on taking a picture of us kissing. Mmmmmmm…Nutella kiss!
Kiss your 'usband!
While in Paris, we visited the Musee d’Orsay, Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Eifel Tower (we opted not to ride to the top), and walked A LOT. We met some nice people, and some stereotypically snooty people, but we met more of the former. The Parisians were definitely not as amused by my attempts to speak French as Italians are when I speak Italian. It’s just a difference, as Eddie Izzard would say. No photography at the MO, but plenty of pictures of the bits of the Louvre we did have time to see.
Rome was much easier, mostly because at least there we could communicate more effectively. Our hotel was very lovely, and just outside the tourist area, so it was quiet. There was a pizza place around the block, so we started our Italian stay with a pizza before settling in and resting. We took the night walk recommended by Rick Steves, and ate our way through Andy’s first gelato, snacks, and some granita de caffe con panna, which was AMAZING. The walk ended at the Spanish Steps, and it was there that a street hawker tried to sell us a rose, and when we refused (I was trying to video a father/son violin duet of Canon in D that was heavenly), he laid it on my chest telling Andy it was free because I was so pretty. Pretty soon, one of the other “vendors” was hassling us to pay for the rose and not take advantage of his friend. I pulled out a 20 cent piece and told him that was all we had in change. He looked horrified, then took the rose back and handed Andy a white one since we were being so cheap.
Granita di caffe con panna - Heaven in a cup.
The desk staff out our hotel (Hotel Donatello, in case you are planning to visit Rome. It’s great – stay there!) were mostly older men, who were fairly amused at my attempts to say the room number in Italian to retrieve our key. One evening we returned “home” and one of them told Andy he was a lucky man. We laughed, Andy said he knew, and we explained it was our honeymoon. He gave us a sly grin and said, “Ah, maybe something happens, you will call him Donatello.” Another night, different clerk, we came in with a pizza, and the clerk told us in broken English that he would trade us the pizza for our room key. After much chuckling and assurances that we’d bring him another pizza (ha ha!), we got the key. We can’t recommend the friendly staff at Hotel Donatello enough. Seriously, go.
Even though I’d been to the Vatican Museums before, we spent hours wandering through the collections. I saw entire sections I hadn’t seen before, and we even managed to wrangle seats in the Sistine Chapel to actually sit and examine the ceiling. This time, unlike last, they were being very strict about the no photo policy, so I didn’t get any updated shots of La Capella Sistina.
This guy in the Raphael Rooms is just plain tired of being upstaged by 'The School of Athens'
We ate so much good food in Rome – only the fact that we were walking an average of 5 miles a day kept us from gaining 20 pounds. We took Rick Steves’s recommendation on a trattoria with a set menu (Trattoria del Pallora – their motto is “You’ll eat what we want you to eat.”) one night, and after Andy got his first taste of grappa, we meandered home because we stayed out past when the Metro runs. One evening we got caught up in the Sunday strolling on the Via Corso, and probably doubled our daily mileage, so we went wandering close to “home” looking for a restaurant. That’s when we stumbled upon Hosteria Cannavota. It was 7:55, and they had just opened for dinner, so we slipped inside. The food was sublime, the service (two older gentlemen) dignified, and the atmosphere perfectly Italian. We both ordered our seconds off the house specialties column, and were not disappointed. The tiramisu was quite literally the best tiramisu either of us have ever put in our mouths. The waiter spoke no English, and was sweetly patronizing when I ordered everything in Italian and checked my pronunciation with him a couple of times. He would kiss his fingertips and say, “perfetto!” It was so wonderful that as we walked back to the hotel, we began to entertain going back for our final meal in Rome. So we did, and everything was just as wonderful the second time. If you go to Rome, find this place and eat there. Order from the house specialties, and have the sliced-right-off-the-pig-leg-at-the-front-when-you-order-it prosciutto along with the Macedonian fruit salad (after your meat, before your dessert) and the tiramisu. Take two hours to do it and enjoy the house wine. You can find them across from the Basilica of San Giovanni in Laterano (the old papal basilica before they built St. Peter’s) at Piazza San Giovanni in Laterano, 20, 00184 Rome, Italy.
Cannavota is simply the best. Period.
Oh yeah, while we were in Rome, this thing happened that was pretty important – Silvio Burlesconi resigned. We had been cut off from news for almost a week when we were walking one night and came upon a huge crowd outside the Quirinale. We finally found a journalist to talk to, and she told us that Burlesconi was resigning in an hour. So we decided it could be fun to be a part of history. Three hours, and several renditions of the “Hallelujah Chorus” (performed by a mini orchestra and choir) later we left, after having danced and sang with the Italians, taken loads of video guaranteed to make you nauseous, and having nearly been trampled when the crowd overpowered the polizia. We didn’t stick around for the champagne, but we did get showered in confetti to the joyous cries of “buon anno!” It was cold, so we opted to head “home” for a pizza. History – we were there.
History, kiddos.
After Rome, we headed to Florence for a couple of days. The difference is staggering. Florence is neat, clean, and very poised, in stark contrast to the boisterous, smelly, somewhat hodge-podge that is Rome. Again, it’s just a difference. Lots of art in Florence, most of it in places where cameras aren’t allowed. Buy the book, they say.
Our first night, we went to a trattoria (again) recommended by Rick Steves. We had a very pleasant evening visiting with two other couples who were seated next to us – Steve and Amy, from America via Cambridge, and Steve and Danielle, from Canada, married on November 5, and on their honeymoon as well. We ran into Steve and Danielle a couple of times the next day while touring the Duomo. (They climbed the Duomo, and we climbed the Campanile. We only THOUGHT we were in good shape from all that walking…I like to have died.)
After we got back from the trattoria, Andy decided that the tiramisu and two shots of limoncello we’d had at the trattoria weren’t sufficient for sweets for the evening, so he went out in search of a pastry. He returned fifteen minutes later with a tale of being chased by Italian thugs, ducking into an open shop, and having the shop keeper shoo his would-be assailants away before selling him a pastry and giving him a lecture about when it was safe to walk after dark in Florence. “You do not walk after 23! You love your wife? Go back to your wife, and no walk after 23.” Good times!
Only halfway up...
We walked a lot in Florence, and in our wanderings, we found this adorable store that specializes in all things paper craft. They have journals with paper made in Italy, wax seals, ornaments, handmade marionettes, and the coolest little music boxes that play bits from operas (I got one – Merry Christmas, me!). We purchased several postcards and prints, and had a lovely chat with the woman who owns the store. If you’re ever in Florence, go find Scrivimi, and stop by. They can be found at Piazza del Mercato Centrale39/49R, 50123 Florence, Italy. It’s near San Lorenzo.
Nothing to do with the previous paragraph, but isn't my husband handsome? 
We caught the late train from Florence to Milan to head back to Paris to fly out, and spent an hour and a half with three Italians who spoke very little English. We offered bread, and Andy tried to share a tissue with one woman. We all sat in chummy almost-silence once we established that I only spoke a little Italian. Then, out of nowhere, one of the women leans over and hands me a blue ceramic baby bootie tied up with ribbon. We thanked her, looked at one another and laughed, then explained that it was our honeymoon. Knowing grins and “auguri” followed, and we actually had a short conversation – the bits that I couldn’t say were translated by the teenaged boy who spoke a little English. He thought I was from “Loonda?” “London?” “Si!” “No, siamo Americani.” I took the fact that we didn’t vibe American to mean we were doing it right. Anyhow, as regards the bootie – we’ll see how things shake out. LOL
We boarded the overnight train in Milan for Paris, and found our couchette companions were an older French couple – the wife was sweet, and the husband was rocking one of the most awesome handlebar moustaches in the world. When sleeping with strangers on a train, it is expected that everyone will just sleep in their clothes. Handlebar decided that his trousers weren’t conducive for sleeping, and before my shocked eyes he shucked them. On the other top bunk, Andy saw my wide-eyed expression. All I could do was lean back so I couldn’t be seen, and mouth the words “NO PANTS!” over and over while trying not to laugh out loud. Perhaps you just had to be there.
Yeah, kind of like that.
We didn’t sleep much on the train (thank you, loud people in the hallway), and by the time we boarded our replacement flight (to Chicago, because our flight to Dallas was cancelled) I had a throbbing headache. Combine exhaustion, pressure change, and lack of good breakfast, and you get a migraine that is impervious to over the counter pain killers. Two stewardesses kindly gave me pills, and they even ordered a wheelchair to get me off the plane and through customs. I tried sleeping before our next flight, but as nothing was working, we went to seek medical assistance. The TSA agents at security called the paramedics, and long story short, we got to see Chicago from the back of an ambulance, and we spent two and a half hours in the ER at one of Chicago’s finer hospitals. I got an IV, fluids, and pain meds that made me throw up, and Andy got to sign his first round of paperwork as my husband. We’d like to go back and visit Chicago one day – we feel that we may not have seen the best side of the city and I, for one, would love to see it without clutching a barf bag or throwing up in front of our hotel.
We made it back in one piece to Dallas the next day and the rest, they say, is history. Married life has been wonderful, and we can only see it getting better and better as we continue this adventure. We have so much for which to be thankful, especially our wonderful friends and family!
(Photography albums will go up on Facebook soon – promise!)
