Southern France is well known for its summer thunderstorms....
Awestruck
Boom! Crash! Bang!
The sky is illuminated by a blanket of light,
the rolling thunder close behind.
A jagged bolt briefly bridges two clouds,
and we stand as it begins to rain, awestruck.
-Colin Diego Sackett
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Travel fatigue in paradise
We woke on our first morning at Lake Como in Italy with oddly little motivation to explore. Tom had just left us to go back home, the weather was dreary, and though we hadn't noticed it yet, travel fatigue was beginning to set in. 
Lake Como is reputed as Italy's home to the rich and famous – George Clooney has a vacation home here, the lakefront town of Bellagio is known as the high-roller capital of the jewel-wearing elite, and paparazzi make a living scouting the scene from intimate cafe tables on sun-drenched plazas.
We, however, were bored. We wandered down the lovely lakefront trail to the village center, had a pleasant lunch and perfect gelato, then passed the afternoon reading and staring at the water. The second day was much of the same, but our lunch neighbors at the cafe surprised us by being from Seattle. They were a honeymooning couple in their 50s, and he turned out to be the manager of Seattle's West Point Sewage Treatment Plant, so we knew many of the same people. The encounter also made me realize I was a wee bit homesick.
Determined to get my but in gear, I amped myself up for an afternoon hike up the steep hill behind our pensione in Varenna to see the small castle perched at the top, and discovered a beautiful little stone village adjacent to the castle. The castle also had its own falconer, so after talking to him and learning that he had a morning show the next day, I decided to drag Colin back with me. We returned the next day, arriving at the top panting and sweating but thrilled to see the show, only to have the falconer tell us his morning show was canceled because a school group had called to say they were coming in the afternoon. After trying to soothe Colin's disappointment, we decided to wait, have lunch in the village, and return to see the afternoon show with the school group. The falconer had retreated inside the castle, so we turned to the ticket-taker with a cell phone to her ear behind the counter: “What time?” we asked. “I don't know,” she replied, returning to her cell phone call. “Soooo, how will we know when to come back?” “I don't know,” she replied again, clearly annoyed. “Well, can you ask the falconer?” Not understanding Italian, we're pretty sure she then pretended to call the falconer, but really only continued chatting with her cell phone buddy, before telling us once again that she had no idea what time the school group would come. Sigh. Colin was pretty much beside himself by this point, but we did our best to let it go. We enjoyed the view, visited the small cemetery next to the castle, had a very wonderful lunch when the small restaurant in the village opened, and were more or less contentedly walking down the mountain when the school group passed us on their way up. “Forget it,” Colin said. “I don't want to see their stinking show anyway.” Good – we would find friendlier venues somewhere else along our journey, I was sure.
Earlier in the week, we had contacted a cooking school up in the hills above Varenna. The following morning, the chef/owner of the restaurant offering the class picked us up at our guest house and we wound our way up to the very small village where the restaurant – housed in a 1,000 year old stone house – has been run by his family for eight generations.
Two other couples joined us in the cozy timber-beamed dining room, facing a large wooden table where our chef and mentor rolled out fresh pasta, chopped asparagus, and formed perfect round pork meatballs, inviting us to pitch in and take turns folding raviolis, slicing and tossing long ribbons of tagliatelli, and peering over his shoulder as he sauteed and seasoned and generally made magic. The meal was incredible, the company excellent, and both the culinary and cultural experience fantastic! -- easily the highlight of our week at Lake Como.
Full of food (and, for me, wine), our host dropped us off at the ferry terminal, and we ventured across the lake to Menaggio, where we were booked into the a hostel for the next couple of nights and again succumbed to sluggishness before catching a bus into the mountains and across the border to Lugano, in Switzerland. From there, Colin and I caught a train to Zurich, then a connection to Zug, where my step-brother Brian and his family were waiting for us.
Brian had moved to Zug the year before, following a brief stint in Luxembourg, and after nearly 20 years in Moscow. He works as a CEO and financial advisor to international corporations, and Zug is the center of Switzerland's “free-trade” zone – the epicenter of “Swiss bank accounts,” as I understand it (which is not very well). Colin and I were still were functioning at half-mast, but being with family – especially the very energetic 2 and 4 year old cousins/nephews – put a bit of a spring back in our steps. We spent the next day exploring the many levels of the nearby “Techno-rama” - a giant of a science museum on the outskirts of Zurich - and running around and around the living room couch with the boys (it was pouring rain out - nonstop). When the boys went to nursery school on Monday morning, the rest of us piddled around Zug, wandering along the lakefront and exploring the shops. We had tickets on the overnight train to Budapest the next evening, and Colin and I had decided to spend that day in Zurich, visiting the National Museum, the Observatory, the Old Town, and if time allowed, taking a boat tour across the lake. We said our goodbyes to Nate (4) and Marty (2) in the evening, and to brother Brian and sister-in-law Irina in the morning, and set off on the commuter train from Zug to Zurich. We stashed our bags in lockers at the central Zurich train station and wandered off in the direction of the museum.
The Swiss National Museum is housed in a beautiful old castle, less than a five minute walk from the train station. We spent a pleasant hour + exploring the rooms and exhibits, before Colin – doing his usual acrobatic moves down a flight of stairs – fell and twisted his ankle. We limped around the museum for a while longer before realizing that he wasn't going to just shake this one off, so we hobbled back to the train station to find a seat and give it a rest. It didn't help. We had 7 hours to go before our night train to Budapest, and it became clear that we were going to spend every one of those hours sitting in the Zurich train station, popping anti-inflammatories, with Colin's foot iced and elevated. At hour 6, we finally had a revelation – despite our best efforts, we'd been dragging for over a week now, and needed a break. We took a look at what a plane ticket from Budapest to Seattle would cost us, and were surprised to find that they were cheap! If we went home for a visit, we'd spend less on airfare than we would on our travel budget for the same period. Hmmmmm.....
Before we could rethink it, we were booking a flight. Halfway through the process (I'd selected our flights and just gotten to the payment part), I glanced at the clock and realized we had less than 5 minutes before our train to Budapest was leaving!! Our bags were still in a locker downstairs, the train was leaving from the upper level, and we didn't even know which track it was on. Yikes! We aborted our booking and raced down to the lockers and up to the tracks. We made it with at least a minute to spare (there must've been some kind of time warp involved), and after catching our breath, completed our booking via a cell phone call to my mother in the U.S. She got online and wrapped it all up with a bow, including a promise not to tell Tom what we were up to. We then settled in for a night of sleep aboard the Zurich-Budapest Express, waking to a distinctly different, and subtly austere, farmscape outside of our window. Arriving in Budapest, we stopped in at the rail station tourist office, booked a hotel just a block away, and dropped our bags before setting out to explore. We had just under 24 hours before our flight home – as a result, one day in Budapest would be the entirety of our “eastern” European visit, and we intended to make the most of it.
We sought out a pleasant, shady plaza I had read about in our guide book, settled into a table at a recommended restaurant, and enjoyed a feast of “deer shoulder” (Colin) and duck (me) while people-watching all the foot traffic along the tree covered promenade -- perfect intro to Hungarian food.
We then took a very long walk (slowly, due to Colin's still aching foot) to the Szechenyi Baths – a complex of luxurious outdoor soaking and swimming pools of various temperatures set in the central courtyard of a beautiful historic palace, plus saunas, steamrooms, cold plunges and even a snow chute churning out chunks of the crumbly cold stuff that you could take into the impossibly hot sauna with you to drip over your head. We stayed for three hours, plunging and soaking, until we were weak in the knees.
As we were dressing, a monster thunder storm hit, sending us running from the baths to the nearest cafe – set aside a lovely lake in the neighboring park. We eventually called a cab to take us back to our hotel, got a good night's sleep, and woke early in the morning to head for the airport – and our date with home.
24 hours, one canceled flight, one rerouting through Canada, one late arrival and subsequently missed connection, and one extra layover later, we walked in the door just as Tom wait awaiting our (falsely) scheduled skype call. Surprise!!! Hugs, some tears, and a lot of laughing, then collapsing, once again, into bed before beginning our three week visit home. My own bed had never felt so good!
Up Next: Genealogy and gastronomy... on wheels
Lake Como is reputed as Italy's home to the rich and famous – George Clooney has a vacation home here, the lakefront town of Bellagio is known as the high-roller capital of the jewel-wearing elite, and paparazzi make a living scouting the scene from intimate cafe tables on sun-drenched plazas.
We, however, were bored. We wandered down the lovely lakefront trail to the village center, had a pleasant lunch and perfect gelato, then passed the afternoon reading and staring at the water. The second day was much of the same, but our lunch neighbors at the cafe surprised us by being from Seattle. They were a honeymooning couple in their 50s, and he turned out to be the manager of Seattle's West Point Sewage Treatment Plant, so we knew many of the same people. The encounter also made me realize I was a wee bit homesick.
Determined to get my but in gear, I amped myself up for an afternoon hike up the steep hill behind our pensione in Varenna to see the small castle perched at the top, and discovered a beautiful little stone village adjacent to the castle. The castle also had its own falconer, so after talking to him and learning that he had a morning show the next day, I decided to drag Colin back with me. We returned the next day, arriving at the top panting and sweating but thrilled to see the show, only to have the falconer tell us his morning show was canceled because a school group had called to say they were coming in the afternoon. After trying to soothe Colin's disappointment, we decided to wait, have lunch in the village, and return to see the afternoon show with the school group. The falconer had retreated inside the castle, so we turned to the ticket-taker with a cell phone to her ear behind the counter: “What time?” we asked. “I don't know,” she replied, returning to her cell phone call. “Soooo, how will we know when to come back?” “I don't know,” she replied again, clearly annoyed. “Well, can you ask the falconer?” Not understanding Italian, we're pretty sure she then pretended to call the falconer, but really only continued chatting with her cell phone buddy, before telling us once again that she had no idea what time the school group would come. Sigh. Colin was pretty much beside himself by this point, but we did our best to let it go. We enjoyed the view, visited the small cemetery next to the castle, had a very wonderful lunch when the small restaurant in the village opened, and were more or less contentedly walking down the mountain when the school group passed us on their way up. “Forget it,” Colin said. “I don't want to see their stinking show anyway.” Good – we would find friendlier venues somewhere else along our journey, I was sure.
Earlier in the week, we had contacted a cooking school up in the hills above Varenna. The following morning, the chef/owner of the restaurant offering the class picked us up at our guest house and we wound our way up to the very small village where the restaurant – housed in a 1,000 year old stone house – has been run by his family for eight generations.
Two other couples joined us in the cozy timber-beamed dining room, facing a large wooden table where our chef and mentor rolled out fresh pasta, chopped asparagus, and formed perfect round pork meatballs, inviting us to pitch in and take turns folding raviolis, slicing and tossing long ribbons of tagliatelli, and peering over his shoulder as he sauteed and seasoned and generally made magic. The meal was incredible, the company excellent, and both the culinary and cultural experience fantastic! -- easily the highlight of our week at Lake Como. 
Full of food (and, for me, wine), our host dropped us off at the ferry terminal, and we ventured across the lake to Menaggio, where we were booked into the a hostel for the next couple of nights and again succumbed to sluggishness before catching a bus into the mountains and across the border to Lugano, in Switzerland. From there, Colin and I caught a train to Zurich, then a connection to Zug, where my step-brother Brian and his family were waiting for us.
Brian had moved to Zug the year before, following a brief stint in Luxembourg, and after nearly 20 years in Moscow. He works as a CEO and financial advisor to international corporations, and Zug is the center of Switzerland's “free-trade” zone – the epicenter of “Swiss bank accounts,” as I understand it (which is not very well). Colin and I were still were functioning at half-mast, but being with family – especially the very energetic 2 and 4 year old cousins/nephews – put a bit of a spring back in our steps. We spent the next day exploring the many levels of the nearby “Techno-rama” - a giant of a science museum on the outskirts of Zurich - and running around and around the living room couch with the boys (it was pouring rain out - nonstop). When the boys went to nursery school on Monday morning, the rest of us piddled around Zug, wandering along the lakefront and exploring the shops. We had tickets on the overnight train to Budapest the next evening, and Colin and I had decided to spend that day in Zurich, visiting the National Museum, the Observatory, the Old Town, and if time allowed, taking a boat tour across the lake. We said our goodbyes to Nate (4) and Marty (2) in the evening, and to brother Brian and sister-in-law Irina in the morning, and set off on the commuter train from Zug to Zurich. We stashed our bags in lockers at the central Zurich train station and wandered off in the direction of the museum.
The Swiss National Museum is housed in a beautiful old castle, less than a five minute walk from the train station. We spent a pleasant hour + exploring the rooms and exhibits, before Colin – doing his usual acrobatic moves down a flight of stairs – fell and twisted his ankle. We limped around the museum for a while longer before realizing that he wasn't going to just shake this one off, so we hobbled back to the train station to find a seat and give it a rest. It didn't help. We had 7 hours to go before our night train to Budapest, and it became clear that we were going to spend every one of those hours sitting in the Zurich train station, popping anti-inflammatories, with Colin's foot iced and elevated. At hour 6, we finally had a revelation – despite our best efforts, we'd been dragging for over a week now, and needed a break. We took a look at what a plane ticket from Budapest to Seattle would cost us, and were surprised to find that they were cheap! If we went home for a visit, we'd spend less on airfare than we would on our travel budget for the same period. Hmmmmm.....
Before we could rethink it, we were booking a flight. Halfway through the process (I'd selected our flights and just gotten to the payment part), I glanced at the clock and realized we had less than 5 minutes before our train to Budapest was leaving!! Our bags were still in a locker downstairs, the train was leaving from the upper level, and we didn't even know which track it was on. Yikes! We aborted our booking and raced down to the lockers and up to the tracks. We made it with at least a minute to spare (there must've been some kind of time warp involved), and after catching our breath, completed our booking via a cell phone call to my mother in the U.S. She got online and wrapped it all up with a bow, including a promise not to tell Tom what we were up to. We then settled in for a night of sleep aboard the Zurich-Budapest Express, waking to a distinctly different, and subtly austere, farmscape outside of our window. Arriving in Budapest, we stopped in at the rail station tourist office, booked a hotel just a block away, and dropped our bags before setting out to explore. We had just under 24 hours before our flight home – as a result, one day in Budapest would be the entirety of our “eastern” European visit, and we intended to make the most of it.
We sought out a pleasant, shady plaza I had read about in our guide book, settled into a table at a recommended restaurant, and enjoyed a feast of “deer shoulder” (Colin) and duck (me) while people-watching all the foot traffic along the tree covered promenade -- perfect intro to Hungarian food.
We then took a very long walk (slowly, due to Colin's still aching foot) to the Szechenyi Baths – a complex of luxurious outdoor soaking and swimming pools of various temperatures set in the central courtyard of a beautiful historic palace, plus saunas, steamrooms, cold plunges and even a snow chute churning out chunks of the crumbly cold stuff that you could take into the impossibly hot sauna with you to drip over your head. We stayed for three hours, plunging and soaking, until we were weak in the knees.
As we were dressing, a monster thunder storm hit, sending us running from the baths to the nearest cafe – set aside a lovely lake in the neighboring park. We eventually called a cab to take us back to our hotel, got a good night's sleep, and woke early in the morning to head for the airport – and our date with home.
24 hours, one canceled flight, one rerouting through Canada, one late arrival and subsequently missed connection, and one extra layover later, we walked in the door just as Tom wait awaiting our (falsely) scheduled skype call. Surprise!!! Hugs, some tears, and a lot of laughing, then collapsing, once again, into bed before beginning our three week visit home. My own bed had never felt so good!
Up Next: Genealogy and gastronomy... on wheels
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