Stendhal Syndrome?

 Sitting across from me on a Frecciarossa train going from Naples to Florence, Karen has just read me a fun fact about Stendhal Syndrome, which is apparently a non-official psychiatric condition in which over-exposure to beauty in the form of museums, cathedrals, palaces, etc., can cause one to experience heart-palpitations, dizziness, confusion and even faint.

Well, I don't know about that. I have yet to see a church so beautiful it can strike me down on the spot.

But we did see some incredible beauty in these days on the Amalfi Coast. 

We started off in Naples, where I've never actually been. I've been...but only through there, catching a train to someplace else. I'd never really visited, staying in a hotel, seeing the sights...that sort of thing. That was on purpose, actually. I'd been told many times by many people what a big, dirty, crime-ridden city Naples was. My mother-in-law had her purse stolen there. A few years back, mafia in-fighting caused garbage not to be picked up for months, and you can imagine the smell that created. It just didn't sound like a place that should be high on my list, and so it wasn't.

Fast-forward to today, and my dear friend Karen who announced her intention to visit Naples. And so I thought...what the heck. Perhaps the time has come for me to visit as well! And so I flew down to Naples from Torino with a beach bag as a carryon, planning to haul us off to the Amalfi Coast from Naples as soon as I could.

(Here's where I very predictably tell you that when I stepped off the plane in Naples, I was overcome by its charm and beauty and had wasted years by not visiting). 

Not so, my friends.

When I stepped off the plane in Naples, I was unpleasantly NOT surprised by the heat, the confusion, and by the immediate assault by truffatori or "cheats." Every man, woman and child wanted to sell you something, take you in their private unofficial taxi or lead you off on some strange "tour." But alas for them! I am no tourist, and so doggedly plowed forward, not looking left or right, but heading directly for the "official" taxi line to be taken to my hotel.

Alas for me, Napolitani are much more furbo (street smart) than me, and official means very little there. I was ushered into a minivan with a broken meter, a driver, who although extremely charming, kept up a rapid stream of conversation on his phone, ignoring my attempts to ask for a price, and upon dropping me at my hotel, insisted on cash-only payment of 35 euros for a 13 minute ride. I gave him $30. Then said to him in Italian--"I know you are cheating me. But you're doing it with such a lovely smile that I'll play along." He laughed, took my money, and sped off.

I then took the chance to look around me.

Hmmm....bags of garbage, check. People who want to steal from me, check. Graffiti, noise, confusion, filth, check, check, check. My first impression was--I've landed back in India, not Italy.

But I shrugged. I was on an adventure. On a super, much-needed vacation after an extremely stressful year of work--I was happy regardless! And about to see Karen! Plus--I loved India. I was ready.

*      *     *     *     *    *

So I got settled into our room and changed, and Karen and I went in search of a Napolitano aperitivo. We made our way down to the lobby, and the first thing we encountered was a group of Americans, who introduced themselves and asked us where we were from.

We thought this might be a good Graydar opportunity (read: the phenomenon of running into other people from or connected with Grayling when in other parts of the country/world), and so introduced ourselves as being from Grayling, Michigan, and did they know it?

They did not know it, but did introduce themselves as being Marcy, Doug and Mike, who were there for a wedding from Seattle. We enjoyed chatting with them for a bit, and then set off on our Naples adventure in search of that Spritz.

One place I had always wanted to see in Naples was the "Spaccanapoli"--a long, tight thoroughfare running through the city, that is where the height of Neapolitan culture can be found. Think laundry hanging across balconies, opera music floating out of doors, the smell of pizza in the air. So we headed for that.

And we found just that:

Hanging laundry

An old woman watching the confusion from her balcony

Grappole di tomatoes hanging in store windows.

It was full of music, life, zooming vespas, in short--we were in love.

We followed the music to a Spritz bar with lots of outdoor tables and an animator who was spinning up the crowd. We asked for a table, and who called out to us but Marcy, Doug and Mike--who had also set off after we talked to them in the bar.

The waiter pulled more chairs over to their table.

And so, we spent a pleasant night in Naples, reveling in the chaos and confusion, rather than despising it.

But I was still taking us off to Sorrento the next day. 

Drama Adjacent

 I should not even waste time typing that it’s been a hot minute since I updated this, but I guess I just did. ;)

I thought I’d resurrect my blog as I’m currently headed to Italy, and will be meeting one of my besties, Karen, there for lots of shenanigans to get the proverbial party started!

Karen and I recently realized that there’s a phrase that aptly describes how we like to have our fun-and that is to stay “drama adjacent.”

We want a lot drama. We crave it! We just don’t want to be directly involved in it. We want to be…”drama adjacent.”

So here’s to a drama adjacent trip! I shall report on our progress. 

I'm Hot.

Literally. My fan says it all.

Thanks to my dear friend Emilia for such a descriptive fan, which has also been a lifesaver on this trip.

Now I moved quite a few Americans of Scandinavian descent over to the hot and spicy Mediterranean, and we’ve all been melting this week. 

But that hasn’t stopped us! And despite the nearly hundred -degree weather, we’ve collectively hit up several cafes, taken scooters around the city, visited all the museums (including the Egyptian Museum. Did you know it’s the second largest in the world after Cairo??) And we also had an extremely sweaty but very fun night at my friend Manuela’s bar, where my dad hosted a get/together for is all. We’re thriving in the heat over here!!

It’s been a crazy surreal weekend for me, having so many people I love from different parts of my life in one place. The only thing I can compare it to is when you’re having a wedding. I love looking at the pictures later to see random people who may have never met having new interactions.

Makes my heart happy.

So now off to figure out the final details for the big party tonight. See you there!

My first guest is here!

 

Karen is here!! She's the first to arrive. It was so much fun going to the airport and seeing a familiar face! The last time she was with me in Italy was in 2000...so it's been 24 years!! That sounds so crazy.

She and I checked in to our awesome AirBnb, which is a super historic building just off Piazza Castello. They had ancient doors that they had to show us how to use, and it's enormous. 

See that door behind Karen?

Anyway, we quickly threw down our bags and went in search of food...it was past lunch time, but we found a bar in Piazza Carignano that fed us sandwiches, and more importantly--Pornstar Spritzes!! We couldn't resist the name, and had to order them, of course.

So I'd say the weekend is off to a good start!

There's a Little Green Crocodile in My Drink

 And I mean, this might have been the "rose" of my day, which has otherwise been a bit thorny.

(Do y'all know that concept? Sophie at the dinner table used to ask us for the "rose" or highlight and "thorn" or low point of our days.)

So this is a Rum Cooler, which is one of my favorite summer cocktails in Italy, run to try one subito, and they put a little gummy crocodile on it as a garnish. I mean, I would have laughed, but I was so hot and exhausted at that point that I even forgot to eat the little guy up.

So let me backtrack...this morning seems ages ago.

I got up again this morning deciding to go on a run, but this time I didn't even manage to get my shoes on before it was all derailed.

Somehow the morning got sideways between a series of events that included broken gates, gas technicians, kids with busted cars, laundry, emails, credit cards--you name it, and I had to catch a train at 11 for Torino, so running is once again put off. Maybe tomorrow. But I doubt it.

So I get to Torino, Emilia picks me up and we go to the hair salon so I can get my roots done before my party this weekend. And they did a great job! Although I just will not get over non-air conditioned salons, especially when they start applying a blow dryer. When I got up out of my seat at the salon, I and the chair were soaking wet with sweat, but somehow, my hair looked great!

We were then going to grab some lunch, but the lunch place next to us closed, and by now it was 2:30 and I had a million errands to run before my train home--including one I really wanted to accomplish, which was finding something to wear to my own party on Saturday.

But alas, this was not in the cards. And although we went to at least 8 stores, I found no dress. Don't judge me when you see me in the same black dress I wear in every photo or the tomato-colored dress I wore to Agnes' 50th. You've been warned.

And by the way, running around Torino in 95 degree humid weather does not make for a good time. I mean, wait!! You're all coming here. Shit. Yes it DOES!! It makes for a great time. 

But I'll tell you what. I felt a bit dejected when I boarded the train for Pinerolo at 6 pm. Hot, sweaty, tired, no dress, but a bottle of some sort of hair serum I was convinced to buy at the salon, starving, as I hadn't eaten all day...

So when Hans told me he'd be late to pick me up, because he was in a meeting at the pub that was running long, I told him I was going to the bar and I'd text him which one. 

Which is how we get to the little green crocodile drink, because I hied my bags and sweaty body a kilometer down the street to Da Vinci bar, sat down, threw down my bags, and ordered a Rum Cooler.

And that was the rose of my day, although we did have a nice meal out afterwards, which was before we got home to the still broken gate, water flooding the yard, and the electricity going out while I was in the shower.

I think I'll go running tomorrow.

A Day of Dead Goats and No Reservations

 Kind of sounds like an Anthony Bourdain show, doesn't it?

Today was the longest day ever, and although it started out rough, it ended on a high note. 

Let me explain.

This morning I woke up, bleary-eyed at 8 am after staying up until 2:30 organizing things for the party, got on my running shoes, because I somehow think I can get in shape before my party this Saturday, despite downing spritz after spritz on a daily basis, and opened the door to see a dejected Hans with his head in his hands.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Bruno's dead" came the response.

Bruno is a little black pygmy goat, and the companion to Olga, who is a little brown pygmy goat. 

"Oh shit" I said. Now I'm assuming Hans' dog "Spank," a dog of dubious origins who was kidnapped by my friend Emilia and deposited at Hans' house a couple of years ago (but that's a story for another day). was the culprit, as he has been known to be a sort of killer. I think the count is 3 rabbits, 2 cats, 1 hedgehog and multiple mice. He's quite proud. And so, I figured that Bruno had succombed to Death by Labrador.

"How?" I asked.

"Drowned," said Hans.

What the actual....drowned??? How the heck does a goat drown? But he did. He apparently slipped and fell into the pond in the night and couldn't get out. So poor Bruno was no more. 

Now even writing this, I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry. I mean, I have to admit, it sounds pretty damn funny--dead goat who drowned in the night. But Hans is an animal LOVER, and this was his 9 year old daughter's pet, and so, it was decidedly NOT funny, but fairly tragic, and the day was quickly derailed as we dealt with burials and funerals and tears and whatnot.

Luckily, I had an escape route. Not that I wanted to fink out of the goat drama, but I mean, yes, I did. So I was glad to have the excuse of going to Sophie's dance performance tonight out by Asti, an hour or so from home.

I had to pick up my sister in law, Vanessa, and her boyfriend Marco 2 (as not to be confused with her brother, Marco 1) in Torino, drive out to the Monferrato region, meet up with Marco and his girlfriend and his parents, check into a hotel, go get Niccolo and his girlfriend and Sophie's roommate from the train station, meet my friend Emilia and her daughter Elena, and get to Orsolina to watch the show. Cool. We had all afternoon, it was sunny and hot, and our hotel had a pool. Vanessa and I had big plans for spritzes poolside.

So I gave Hans one last sympathetic goat hug, hopped in my car and made for Torino.

And all was well. I picked up Vanessa and Marco, and we happily chatted and gossiped all the way to Cossombrato, where our hotel was, excited to go to the pool and relax a bit. And when we got there an hour latere, it was a beautiful place, with wedding preparations going on, and a beautiful pool in their garden.

We went up to the receptionist and gave her our name. "It's a large party with 5 rooms," I said. "Last name is Cucco."

The receptionist's face went white.

"But that reservation was canceled!" she said.

"Cancelled?" I said, rather loudly. I looked at Vanessa, she looked at me, picked up her phone, and called Marco's girlfriend, Roberta. 

Soon we had all levels of drama. Desperate receptionist and her manager flipping through reservation books, Vanessa yelling at Roberta, who was yelling at Marco. Me, speed texting the same Marco, and Marco 2 laughing and pulling out a cigarette.

Turns out the reservation had been canceled, but this is Italy, and so the receptionist quickly procured a bottle of wine and some homemade salami for us, and we happily drowned our sorrows while plotting our next move.

In the end, we discovered that Marco had canceled the original reservation and reserved a place elsewhere, only he never sent the new place to anyone, so we didn't know that had gone down.

But we were pretty sad to say goodbye to our pool and our nice receptionist who gave us free wine to apologize for canceled reservations that were not their fault, and hop in the car to drive to the new place which was 40 MINUTES AWAY! 

Our nice relaxing afternoon had just gone the way of the dodo, as we'd need to drive there, check in, I'd need to drop off Vanessa and Marco and drive 45 minutes back to Asti to get the kids from the train station and race to Orsolina.

However, all's well that ends well, and even though I am now writing this from a hotel room with no air conditioning and a fan that is making a whole bunch of racket, they do have an angry donkey and a hilarious turkey here, and Sophie's show was fantastic.

I was so proud of her!

Orsolina is an artist's refuge, and Sophie and her roommate Annika each spent a week dancing there. At the end of each week is a show set against a dramatic landscape, and it's too cool.

Her fan club!

It Does Take Some Organization

 I thought it would be fun to share a piece of my "itinerary" that I've been using to remember what is going on on which days, and who has to be picked up where and when...I am sort of terrified that I will forget a kid at the airport, leaving them stranded, or forget to book a hotel, or something else that may cause someone somewhere some temporary insanity.

So I'm living and dying by this spreadsheet right now:

I'm realizing I'm already well into the week, and that there are things on my to-do list that have not been to-doed. Done.  Like Airbnbs that need to be booked and Torino Survival Guide's sent to my friends and family. 

And I'm thinking of doing those things; I really am. I am picking up my sister and brother-in-law tomorrow to go to the countryside near Asti to see Sophie in a dance performance (she's been there this week at a dance intensive), and I could check into the hotel and buckle down. 

But probably, I will go with them to the nearest cute cafe, and sit outside with a nice Spritz and talk about doing those things.

Because after all--we're in Italy, and there's a reason why.

So cheers! And can't wait to see you all.

This Time, I'm Not Doing the Traveling.

 Well, since I'm writing this from Italy, I guess that's not really true. Only...Italy has become my second home. I keep a closet full of clothes at my boyfriend's house here in Pinerolo, and the linen closet in his bathroom has more of my toiletries in it than his. Just yesterday, he gave me my own remote to open the gate to his house. I mean, if that's not officially "living" somewhere, I don't know what is!

So I'm not really the one this time who is boarding a plane for an unknown place to head off on an adventure. 

Instead, all my family and friends are headed toward me!

As I type this, roughly 50 Americans (ok, there are some Austrians and French in that count) are packing or planning or actually headed to the airport to meet up with me in Torino to celebrate my 50th birthday. My Uncle Don is already here! I'm having a sort of crazy, surreal moment where my 2 worlds are crashing together in a few short days. 

So while I stress over things like, can I find balloons that match the Aperol Spritz theme of my party?? Answer: yes.

While I fret over things like the DJ showing up an hour into my happy hour and needing to play my own music for an hour...while I fuss over the growing number of people on my guest list and the 65% chance of rain at the moment the night of my party, or worry about actual important things, like my kids meeting my boyfriend for the first time, and what if it's not love at first sight??

While I do those things that Angie does, I thought I'd start blogging about the process that's happening to bring this crazy event together. Because in the end, this is an amazing moment where many of the people I care most about in this world are all coming together to help me celebrate what has been an amazing lifetime of love and adventure and fun!! I'm touched beyond expression, and I just know that I am the luckiest gal alive.

So without getting too mushy, I'll keep you all posted as we get this party started!!

Italians Just Know...

How to make things beautiful.

Like Christmas decorations. I've always thought they had a certain flair. In the cities, they always hang rows of lights above each street, and it's such a cool effect.

But this year I saw something new.

They are projecting lights onto buildings, but not just any lights. They're designed for the buildings so that the lights match the architecture. Like so:

That pretty much blew my mind.

I mean, how do they get it so perfect???

#goals

But I Want to Let you All in on a Little Secret

 Which is another home store, not unlike IKEA, but French, and fabulous, called Maisons du Monde.

They have the BEST decor!! I love all of it and want to buy it all, but it won't fit in my suitcase.

So here is just a sneak peek at some of their best stuff!

This Vespa table, which is MUST have:

This cabinet that looks like an old gas pump:

And this beautiful pink and gold globe.

I could go on and on, but I won't. I'm going to go paint and drink prosecco, but more on that, later.

This is why I don't blog...

 ...because I get caught up in the moment and forget my job as Travel Blogger Extraordinaire. I mean, how dare I enjoy what's happening in the present and forget my loyal public (my mother and myself)??

So I haven't blogged since Spain.

But I've been in Italy now for 4 days, visiting my boyfriend outside of Torino. He has started a new job managing a GastroPub in Pinerolo that has just opened, which is keeping him very busy--especially in the evenings, and so I've had some time to just enjoy my time in Italy.

Now, I could be checking out the cathedrals or visiting museums, or even taking a gastronomic tour, gorging myself on pasta...but I'm no tourist. I'm more of a local! And so I have been doing those super-secret things that locals do--like shopping at IKEA.

My friend Emilia has been looking for a new couch, and so I told her I'd meet her at IKEA and we could check out their selection. And so we did! She's a total love, but usually shows up very late, and this time was no exception, so I had time to just wander IKEA by myself..and I realized something.

IKEA is exciting and romantic.

Now you may be already shaking your head...but I swear it's true. In fact, I found myself a little sentimental and sad there, because the store is entirely populated by couples. Old couples, young couples, gay couples, straight couples, couples with young children--but couples. All dreaming and planning--starting a new home together, or renovating a home they've had for years. But I found myself lonely. I remembered that when Marco and I were dating when we still lived in Italy, we used to visit IKEA to buy the $1 candles which were literally all we could afford, and to dream about how we'd decorate a future home. And now, I have a lovely partner, but who lives in another country, and so we don't have the ability to plan a home together right now.

Regardless, I found it lovely.

And then Emilia showed up, and we bought her a couch, and did partake in some haute cuisine:

I thought Spain was only 7/10 but now it's 10/10.

Or is it 11/10?? 

Either way, despite the fact that I've been to Barcelona a handful of times before, I had even more fun this time. 

First of all, it's amazingly beautiful and warm here. Sunny, blue skies, 60s... I'm at the airport awaiting my flight to Italy, and I'm sitting outside on a terrace. Little birds are stealing my fries and I'm wearing no coat. It's wonderful.

Oh no you don't, little bird 

Awaiting my flight outside.

And Hans has shown me that this weather is awaiting me in Italy:

I thought I'd left Michigan!

Anyway.

But it was also so fun to hang out with my brother and sister-in-law here in Spain! We walked by the beach, had paella and sangria made with CAVA and life was perfect 

I love me a good gimmick and 2 showed up yesterday at lunch. 

First, a paella timer, which they brought to the table so you wouldn't drive them crazy asking when it would be ready:

And a spork to eat it with!

I need one of these for rice!!!

Anyway, I am so happy I got a few hours with them in Barcelona...and now on to Italy!!

The First Hiccup in my Wild Week

I mean, it's a tale as old as time 

I arrived! But my luggage didn't.

The flight was delayed out of Detroit, as I mentioned...and I ran like a track star through that airport, but apparently my bags are lazy a#$holes. So they're still hanging out in Paris.

They're missing out, because it's sunny and 60 here, and I'm in the heart of the action on Las Ramblas!

And now, off to consume large amounts of sangria with Max and Maryel.

A Wild Week

I'm a very seasoned traveler. I've been to Europe 17 times this year. I get postcards from stewards on the plane thanking me for my business. I have Diamond Medallion status with Delta, and am working toward my Two Million Miler status. Still, what I have planned this week is not for the faint of heart, and things are already going awry.

Let me just preface this by saying that I have a bit of princess in me. I like to think that I'm easy-going and low maintenance, but the truth is that I prefer my comforts, and you wouldn't find me dead in a tent. And those comforts are sort of growing over time, so things like sipping champagne in the Sky Club before my flight are now my base expectations. I know. I'm not proud of it. But there you have it. 

So it was to my dismay that I discovered that I was $5k short in MQD spend to keep my Diamond status on Delta for next year. I WAS GOING TO LOSE STATUS!! This was a tragedy. I researched a million ways to game this system and find a way around it, but no such luck. I was going to have to buy a business class ticket to Europe. And so I did. Obviously.

So here I sit on my second leg of a flight to Barcelona. Panting, with my sweater in my lap and a sweat-soaked tank top, while stylish and horrified Europeans eye me with mild disgust and a good amount of shock, as they sit in coats and scarves. But I've just sprinted through Charles de Gaulle airport, and all those Orangetheory classes didn't help.

Why don't I run through my itinerary??

I've been to Europe 17 times this year because my boyfriend lives in Italy. And I am madly in love with the boy. And in the end, it's no hardship to spend a ton of time in the Bel Paese.

And so I'm going back to see him, because, of course. But I'm no simple girl, so this time, I included some add-ons.

First: fly to Barcelona, via Paris. Why?? Last time I was in Barcelona, there was a terrorist attack, and I found myself shuttered in a bar while hordes of screaming people ran by. So what's taking me back? As luck would have it, my brother and his wife are there, on the tail-end of a 3 week vacation. And since they live in L.A., and I'm in Detroit, and don't see them all that often, I figured I'd take advantage of being on another continent together and pay them a visit! So that's where I'm headed today.

Tomorrow I'll fly to Italy, and stay through Friday...when I'll head to Paris for the night and stay with some friends there. I'll then fly the next morning to New York, where I'll meet my cousin and son, and where we'll watch my daughter in a dance performance. Then it's back to Detroit the next day. So 4 countries in 9 days... totally and completely doable.

Only .. I'm pretty sure my luggage isn't on this plane. 😏

I Stand Out Here Like I Did in India

 Well, so does my mom.

I think we're the only 2 blondes I've actually seen here (we can get into the fact that I am not technically a real blonde later. What's important is that's how I look).

We look like this:

                

And since most everyone else here look like these beautiful people:

We tend to out ourselves as Americans. Which, unfortunately, is not a sensation that I get to experience often. Being the only "Westerner." Because it is good for you to feel at times like the odd man out, to get to understand that feeling, and realize that there is a great big world out there that doesn't revolve around you or your culture. So yes, good....but at the same time, you're a target for all the scams.

Yesterday we were in this pretty little plaza, and a guy speaking great English (which is unusual here--because the lack of American/European influence means it's been wonderfully untouched) approached us, because--hair, hat, we're tourists, and asked if we wanted a photo.

He then went on to give us the history of the plaza, oldest church, 375 years old, old convent, etc...and then worked his way into explaining that he had an emerald shop, and that emeralds were THE thing to buy in Colombia. He had taken a great photo of us, so I played along and went to his shop. 

And I mean, the emeralds were beautiful. But the first thing he had me put on cost $1,600 US dollars, which is WAY out of this girl's budget. I'm like, I'm sorry, I don't have that kind of money.

At which point he looked me with disbelief and disgust and took off to find other blonde tourists, if possible.

So yeah. I get that being from the US means I must be rich. And in comparative terms, I suppose I am. 

But I still can't buy his emeralds.

And he did take a good photo.

The difference in the cost of things is staggering here...I haven't had a meal that cost me more than $15 and the best cocktail hasn't been more than $5. My dad bought a bottle of Glenfiddich for $30! You could get so used to it. And it's hard to distance yourself from what you think things ought to cost to what they actually do.

So there was, in fact, some discussion at breakfast this morning over what the driver we hired to take us to beaches today ought to actually be paid, with some in the "we should pay him more because it's still cheap for us as Americans and it's great for him" camp and some in the "yes but we're actually screwing ourselves because paying less is still a lot for him" camp, and both are valid.

Either way, I'm just happy to be spending a lot less than for a week in Colombia than I will for 2 days in New York next week.