It’s the last night before I reach an Italian city that is new to me, Bergamo.
I wish the rest of the world has the classy Christmas lights that we enjoyed on our street.
Saved the best till last, our last meal on the last day of 2012. Perfect.
Photos courtesy of @Timmy666
Just a day, well an afternoon in Milan as I’d spent so much time there last year. But i’s lovely, in short doses!
Photos courtesy of @Timmy666
Photos courtesy of @Timmy666
A repeat of the bus ride of last year to a very pretty Garda. 
Photos courtesy of @Timmy666
Verona looking it’s most gorgeous, despite the Christmas lights in Italy being so much more classier than elsewhere.
One of our favourite coffee shops, close to our gorgeous Hotel Siena
Photos courtesy of @Timmy666
This year, I decided to do Verona again but with two travel buddies. However, we chose Verona as the base rather than split my time as I did last year and my favourite city (thus far after three visits) is as pretty as ever.
Photos courtesy of @Timmy666
It’s not one incident as such, but I’ve often said the best trip I’ve had for just having a ball was my time in Italy, travelling through the northern cities. (The best trip otherwise is Vancouver, eclipsed recently by Vancouver mark 2)
I met loads of people and we just laughed from the breakfast to turning in and had many standing jokes.
You had to be there but….I’d been teasing that I was going to have a McDonalds despite being in my culinary heaven. I find one in Florence and made sure I got back on our bus before everyone else so I could leave the empty cup at the front for all to see. Like I say, you had to be there but the McDonalds tasted a hundred times better than what we have.
Another time I got locked in a garden in the early hours and my companion (I was young(er)!) and in the end the police came to let us out. I sheepishly escaped in a taxi after flashing my UK ID.
I’m mortified to get a standing ovation at breakfast as everyone had realised I hadn’t come back to the hotel at night but instead crept in at dawn.
The funniest time though, was when we were all at a wine tasting at 11.30 in the morning. This is a wine tasting where sensibly, we actually drink the wine. I came out having bought 2 bottles and promptly dropped the bag in the courtyard. Everyone was ahead of and it just seemed such an apt moment,we literally all fell on the floor laughing.
The lovely people replaced my bottle.
It’s just the best week of laughs I have ever had and I’m still in contact with one of the lovely ladies I met on the trip.
Lamp post on Verona bridge
More than the other two mornings, I’m more confident that I am going to feel much better today. For one, I can breathe more easily, still violently coughing but being able to breathe at will is an unbelievable relief. I get to ‘central station’ with relative ease and what I thought was (and heard was) a terrible run down area is commercial district and the station itself is a beautiful old building. How lovely! Unfortunately I have luggage in tow so unable to investigate further.
I’m still on the same Sunday Times magazine that I started four days ago, partly because I’ve not been able to focus on reading (or writing this) but also, I have come to realise they make much more interesting reading when I bring them on holiday with me. I read more of the articles and thoroughly enjoy them. Perhaps I should keep them all, even the ones’ I have scanned through, just for my trips.
I’ve devoured every word of articles about CCTV replacing actual parking wardens, the Chateau Marmont in LA, now the subject of movie (where said Belushi died), Somewhere, the new MBA business school in Moscow, home to more billionaires than any other city in the world and that’s before crying my eyes out in a Verona Café just reading the opening sentence about children who are victims of war and what help they are now receiving. Oh and there’s a day in the life of some bloke called Louis Walsh.
I look up and the view from the train is of multi coloured houses with a backdrop of snowy topped mountains. What do the house owners do, consult each other? ‘Ooh I was going to paint mine yellow too. No worries, I’ll use that peach colour and then it will compliment the mint green next door and pale blue behind’.
Said houses have washing on the balconies in DECEMBER. Maybe it’s just to air it but I’d have though 2 minutes would have done that.
Juliet
Juliet's balcony with Christmas tree
Monday; I walk to Juliet’s balcony without even wanting to as I was saving that for when I feel better tomorrow. I realise how close everything is and that are a series of bridges linking the city to the old town surrounding. It’s very easy to walk from one end to the other without even realising.
Tuesday; pleased to be out and about, asthma very much evident but under control. Juliet’s balcony is busy but not over run and it’s such a place of optimism that I can but smile. Disappointed though that the Fiorucci shop around the corner that really put a smile on my face ten years ago is no longer there. I had looked it up and I fear the designer’s resurgence was short lived. That makes the shopping bag I have framed in my bedroom from the last visit a collector’s item now?
I celebrate with first risotto in Italy, spinach and gorgonzola which the chef made in front of my eyes in Brek, a restaurant chain I first came across in Milan that offers loads of different types of foods, perfect for me.
Wednesday; a gorgeous sunny day in Verona, very bright indeed. I come across Bar Anastasia, 90 cents for a little coffee with KC & Sunshine Band’s ‘Please Don’t Go’ in background. A perfect moment.
I manage to find Cafe Veno, every day and love it more. Each day, my appetite and confidence with the menu grows as does my rapport with staff.
I take detour on way back and find purple boots on sale! I always look for boots in different colours other than black or brown everywhere I travel but they are so hard to find.
Thursday my last full day in Italy and for less than £7 return, I pick up a bus to Lake Garda, about an hour away with lovely sightseeing along country lanes on route. I miss my stop so end up in Garda itself which is a good job as I find a coat after two years of searching!
Well two years of saying I’m going to buy a new long coat to replace my worn out cream one and four days of actually going in out of shops looking for it. I wanted camel when I decided to replace in 2008 but that’s this years in colour and I prefer a classic that I can wear for years so I changed to seeking a grey one. Its darker grey than I wanted but otherwise fits the bill and I’ll get a camel one next year, or the year after.
By now I go for my custom night cap of a hot chocolate in Brek, where despite the language barrier, the staff and I now manage to communicate like old friends.
Looking out to Verona old town
I highly recommend Hotel Siena in Verona as it’s the best service I have ever had from a little hotel. They even open up their kitchen to boil me up a cup of hot water to ease my throat on my first night and then ask me how it is next day. The local knowledge and attention to detail is astonishing and it really is a family run place where they simply cannot do enough for you.
It’s around the corner from all the attractions and 10 minutes from the central station where you can pick up a bus to Garda or a train to Venice both an hour away. I didn’t make it to Venice although have been before as it’s my second favourite place next to Verona. Maybe I’ll go there next time for a long weekend, perhaps when a certain British Royal wedding is happening.
The last 3 days were a joy to be under the blue skies of sunny Verona. Still only 2c, I now understand why they have so many sunglasses stores.
As I wait for trains, planes and automobiles all day on my way back, I read the whole of Rosa Guy, the Friends. This is the author that shaped my childhood, got me interested in writing, in reading and in New York. I’ve had it on my birthday list for a while and this year it was actually available. I don’t recall it from reading it some 30 years ago but very much enjoyed it today, finishing the last couple of chapters on the plain.
That’s the way to end a year, reading a whole in book in one day. It’s a first.
Rolling out the red carpet to Lake Garda
Lake Garda
Surprisingly for a religious country, shops and Christmas markets are open so late on Christmas Eve but then I realise why, they are not open on Boxing Day – not even the restaurants so I get by on McDonalds salad and fries. Although I was dying for soup as I actually had an appetite for it today, I’ve never in my life been so grateful for an open all hours McDonalds.
Lights
The festive lights are fantastic in Milan with all the neighbourhoods having their own colour.
My throat and cough however needed me to be indoors so each evening of the festive weekend I make my way wearily back to Watt Tredici Hotel and work my way through the MTV stations. It’s the first time I have seen Sky in a hotel and the first time I’ve heard English for which through my violent cough, I am very grateful for.
There was no room service for which the first time in my life I would have gladly paid extortionate prices to not leave the warmth for a day and recuperate. Four star status should be evident in the service too, not just the large white, modern art interior of the reception and the de rigger chocolate brown furniture and white linens in the bedrooms. (Jeez can we move on from this? I had that hotel look for my bedroom in c2000)
Believe me; thoughts of John Belushi dying along in a luxury hotel did cross my mind.
MTV Italy
I saw Depeche Mode live; I knew they were more guitar than synthesiser these days but they are actually pretty rock n roll.
Also, George Michael live in London in 2008; now that man puts on a show.
The Take That documentary about Robbie coming back was probably aired in the UK umpteen times but I wouldn’t have cared to watch it. Gary should never have let him back, make friends by all means but leave him out of the team, he doesn’t deserve their success.
I also catch a lot of the Italian ‘Who Wants to Be a Millionaire’, a show I have never watched in the UK but I was challenged by trying to figure out the question by looking at the answer options.
I notice that each day one show is shown on Italian TV that isn’t dubbed and I manage to catch Ugly Betty twice. Doesn’t seem like much of a treat but it was very welcome, I can tell you.
The sun comes out on Monday and I leave for Verona, feeling about 75% and much more in control of my symptoms.
So Milan, or Christmas Day never happened in 2010.
I’m not bothered about Christmas; in my mind I do all my celebrating on 1st-24th December with friends and relatives before I leave the UK but the hard work that’s gone into being able to have a holiday – well that’s just wasted.
Still it worked out well in that I went all out on a lovely hotel for the Christmas which I barely leave except to get food and it’s miles from civilisation (about two) but I knew that when I booked it. I’ve only been in Milan 8 weeks ago so this was just a chill-out time to ease me into the holiday whilst enjoying my first Italian Christmas.
Hey ho
Part three follows. Part one here
One thing I’ll remember about this year’s Christmas holiday; being ill.
Christmas Eve Symptoms; Sore throat, runny nose, aches, rash (around nose from excessive tissue use) lethargic, headache, no appetite, nausea – at the airport, straight after most expensive cereal bowl in the world, asthma.
Christmas Day – Sore throat, aches, lethargic, no appetite, rash (around nose from excessive tissue use), headache (from not eating), asthma = bad cough.
Boxing Day – aches, lethargic, low appetite, rash inside mouth, asthma – bad, violent cough, breathing problems.
Monday – asthma, mostly controlled, bad cough, violent cough at night.
Tuesday – getting much better, just the asthma cough.
I’m not one being ill, or at least I don’t acknowledge it and shoo away a cold with extra vitamin supplements and staying in for a couple of days. I’ve never had a day of sick – ever – so this really did shake me up.
I had what I thought was a little cold on the Tuesday before, which got worse than a little better on Thursday. I thought I’d be fine by the time my holiday came round on Friday.
After a very rough night at the airport hotel, I had to wake at 4 am to go the two miles to Luton airport. Thankfully, I’d booking into the very comfortable Days Inn who provided a private taxi as part of the service.
Not one for breakfast until at least 10am, I’d been up a couple of hours and felt I should force something down me. I had the most expensive cereal and orange juice ever as it came straight back up not five minutes later.The Easy Jet flight (ooh I miss those transatlantic comfortable flights) was so warm that at least the runny nose stopped for a while.
Despite my lack of sleep, a cold and now asthma, I go straight out when I reach the hotel in Milan. It’s a new neighbourhood to me and as advertised, it’s an up and coming area with not much around. My room isn’t ready yet anyway but when I come back after a very light lunch that stays down, I’m really glad I pushed the boat out for a luxury Christmas treat. The only thing that’s lacking is food – other than breakfast and a kettle, which of course otherwise I would never need being a coffee drinker but I can’t face coffee and really just need two hourly dozes of hot water and honey.
Milanese Risotto; it's the real thing
Part two follows
Latte is not ‘Italian coffee’, it is just Italian for milk. Italian coffee is cappuccino for the mornings and espresso for any time you like.
I just want to clear that up.
Yes you can have coffee with latte but is this not an American invention, like all the other Americanisms that are trending in the UK?
Don’t get me started on cupcakes (fairy cakes) and apartments (flats).
My belief is that the latte was invented by an Italian in America as the espresso is too strong for the American palate and for most of us probably. So we can call it American but not pass it off as Italian. If you ask for a latte in Italy you’ll get exactly that; milk.
Just like in France we have cafe au lait but we don’t go around asking for that in the UK, we just say ‘coffee with milk’ please.
Rant over.
I’m grateful for seeing the season change during my favourite month
I’m grateful for celebrating yet another year of this wonderful life
I’m grateful for having my birthday dinner in Purnells which if memory serves me right, is only the second Michelin starred restaurant I’ve eaten in
I’m grateful to share my birthday with many of my new Birmingham friends mixed with a couple of old ones
I’m mightily grateful to add yet another travel adventure to the many I have already experienced. A break in Milan was also just what I needed to refresh mind, body and soul.
My last day. I decide to skip the hotel breakfast and skip off on my own for a last perfect Italian coffee at Café Passarella, where my Milanese adventure started.
I sit under the outside heater with my laptop and wonder why the rest of the patrons are not at work at 9am. It’s still raining but I decide I have the time and inclination to get soaked whilst having a last walk through Milan.
I really want to go up and down those side streets that I spotted last night when we were looking for an open restaurant at 7.45pm. So I do.
45 minutes of walking up and down cobbled, almost empty streets peering into the windows of closed designer show rooms and it’s time to walk back to the hotel. As I come out onto the main street, I realise I’m only a few minutes away from the hotel and 30 minutes away from the taxi to take us on our journey back home.
It’s been ten years since I was last in Italy although not in Milan. I did fly back from Milan last time and as the plane took off, I noticed the biggest ever advert which simply stated ‘Giorgio Armani’ like the designer was the airport’s sponsor.
That and a lifelong study made me think that Milan, more than Florence, Rome, Venice and even gorgeous Verona will have row upon row of designer stores.
I’d expected them to be scattered across the city like McDonalds. I certainly expect there to be flagship homage to the great and good of Italian fashion. But no, they are mostly tucked away in a little area known as the ‘Fashion District’ and these are not for the average consumer; no these are for serious collectors, fashion buyers and editors. They certainly don’t look open. None of that spoilt my enjoyment of spotting each and every delectable store of course.
My favourite thing about visiting Italy is that I know every coffee will be great, no matter where I buy it from. The first day in the hotel was suspect but much improved when they made a fresh pot; they were replicating ‘American’ coffee for the tourist and I guess because it‘s lot easier for them if we can help ourselves rather than employing someone to make each cup.
However, ten years later, I’ve forgotten that big coffees don’t exist here so I cannot linger with a book or indeed my net book. I’ve yet to see what the world calls ‘Italian coffee’, I call sickly milky stuff and you will probably call latte in Italy.
On the other hand, I so rarely have it in the UK it’s lovely to spend a few mornings filled with cappuccinos.
Discoveries: McDonalds’ McCafe, complete with above average coffee – i.e. better than most UK coffee shops (I said ‘most’) and I had no trouble finishing of the Tiramisu too. In regular cafes, coffee ranged from €2.80 to €4 and that’s just when I noticed the price so the €1.10 for a decent cup in McCafe is refreshing (excuse the pun).
Old discoveries that thankfully still hold true; fabulous coffee, pizzeria on every street, pasta at every cafe and everyone speaks English when they shouldn’t have to!
I love Italy!
Duomo
Adventures in Milan – Day 4Sunday Best
Today has always had rain forecast so ‘they’ did not disappoint us. However, I’m one step ahead as I keep the Cathedral, the main tourist attraction (apart from the sport that is Versace shop spotting) for today.
We get to the part where the lift takes us up to the roof. This part costs €8 to see and there are no lines so we are easily outside and on the roof to see the magnificent detail of the Duomo in seconds. After our descent, by stairs – I’m feeling energetic – it’s still raining but my plan for us to spend an hour or two inside the dry cathedral is thwarted. There isn’t the line of people as there was yesterday because they are not letting anyone in. We decide to try again towards the end of the afternoon rather than try to get a translation as to why.
In the meantime I’ve come to realise that unlike any other city in the world that relies partly on the billions €€€ spent by tourists every year to survive and flourish, Milan doesn’t. There is barely a sign to point out places of interest for us to spend our hard earned pounds in. It does feel like there are Milanese secrets and us the tourists are not invited in.
The shrine to Versace is still not evident and whilst I know there will be at least one Versace store in Milan, just like in every other major shopping city in the world, my point is that they don’t make the most of their fashion heritage. I’m gobsmacked that D&G, Armani and especially Versace are not more prominent. By now surely we have walked nearly every street around the ‘fashion district’ and I’d have expected to see a handful of each spread around the city.
And no, I don’t see the point of searching on my rubbish internet connection to find out where they are; I don’t need to shop there, the point is I expect all these designers to have a high profile here.
Back at the cathedral there is a line waiting formed with a multitude of umbrellas but we still get inside within a few minutes. It’s worth the effort to see inside what has now become a magical place, one that I seem to be able to spot from whatever neighbourhood I’m in.
Whilst thinking on where to eat on the last night (we never did find anywhere ‘dressy’ to eat) I recall the two recommendations I’d received from a fashion editor via Twitter. With the lack of reliable internet access, we only found the street name for one and duly set out for Sunday evening dinner.
The last supper
As we turn into Via Montenapoleone, I realise this is where I’d noticed the sign pointing to the Four Seasons this morning but we’d decided to turn on the next one. Of course it’s where all the fashionistas would come, its where are all the designer show rooms and offices are. Sure enough there is the predicted Versace (we’d seen most of the others by now) but just a little Versace ‘blue’, not a big shrine in ‘gold’. Disappointing.
In the dark rain, we don’t find the restaurant – it must have been on a side street- so we carry on to two more. Both times, we step inside; put our wet umbrellas down only to be told they are closing. It’s not yet 8pm. On the second one we even check the closing time first, 10pm. They still tell us they are closed, after we have shaken brollies, stepped right inside the place and started taking hats and coats off. The shops are closed now so I guess the market is not there but it’s still odd.
We find something to eat in what looks like a family chain, Brek and go back to the hotel. Later in the evening, it’s just a small crema ice cream for me on the last night in Milan.
Final part to follow.
Birthday coffee
Gucci, Gucci, wherefor art thou, Gucci?
Not that I need to buy anything from there but it’s just odd that of the hundreds of shops I’ve seen whilst mooching about today, not one is Gucci or Armani or Versace for that matter. Some American designers have a presence and there’s a Vivien Westwood around the corner but of the Italians, I’ve just seen Dolce & Gabanna. I’ve seen a Gucci shopping bag but that doesn’t count.
There are a few lingerie chains so as it should be, Italians like to look good from the underside out. There is comfort in the lack of skyscrapers although a Pirelli one is highlighted on the map. I think I’ve spotted it – now that they mention it – but I would say it’s just a tall building.
Thankfully my research into Starbucks is correct; there are none!
As was my previous experience of McDonalds in Florence ten years ago, their food is better here. However, now it is improved even more; McCafe Italiano serves Tiramisu, amongst other delights and has decent coffee. Don’t think I’ll be trying the coffee back home though.
There is a downside to everything being so fast in Milan; I can’t slow down for a coffee. In the USA, I’d happily spend an hour or two relaxing with a book or magazine, or just writing in a comfortable coffee shop. Here, as in Madrid, they have lots of stand up coffee places and the coffee only comes in one size, tiny, so I can’t linger with it. It’s ridiculously expensive too. Last night, paid €2.80 for espresso and this morning €4 for cappuccino! It’s all delicious of course.
Right, off to choose this evening’s gelato to see if I can beat last night’s latte & nutty soya combo.
Birthday cards & flowers
The arrival
Our plane leaves half an hour late but arrives just 10 minutes after time. For the first time in my life I am earliest on the plane, I’m usually about last as I don’t see the point of sitting on a plane when you have several hours to go. This though is my first European trip in years so a short hop in comparison to two decades of transatlantic flights.
This is the flight they ask me if I’d like more leg room and to sit by the exit door, the one that’s barely enough long enough for me to read the Post and get into my book (read 4 pages). Still I take my ‘emergency door operator’ responsibilities seriously and for once read the instructions. They don’t trust me though and the steward gives me one-to-one tuition. You’re reading this so thankfully I didn’t need my new knowledge.
The only thing about flying out from Birmingham is that I don’t have a chance to experience Air Italia’s food and service but that’s not enough to get me to fly out from London. I do have another theory why my two favourite colours are red and green; I’ve recently come to the conclusion that it’s because I love Christmas but as we land and I spot the Air Italia plane, it could just be the Italian flag.
I immediately feel under par as soon as I arrive at the airport; everyone here is ultra glam, slim & stylish. It’s been ten years and I’ve forgotten how easy the Italians make it look.
I decide to risk an Italian taxi and not only survive but I’m pleasantly surprised that the cab driver rounds down from €10.10 rather than waiting for me to say, ‘make it €12’.
As I start to walk around to get my bearings every woman I see is the same. Even their unkempt hair looks glamorous; everyone has colour and perfect haircuts so I don’t think there’s any such thing as natural hair here.
In amongst the abundance of mainly Italian designer shops I come across a book shop that specialises in automobile reads. I spot the Duomo, the much talked about cathedral a couple of times but I’m saving that for a rainy day and when my friend flies out to join me.
I’m writing this at Passarella Cafe on a main street sitting outside under a canopy but the outdoor heating is so warm, I can take my coat off. There’s no menu so how is everyone else ordering? I’ll settle for pretty much anything in Italy as I know even the fast food tastes good. I love this!
I’m amazed how I’ve managed to write 500 words with the distractions of both perfectly coiffed hair and Fendi shopping bags walking past me
The downside is that everyone smokes. The two on my left have their unlit cigarettes poised ready for as soon as they have inserted their last mouthful but I guess my asthma can take that for a few days. In any case, rain is due so I’m staying outside as much as I can until then.
Now, it’s time for my first coffee in Italy. The first of many as the 2 daily cups rule goes out the window here; this the real deal.
Day 2 follows.
Fave bday cards
All I knew about this film was that it was set in Verona, hence the Romeo and Juliet connection.
I’ve been to Verona once and of all the Italian cities I have visited, this is the one I long to go back to and only partly because of the whimsical idea that the fictional Juliet stood on that balcony. What I liked is Italian designer stores littered the street that spawns the alleyway to the balcony. And that I discovered the comeback store of the 1970s label, Fiorucci (As depicted in ‘He’s the Greatest Dancer by Chic. Obviously).
The film is set there as an engaged New York couple, Chef Victor and Sophie (Amanda Seyfried), New Yorker fact checker/wannabe writer visit for a pre-wedding honeymoon, this being the only time they have before the chef’s restaurant opening. So there are enough of my favourite things here to make me enjoy the film. (That’s food, Italy, writing, New York – in case you’re new here).
Victor spends all his time happily sourcing food suppliers for the upcoming eaterie which leaves our modern day Juliet free to go on a little adventure.
At the aforementioned balcony, Sophie finds hoards of international ladies writing letters to Juliet and affixing them to the wall. It turns out; these are all answered by the ‘Secretaries of Juliet’ a small group of ladies dedicated to keeping the romance alive. With time on her hands, Sophie joins in and replies to a letter she finds hidden behind a brick written fifty years ago.
The now widowed Grandmother, Claire (Vanessa Redgrave) turns up in Verona inspired by her 50 year late reply; along with her extremely stereotypical obnoxious, arrogant, British grandson (although I think they may have something there). Claire is looking for the young lover she left behind as a teenager and the three of them set about looking for the long lost love, Lorenzos. At this point I wonder why the fact checker didn’t at least just telephone to see if a Lorenzo lived there rather than going on a road trip, although I understand that five decades later, Claire would have wanted to see him face to face.
So it turns out to be a quite a quaint, British story with the added twist of the grandson developing a little thing for our young heroine, who of course writes about the whole escapade.
Entirely for the girls but worth a watch. It’s got to be better than that Sex and the City 2.
7½/10 Smile factor 8/10
