Solipseismic

A few weeks ago we decided to escape flooded England and head for the sunny clime of Italy.

DAY 1
Arrived in Milan and after much hand-wringing and confusion, found our way to our hotel in Genova.

Stepping out into the Ligurian night, with no plans, schedules, or deadlines, we headed into the depths of downtown to find some vittels. Genova, it turns out, is filled with sprawling alleyways just wide enough for us to walk side-by-side, pushing a stroller, and not have to physically bump into the prostitutes standing in the adjacent doorways--lots of fun to wander through, not so much fun to find a restaurant or, for that matter, find our way back out. Finally, we found an Italian butcher shop that advertised a tasty-looking menu. The hostess led us through the doorway, down a dimly-lit hallway, and into what looked like a antediluvian catacomb. The whole room was brick with buttressed ceilings and black iron fixtures. Mejkin's Gnocchi was delicious.

After dinner, we wandered down to the port and saw the city's central fountain, bought some gelato, and headed back to the hotel.

DAY 2
Our hotel had advertised a Continental Breakfast. Having spent many-a-night in U.S. hotels with "continental breakfasts", we went downstairs fully expecting something along the lines of a couple of cheap, packaged pastries, some watered-down O.J., and single-serving boxes of off-brand corn flakes. Much to our surprise, we walked into one serious breakfast spread. Fresh breads and pastries, assorted fresh fruits and juices, meats, eggs, etc. We were so excited that we stuffed ourselves and didn't need to eat again until dinner.

Having spent two months in cold, rainy England, the first thing we wanted to do was hit the beach. Genova, being a port town, doesn't offer much in the way of beaches, so we headed west to Varazze. We rented a beach umbrella, settled in, and spent the whole day luxuriating in the Mediterranean sunshine. We didn't know how Jonah would take to the water, so we edged cautiously down to the surf and let him drag his toes in it. Turns out the boy is half-dolphin. He laughed and splashed, and even when we took him into deeper water and held him in mid-chest, he loved it. Having forgotten his sun-hat back at the hotel, we rigged a head covering out of his onesie; the locals thought it was hilarious, we should have sold tickets.

Feeling nicely toasted and recharged, we set into town and found a beautiful little pizzaria so that James could discover the joy of real, Italian pizza.

DAY 3
Cinque Terre

Friday morning, after another overly-satisfying breakfast, we jumped the train to Monterosso al Mare, the first city of Cinque Terre. The plan was to walk the 12 km (63 mi.) along the coast which hits each of the 5 villages. After approximately 4 km (213 miles), and 73,271 steps up a mountain and through the terraced vineyards, we ran into a pack of German ladies heading the opposite direction. These ladies were very concerned that it would be too much work and too much heat for Jonah to make it the rest of the way (apparently being strapped to the front of Dad is a lot of work, poor guy). They insisted we turn around and go back to Monterosso. Being both ignorant, and American, we told them to take a hike (hah!), and kept on going to Vernazza. It turned out that we were right, Vernazza was only about 2 km (27,365mi.) farther, and most of that downhill.

Covered in sweat, and smelling distinctly European, we crested the final summit and watched as the city of Vernazza stretched out before us--quaint, colorful buildings perched on the edge of a tiny peninsula jutting out into the Mediterranean Sea. We sat down, exhausted and filthy, on the pier and spent a few hours watching tan children frolic and even tanner adults sunbathe (seriously, everyone over 15 looked like they were wearing full-body naugahyde suits).

We started Here:

Several sweat-drenched hours later, we ended up here:

DAY 4
Tearfully, we ate what we knew to be our last Continental Breakfast on the Continent and hurried back to the room to pack and rush to the station for the early train to Milan. Jonah, however, had other plans. Just as we had packed everything up, returned the key, and were turning to head out the door, the little magician conjured up a volume of vomit at least 11 times more than could possibly fit in his little tummy. It was everywhere. Jonah, and everything within 10 feet (including Mejkin) looked like someone pulled the pin, and threw a cottage cheese grenade right in his lap. We had to unpack pretty much everything, hose as much as we could off in the shower, and take a somewhat later train.

Because we were flying back to Bristol early the next day, we had made reservations at the airport hotel, which was 50 miles away from downtown Milan. We didn't want to have to make the trip from Milan to the hotel 3 times, so we decided to just have James pack Jonah in our carrier, then put our baggage in the stroller. This worked surprisingly well, but the gypsies, thinking we were one of them, kept trying to tell us jokes in their crazy gypsy tongue.

We went to the Duomo, entry to which, due to new security measures, requires a full inspection of all bags. The poor security guard who got stuck with us opened our bags, looked in a bit, checked to make sure his boss wasn't looking, then quietly hushed us inside. Interestingly, entry to the Duomo also requires modest dress--that means no short-shorts or tank tops. The piazza outside was filled with enterprising immigrants selling shawls for women to wear inside.

We spent the rest of the day wandering the city. Eventually, after loading all of our accouterments up and down 1,328 flights of subway steps and onto a tram car, we ended up in one of Mejkin's old mission areas, Zara. Looking for a place to eat, we finally found a nice looking little pizzaria. We went inside and found a Chinese family that had been running the restaurant for 10 years. James spoke to them in Chinese, Mejkin in Italian. The owner was so surprised he asked us if we wanted Chinese or Italian food, we decided to try Chinese-made Italian; it was fantastic.

We made it to our hotel about midnight, woke up at 4:30, scrambled to the airport and caught the early flight back to England.

After five weeks of cloudy, the last two days were actually sunny--consistently sunny--to the point where after spending a few hours reading in the park I had rosy sunkisses on my arms and the pleasant sting of the red on my legs rubbing against denim when I changed into pants later that evening when things had cooled down.

This morning, however, we woke up to rain, rain, rain that hasn't stopped all day. TORRENTIAL has been the word of the day. James passed cars up to their bumpers in water and a dude bailing out his basement apartment on his way home from the bus stop. When he got home, umbrella dripping, his jeans were soaked to the thigh. "40 ml an hour" is what the interview-ee on TV is now saying about the rain we received today. I don't know what the figures for July are, but this past June was the rainiest in recorded history--and since this is ye olde country, I'm counting that as pretty significant.

So tonight we stayed in and watched umbrellas bustle by and the newly-formed lakes in the park across the street gradually eat up more ground. As I was putting some clean laundry away, James urgently called me to come see: "There's a duck swimming in the puddle across the street!"

Indeed so there was, a female mallard was checking out the new pond and what it had to offer. We had never seen ducks in the area, as there is no body of water nearby that we've come across, but this little lady was making herself right at home.