Amsterdam, Red Bike (or was that Red Light?) Capital of the World

AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS -- May 20, 2006

Today was to be my first in Amsterdam. A three-hour train ride north from Brussels would have me at Amsterdam Centraal by late morning, with the rest of the day free to explore the city that has earned a world-wide reputation for its laidback tolerance of life at its most hedonistic.

But the rain that had been falling since I arrived in Paris a week ago was falling still, and I, having stayed up too late reading about Croatia from Manuel's LP collection, wanted nothing more than to lazily loll in bed for a few extra hours. By noon, I was packed, and had made and eaten with Manuel one of my favorite breakfasts from the States -- you guessed it, omelette with red pepper and mushroom.

The journey turned out to be a bit more involved than I had expcted, and fortunately, I made friends with a Dutchman named Martin, who was heading in the same direction as I. Since one of the rail tracks was down for repair, we had to stop just shy of the Belgian-Netherland border in Essen, before continuing by bus to another city's train station, and rerouting ourselves to Amsterdam with another train connection.

He and I talked about the States, as he had spent a year studying abroad at Texas A&M. He is currently a student in Gent, where he is in an advance program working towards veterinary medicine. After telling him of my love for the southwest and my ideas of moving there after returning from my travels, he whipped out his laptop and gave me a virtual tour through the Canyonlands, Zion and Arches National Parks, Monument Valley, and Antelope Canyon. As we clicked through his digital images, I had to laugh at the irony of it all -- here I am in Belgium, crossing over to the Netherlands with a perfect stranger who has seen and loved some of my most favority national parks back in the U.S.

Other random highlights:*canal bridges at night - lit up, reflections on the water*getting lost in the concentric rings of canals, winding up in the Red Light District

~Melanie

Breezing Through Bruges -- Windmills, Winding Canals, and World´s Best Truffles

BRUGES, BELGIUM -- May 19, 2006

Despite a morning full of pelting rainclouds, I managed to day-trip to nearby Brugge, the charming medieval town 1 hour NW of Brussels. Sadly, its economy flattened in the 1400's when the Zwin River -- lifeblood of the merchants' business -- silted. But today, this little gem of a town has that frozen-in-time charm that makes it a favorite among visitors. It is, in fact, the most visited town in Belgium!
At the train station, I picked up a map for tourists, which laid out several walking tours through the town. I always enjoy walking tours, a chance to work some 'touristy' must-do's into my own self-guided exploration of a new place. I tucked it away fro a bit later in the day, opting first to get my bearings and wander around a bit 'off the radar.'

I took a bus to the 'Markt,' and ten minutes later, squealed with delight as I stepped into the colorful square. The buildings rose in every direction around me, bridge and cheery and decked with flowers spilling frlom windowboxes. On the ground level, cafe umbrellas beckoned daytrippers to sit for a while and enjoy the local tastes on offer. And dozens of flags whipped in the strong wind.

Outside the main square, I ambled over bridges, down cobbled streets, peeking in windows at the lacework and fine chocolates on display. I passed a busy food stand, where two men were picking up their order for Belgian waffles dipped in chocolate and nutella. I had recently learned that Belgium is the place where french fries were create (not France, as you would naturally think -- but remember that Belgium is half Flemish, and half French). So I ordered at the counter, served the Belgian way, with mayonnaise instead of ketchup. They were good! It suddenly seemed little wonder to me that McD's has yet to explode on the Belgian market -- they'd have quite a run for their money with the French fries!

By this time, the wind had picked up and, determined to keep myself from freezing to death, I headed northeast, following the 'Tranquil Bridges' walking path outlined on my map. I followed it along quiet canals, past lesser-known bul well-loved churches, and out to the borders of the town, where a small river flowed along a busy outer road.

As I walked, one windmill, then another, came into view. I scrambled to the hilltops on which they stood, peering out over the city beyond. Heading back into town, I passed the old gate which used to be the entrance to fair Brugge. An hour later, I was on my way back to Brussels via train, indulging in the liquer-filled Belgian truffles I had splurged on back in town.

~Melanie

Brussels, Home of THE Belgian Waffle... Is Your Mouth Watering Yet?

BRUSSELS, BELGIUM -- May 18, 2006

Early train to Brussels - only reservation I could get was for 07:25. Up all night the night before, so walked around today in a cloud (literally and figuratively) -- yes, the rain is following me!

Wandered the Grand Place, flanked with enormous and elaborately decorated guild houses, frosted with gold. Ate a leisurely breakfast of Belgian waffles with whipped cream and strawberries. Sampled some real Belgian chocolate -- yes, it really IS the best in the world!!

Ducked into a cathedral to wait out the rain, ended up nodding off! Met Manuel, my host for 2 nights, and drove to his flat, where I was met by an Australian couple, Kelly and Tim, also staying with Manuel for one night. Big dinner with all of us and 3 other friends. On the menu: traditional Portuguese salted cod and Chinese noodles :)













~Melanie

Snapshots of France and Italy

There's little that can't be appreciated between the classy ambience of France's Provence region, including its jewel of a coast, the Cote d'Azur, the gem that is Paris, and the utter charm Italy's breathtaking lake-and-mountain respite, Lago di Como, sprinkled with sleepy little villages just begging to be explored.

I entered France with high expectations, and despite some brushes with bad weather, was not disappointed. I entered Italy knowing I was heading towards something wonderful, yet still I was completely blown away, and left days later with a heavy heart.

The blog entries detailing my French and Italian adventures are long -- I'll say that upfront. But if you bear with me and work your way through them, I guarantee you'll be adding one -- if not both -- of these destinations to your must-see list. For the highlights in photo form, you can peruse my sets on Flickr for the following desinations:


FRANCE & MONACO: Nice - Eze-Village - Monaco - Menton - St. Paul de Vence - Villefranche Sur Mer - Paris - Versailles
Climb medieval hilltowns for striking views of the Mediterranean, walk along beachfronts, wander through gardens, and soak up the French Rivieran sun. Meander through museums and meticulous gardens in Paris, and wonder at the great works of art that surround you.

ITALY: Milan - Lago di Como - Fiumilatte - Bellagio - Menaggio - Isola di Comacina - Varenna - Tremezzo
Sail across the lake on board Italian traghetti, climb to high castle perches when armored knights guard lookout posts, meet the salty crewmen aboard the Lario, savor the sumptuous lake-and-mountain views on offer in every direction.

~Melanie

Stuck in Paris: Me Against the Rainclouds

PARIS & VERSAILLES, FRANCE -- May 17, 2006

While rain continued to blanket Paris, I took a couple of down days. Here I am, smack dab in the middle of the supposedly 'most beautiful city on earth' (that remains highly contested, by the way)...

...and all I want to do is catch up on emails an dmy blog, wash up my nearly 3-week-old laundry, and if I was lucky, squeze in Versailles, the 2 museums I missed from Monday (Orsay & Rodin), and at the very least catch the opening for The DaVinci Code. Oh yeah, and it would be nice to see the Eiffel Tower. Yikes! What travel priorities I have!! Hollywood's latest before Paris's iconic monument!!

I managed to make it to Versailles, and despite the poor weather and gobs of African hawkers pelting me with their kitsch on the long walk to the front gate, found the palace quite remarkable. 20-foot ceilings, walls bedecked with marble, heavy velvet curtains, larger-than-life-size paintings of the noble family, status, sculptures, all kinds of royal treasures.

The Hall of Mirrors, now 50% restored -- less than 15 years after its completion, restoration was already necessary, as the soot from smoking pipes and cigars, humidity from swarms of summer visitors and lavish balls, had begun fogging and clouding the mirrors, burying them in a thick layer of ash, and hiding from view the reflection of the immense gardens that lie just beyond the long wall.

Another huge hallway, lined with marble busts of French nobility, housed mural-sized oil canvases depicting famous battle scenes from French history. One in particular caught my eye, portraying a man with a long, while wig on horseback. I looked again, sure enough, it was George Washington. The final corridor leading to the immense gardens contained magnificant full-body sculptures of well-known nobility, set against a checkerboard floor....

Dinner party with Seb's friends (rainbow theme... green chicken?). DVC at the cinema.

~Melanie

Paris is for Lovers (Museum-Lovers, that is)

PARIS, FRANCE -- May 16, 2006
(a collection of impressions)

My grand plans were shot out of the water today when I awoke to gray skies and a light rain falling over Paris. The weather forcast which had predicted little other than solid rain for the next five days was proving to be spot-on -- at least for today. I scowled at an indiscriminate rain cloud, as if he were solely responsible for wrecking my plans, and then went about packing my day bag to head into the city. Rain or no rain, here I come.

I suppose I might be forced to visit more than a museum or two today. But then, that shouldn't be too terrible in a city like Paris. My first stop was the Sacre Coeur, Church of the Sacred Heart -- a well-cherished cathedral that stis high on the hill of Montmartre overlooking the city. By the time I left the church, the rain had calmed down to an occasional sprinkle. I started feeling hopeful.

*Metro to Notre Dame, massive, yet cozy - not austere like many other churches. Priest shuffled to altar, his long white robe flowing as he stepped quietly down the corridor. He began singing to a hushed crowd, his voice reverberating through the massive corridors of the cathedral. It was a simple voice, no elaborate vibrato, but the pure quality was so sweetly beautiful, it moved me to tears.

*Walked along the Seine, on Isle de Cite, and then to Isle de St. Louis, apparently best ice cream shop in all of Paris, but the caramel concoction I paid nearly 5 Euros for was too sickeningly sweet for my taste. I balk as I realize I don't often pay half that much for an ice cream cone back home. C'e la vie!

*St. Chappelle - closed. Walked to Musee d'Orsay - closed. And same for Rodin. Apparently Monday isn't the best museum day! Instead, walked further south to a few lesser-knwon chapels, including St. Sulpice (from DaVinci Code fame), before enjoying a leisurely walk through the beaituflu Jardin Luxembourg. Local sprawled out on lawn chairs and park benches, an energetic game of tennis going on. A woman sorting her mail with both legs propped up on a neighboring chair. A table surrounded by old men playing chess. A mother nudging her baby's stroller into a slow rock.

*Louvre - finally! one not closed! This high-profile, classy collection of art ranging from the Etruscans and ancient Egyptians to Renaissance masters DaVinci and Botticelli. Mona Lisa. Madonna on the Rocks. Winged Victory of Samothrace!!

*Walking along Champs Elysees, through the Tuileries Garden, toward Arc de Triomphe. Interrupted en route by two very different characters -- one, a shy Parisian who insisted I was an American moviestar undercover, refusing to give him my real name lest the Paparazzi surround me and follow me mercilessly.
He serenaded me with some little French song, and I recipro- cated with the only American song that came to mind -- Somewhere Over the Rainbow... hello, 1950's!! Couldn't I think of anything more modern than that?? The second, a horribly forward Egyptain living in Paris who, in the course of 10 minutes, had fallen in love with me and wanted to move with me back to America. My biggest mistake: speaking a few words of Arabic to him after learning he was Egyptian -- it was all downhill from there.

*Finally ended a long afternoon with a game of hide-and-seek while trying to locate Seb, my CS host for the next 3 nights. Almost got left stranded because city-slicker was up to his eyeballs with impatience by the time we finally connected. A busy -- and successful -- account manager for Peugot automotives (a French company), he nearly left me high and dry after I kept him waiting for too long at our agreed-upon metro stop (but I blame the guy who told me, after I started questioning my whereabouts, that the metro stop I wanted was futher down the road... I was in the right place to begin with. I've got to learn to rely on my instinct a little more.)

*All smoothed over after a delicious, quick dinner of crepes with cheese and mushrooms (yes, that's right -- they're much more versatile than the powdered-sugar-and-jam toppings we do back home), followed by drinks with friends at a little Dutch pub nearby. Everyone was friendly, and made me feel at home by attempting to engage in English conversation. My preconceived notions of snobby Parisians shaming me for my pitiful lack of even the most basic French went out the window!

~Melanie

Note to Self: Avoid Midnight Arrivals at All Costs!

PARIS, FRANCE -- May 15, 2006

It is midnight, and I am trying to keep up with the two Canadian girls who are navigating us through Paris' complicated metro. I was supposed to call my friend Antoine at 11 PM when I arrived at Gare de Lyon, but the phone machines wouldn't accept my 10 Euro bill, and every information desk and money change counter had long since been closed. On top of that, I am in a new country, one whose language do I not only not speak, but which absolutely intimidates me. I am prepared for the cold shoulders and stuffy attitudes I will most certainly encounger in Paris, my being a complete non-French speak practically guarantees that, given the reports I've received from other travelers I've talked to.

I am embarassed how difficult a time I am having following Katherine and Adrienne, and realize that with no French, little cash, no bearings, and at this very late hour, my best bet is to scrap trying to meet up with Antoine, and follow these two girls to a hostel instead.Two hours, 30 euros, and a sore back later, we are in the triple bedroom we managed to find in the Montmartre district of Paris. It's nearly 2 AM, and while I have no idea how I get here, I am officially in Paris!!

~Melanie

Day of Tears -- Farewell, Italy

BELLAGIO, ITALY -- May 15, 2006

Oh, beautiful day! The rain that fell last night emptied out the clouds, and the morning breeze must have blown them -- empty and feather-light -- far, far away. It was my last morning on Lago di Como, and I had only a few hours before I began the chain of connections that would bring me to Paris. With the bright blue sky overhead, Lake Como was a sapphire jewel amist a shell of towering, emerald mountains.

I slipped into my bathing suit and walked north to Punta Spumanti, where I nestled myself on the concrete steps leading down to the water's edge and at my simple breakfast in the fresh air and sunshine -- a crusty baguette, spread with soft cheese, and topped with chunks of juicy, sweet red pepper. I then bathed in the sun while Andrea Bocelli and Josh Groban serenaded me with their emotive tenor voices.

Knowing that I would be toggling ferry, train, and metro connections until well after midnight, I found an international telephone and placed a call to Pennsylvania, USA, to wish my mom and Happy Mother's Day. The 15 minutes alotted from my 5 Euro phoecard were all too short, and for the first time in my nearly two months of travel, tears welled up in my eyes as the first pangs of homesickness washed over me. Here I was in this beyond-beautiful place that fit me like a silk glove, and as much as I was savoring every moment, home suddenly seemed so far away. How I wanted to transport my family to the exact spot where I now stood, and share it with them.

Wiping away my tears, I caught Wally's eye as I passed by his cafe, and he ushered me to a shady seat. Knowing I was off to catch my ferry to Varenna soon, he offered to bring me some lunch, 'on the house.' He returned moments later with a tall glass of frothy, fresh orange juice, a bowl of green olives, and few broiled red pepper stips, twirled around a thin piece of salty sardine.

Never one to appreciate the flavor of the quintessential Italian staple -- the olive, I politely bit into one and pushed it around in my mouth. Long a lover of all things Italian, it ahs always slightly bothered me that I couldn't appreciate a good olive. I've tried -- believe me, I've tried. So imagine my excitement when I realized that I was actually enjoying this olive! I was a food snob no longer!
My 'main course' was a ham-and-cheese omelette, which I savored. Omelettes used to be a twice- or thrice-weekly ritual back home, and since arriving in Europe, this was only my second. It didn't hold a hat to the mouth-watering red pepper / green onion / parmesan concoctions that my Todd used to whip up for me. But it was a treat nonetheless.

With ten minutes until my ferry lef tthe dock, I booked it to my room, literally crammed all my belongings into my bag, and hoofed it to the dock, where the Larios had just pulled in to port. Had I not already spent my tears just one hour before, I would have been crying as I boarded my last ferry back to Varenna. Everything just seems so wrong about leaving, but I knew that my train reservation could not be easily rebooked, and a friend was waiting for me in Paris. I consoled myself with the thought that I would stop through Italy again before returning to the States. It was a hopeful thought.
A friendly Italian named Cesare helped me get my mind off things and put everything in perspective. As I gave him the nutshell version of my travel plans, his eyes grew wide with wonder that I could afford to be away for so long, and I remembered yet again how very lucky I am to be living my dream... even if I do have to kiss Italy goodbye 'til we meet again...

~Melanie

Italians Know How to Cook! Dining Well in Como

MENAGGIO & COMO, ITALY -- May 14, 2006

I wasn't going to attempt to top yesterday, or even match it. Some days just blow other ones out of the water. Yesterday was one of those days.I had heard about a fantastic and challenging four-hour trek to nearby Monte Grona, through alpine territory to lookouts with astonishingly beautiful views of Lago di Como and its village. I wanted to make the trek today. But stormy skies warned that rain might be looming, and I felt it best to stay closer to the ground, instead of taking my chances on mountain paths all by myself.
Taking a morning ferry across the lake, I was greeted by one of the crewmen from yesterday. Back in the captain's circle, I was introduced to a new crew, including one ruggedly handsome thirty-something officer named Marco. The lot of them invited me to lunch during their afternoon break in Varenna. Why not, I said to myself. A little spontaniety and some very interesting company -- and rain threatening to wash our my hiking plans... so I said yes.

With a few hours until our lunch date, I decided to take a leisurely stroll along the lake, and watch with mixed feelings as the clouds dissipated and the sun came out again. I could have taken that hike today! Seven kilometers later, I was back at the port, as the Lario pulled up to the dock. Hopping aboard, I was greeted by Luigi, who showed me to a bathtub-sized kitchen tucked away on the lower level of the vessel. I had imagined, up to this point, that we would be dining at a lakeside ristorante. Suddenly, I realized that Luigi had prepared the meal himself, and it smelled divine!

Thinking back to this morning, I had seen Marco dart into the corner market, the same one where I had the unfortunate spill the morning before. It hadn't occurred to me at the time, but now I realized that he had gone to purchase ingredients for today's lunch! Luigi lifted the lid from a shiny silver pot simmering on the stove, and I could smell the delicious aroma of tomatoes, garlic, and fresh herbs.

The chef raised a spoon to my mouth for my approving nod, and my taste buds did backflips as I tasted the thick pomodoro sauce. Two minutes later, the ferry began chugging across the lake to Varenna, where it would dump its final load of passengers before lunch officially began. A second crewman joined us in the kitchen, and poured the remaining quarter of a previously opened bottle of white wine into three stout cups for a makeshift aperitivo. As we toasted, they raised a finger to their mouths and, with devilish grins, pointed to the floor above, where the captain was sitting on deck. The message was clear, 'Don't tell the boss!' Oh, only in Italy!

As the passengers shuffled off the Larios, the two crewman and I axcended to the top floor, where tables and chairs in the central chamber had been set for lunch.Marco steered the boat to the middle of the lake, and lunch was underway. Primo piatti (first course, or literally, first plate) was pasta al dente with the pomodoro sauce, followed by segundi piatti (second course) of thinkly-sliced prosciutto-like meat, doused in olive oil, and topped with thick slices of fresh tomato and garlic. We washed it all down with a vino rosso, poured from the largest bottle I've ever seen.

All too soon, the meal was over, and the Lario began chugging again back to Varenna for its next load of passengers. Minutes later, I waved farewell to my new friendsa s we returned to Menaggio. It would be impossible to think of Lago di Como again without remembering my lakeside lunch with this salty foursome.A few hours later, I met Wally again as he finished his shift, and we set off for Como again, this time chasing a rainstomr that was settling over the mountains. As Wally sped around tight corners and endless curves of the narrow, unmarked road, I suddenly realized how it is that Italians are among the world's best motocycle racers -- with tracks like these to practice!!

Saturday night and no reservations proved to be a bit challenging, but we finally managed to find a table at a restaurant filled with a local crowd. The place: La Scoglieri. Wally treated me to an expensive but unforgettable seafood dinner. Antipasti was a mix of freshly prepared calamari, scallops, and mussles. Then our server emerged with two huge plates of gamboretti griglia (grilled prawns), a plate of steamed spinach, and another of patate frite (delicious potato wedges fried in olive oil and fresh herbs).

Four pair of beady black eyes stared up at me from my dinner plate, and wielding my knife and fork, I carefully deshelled the enormous prawns, dousing them in fresh lemon juice before swallowing them down with a sweet white wine. If dinner weren't intoxicating enough, Wally insisted on dessert -- a parfait filled with tiramisu and topped with sweet cream, and a swig of the very concentrated and famously Italian limoncello. Gentle rain fell as we drove the 40 km north to Bellagio. I was beginning to wish I could turn back the hands of time and arrange to spend another week... month... forever?... in Lago di Como.

~Melanie