Day 5: Casa di Crap

After the evening strategy of figuring out how the hell to get all the way to Beauvias airport at 6am to catch our flight to Rome, we hauled our crap out to a cab and caught a shuttle bus to take us on the 70 minute drive up to the airport. Even the dumpy airport coffee is better than here in the USA. I waited to use the ladies figuring the actual toilet would beat whatever they had on the bus. I think whoever was in before me must have been dead inside because I've never experienced a smell as fucking tragic as that. Sorry to be gross, but Jesus Christ! And what do you say to the next chump in line after you-uhh, I SWEAR it wasn't me! Gak!

We navigated public transportation with ease from Ciampino airport in Italy to the amazing historic (and tourist haven) Rome. We found our apartment the Casa di Crispi, or Casa di Crap. G to-the hetto! Well, I've been in worse and at least it motivated us to stay out as much as possible. Nicknaming it "The Cave" we ventured out. Having read that pedestrians need to be aggressive in France and make their move, trusting that the driver is timing their pace, I foolishly thought the same of the drivers in Rome and strode out in front of an oncoming car. Apparently, they don't give a fuck if you are walking and my ass was almost grass.

It seemed quiet for such a bustling city, but as we tried not to twist our ankles on the cobblestone walking the 2 blocks to the Spanish Steps, I heard a soft murmur, then realized where all the people are in Rome. They congregate around the historic sites, or at one of the 8 million Fendi shops.

We made our rounds, hitting many a Piazza and the Trevi Fountain. It was too dark for me to get a picture, but it's beautiful in a massive, dramatic almost gaudy kind of way. The Pantheon is gorgeous and well restored. The ancients were pretty astute about their aqueduct systems and architectural resourcefulness.

I loved the energy of Italy. The men were hot and so were the women. Men stare hard at you while their arm is wrapped around the shoulders of their lady, who is always in the following uniform: 1) Big, dark designer sunglasses (with a purse that is similar), 2) skin-tight jeans tucked into kitten-heel boots, 3) Talking a mile a minute on their cell phone, waving their free had around dramatically. Seriously. It's very glam, like a happy marriage between Mission Hipster and Snob Hill chic.

I sampled my first Italian gellato. Never a huge fan, I conformed, eating it everynight in Rome. Hey, it helped ease the foot pain ok?

Day 4: V is for Victory

Today, I walked to the Louvre. Never get sick of walking along the Seine, although it was raining, sunny and windy all at the same time. About half way there, my foot decided to crap out. The pain was so bad I realized that the tears pooling in my eyes were not from the blustery wind blasting against my face. I passed the golden warrior tipped posts every day. The photo doesn't do them justice.

The Louvre is a monster. You see it coming up and it's almost eerie how large and detailed the buildings are in Paris. It reminded me of dreams I used to have as a child. The line wasn't bad at all and I began my venture into the depths of the building, wishing I had a piece of leather to bite down on, or better yet pain killers to ease my throbbing foot. Ahh, the joys of age! That's right...30 biyatches!

There are three main sections. My interest of course revolving around the classical pieces like the Wings of Victory, and ancient Greek art. Oh yeah, I hoofed it over to see the Mona Lisa and Aphrodite of Melos (aka-Venus Demilo. I'm of the Greek scholar camp).

I recognized the charm and challenges that using a historic building as a museum entails. While the floors were rickety and warped, the sun beamed through windows on the ancient pieces, and I felt torn. Do you sacrifice the security of the object to house it within what can be constituted an artwork in itself, or preserve the object in totality, but de-personalize or contextualize the experience with a modern, vacuous space? Man, did I just take a pain killer? Nah, it's the reflective museum geek emerging. We have a similar challenge with the Old Mint, so despite my best efforts to avoid thoughts of work, the comparisons surfaced anyway.

Jump to the evening, I ate myself into sugar euphoria to kill the pain. Oh yeah.

Day 3: At least the "Thinker" got to sit

I decided to make breakfast at the apartment (in an attempt to save money since a diet coke costs an average of $3 euro or about $4 American). Only one burner worked and the milk I bought had turned to lumpy mush overnight. The showers is Europe have improved in the way that at least you can stand and take a shower, not just rinse in a bath, but they still love to use the removable shower head (which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but there's a time and place for everything).

Luckily, we got an early start and after fueling up with espresso (not "to-go") we hoofed it over to the Rodin museum. I took a few photos of my favorite pieces. The girl in the hat was a claylike-reddish color and one of his lesser known, but more dramatic pieces.
The foot pain began as we walked to the museum (ironically past the Palace de Invalides), walked through the museum, walked through the gardens, and walked back to the apartment later. Despite eating French macaroons (soooooo goood), gourmet chocolates, fresh bread and full-fat milk everyday (we'll get to the pasta and gellato in Rome later), I managed to lose weight on this trip, I assume to all the walking, never breaking a sweat due to the frosty winds, rain and cold.


I am adding this in because I remember going, but am confused which day. We went to the Isle St. Louis, which is where the rich and swanky reside. It's an island on the river next to Notre Dame and the Isle Le Citie (uhh, I think that's right). Anyway, it's full of beautiful little shops (and one of the hottest men I've ever seen working in a artisan chocolatier-two of my favorite things) and the world famous ice creamery, which we were sure to indulge in.

DAY 2: The Parisian phallus

We checked into our apartment located literally about 2-3 blocks from the Eiffel Tower. Say what you want, but it is beautiful and huge.
It was nice to have it as a focal icon while walking about keeping us oriented. After dropping our junk, we hit the tower. They charge you for each level you ascend, so we stopped at two, which has the best view anyway. It was FUCKING cold, but great nonetheless. This picture is a view of the Seine. I opted to walk down the stairs instead of taking the lift. The combo of jetlag, rain and lack of food made for a tumultuous climb down, which never seemed to end.

We then hit the Rue Cler, which was also about 3 blocks from the apartment. A prime shopping area-similar to the Farmer's Market with fresh Fromagerie, fish monger and vegetable stands. Oh yes, and I must not forget the Brasseries! We ate at a nicoise-specialty place which was tasty-I even scarffed the anchovies. Pity to anyone who had to pack in the coffin-like euro-elevator with me that day.

After stocking up on food for the apartment, we attempted to get our 3rd Cafe Au Lait for the day. The term "to go" isn't embraced in Europe, nor is BMF coffee ("big-mother fucking" in case you weren't familiar with that acronym). They stuck the espresso in a little plastic cup and cut a hole in a bar coaster, which I guess was to serve as a hot sleeve. Um, no..it didn't work.

DAY 1: AirFrance (or AirFucks?)

Upon departure for France, I was greeted with a long-ass line. AirFrance proceeded to ignore my isle seat reservation and stick me in the middle row. What's French for "no fucking way!" I wasn't about to sit through an 11 hour flight sandwiched between some crying baby and sleazy yapper, so I negotiated with the guy at the boarding station to success.

Like the New Yorkers, the French have a bum rep. It's not so much that they are rude (like in any culture-we all have our individual assholes) but more impatient. I got lost debording in De Gaulle as I walked out some side door without going through customs or getting my luggage. I asked in my best French (and it got much better throughout my stay) two guards for directions, which they gave me half-assed, proceeding to mock me as I walked away. Finally went through customs only to walk out the door without my luggage. Much to my humility, I got a pass from the airline info desk (this apparently happens more often than you'd think) went back in and got my bag.

My shuttle was waiting with a very nice driver who proceeded to take us on the real Parisian version of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. I've never heard as much annoying siren activity as in Paris, due to one of many inevitable strikes in effect. But I didn't care-it was beautiful, new and fabulous! The photos I took are black and white which I've always felt added to the aged romanticism of Europe.

My first day was at my hotel (this picture is the view from my room) and I ventured out, going to Notre Dame and exploring St. Germain. After it started to hail, I made my way back to the hotel and despite best efforts, fell asleep for many an hour.
Notre Dame is beautiful. There is a quiet hum as you enter and the stained glass sparkles down red and blue.

When in Rome

This will be quick and dirty for now, probably full of misspellings since my screen is in Italian. After a two day hunt, I am sitting in an internet cafe in beautiful Rome. This is an AMAZING city, full of energy, history and beautiful people. Paris is fantastic as well. It's been fucking cold, raining non-stop in Paris. Rome gave us a lovely day (with some powerful winds) today. My first night in Paris was great-cute little hotel-great Cafe Au'laits. The apartment is ok-the Eiffel tower is pretty much outside our door. In Rome, ehe apartment (or as we refer to it as "the Cave") is a dump. But, all the more reason to stay outside among the hustle and bustle of the city. Europe is expensive and I do miss the convieneces of home (the term coffee "to go" isn't used much, cooking in the apartment is challenging, my hair so does not like the soft water and do they have to put extra butter, fat and creme on EVERYTHING? But who's complaining? The produce is vibrant shades of color and so fresh. The coffe is so good, you don't need sugar, and walking is a pleasure because the city is so beautiful to look at.

More detail to come upon return. Love to friends and family. If I'm lucky, I'll be sporting a madonnapsudo-Euro accent when I get back.

Make a wish...

And so it began...

They say you are only as old as you feel. Well, then I'm screwed. I say, you are only as old as you look-in which case...giddyup.

Despite all the stress over the past few months, I have eagerly anticipated the big b-day and my trip. It's been like a light at the end of a distant tunnel, down which I've stumbled more than a few times. I'm fucking loving it and feel empowered in life. The kick-off was awesome, taking me back to my favorite childhood memory of my 7th birthday...piniata, chocolate and hord of friends (ok, minus the whiskey). And, of course it wouldn't be a proper birthday without a little self-humility and a hell of a lot of debauchery.

Thank you to all my wonderful friends for making my 30th the best ever. Goodtimes! (oh, and that's a chainsaw you pervs)