Category: Traveling

Getting in Hot Water: A day at a Tuscan Spa

Oh, we’re headed to an adventure today. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to go to a spa in Italy for years. Today’s the day.

“I’M WET! I’M WET” Gene Wilder’s character in “The Producers.”

RAPOLANO TERME, Siena, Tuscany, Italy—Oh, we’re headed for adventure today. For years I’ve been trying to work up the courage to go to one of Italy’s many spas. Today’s the day. Midge has an appointment, buddy Steve has an appointment too and we’re on our way.

midgestevegari1

Do try this. It’s hard for me to imagine a finer way to spend the day. Even in famously idyllic Tuscany. And it was about half reasonably priced. The spa we picked charged 11 euros for an all access pass that let you into all the many thermal pools indoor and out. For the whole day. The place is great, clean and polished, chaise lounges surrounding pools of every temperature. With a slack jawed look of contentment, bathers were positioning themselves under the splash of wide mouthed spigots and letting the relaxingly hot, mineral rich waters whoosh over them.

Once in a great while you can pick up a hint of the sulfur in the water. But not in a disagreeable “What the Heck was that?” kind of way. You just note it and maybe think to yourself “Hey, Farmboy, you’re at a Spa in Italy. How about that?”

GETTING INTO MORE HOT WATER THAN USUAL

There are pools of every size and shape but the pecking order for temperature seemed to be: the closer to the building, the hotter the water you were into. The further away, the cooler the waters. On a spring day when the temps are still a bit cool in the shadows of the pines, you can tell where the heat is by where the bathers are ganged up.

This was better than I imagined. There is food of every kind and a full bar just inside the pool area. Pastries, coffee, they’ve got all the necessities critical for a day at the beach. Except towels. Who would have thought? Believe me, they just don’t have them. How can that be? Oh, and they don’t have directions. Even sitting up real close to the computer screen it was vague/mysterious about how one was to go about arriving here. I should have asked Andrea. This is all his doing.

I was hanging out, bothering him at Masolino’s between lunch and dinner crowds one day and broached the subject of this particular spa with him because we have a major villa for sale right beside it. So I asked if he knew about Terme Antica Querciolaia. Knew it? He, literally, has a season pass to it. He and his family are on their feet, I don’t know, 12 hours a day feeding half of Umbria and keeping their coffee cups and wine glasses full six days a week. But on the seventh day they rested. Clicking the numbers off on his fingers, he said “on our Torno (our turn to take a day off) we first get the kids up, second we feed them, and point them to the door. And we run to the car to get as much spa time as we possibly can.” He named spas big and small for miles around. He has different subtle seasonal variations he explores constantly but as a Brit would say about their favorite pub, this is “his local.” His main spa.

midgespaapple1THEY’RE NOT THROWING IN THE TOWEL

Even though the directions are not obvious on the Terme Antica Querciolaia web site, it’s easy to find. You know where the main North South autostrada A1 hits Bettole? That is where we jump off to get to Castiglione del Lago or Panicale or Cortona etc when coming from Florence or Siena. Anyway, it is right about there not far from the Bettole autostrada exit/entrance. As their site says it is just “due passi” two steps from Siena, Pienza and Montepulciano. When you get near Bettole, just start looking for Rapolano Terme. Follow the signs and in short order you are there. And bring a towel. I know, I’m back on that again, but why wouldn’t they sell, rent or give you towels? Do not know. Must be a cultural thing. But it was funny because we called to make an appointment for different treatments and massages and the nice voice on the phone made a special point of saying to “be sure to bring a bathrobes and flip flops.” Oh, well, they don’t and once you get over that you see it for what it is, very clean, organized, newly renovated and lazygoodfun.

Plenty of ways to get upgraded and up-charged. Pick your poison. Weight rooms, workout center, massages, facials, mud baths. A whole menu of treatments of various lengths and Steve says compared to San Francisco they’re all great bargains.

I’m not emotionally prepared to go for all the treatments that Midge and Steve are signed up for. People I don’t know pounding on my naked body? Remember Spring Break in Biloxi?

HEY, I’M TRYING TO READ OVER HERE, DO YOU MIND?

And hanging by the general admission pool waiting for more Panicale friends to join us is not half bad way to pass the day, either. Give me a low brow beach book, a good cup of coffee and I’m all set. Midge, coming out of her second or third treatment of the day finds me on the same chaise where she left me earlier and wonders “Isn’t it hard not to be distracted here? You know, by the topless 25 year olds on either side you?”

“Hmmm? What was that dear? Oh, you mean like the one in the tiny orange bikini bottom whose chaise is right across from us? The one rather affectionately applying more suntan lotion all over her bronze bossom every half an hour?”

“Nope, nope never noticed.”

See you in Italy,

Stew Vreeland

It was a dark and stormy night.(part three of a series)

And there it is! And now we’ve got an italian ape following us wherever we go. Looming large in our rear view mirror like some crazed tailgater out of a Steven King novel bent on doing a monkey jump right over us.

DARK AND STORMY NIGHT IN ONTARIO
BAYFIELD, Ontario, Canada–Fine weather turned to foul weather and that turned to famously abusive Ike. Just as we were pulling into our Bayfield Ontario on the shores of Lake Huron so was the tail of the hurricane and everything went black. And wet. And wild. They had seven miles of road closed on one side of town. Lakes in people’s yards and standing in the fields of ready to harvest crops. Crazy. We stayed inside and talked cars and apes with Ken Johnson and his wife Delores and went our to eat in the hurricane. I went out barefoot to avoid being soaked and put on my shoes just before getting out of the car and going into the restaurant.

We got up this morning and loaded the Ape on the back of the Tahoe.

And there it is! And now we’ve got an ape following us wherever we go. Looming large in our rear view mirror like some crazed tailgater out of a Steven King novel bent on leaping right over us. So, there’s that. And now we have to do fret about busting thru customs with a 25 year old three wheeled Italian motorcycle. We idled in line for awhile and then explained it slow and carefully to the border crossing lady and her uniformed associates as more uniformed people ran by pointing at it going “what the heck is that?” Finally “pull over there” became the answer we expected. But when we got it inside a real matter-of-fact crew cut guy said “who’s importing the scooter?” I raised my hand. And asked if I could go to the bathroom. We’d been driving forever. The guy sighed and waved me to the elevators. Just like I’d planned, by the time I got back down, a responsible adult, Paul as it turns out, had pretty well settled everything and they were stamping my papers with what they no kidding called “the full BS stamp of approval” and we were solid gone before they changed their minds. No tax, no charge just “have a nice day.”
APE from ontario
ape of ontario
LAND OF THE FREE AND HOME OF THE APE

Finally. We’re back in the US, back in the US and we seem to have a newly naturalized ItaloCanadian with us. Can’t wait to get this little green bit of Italy settled into life on the farm in Gray, Maine. We’d be well on our way but now we’re sorting out Paul’s Lancia in the morning. And starting our caravan of Italian cars across America to Maine.

Non vedo l’ora amici, non vedo l’ora. And I can’t wait. Getting closer to home every minute. Stay tuned.

See you in Ape, (I’ll be the one waving like mad and grinning my face off)

Stew Vreeland

Like the swallows, we have found our way back to springtime in Umbria

I found the photos I’d taken of the hookup tech genius Maurizio did in 2006, and put everything EXACTLY as per those photos and bingo! his system still worked and messages started pouring in.

PANICALE, Umbria, Italy–Yes, we are here. I think.

Bit dazed and dislocated from the typical overnight flight. And so happy to find out we’re not only here, but we’re wired. Was just iChatting and IM’ing with our office in the states. Airport/wireless thing continues to amaze as we walk in and fire it up and the messages they do pour in. Tiny glitch this time. Our friend Elida that came to visit from Panicale recently said she had checked our house for us and our broadband didn’t work. So I came in the living room a bit on tiptoes, edging up to our snakepile of wires and devises. And I could see there were loose wires. But. What goes where? Uuuugggh. Not a big thing for say, the proto typical fifth grader, but for old dog, this is a new trick. No earthly idea what any of it could be doing as it sits there sullenly hmmming to itself and flashing its many tiny green eyes. I can only do my few computer oriented things by rote. But I can take digi photos. And do. And I found the photos I’d taken of the hookup tech genius Maurizio did in 2006, and put everything EXACTLY as per those photos and bingo! his system still worked and messages started pouring in. Highly recommend that method of cheating for the low tech among us.

And our poor un-used Italian cell phone. Been languishing about lost and useless in my sock drawer since last June. Almost forgot to bring it. Charged it up and we were back in the game without missing a beat. How does that even work?
autogrill the place for road food in italy and especially coffee
WE FLY, FERRARIS FLY AND TIME ON VACATION REALLY FLYS

Easiest best flight ever. Boston to Rome no changes, nowhere. Ugly food on ALITALIA but the many post touchdown coffees along the autostrada (so few miles per gallon of cappucchino) were even better than I remembered. I can still remember the first time I ever braved my way into one of those Agip “Autogrill” cafes and tried to figure how the heck to order anything. Decades later, it almost makes a modicum of sense or we’ve just quit thinking about it in the American part of our brain. Hmmm good. Cooooffffee. It is slowly dawning on me: WE MUST BE IN ITALY. When out of the blue this thought occurred to my barely awake self: WAS THAT A FERARRI? Cars passing us, trucks, trucks, trucks passing us. Voomm, voomm, vooom, they all sound alike. Except for that SNNAP, SNARL, GRRReat sounding silver coupe. Yike. What a voice. We sooo heard it before we saw it. And then we saw it no more. Solid gone.

We actually landed early due to big old tail winds and were in Panicale before noon and off to the races. Cool temps here but all is lush green and everything is in full flower. Which is good. Earlier they were complaining drought almost. Seems good now. Cherry trees, wisteria, lilacs, iris, stuff I don’t know what is, etc.
sign of spring in italy too - liliacs
STUMPED AGAIN

Our garden has had a major prune/whack. How did that happen? And all the shutters have been redone. I mean I can guess which good friend did it but wow. Took the bulk of the old fig out. The main trunk is gone, stump about 10 inches across. Bruno and I had talked about taking that out and letting the good big side shoot that are major tree like items themselves, let them take over. Everything in the house is polished to within an inch of its life. So good to have good friends that will do this. I know we pay them for their work, but it is really so much better than I would ever expect that it really feels like there was a large helping of love mixed in with the work. Really an attitude fixer that is. I have to do (but want to and like to) do some heavy weeding but even the remaining weeds aren’t like disgusting or anything at all, I know they are weeds but when viewed from the street above, as most people see the garden, they are just green stuff. They even masquerade as fairly organized weeds. But their days are numbered.

Kind of an on-going shock to get here so relatively easy and to be so organized. Where ARE we?

September in The City

Another thing we did not know was that the New York Times is not as easy to find as I expected. I think I could have found it easier in Gray, Maine or Panicale, Italy than in New York City’s financial district on a Saturday.

having fung wah yet? bus to nyc from bostonNYC, New York – Sure. Blame it on the kids. Why not. Our first choice on travel would likely be kids in Italy with us. Second choice quickly becomes kids or Italy. With one in New York City, one in London and one headed for college at our alma mater of Northwestern in Chicago, it shouldn’t be too surprising that we can’t get to Italy as often as we want. But we are equal opportunity when it comes to where we can enjoy each others’ company. Can’t be in the place you love, love the place you’re in?

So, look out NYC. We found a holiday on the calendar and took the Fung Wah Chinese bus to see son Zak. Are we having Fung Wah yet? I don’t know. These buses are half the price of say, Grayhound, so if you are going Boston/New York, it is a good value. But we’re spoiled bus brats. The only truly good bus is the Concord Trailways paradise-on-wheels bus. We take those Maine to Boston constantly. Anything else cannot compare. So we pout a bit on anything else. Please Concord get a bus to NYC.

But we did like our hotel. We are such slow learners and it is such a big city. Zak has lived there for years and has tried to save us from ourselves. But no. We think of New York and we think Times Square. And stay there. He’d say “Mmmm, why?” And neither of us are 100% interested in staying where he lives in the wilds of Brooklyn. But he keeps saying “Stay down at the tip of the island, near Battery Park and Ground Zero. Financial district.” Having done it, I would have to say I would recommend that.

WHAT I DID NOT KNOW ABOUT THE CITY

And trust me, this list could be miles long, these are just tips of the iceberg floating by on on my sea of ignorance about New York City.

world trade center ground zero from the millenium hotelThe first thing I did not realize is that Ground Zero is very finite. Very concentrated. Almost completely confined to one square block. Huge impact on the city and the world but incredibly the damage was mostly to those two gigantic towers. Our hotel, The Millenium Hilton is all glass and our room looks straight down into the hole. Which is just on the other side of a normal street. On the opposite side of the blast site is the all-glass atrium building full of palm trees, etc., and then the harbor beyond that.

To see an example of just how contained and concentrated the damage was, we had only to look beside our hotel. Right next door is a colonial church. And eerily, a colonial graveyard with old stones and ancient trees. George Washington prayed here. So they say. This is across the street from Ground Zero, this historic church over 200 years old. They lost one tree to the blasts. Not a single pane of its ancient glass broken was broken. Seems incredible, hard to comprehend.

SEND US YOUR TIRED, YOUR WEARY, YOUR HUDDLED MASSES

From our window, as I said, you could look straight down into the hole left by the tragedy. And wonder how massive buildings could just evaporate. People, desks, iron girders, paper, staplers, water coolers, vent pipes. All gone.

And then we could look to our left and see the Statue of Liberty welcoming the world to this very place. It took being there in person to see the proximity of welcome to disaster and be reeled over by that.

NEW YORK TIMES INDEED

Another thing we did not know was that the New York Times is not as easy to find as I expected. I think I could have found it easier in Gray, Maine or Panicale, Italy than in New York’s financial district on a Saturday. Pretty much missing in action. Why they would not have had it outside our door or at least in the gift shop/newsstand in the lobby I do not know. But overall, we did like the Millenium. No, strangely for once I am not misspelling something. I can’t tell the difference, but our two kids are all particular about spelling and to have this hotel’s branded name one letter off in big letters on a big building made their teeth itch a bit. And it made it tricky to find, because there are plenty of “correctly” spelled hotels by this name. But this is the one that is right here where we wanted to be.

Not having the paper close to hand gave me a chance to wander aimlessly in a pre-caffine haze through the area and eventually get my bearings. Parks, fountains, delis, newsstands, good stuff. Starbucks every few feet and one of them eventually coughed up a paper so I could go back to the room and wait for the kids to wake up and come in from Brooklyn and find us.

brew district of the financial district of new york cityLETS TALK ABOUT BIG FUN IN THE BIG APPLE

The first night we were in town we spent in the Brew District of the Financial District. Hopefully all these young beergarden brokers had handled all your finances before they hit the beer tents. Acres of beer under tents on old cobbled streets. I guess it has always been this way. Our son says our Dutch ancestors all had breweries and taverns in this part of town, and he showed us where they would have been located. Some were pubs today. We had to sit and sample their wares, as you can imagine. Just to be historically correct, I think was our rationale at the time.

So, the next day, there we were. Wandering around Soho looking, not for a paper this time, but for a place to eat. We had to keep our strength up to go see a play on Broadway later. Tourists. You can plan on them wanting to eat out and see a show. We had tickets to see Ave Q, which is a highly twisted musical version of the Muppets that should not be played to the preschool crowd. It was fun and we got tickets that day by phone.
around Soho in new york city on a sunny saturday in september 2007
Oh, too many places to chose from. Let’s just go, I don’t know, over there! The place on the corner with Brazilian flags hanging from all sides named Félix. Just like the hurricane that by the same name that was, unbeknownst to us, getting ready to sweep in. We heard about that in the cab radio on our way back to the hotel after the show. We sat down by the wide-open-to-the-world full-length doors and just drank it in. Midge pointed at the menu and said “Brazilian, my foot.” Sure enough, it says Félix in big letters on the menu and just under that in the mice type it says “French Bistro.” Huh. And look at that. The menu is in all French. Walks like a duck, quacks like a duck. OK, it must be French. Has to be a story there somewhere. With soccer on the tube over the bar and France and Brazil usually natural enemies atop the ranking (both lorded over by Italy, finally) I can’t imagine the connection. Regardless, it is a party looking for a place to happen. On this link about the Félix you will find good pictures and one irate who panned the place. Wasn’t French enough for him. Oh, my. And the review is from 2005. Pay not a bit of attention to that. Did he SEE the Brazilian flags? Chee. We were bowled over. Fun, fast, fabulous. We ate like darned kings and people-watching was a royal treat too. The lank, white-shirted waiters with tiny pony tails, say, you know, they do sort of look French. Except, so polite, so engaging and fast like snakes, here came our drinks. Then our food. They look all slinky and languid but they were taking good care of us and got us in and out to our show in plenty of time. I could have skipped the show and hung here all night. So easily amused, n’est-ce pas? But what about that silver-maned owner looking guy by the door? Velvet white and gray paisley pants. Loose white peasant blouse shirt. That is a look I could so not pull off, but he is one happy camper. And what about the very tan and very blonde fortish fox in white halter dress made of clingy what, tshirt material? That’s right, the one looking for someone to samba with up by the bar? I LOVE this place. The food is righteous. We had four picky eaters including two hyper-picky vegetarians just raving. Ok, allow that we are from out of town, but then factor back in that we have eaten in Italy enough to have some idea of what good food is.
taxi yellow taxi streets of new york city
There is laughing going on, hugging, dancing, double kissing. Meets my definition of happy bar. Oh, it just got better. We’re always car-spotting wherever we go and now the big candy apple red 1961 Caddy that we’ve seen cruising around town all day has just slid into the primo parking spot right out front. The top is down. Cool guy in shorts, pretty pregnant girl, white white haired older guy all get out and lean up against the car and accept compliments on their fine ride. And later, they amble in at various times. They look like regulars and like everyone else here, when they come in, they look around, grin, and find someone to hug with one hand and find a glass of wine in their other hand. It’s just a love fest in Soho. Who says you can’t buy happiness?

See you in Italy,

Stew Vreeland

A day in Italy. An afternoon with Florence. (continued from previous blog)

I use to be in love with the Florence airport, I was a bit cool to Florence herself. Too crowded, too noisy, too much traffic, all the usual blather. So now, in my fickle way, I find myself newly in love with the city of Florence and in hate with the airport. Mood swings? Love on the rebound?

bronze of florence. croatian warrior, greekPart three. An afternoon and early evening in Florence

FLORENCE – Boy. I am all over the map here. You remember my undying love for the Florence airport? Well, it died. Hate is such a strong word, but I have thought about it and decided that, yes, so far I think I do hate the new renovation there and what they did to the car rentals area is just beyond contempt. And at the same time, while I use to be in love with the Florence airport, I was a bit cool to Florence herself. Too crowded, too noisy, too much traffic, all the usual blather. So now, in my fickle way, I find myself newly in love with the city of Florence and in hate with the airport. Mood swings? Love on the rebound?

So, there we were at the ugh airport dumping off our rental car. We squeezed our keys into the not quite key-sized window slot to the agent. She has a mini rebellion going on, in what is surely a reaction to the mess they’ve made of those offices. All she can see out her window is a legion of cranky and confused customers. STANDING IN LINE OUTSIDE. Is it any wonder that she has blocked out that view with computers, notices, warning, and instructions about what you can do with your problem. And what you will and will not do at this window. OK, stepping away from the airport.

And into a taxi waiting to whisk us into the city. I usually take one of the reliable every fifteen minutes like clockwork buses. But with two people it starts making sense to grab a taxi. Plus Midge said “we are taking a taxi.” We give him the street address of our hotel and know we’ve got a good driver when he instantly processes the address and says “Orto di Medici” before we add that. Cool. We’re good to go. And because he knew our hotel we ask about our restaurant for tonight. We think they are somewhat near each other. He’s not as solid on that but thinks he knows about it. “Terrible neighborhood? Good food but people doing drugs on the street? Don’t go after dark? Is THAT the place you are talking about?” Oh cripe. What have we done now? Innocents abroad.

Midge at Orto di Medici, Florence, ItalyA few minutes and a few euros later (20 euros) we are in the hotel and I see why Midge says it is her. Note that Orto di Medici is the only hotel we have on our recommends list in Florence. It’s a three star, convenient, and clean as a whistle kind of place. Very pretty. Our room is very nice, on the top floor with a big terrace with topiary trimmed trees framing a city/roofscape view that includes old palazzos and even a duomo. The duomo or a duomo I never could figure out. Anyway, nice view. Per noi? Why thank you. Riccardo at the desk, the man who handled our phone reservations, remembers us from that and we get on famously right from the start. Does he, as a hep young man about town, know about our restaurant? He says yes, that address is only a couple minutes’ walk away but he’s sure he’s never been there. And he isn’t any too positive about that part of the neighborhood either. Oh, fine.

Gentlemen. Start your pedometers. Ours is an Omron. Our office’s physical trainer, Liz from Enerjoy Studios, got everyone on Team Vreeland back in Maine one of these gadgets and we wear them constantly. I’ve had mine on the whole trip and it’s on right now. Whoa, wait where is it? When did I take that off? Can one have too many pockets? Ah, there it is. Well, we put some miles on it during our afternoon and evening in downtown Florence. Florence was fun to the brim with happy campers shoulder to shoulder up and down its streets. We have short and long term walking goals for these streets and here they are:

pop up map of Florence, ItalyShort term walking goals: find the museum named Palazzo Medici Riccardi. Medici hotel, Medici museum, the name is everywhere. They’ve been dead and gone for centuries and wouldn’t they be happy to know how omnipresent they still are today? We want to find that museum because that is where the recently discovered and newly restored full size Greek bronze is being shown. Apoxyomenos, the athlete of Croatia, was found in the waters off Croatia but Italians did the restoration so it seems only right that they get to show it off first.

Long term goal: Find the restaurant where we have reservations. Guess we have to check it out in broad daylight.

The art show is in a fine big old palazzo. We get totally turned around and around finding it but hey, more miles for our pedometer and we’re seeing Florence. Our pop-up map has saved us once again. If you don’t have one, get one now. We’ll wait. Aren’t they cunning? They fit in your pocket and snap open and snap shut somehow and are a few inches wide when open rather than bedsheet-size. So very hard to look cool with a map wrapped all over you on any given windswept foreign street corner. So, all set? Start walking.

lancia limo in museum in Florence, ItalyThe palazzo is as good as the show. We’ve never been in this museum before. Which just goes to show, you don’t have to go to the Pitti Palace with lines going down the block to have a good time here. There are a million things to do. Pick one without a line. This one is covered with massive stone plaques, oversized historic busts, and all that is just in the courtyard. And what is this sitting inside the walls of the palazzo behind eleventy foot tall wrought iron gates? An appropriately large and grand long black limo. The Lancia Thema. Who names these cars? Wikipedia says Themes (singular thema) were “administrative units of land in the Byzantine Empire”. You mean, like “acres”? And I find that name in the web world and it is a real Lancia name but nothing I find on the web looks like this one. What a whale. A rather graceful whale but still a surprise considering we are not in Dallas but here in downtown Europe. Assume it is a homage to Mercedes’ Maybach.

While we are waiting for our group to be let into the featured show (every five minutes) the place sprang to life around the limo. As the driver with headset and black shades stepped out of the car, a Carabinieri stepped smartly from a guardhouse. The doors appeared to open elegantly by themselves in some automatic way. Is that possible? Did I dream that? Regardless, a guy in a suit disappeared through one back door, all the doors closed, the giant iron gates opened. And they were gone.

Now, where were we? Right. Art stuff. The bronze was fine. But nothing bronze will ever match the rough shock of entering the presence of the Bronzes of Riace. Certainly not this relatively polite, passive Croatian warrior. The Riace ones would run this one around the school yard and take his lunch money for sure. They just had Do Not, repeat NOT Mess With Me written all over them in the most stunning and heroic way possible. They are in Reggio di Calabria. If you are ever on the tip of the toe of the boot that is Italy where you take the ferry across to Messina in Sicily stop in and see them.

tiny yellow car in Florence, ItalyIn spite of preferring the Riace bronzes we were glad we saw this museum and this bronze. There was a great crowd and they were managing it well and being accommodating. Signs said they were open till 11 pm. And it is always fun people and car watching on the streets of Florence. This tiny yellow bird of a car was at the exact opposite end of the auto spectrum from the giant limo in the museum isn’t it? Stay tuned for the rest of the story: Dinner in Florence. Coming up next in Part Four.