We've moved countries from Switzerland to Italy. This week is entirely devoted to eating. Pasta, pizza, pesto, and other delicious p-words... We will even chug bottles of olive oil if necessary.
We came to Florence to visit one of Vanessa's best friends from Connecticut who graciously offered to host us while we were in town. As such, we are staying in a local apartment just outside the city center. It was a long train ride and we didn't really have time to do anything the first night except eat a home-cooked meal of spaghetti in a bolognese sauce, which was fine by us. The next morning, however, we woke up early for a day trip to Cinque Terre, five small towns on the western coast of Italy. The towns are connected by a long rocky path along the coast. It's about a 9 km hike, up and down the coastal hillsides and it is truly stunning. We will post pictures because words can't do it justice. While the towns themselves are nice (and have delicious foods), the natural scenery is the big attraction. This was a long hike, but well worth it, as was the gelatto at the end.
Today, we've been escorted around Florence, a city my mother recommended highly. She was right - it is an impressive city, artistic and charming. There seems to be a masterpiece on every corner. We've visited the Duomo (HUGE church) and climbed the adjacent tower for a magnificent view of the city, visited Piazza Senioria (many nude statues here including a replica of David. Vanessa tries to be a considerate tourist, but she is also a giggler, so this was a tough spot for her), il ponte vecchio (the only bridge around Florence that was not bombed during WWII. I don't know why. Dad - guesses?), and the central market where we bought fresh produce and dried fruits (kiwi, strawberry, and banana if you were wondering).
Vanessa has been having digestive issues and has consumed enough fiber in the last 48 hours to fell a small elephant. She has taken it in many forms: bran bars, Metamucil, fiber pills, fiber tablets, and is looking to perhaps inject some fiber directly into her colon soon. We are all anxiously awaiting the big moment when she walks out of the bathroom with a big grin and a thumbs up. Pity the next person who goes in though. If you have your own home remedies, feel free to post them.
6 comments:
Vanessa, I had the same problem when I was in Rome. I had to resort to a Fleet's enema (or a high colnic in today's lingo). It was sooo embarrasing. We couldn't locate a pharmacist who spoke English, and that word was NOT in my English-Italian dictionary. Neil and I had to resort to wild gestures and pantomiming to communicate what we needed.
We did eventually succeed in making this purchase. I promptly stuffed it deep in my pocketbook to use later when we got back to our hotel. However, we were not able to go directly back to the hotel, as we had committed to a tour of Rome's Jewish ghetto and oldest synagagoue.
Current events were not in my favor. There had been a bombing at the airport in Rome and at several Italian Jewish historical sites just weeks before we arrived. So...in order to get into any of these sites, people were required to empty all pockets, bags, boxes ,etc. for the guards to inspect first. It was embarrsing enough that the enema box was put on the table for all to see, but the guard opened the box to make sure nothing was conceled inside. Then he took it out, laughed hyterically, closed the box and waved me into the synagogue. It was humiliating.
This pathetic tale eventually had a happy ending. That evening the "bomb" exploded, and I triumphtly emerged from the bathroom with a sigh of relief and a thumbs up to Neil!
ahh...another romantic adventure recalled....
LOVE, MOM
P.S. In re-reading this, I realized the current events of 1986 are no differnt today- just different people, same old anti-semitism.
I recommend pancake syrup.
Mom - great story. That's one for the memoirs.
Dave - I totally agree. Pancake syrup does it for me every time.
FYI
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ponte_Vecchio
I utterly disassociate myself
from mom's story!
NSR
I was not regular for my entire first month in Italy.
Knowing me, you can imagine my agony.
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