Une fille américaine

Verona. In case it didn't come to you immediately, Verona is the setting of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. ...And what a city of romance it was!

There are a few traditions that travelers to Verona follow can only be described as... unhygienic. The most popular tourist spot in the city is the supposed Capulet balcony of the famous R&J balcony scene. Of course, Romeo and Juliet is a work of fiction, and so it would follow that the balcony is not really the balcony of the famous love scene. When entering the Capulet garden to view the balcony, there is a tradition to put a piece of gum on the archway that leads to it.

(romantic, I know)

There is also a tradition of rubbing a certain anatomical part of Juliet. According to the Italians, it brings some sort of good luck or romance. Whatever it brought me, I was happy I had hand sanitizer afterwards.

There is one special story I want to share about Verona. Tom and I had slipped into a buffet-style restaurant for lunch and to take a break from our touring. While we were eating, there was an elderly couple that sat across from us. The woman kept glancing over at me and smiling and then turning her gaze back to her food. Once she was done with her meal, she came over to our table. She looked at me, smiling, and started talking to me in Italian. Of course, I didn't understand a word, so I just smiled politely and looked between Tom and her, searching for comprehension somewhere between them. Tom replied with something in Italian and the woman continued to talk with him for a bit, meanwhile still smiling at me. Her husband came up and said something jokingly dismissing about his wife which I didn't understand, to which Tom laughed. Then they walked away, the older man offering his arm to his lady.

As they were walking out the door I asked Tom what had been said. He said that she was telling me that we reminded her of her husband and herself many years ago, when they were young. He also told me that as she was talking she realized I wasn't understanding anything, and so broke off to say, "...and you aren't understanding a word I say, are you?"- which was the point that Tom has stepped in to translate. The husband apparently had chimed in jokingly and said that she was a crazy old lady.

As Tom was telling me this, I just couldn't stop smiling. For reasons every woman who reads this entry will understand, it meant the world to me to hear this older woman, who looked so happy with her husband, tell us that we reminded her of them many years in the past. And in that moment I realized how lucky and blessed I felt to be able to travel the world with my best friend.

Venice is Venice. It's everything that you imagine it will be, and a city that I feel is best described by my camera lens.

Enjoy!

Milan, the fashion and shopping capitol of the world! Tom and I were only able to spend one day in this gorgeous city, but we soaked up as much as we could. I can't tell you how nice it was to not understand anything. Every time someone came up to talk to us, or we had to ask for directions, I would just shrug and look to Tom.

We wandered our way through the city, and I started to become comfortable with looking like a tourist. Here are some pictures from around town.

I started to go photo crazy in this city. Here are a few of my favorites from the Duomo.

And then I gave the camera to Tom...

Of course we went to the famous shopping center, the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, where we window-shopped 'til we dropped. There is a small mosaic in the center of the mall that depicts a bull. The tradition tells that if you spin three times with the heel of your right foot over the bull's genitals, that it will bring you good luck.

"Rompere le palle!"

My favorite part about Milan was dinner. We went out to "aperitivo." The idea is that you go to a bar and order a drink. Then with your drink you get a little plate and a full bar's worth of food. Small pastas, fruit, cooked vegetables, dessert. All for the price of a drink. As Tom put it "one of the best things a culture has ever invented". The idea is that it's supposed to be like a kind of appetizer, but by the time you're done snacking, everyone is way too stuffed to have any more food!

Every time I sit down to write a new blog entry I find myself distracted by Paris. Tom and I will sit down to our espressos in one of the cafes in Place de Contrascarpe, and instead of writing I find myself watching. The people who walk by are ever entertaining, but it's not just the people. Every time I tear my eyes away to look instead at my computer screen, I feel like I'm missing something. That if I look away for too long that this beautiful city will slip away from my reality and be confined once again to my dreams.

I’ve put off writing this blog because I knew how hard it was going to be for me to write.

Paris. For me, the city of dreams. The child’s dreams, the adult’s dream, it’s the only place I’ve ever wanted to be. The city of lights, of creation. The city where art is, always was, and still becomes. Paris, where I would happily give it all up and become a starving writer, chasing romantic dreams until I’m old and bitter. Of course it’s beautiful. But it’s also more than that. It’s also hideous. Ugly city life crawling with unhappy tourists and Parisian bakers too busy to ask how your day was. There are pickpockets and pollution. But somehow in Paris when I smell diesel from the city buses I don’t wrinkle up my nose in disgust. The cigarette smoke, the metro musicians, the tourist traps, it’s all a part of Paris, part of the magic.

There is a hollow loneliness that follows the stranger of Paris like a gray ghost, always two steps behind but only if they keep walking, keep moving. The loneliness that only catches up when she pauses on the bridge to admire the view, or he sits down to his espresso. It’s that loneliness that creates the romance. It’s the misery that creates the beauty. And without persistent gray of the city no beauty would ever come of it. To me, Paris is the bitter espressos and warm croissants that Parisians like to call a balanced breakfast.

Shakespeare and Co. honoring George.

Tom and I know a bit about Christmas, and a bit about Parisians, but we didn’t know at all what Parisians usually did for Christmas. So we decided to create a little Christmas culture ourselves.

On Christmas Eve we set out for the Christmas Market at Champs-Elysees. We ate roasted chestnuts (which Thomas did not quite like) and crepes with sugar and lemon. We sampled cheese and sausages and vin chaud. We watched giant bowls of potatoes and cheese being stirred to make tartiflette Together we waltzed through the various stalls, buying a few odds and ends as gifts.

Later we went to Musee D’Orsay and saw masterpieces by too many French artists. We were both very pleased (but especially Tom) to see the the Van Gogh paintings that were featured in Doctor Who (for those of you who aren’t familiar that would include Mon Chambre and the most well known Self-Portrait).

I was afraid that everything would be closed for Christmas so Tom and I went around our neighborhood to various shops to collect our goods for the holiday feast. We bought fois gras, potatoes, and mashed carrots at the charcuterie, Christmas wine at the wine shop, sausages at the butcher, brioche, pan de compagne, and les petits boule at the boulangerie, and finally, of course, some cheese at the fromagerie.

At night we somehow found ourselves skipping the line to get into the Notre Dame for the Christmas Eve midnight mass. What an experience that was. We even returned the next day for a bit of a Christmas Day mass.

Paris being the city of lights, it was even more spectacular than usual on Christmas Day.