Andrea's Blog

I’m on a boat!

andreabowmanfulcher — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 22:07:16 +0000

After our one day adventure in Naples, we took a ferry to Positano. It’s a small village on the Amalfi coast…you might have seen it in some films like Under the Tuscan Sun and Only You. Everything was perfect….delicious food, great view, relaxing…we FINALLY had a chance to sit down and take a load off. Sometimes, trips like these can seem more like work than a vacation. We spent most of the time lounging by the pool or on our balcony overlooking the seacoast. One thing that Jon wanted to do though, was rent a boat. Alone. Now any of you who have heard of our first vacation together to the Bahamas are probably laughing right now. Jon’s first attempt to do this resulted in a compromise (renting a boat with a captain) and he drove so haphazardly that I felt like I was going to boot the entire time so when we reached the place to snorkel I had to sit on the boat like a loser. Not this time…Jon was going to fulfill his boat-captain dreams. Who was I to stop him? Of course there is a tiny issue with all these ocean adventures…my swimming skills are not quite stellar. I can swim (average at best) and am not really bothered so much by lakes and pools. But the idea of the seemingly infinite ocean sent my mind toward the whole ‘three hour tour’ scenario that I just don’t want to become star of. My parents are the best, really, and I couldn’t have asked for any two people to be more loving. But one thing they could have done was send Angie and I to swimming lessons sooner. At eight, the fear has already taken over. Despite my academic success in other areas, I will never really get over my failure to pass the “Guppy II” class. But I digress. We rented the boat and off we went, down the Amalfi coast. I realized that I’m fine so long as the boat is moving, but when it stops, my stomach start to churn much like those buoys you see bobbing up and down in the water. I have to say, I have the best husband. Even if he was cursing me inside for my sea-related fears, he never acted like it. I did lose one of the life jackets (it blew off the side of the boat) but thankfully, no one ever counted them anyway. Other than that, the outing went smoothly and we returned to shore unscathed. At the very least, I have a great excuse with my sea issues NEVER to take my kids on a Disney cruise.

The “armpit” of Italy

andreabowmanfulcher — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 21:00:59 +0000

Jon and I have now rejoined civilization, and the privilege of Internet, in Rome. I have many,many stories to tell but I will shed some light on our trip to the south. Before we even went to Naples, it had been preceded by a let’s say, seedy, reputation. I liken it to the fact that often, New Jersey is the butt of many jokes in the states, being called the armpit of America. Being from Appalachia I don’t put much stock in these opinions myself, and figured that maybe Naples, like New Jersey and Appalachia, had simply been given some bad press. And then my reality check began…Naples may be the dirtiest city I’ve ever encountered. I did learn, however, that Naples was the birthplace of pizza (yay!) and organized crime (not so yay). Trash, cigarette butts, and stolen goods from the peddlers are all over the streets. Lucky for us, we were escaping to (not from) Pompeii for the day and didn’t have to hang around and wait for someone to steal our wallets or try to sell us a ‘real’ D&G bag. Pompeii was an expansive city (almost 20000 when Vesuvius erupted) and took us hours to cover. It was well worth the time but our agenda for that day also included going to (and climbing to the top of ) Vesuvius itself. When we left Pompeii we realized that we had missed the final bus to the mountain by about three minutes. We were both pretty bummed about this but I had already resigned myself to a long bath and siesta back at the hotel when Jon decides that he will find a cabbie to take us there, which is about a 30 minute (or 50 euro) cab ride away. Oh boy. This wouldn’t have been such a big deal, except for the ‘tiny’ snafu which is that plastic, ie credit cards, are totally useless in Italy. And if you’re smart, you leave most of your cash locked away in the hotel so you have something to fall back on in case someone steals your wallet. Jon and I had already used a substantial amount of our daily cash buying train tickets, drinks, Pompeii tickets, etc…so we realize in the cab (to Vesuvius) that we will have about 30 euros to get us back to Naples after paying the cabbie. This doesn’t include our entrance to Vesuvius either. As we’re riding along this curvy road, Jon is chatting up the cabbie and meanwhile my mind is reeling…thinking about the fact that my evening will possibly involve hiking back to Naples if we can’t afford transportation back. Those of you who know my mom and grandmother know that I’ve come by this honestly…the good news is that, as the worry-wart gene decreases substantially within each generation, Jon’s and my children could be normal. Our cab ride was also slowed down by the fact that our driver actually HIT A DOG on the ride up, and the dog’s owners appeared out of nowhere to verbally spar and curse at him in Italian. What I was thinking the whole time was that the meter was running and that this dog(and yes, the dog survived) was costing me some serious cash. We did make it to Vesuvius which was worth the worry and the climb; of course I was looking around from time to time for signs of a pending eruption (again, the paranoia). I decided to let Jon worry about getting us back to town, and things did end up working out, thanks to a very nice Italian bus driver. It turned out we couldn’t just ‘buy our way’ onto the bus back to town but he felt sorry for us, I think, and looked the other way as we climbed aboard. We returned with some volcanic rock stowed in our pockets (and way too much ash everywhere else, might I add). Needless to say, I was more than ready for a couple of days of relaxing in Positano.

Our last night in Genoa…

andreabowmanfulcher — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 22:14:48 +0000

Tomorrow morning Jon and I leave for Manarola, a small town on the coast that’s not known for tourism. After a week, I’m certainly ready to say goodbye to Genoa, even if they do have delicious pesto on every corner. I have spent much of the week combing the town, looking for interesting sites and photo ops, and mostly, reading Angels and Demons. I am not a huge reader ever since grad school, but this book hooked me after only a few pages. If you’ve read it, I’m ready for a discussion. And hey, Angels and Demons is bringing some people closer together. I encountered a somewhat rude waiter yesterday, who gave me TERRIBLE service until he saw the book I was reading over my caprese. Then out came the English and a chat ensued.

As far as discoveries go, the other day I stumbled upon the University of Genoa, which was well hidden within the city. I didn’t really see a campus, but the best part was amidst the alleyways of Genoa, the coffee-bar blasting REM (Nightswimming, no less). College is college. Yesterday was my and Jon’s four year wedding anniversary. I did my best to buy him a card and a gift, which proved to be more of a difficult task than I imagined. After a few misses, I called on the help of the sales associates in the store but still didn’t manage a translation. Thank goodness for my Spanish, which was enough to tell me the card involved kisses and love. Beyond that, I have no clue as to what it says. As far as the gift goes, no such luck. Sales men and women can be a bit pushy in the smaller shops, which is incredibly frustrating with a language barrier. In lieu of a private anniversary dinner (we’ve got the next two weeks to ourselves), we joined Jon’s colleagues for a final dinner at one of the outdoor cafes. During these international conferences, Jon works with people from about six different countries, and we had a great time chatting over dinner. They kept the business to a minimum, thank goodness! Toward the end of the meal, the men went for the grappa again, but I safely steered toward limoncello, which tends a bit toward the feminine side, as far as liquors go. I still prefer a good glass of wine.

Days two and three in Genoa

andreabowmanfulcher — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 15:53:19 +0000

So, what can I say? Shopping in Italy is much the same as in the states, with the exception of the prices. This is something that, realistically, I already knew, but on all our previous trips I’ve spent every moment with Jon and had never had the opportunity to spend a day in the stores. That would have been tragically boring for Jon and with so much to see/do I’ve never had the chance. Until today. Overall, I came home empty handed except for a dress I bought at H&M. I know you’re sitting there right now and going…H&M? They sell crap at home, why pay more for it overseas? Oh ye of little faith—I too was skeptical. But with nothing but time on my hands I went inside to check things out. Now honestly, I don’t generally shop there, but I have been to H&M recently to look for some cheap clothing to take on the trip. I don’t like to take my nice clothes on long vacations…I have this fear that they’ll lose my luggage and my precious clothes will be gone forever. This is also why Porky (those of you who know…well, you know) is spending the next twenty days with Grandma Marlene. But I digress…I’ve been there recently and know what they have, which is NOT what they are selling over here. H&M is pretty awesome over here actually, and I spent more time there than in (most) any other store except for the grocery store where of course, the prices were much more enticing. We are getting the crap and Europe is getting the lion’s share of the clothing gems that H&M is withholding from us Americans. Oh well, now we know. Yesterday evening, Jon’s Italian coworkers took us all on a bus, about a 45 minute drive (though it’s probably only about 20 miles away I’d say) to a village called Camogli. Just like Genoa, it sits right on the sea, but unlike Genoa, it isn’t touristy or commercial at all. This was Italy, folks. We had arrived. It‘s the quintessential town cascading down a rocky cliff, with tiny, winding streets and many, many steps. Absolutely gorgeous. I’ve been to several places in Europe and I’m not sure anything has topped this view (especially at night). I thought I was being smart when we left the hotel and wore flip flops, holding my heels in my hands as I went so that I could just wear them to dinner. When the bus arrived, I switched shoes and we all got off, ready to chow down. And boy was I hungry. Just as the bus pulls off, Lucca tells us that we are twenty five minutes early and can explore the town. Yay! I mean…oh crap, where are my flip flops? Yep, they were on the bus which was long gone by now. Oh well, my feet have seen worse than this. So we all went and had a drink at a local bar and then dined seaside. The meal was..hold on, let me count, 7 courses, two of which were pasta. No kidding. This was capped off by coffee in the end. You know, I thought I was a coffee aficionado, but we Americans are weenies when it comes to the drink. Italian espresso will put hair on your chest, let me tell you. No wonder the portions are so small. I was told that Italians call our coffee ‘dirty water.’ I withheld the fact cinnamon dolce lattes practically flow through my veins. That wouldn’t seem too European, now would it? J

Scenes from a Genovian? restaurant

andreabowmanfulcher — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 08:53:14 +0000

Let me say first of all that I’m not a blogger…and…in all likelihood, after the vacation (or most likely when school starts back) my blogging days will be over. But…I figure, with a three week trip, I’ll forget all the crazy little things I encounter if I don’t write them down in some way. Enter the blog. So yesterday was our first full day in Italy. We are in Genoa which is by no means a ‘tourist’ town. This means, of course, that very relatively few people speak great English. And I’m fine by that…but I’m here to tell Angie that she must have gotten lucky to find all those Italians who speak Spanish….because believe me, I’ve asked. Forget all the ‘global economy’ and other nonsense reasons that people tell you to speak another language. That may be well and good, but perhaps I should be telling my students the truth. You learn other languages because you REALLY want to go into a restaurant and be sure that your archenemies, the onion and mayonnaise, are nowhere near your food. Lucky for me, in the Italian world, pasta is king. We had a fabulous dinner last night with two of Jon’s coworkers at a place called Zefferino’s. Supposedly, people like Frank Sinatra, Pavarotti, and even Pope John Paul II used to eat there . That sounded like pure crap to me until I got there. We were given some champagne…I didn’t ask the name and probably should have, and from there until the check the meal was pure bliss. Pesto is apparently one of the Genovian specialties, and I plan to take advantage while I’m here. One interesting note…we ended the meal with a shot of something called ‘grappa,’ which, I’m told, is the Italian equivalent of white-lightning. And who says Italians and Appalachians have nothing in common? It was sort of like taking a tequila shot without a lemon. Here’s to us for taking a chance, but I’ll have my wine and champagne, thank you. No more Italian white-lightning for me. Mainly, we took at walk through the old port yesterday and took in the sights. The other interesting thing we saw was the Genoa aquarium which is supposed to be the best in Europe. We had a great time, and I discovered that kids are kids no matter where you might be– the beady eyed seal, the sleepy sea turtle, and feisty penguins are going to incite shrieks of excitement from every child. So cute. Jon and I wanted to get Sam something but the souvenirs were sub par I thought, but we did get him a post card as Sam is already a fan of receiving mail. Outside, the peddlers were running rampant and, unbelievably, speak superb English. Where were these guys when I needed to ask for some ketchup at Mcdonalds? One of the peddlers offered Jon a million euros for me. Luckily, a million euros isn’t quite as much money in the USA, or I might not have fared so well. But honestly, does an adult woman REALLY have a need for prizes that look like they came from a magazine sale? Or a bracelet my BFF could have given me in kindergarten? The cops really need to get rid of all these guys, except for maybe the ones with the fake Prada bags. I’ll let him off the hook. Today I’m off to the shops while Jon is working. We’ll see if it really is possible to snag a deal in Europe.