Pisa, Italy

Lucca

We briefly explored the walled city of Lucca for the afternoon (shout out to the cool waiter who threw our heavy backpacks behind the bar for a few hours so we could explore) and then trained over to Pisa, of course heading straight for the main tourist attraction: the Leaning Tower, so we could re-create the classic, “Look, I’m holding up the tower” picture.  The next morning we flew north to Belgium, anticipating a few nights of couch surfing at my step sisters house.

Walking to the Leaning Tower

Required Cliche Pic






After taking the shot above I turned around and quickly snapped this one.  It ended up being my favorite pic of the day.

Cinque Terre, Italy

Cinque Terre is an Italian national park and UNESCO World Heritage Site composed of five villages, hence the name.  The villages are each built on rugged, steep cliffs and are connected via train and walking paths.  Our lack of reservations proved to be a bit burdensome; however, we managed to find three separate one night stays (first night in Manarola, second in Riomaggiore, third night back in Manarola).  Upon arrival, the first action Ken undertook was to jump into the Mediterranean Sea, while I relaxed on our porch overlooking the ocean.

Our first night we found an amazing restaurant serving fresh tuna (caught earlier that afternoon) and witnessed a picturesque sunset... it was an evening to remember.  We reminisced about how far we’d come (literally and figuratively).  Here’s a picture of me waiting outside the restaurant.

Regrettably, the seaside towns are overrun with elderly American tourists, but you can see why, what with the movie-set-esque cityscapes, narrow streets (no cars), eclectic markets, fresh vegetable stands, funky windows and doors, and colorful bicycles.  We were able to escape the Rick Steves crowds by hiking up into the hills amongst vineyards, horse-back riding trails, and scurrying lizards.  

Here are money shots from each village in geographical order from south to north.  Didn’t Ken do an amazing job with these?  Leave us a comment and tell us which is the best!

Riomaggiore

Manarola





We stayed two nights  in this village so it gets two shots

Corniglia

Vernazza

Monterosso

P.S.... Is that Wisconsin’s own Spotted Cow for sale on the Italian Riviera?

Genoa, Italy

Arriving in Genoa, we found our favorite meal of the trip thus far: pesto, meatballs, creme brule, and cheap table wine.  The bustling restaurant was filled with locals but our waiter was incredibly sweet and patient with us, translating the entire menu from Italian to English. The wait staff carried meals from the kitchen on the first floor to the patrons on the second floor via a tiny winding staircase.  We recant our previous statement regarding the friendliness of Italians.

Milan, Italy

We booked a room near the airport, given our over-exertion from 28 hours of travel.  Little did we know that the Holiday Inn Airport would be one step away from paradise: cheap, clean, and modern.  Ok, so realistically, it was your standard Marriott-type accommodation, but after our South American trek it was heaven.

Our first Italian impressions: appearances of extreme wealth (I say appearance because  per the Economist Italy isn’t doing so hot) and heavy importance on fashion (ok... so we DID arrive during Milan’s Fashion Week); beyond amazing food (it’s only our first day and I may have gained 5 pounds); significant historical and architectural grandeur; and (unfortunately) not the friendliest of Italians (although we just came from South America which rivals Minnesota on the “nice spectrum”).

In Milan the Duomo is a main tourist feature - a magnificent Gothic cathedral that took six hundred years to build and is the largest in Italy.  Directly adjacent is the impressive Galleria, a double vaulted structure in the shape of a cross that is an enclosed shopping mall, the first of its kind built in the 1800’s.  At the prominent center of the structure the four shops consisted of  three signs of wealth: Mercedes Benz, Prada, and Louis Vuitton, and one of America: McDonalds.  We had a quick gelato and espresso and headed back to the train station en route to Genoa (birthplace of Christopher Columbus and pesto).  We almost didn’t make it to Genoa though because the train attendant informed us our tickets were not “validated,” that is we didn’t get an official stamp, and threatened us with a $US 65 fee per person.  We pleaded ignorance: we are stupid Americans (it seemed all too easy for him to agree) and we’ve never taken a train before!!

In the most flattering sense, we decided most Italian men are “metro,” that is the dress here is slightly gay in nature (i.e., purple suede shoes, tight white pants, V-neck pink shirts, sunglasses, and perfectly gelled hair).  In fairness, we really have no right to judge as the Fashion Week assemblage undoubtedly believed us to be homeless (i.e., ragged dirty clothes, no makeup, slightly stinky with all our possessions on our backs).  Oh wait, we are homeless. 

Madrid, Spain

After six weeks and four countries, we departed South America for the Old Continent.  Somewhere between Lima and Rio we picked up Spanish (but not much Portuguese); survived frigid Andes mountains and temperate Atlantic beaches; laughed with new friends (mostly English); rode planes, trains, buses, taxis, ferries, tuk tuks and bicycles; and (fortunately) are still happily married without running out of money (yet).

From Rio we flew north to Salvador and chilled for about four hours (and by chilled, I mean devoured two editions of the Economist, the first I’d seen in months).  We then took a red eye to Madrid, again laying over for about four hours (and by laying over, I mean Ken watched a movie on his iPad while I pouted over being denied access to the Star Alliance lounge).  We arrived in Milan, Italy, or as they say, Milano, Italia.  Three countries in one day, not bad!

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil (Cont.)

Our last days in Rio were relaxed; we returned to the National Park of Tijuca for a day of hiking, waterfalls, and more hiking.  We climbed to the summit, realizing, 1) we should have brought our bug spray, and 2) hiking Mt. Kilimanjaro is not in the cards for us.  The massive forest (12.5 square miles in the middle of Rio) was pristine in its natural beauty and blissfully reclusive: unoccupied by either locals or tourists.

Before we leave Rio, a few laughs:

1. 35,000 soccer fans streamed out of the stadium post game, while vendors with coolers of beer (cerveja) attempted to sell their beverages, yelling “cerveja! cerveja! cerveja!” and thrusting cans of beer in people’s faces.  With thousands flooding past him, the vendor locked eyes with Ken and said, “You want a beer?" then right back to "cerveja! cerveja! cerveja!” without losing his methodical rhythm.  Ken, insulted, protested, “what, he thinks I’m stupid, I don’t know cerveja?”
2. Ken, trying to connect to a friend back home, when prompted about a mutually convenient time, replied, “Days of the week don’t mean anything to me.”  In response the disgusted friend retorted, “You a%$hole, don’t say that to me!”
3. In “Cheers-like” fashion, the juice bar attendants grew to know Ken’s “usual”: acai smoothie to go, no lid.  Ken barely had to sit on the bar stool and his standard order appeared without discussion.  Do you want to guess how many times Ken visited this establishment?... we’ll start the bidding at 20.
4. In addition to sanctioned public transportation there are un-marked 15-passenger, white vans that serve as supplemental transport through the city.  They are recognizable from a distance by the disheveled men hanging out the open passenger doors and screaming at people on the sidewalk to use their transport service.  We never knew exactly what was shouted in Portuguese and were leery of jumping in (definitely not in the Lonely Planet guide), not knowing their route, pricing, or safety.  However, after a long day in the park with no buses in sight, one of these vans came pummeling towards us - the man yelling to us.  We surmised: “get in my van! it is a very good van! very nice seats! get in my van! I take you to your destination!”  With no patience remaining and now willing to test our luck, we threw him $2 and jumped in next to 13 crammed locals who clearly knew we were not from Rio.  We arrived unscathed to our destination (the metro stop) and high fived: we survived!

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil (Cont.)

Given the fast internet speed in Rio, Ken was able to download some movies -- a splurge of English can really keep the spirits high while surrounded by the Portuguese language.  Ok... well these movies are both in Portuguese... but there are English subtitles, which is just as good.

We highly recommend both of these movies!!!!  Here are the trailers - you can rent them on iTunes (and probably Netflix too - we couldn’t because we’re outside the U.S.).

Waste Land: a documentary about a Brazilian artist who seeks to change the lives of garbage workers at a landfill in Rio.  

www.imdb.com/title/tt1268204/

Central Station: a story about the strange friendship between a young boy and a middle aged woman, set in Rio, the odd pair set on a journey to find the boy’s father.

www.imdb.com/title/tt0140888/

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil (Cont.)

A good friend from Boston connected us with her Brazilian friend who was sweet enough to show us around Rio with her cousin and his girlfriend.  We toured the Copacabana Fort and bemused at the stationary guard who didn’t flinch an inch.  We inspected all the beaches: Copacabana, Ipanema, Sao Conrado, and Barra da Tijuca - each more impressive than the last.  At the last beach (Barra) we hung around with the sun bathing crowd, kite surfers, and we had to sample the cashaca, a Brazilian sugar cane liquor.  

Rio is not all sugar-coated though, as we drove past favelas (slums) we learned that these illegal dwellings in the mountainside (many controlled by drug lords) are sites of violence and crime.

We’ve been eating well - a little too well.  We visited one of the best Brazilian all-you-can eat steak houses called Porcao.  Waiters circled the tables with trays of hot grilled meats and prompted us to eat as much as we could.  This was a buffet unlike any Sizzler. 





On the beverage front, Starbucks is to the U.S. as juice bars are to Rio.  They serve REAL juices of all fruits - although Ken accidentally ordered pure lime juice and he wasn’t too happy.  He’s now obsessed with acai juice, a purple berry from the Amazon (he only orders two to three per day).

On Saturday night we experienced the Rio nightlife by listening to samba music into the late hours at a famous samba school.  On the weekends the streets in the Lapa neighborhood are shut off to traffic, creating a party in the streets (I can’t even imagine Carnaval if this was only a typical Saturday night!).

We attempted to hike in the Tijuca National Park, a massive urban forest in the center of Rio, but unfortunately the car broke down on the way up the hill, or rather ran out of gas.  After hitch-hiking to the gas station, Mateos came back with old Coke bottles filled with gas for the car... and we were back in business.  

The highlight of our weekend was attending the Flamengo (Rio) vs. Botafogo (Rio) soccer match at the Engenhao stadium.  The energy of the street crowds prior to the match was beyond team spirit: soccer is a way of life.  We also noticed the machine gun toting guards maintaining order.  The stadium had two separate entrances which kept the fans on their designated side to decrease violence (you can’t cross into the stands of the opposing team).  There was a large fence encircling the field followed by a circle of police dogs between the crowds and the field.  Beer wasn’t sold (guess why) and beverages were only allowed in plastic cups (no cans or bottles).  The fans had drums, flags, balloons, and noise makers such that watching the crowd was half the fun.  The game ended in a tie of one to one; Ken is already plotting his World Cup trip to Rio in 2014.

Special thanks to our new Brazilian friends for showing us the “real” Rio -- and teaching us “constructive” Portuguese phrases like “F$@% you!” (very useful because everyone screamed this at the referees).

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil (Cont.)

As Botanical Gardens go, Rio’s is quiet and surprisingly well-kept -- it is also fairly extensive with over 5,000 varieties of plants.  We strolled around for a few hours and wasted the afternoon away.  Nearby is the large saltwater lagoon (Frietas Lagoon) with a nice bike path and walking trail; we might rent some bikes later this week.

Sugar Loaf is one of Rio’s most famous mountains.  It is astonishing that mountaineers can scale this vertical giant!  We rode the cable car that connects the Urca neighborhood to the sensational view at the summit, where Ken found a grumpy new best friend.

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

“Beautiful, I just want you to know, you’re my favorite girl.”  Just got to Rio and for some inspiration, check out an old school Snoop and Pharrell video:

You’ll notice the guys are sitting on a pretty cool staircase, which just by chance happened to be our first sight.  More than 20 years ago, a Chilean artist started “tiling” his front steps and it became an obsession such that he tiled the entire staircase.  We met the artist himself and Ken had to ham it up (unfortunately now he can’t be CEO of Yahoo!).

Rio, the Marvelous City, is a mix of astonishing cityscape and urban destitution.  White sand beaches everywhere (although we’re here in winter so the bikinis aren’t in full force), surrounded by stunning mountains, the people inhabit a paradise unlike any other we’ve seen in South America.  This is by far our favorite place!  We’re renting an apartment on the world-famous Copacabana beach; the seduction and energy in the air is palpable.  

Atop the Corovado mountain overlooking the city is none other than Christ himself [insert Catholic joke here].  





On our first night we watched the sun set over Ipanema Beach and watched locals play volleyball without their hands (basically playing soccer on a volleyball court), while we drank caipirinhas (rum with sugar and lime).  





Ken unknowingly ordered the feijoada - a Brazilian favorite of black beans with mixed meats, including ears and livers.  When it arrived Ken burst out, “What!?!? is this for one person?!?!”  Needless to say, he couldn’t finish the jumbo meal and we now have leftovers sufficient for the next few days.  Unfortunately, we’re not doing very well on the language front: Portuguese is close enough to Spanish that we’re getting by but we’re resorting to finger pointing and head nodding much more than before.  If it weren’t for the language, this might be the perfect place for us to live!

The next day we ferried over to neighboring Niteroi, where Ken bought his THIRD pair of pants... a real pair of blue jeans!  WE LOVE RIO!!!!!

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Our "newest" British friends 

The metro (subway) in Sao Paolo was exceedingly easy and efficient - the only problem was that we returned to our original bus station to depart for Rio, only to discover upon arrival that buses to Rio depart from a different station.  The information desk lady handed us this slip of paper, which in English essentially said, “You came to the wrong bus station, go back across town.”  Ugh, back on the subway to get to the correct bus station.  We grabbed the first bus to Rio and made it in a cool six hours.

Foz do Iguacu, Brazil

We crossed the border from Argentina to Brazil... here are step-by-step instructions on our day:

1. Miss the local bus to Brazil by 2 minutes; wait for 30 minutes for the next one
2. At immigration have the bus (accidentally?) leave you there; wait for the next one
3. Meet another English couple - they’ll help the time go faster (as you’ve noticed in our blogs, we’re like flies to a bug zapper when it comes to the English)
4. Have the bus drop you off at the wrong bus station, realize you do not speak Portuguese and have no Brazilian currency; find an ATM and wait 20 minutes for the guards to cash-out the ATMs
5. Take a taxi to the correct bus station; Miss the bus by 5 minutes and, ugh, the next one is not for 6 hours
6. Walk to the nearest restaurant and order chicken for lunch (and chill out because they have free WIFI)
7. Get bored and walk to the hotel across the street; order a bunch of beer (the English love this)
8. Walk back to the restaurant (because there’s only one) and order the steak because it’s now dinner time
9. Get on the bus to Sao Paolo and stop at customs security check, where your bus is randomly selected for a FULL search of over two hours (sniffing dogs, guards with machine guns, crying people -- full grown men getting hand-cuffed) and have over 20 bags confiscated from your bus!!  All the while, you understand NOTHING and want to scream, “is this normal in Brazil?!?”
10. Continue on the bus-ride with an armed guard sitting in the last row of the bus, pointing his gun at the passengers, especially those wanting to enter the toilet
11. Out of exhaustion, fall asleep to your Ipod with three mafia members sitting across the aisle (full length leather trench coats, black market cell phones and goods in carry on bags; they also talked annoyingly loud and brazenly argued with each other)
12. Arrive in Sao Paolo and take the metro to the only hostel in town --- there are 20 million people here and NO private hotel rooms, so you end up taking dorm beds (Ken in one, me in the other).  Although, fun fact: Ken is sharing a room with a guy named (literally) Tupac Shakur... we even confirmed his passport.

We barely made it to Sao Paolo, but after $100 sushi and being self-conscience around pretentious Prada-wearing fashionistas, we’re ready to move on... heading to Rio tomorrow.

Puerto Iguacu, Argentina

Flying from BA to Puerto Iguacu was uneventful, except for the landing where we saw jungle and trees for miles in all directions.  We didn’t book a hotel until arrival (usually saves us money and gives more flexibility) so we scoured the small town while it rained and found a reasonable hostel near the best restaurant in town - we splurged on salmon and malbec.  Iguacu National Park (225,000 hectacres) on the border of Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay was an expansive series of waterfalls unparalleled to anything we’d ever seen.  Niagara doesn’t even compare to this spectacular natural site.  I was content to see the water, but Ken insisted on a speedboat tour through the water.  He was in heaven on the death defying ride under the falls; I was completely drenched and clawing for landfall.  We met a nice English couple that we walked around with for part of the day.  We took a 1km cat-walk bridge over the top of the falls to the see the top of Devil’s Throat.... truly awe inspiring.  

As you can see all these falls can get exhausting...

Travel Thoughts

I am not a writer, as you may have ascertained per pervious posts, but to my credit, I never expressed a writing inclination (hence the engineering degree and B- in Technical Writing, my only college English course where we learned to write mechanical assembly texts and the like); furthermore, this blog is free meaning you haven’t even downloaded expensive content on your Kindle, so you really can’t care too much about my qualifications, nor the writing caliber.  

Traveling is like biting into a blaring hot pepper (seems safe and pretty enough on the exterior) that scalds the mouth and makes you want to scream, “F&%k, why did I do that?”  You can’t spit out the fire fast enough and it lingers in your insides and burns all the way down.  You get flushed and sweaty, panting like a dog for relief - the only of which is to be found in Buenos Aires (that gorgeous mecca), where you consider (ignorantly?) to carry on and find a different exotic fruit market of toxic peppers.  Coming from the U.S., the Frosted Flakes are simply too sugary, boring, and mushy to eat regularly.

Growing up in a small town, familiarity suffocates like a noose, screaming without being heard, “I can’t stand this place!”  You despise the streets (you know them all), become annoyed with the chit-chat (nothing new is ever said), and would rather be a recluse than taste the same boring pizza.  On the other hand, in a new country familiarity enlightens the spirit ... “I love this place, it feels so... homey.”  You finally laugh with ease, realize not everyone sees you as a walking ATM, and quite enjoy that exact same pizza (yum, what delicious toppings they have here!).

Encounter with the U.S. Embassy in Buenos Aires

This is actually a pic of the Cemetery (not the Embassy), but close enough for our Argentinian friends who were miserable in line.

My passport, being half filled with Canadian stamps (I used to work in Alberta), was becoming low on blank pages (the pivotal possession, second only to toilet paper in terms of necessity).  Since our BA apartment is only eight blocks from the embassy, I decided to test my luck and see if I couldn’t obtain more pages.  I arrived at the uncivilized hour (per BA standards) of 9AM and saw the equivalent queueing of Six Flags on a bad day.  “Seriously,” I grumbled with frustration, eyes starting to roll at the circuitous queue.  

With my sweetest Midwestern country girl expression, I asked “I’m a U.S. citizen, do I need to wait in line?” [cute pouting gaze].

“Of course not,” the guard cheerfully responded and escorted me to the front of the line.  [2,000 angry Argentinian scowls directed at me].  

Behind a two-way mirror - he could see me but I couldn’t see him in an oh so very post-9/11 way - I tried the same line and the doorman took me inside to the front of the security screening line.  Picture: local airport security line as everyone awaits the metal detector to validate their non-terrorist intentions.  500 people questioned why I was now at the front.  I proceeded down an outdoor corridor, in every room I passed hundreds, no thousands, of adults awaiting a U.S. visa.  My destination had 15 counters (I’d rather be in the San Francisco DMV on its worst day).  Picture: disgruntled people clutching their paperwork and frowning.   To my surprise, counter 15 had no wait - but it did have a nice American flag hanging over it.  The smiling worker took my pages request and asked me to pay $82 to the cashier.  Surely I would be postponed behind the hundreds waiting for the cashier.  I barely sat down before my number was called (praise to America!) and more glaring locals eyed me.  Needless to say the thousands who had taken off work to sit at the dreary embassy were not a joyful sight, but I was in and out with my new pages in 15 minutes.  

If you thinks me a spoiled brat, you’ll be reminded that I too endured the visa drudgery at Brazilian and Indian embassies, to name a few.