My happy place

I'm in a bit of a funk this week, having trouble remembering why I've chosen to do my work all the way over here in New York (a city that has a lot of things going for it, but a distinct lack of CameraMan). Transitions are never smooth for me, and 3 weeks in I'm still having some difficulty transitioning into Work Mode.

CM knows I've been a Grumpypants since he left, so he sent me some pictures of our time in Italy this summer. These will be my happy place for a good long while.

For best results, click any photo—you'll be taken into a slideshow (although for some reason you won't see my captions).

We took the overnight Vienna-Florence train again. And guess what I'm wearing?

The Arno

Waiting for our favorite coffee shop to open.
I didn't even realize this was me when I first looked at it. I'm a brunette!

Arms-length self portrait—our fave photography method

The view from our Montalcino hotel room

Watching the old Montalcinesi navigating the steep alleys of the city made us feel like wusses.

I'd like a vacation apartment right…there.

Friendly Montalcino street cat

Or maybe there.

View of the Tuscan countryside

The bottom of a Negroni

Santa Margherita di Ligure, the overnight stop on our road trip
along the Riviera from Montalcino to Aix-en-Provence

Beach changing rooms in Santa Margherita di Ligure

He ain't called CameraMan for nothing, folks.

The most relaxing place in the world (for us)

Here's what I know (so far) about traveling together. We're not beach people; we're pool people. Road trips in foreign countries can be dicey. Rent the GPS unit. Bring Pringles and gummy bears. Have a restaurant in mind before we get there. We will probably like anything that describes itself as a 4-star design hotel. All suitcases should have 4 wheels, not 2. Train travel is far superior to plane travel. Strong wifi is non-negotiable. Sometimes 30 minutes alone with our cameras is all we need to cure grumpiness. These other things.

And Montalcino, Italy is the most relaxing place in the world (for us).

During our honeymoon, we went to Montalcino three times while staying at the Bossy Castle near Siena. First, for dinner at Taverna Grappolo Blu on a tip from Rick Steves. Charmed, we went back for an overnight stay (and dinner again at Taverna Grappolo Blu). Then back the next day when a certain newly-married CM realized he'd left his wedding ring on the bedside table in the hotel.

This year, we went on purpose. Three nights at the Hotel Dei Capitani, and next time I think we'll make it a week.

Here's what we do in Montalcino. Eat delicious breakfast at our hotel, outside overlooking the Tuscan countryside. Take walks meandering through tiny village streets, knowing we can't possibly get lost. Pet street cats and talk to them. Drink cappuccini at the Caffé Fiaschetteria Italiana. Take a dip in the pool. Read on lounge chairs under a giant umbrella. Eat hot pecorino cheese. Taste Brunellos. Nap. Emerge from the hotel when the light is just getting pretty. Take pictures. Drink Negronis and snack on potato chips. Eat pici at Taverna Grappolo Blu. Look at the moon. Sleep.

It's heaven, truly.

Here's proof. Click on any picture, and you can see them as a pretty slideshow on a black background. All photos by LMB.

39 Hours in Florence: What We Ate

I know, it was practically a lifetime ago that we were in Florence, but I can't let that stop me from telling you all the particulars of what we ate, drank, and swooned over while we were there.

First of all, there was the coffee. Last time I was in Italy (2002, that would be) I was not yet a coffee drinker, and I cannot stress enough how much better my experience was this time, for that reason alone. How could an Italian morning possibly be complete without a gorgeous, foamy cappuccino, along with some kind of fluffy, cream-filled pastry? It couldn't, and that's the truth. Where to go? You couldn't do much better than Coronas Cafe, on the Via del Corso between the Duomo and the Piazza della Signoria. We found it by accident, and ended up going back the next day. If you're feeling schmancy and in the mood for animal prints, you could also try the Caffè Giacosa next to the Roberto Cavalli. Just make sure to take your coffee standing up at the bar instead of sitting, to avoid being charged double just for the privilege of a seat.

And then there were the Negronis, mixed to perfection at Sei Divino, conveniently located a block from Arno, on the way home to The New Oregonian's apartment from the middle of town. It's never a good idea to drink on an empty stomach, so you might as well order a platter of cheese and meats that you'll devour greedily because it's all so very good. Is it any surprise that, in our two day there, we became regulars?

Obviously, there was gelato too, perfect (even in February) from Grom. And maybe the best sandwich in recent memory, at 'ino, where every sandwich comes with a glass of wine (just as it should be).

But if I had to pick one meal, the one to remember, it would be dinner at La Giostra, picked by TNO well before we arrived. It's rare that I have felt quite so taken care of at a restaurant. We were greeted with champagne, brought an antipasti plate full of amazing delicacies I would have never known to order, and patiently talked through the finer points of the menu, with translation help from multiple waiters. There was also this amazing ritual with the wine, where it was decanted and swirled within an inch of its life, complete with flourishes only an Italian could pull off successfully.

We started with asparagus soup, velvety and flavorful, with the perfect contrast of crunch croutons.

As ambitious as I am, I can never handle both a primo piatto (first course—usually pasta) AND a secondo piatto (second course—meat), so CM and I decided to share one of each.

First, penne with pears and a gorgonzola cream sauce. Those are pistachios crumbled on top.

Then, osso bucco, so tender we barely needed a knife.

 I'm pretty sure I can go ahead and cross Italy off my LMB eats/Europe list, no?


All pictures by CM, obvs.

On locks and love and boots

It all started with the red boots. Or rather, ended with them. On the whirlwind day that was yesterday, after we had gotten off the overnight train from Florence, taken the subway, walked several blocks and up two flights of stairs to our apartment, showered, and finished packing for New York, my red boots gave up the ghost.

In the two years since I bought them, I have worn them nearly every fall, winter, or slightly overcast day. I have dressed them up or down for all occasions, and when it came to picking a pair of shoes in which to walk all over Florence for a couple days, there was no question which I would choose, even though the right zipper had been sticking and a chunk of the left sole was falling off. We tromped all over that fair city, up and down the Duomo, through museums and churches and curly alleyways. My boots made no complaint. No, they waited until I was getting ready to leave for the airport, and then that zipper went from sticking to stuck, and there was no fixing it.

Naturally, I had a nervous breakdown. The hot-faced, hiccupy, sobbing kind.

I haven't gotten used to the goodbyes yet. I'd like to take it all in stride, get perspective, absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that crap, but I never can. On a day when everything goes smoothly I can sort of, almost hold it together, but the slightest problem derails me completely. Halfway through my flight to New York I realized that my favorite black button-up shirt was still among CM's dry cleaning instead of in my suitcase. I teared up.

I don't think this is a story about shirts and shoes.

Monday morning as we rediscovered beautiful Florence, we came across these love padlocks by the Arno. I had seen and photographed some when we went to Prague, without knowing what they were, and a friend explained this lovely custom to me: couples write their names or a message on the locks and place them there to seal their love.

Isn't that beautiful? Ever since I found out what they were, I've been wishing we had locked one in Prague, and stumbling upon the ones in Florence seemed like a sign. So we kept our eye out for a store that might sell a lock, and on Tuesday we found one, and also a store selling permanent markers, and we went back to the river. We locked our lock and then we threw the keys off the Ponte Vecchio into the Arno below.

I didn't expect it to mean something, not really, but it did. It felt like a promise.

And as I was sitting in the plane yesterday, on the verge of tears, I thought of our lock, our promise to each other, and it helped. It's helping now writing about it, too.

I think we might have to start bringing a lock and a Sharpie wherever we go. Just in case.

Monday morning, 6:18am

Our train arrived in Florence this morning as scheduled, at precisely 6:18am. The sky was still completely dark and the city was just beginning to wake up. We wandered through streets and piazzi, alone but for street sweepers and the occasional biker. It was cold; we could see our breath in the air. We took pictures of closed landmarks and empty squares. We followed the smell of delicious things baking and the sound of locals laughing to a bar where we ordered sweet pastries and frothy cappuccini, which we consumed at a tall table surrounded by Italians stopping in on their way to work. The sky slowly grew light, but the hazy fog remained. There wasn’t a tourist to be found. Except for us, of course.

It was magical. Surely any city can be discovered anew in the early morning hours, but this city in particular, previously seen only through summer crowds, seemed ours alone this morning. As we walked through those same streets and piazzi later in the long-awaited sunlight, we felt privy to a secret, to the real Florence.

We’ve been here less than 24 hours, but we already have our favorite coffee place, our favorite restaurant, our favorite bar. And isn’t that the way to travel: finding corners of an unfamiliar city, staking your claim, and planting your flag in the ground? This morning before the sun came up, all of Florence was ours for the taking.

And so we did.

It's too cold to throw myself in the Arno, right?

We've been extra busy here making travel plans for the next few months. Unfortunately, that has mostly meant extended harrowing phone calls with customer service representatives as we reschedule flights and attempt to exchange hard-earned frequent flier miles for actual free things. But next week we're taking a trip that hasn't been any hassle at all: one release request filled out by CameraMan, one visit to ÖBB (the Austrian national train service), several ecstatic emails to The New Oregonian, and it's planned!

This weekend we're going to Florence to visit The New Oregonian, who is working there for the first time. We're taking the overnight train on Sunday night, in a 6-berth couchette car, which will look something like this:

I'm pretty sure we have both booked top berths, so that should be awesome. If nothing else, it will be a good time for CM to get over his fear of heights.

We'll get into Florence at approximately 6:30am, just in time to take pretty sunrise pictures while stumbling around looking for espresso. Then we'll spend the day with TNO, who has Mondays free. We'll stay with her that night (we're trying to convince her that she does NOT need to sleep on the couch and give us the bed), and then spend Tuesday exploring on our own before we take another overnight train back to Vienna. This direction, we'll have a more luxurious private 2-bed sleeper car, which should look something like this:

The honeymoon suite it is not, but overnight train travel does have a certain romance about it anyway, am I right?

We've both been to Florence before, but never at this time of year, and never together, so we'll gladly take any and all suggestions of restaurants, museums, and other can't-miss Florentine experiences! We'll be there less than 48 hours—how should we spend our time?

Besides taking ridiculously gorgeous pictures, like this one from TNO: