It wasn't the volcano that almost trapped me at the airport

Musings from Florence: Part 4

In praise of Mussolini, people always say, "he made the trains run on time." It always seemed an odd thing to praise a dictator for, but after a week in Italy, I can see how it would be a trait that caught people's attention. Nothing is quite on time in Italy, but it doesn't really matter. The culture has a relaxed--a "tomorrow" way--of looking at the world.

It's a wonderful attitude, until you face it in the airport at 5 in the morning.

On the outward journey, the woman who checked me in messed up my final destination. My bag was going to go to the right place, but not me. When we realized the error, she pressed a few buttons, then shrugged.

"They will straighten it out in Frankfurt."

Uh? "Can't you..." I started but she was already waving the next person up.

Fortunately, the tomorrow-mood is infectious. "OK," I said and walked away. I'd deal with it in Germany. The Germans are nothing if not efficient. However, the tomorrow mood lifted by the time we landed in Frankfurt. Iceland was erupting, security lines were longer and more rigorous than I'd seen in years and I couldn't find a cup of coffee to save my soul.

So I went to the USAirways desk and asked about my final destination. They looked at my records, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Italians," and said that they could get me to Chicago, but they couldn't print a boarding pass.

"You will have to get it in Philadelphia."

"But can't you--"

"No, we can't."

Knowing better than to argue with anyone before my first cup of coffee, I simply nodded and went to my departure gate. Eight hours later, we land in Philadelphia. Custom lines are short, security lines are long AND I cannot go through security to get on my next flight without a boarding pass. So I got to the USAirways gate outside customs. After explaining the problem, the woman called up my records. Her supervisor leaned over her shoulder, shook his head and sighed, "Italians."

"We can't print a boarding pass," the woman said, "because you're on a codeshare fight with United, but the gate agent should be able to get you on the plane."

"But...security won't let me through without a boarding pass."

"We've developed a procedure for this," she said, and went to a cabinet, pulled out a stack of pre-printed forms and gave me a special pass to get through security. Clearly, I'm not the first with this problem.

At the United gate, the agent looked up my records and sighed.

"The Italians will never die of stress," I offered.

"Unless someone kills them for causing it," she muttered and handed over my boarding pass.

Vacation photos

Musings from Florence: Part 3

A picture really is worth a thousand words. The first photo below is the Duomo (cathedral). It was named for the dome that caps the church and makes the cathedral a landmark that can be seen throughout much of the old city. The old saying: All roads lead to the Duomo is mostly true in Florence.

 This statue is in San Croce, and with a little digging I could figure out whose tomb she's guarding, but  that's not why I took the photo. I just love the way the light is pouring over her.

Me and my traveling buddy, Renee, whose daughter is studying in Florence this semester. We're standing in front of Dante's house which--according to the guidebook--really wasn't his house. But he was likely born in one quite similar. Glad I didn't pay the 4 euro to go in.

 Random frescos dot the city. Wish we had street art like this.

A street in Siena. The medieval wall still runs around the city center, and so walkways simply run beneath it. The passageway above smelled of damp stone, mold and plaster and was quite dark. I also had to use the flash to take the picture.

Pilgrim's progress

Musings from Florence: Part 2

Quite by accident, we spent one fabulous day in Siena. We'd planned to go to Assisi, but didn't really looked at the train schedule until that morning. 9:38 a.m., to be exact. The first and only train to the birthplace of Saint Francis left at 8:52 a.m.

So we thought about Cinque Terra. The last train out was 9:10.

So we picked Siena because a through bus (rapido SITA) runs every hour at 10 past. Fortune favors the spontaneous.

Siena is a sprawling city with a beautifully compact center that hasn't changed much in 800 years. I'm sure the people who live there wish the streets were wider or the steps less steep, but for visitors it's a cleaned-up version of a medieval city steeped in grace and charm.

Like Roma, Siena was built on seven hills, but unlike Roma, the hills are steeper and less landscaped. There isn't a flat spot in the old city--not even the floors in shops, churches or restaurants seemed level--and it's anyone's guess as to why some inclines are simply paved and others are stepped. And shadowing all these uneven, winding passageways are tall, bricked buildings with shops that open onto the street. High narrow windows marking the "apartimenti" on upper floors.

And I think we walk each narrow street and slipped through each low-ceilinged passageway beneath the old city wall looking for a shop that sold saints medals to add to my charm bracelet.

We'd assumed that they'd be "hanging off trees" here in Italy, but not one shop--not even the cathedral bookstore--carried medals.

Back in Florence, we finally found a shop that sold medals, as well as robes, chalices, altar cloths, etc. (I'd always wondered where those items came from. Communion cups don't seem like something you should be able to buy at Wal-Mart).

The nun behind the counter oohed over my charm bracelet, and then quite emphatically told me who I needed to add for maximum protection. No Francis deSales for me. Instead, I walked away with Michelangelo (the arch angel, not the sculptor) and Saints Bernadetta and Jude gracing my wrist.

The additional protection must have worked. We managed to get out of Europe just before airspace began closing because of the volcano.