Croatia 3

After leaving the Dubovnik area, we decided to sample one of the 1000s of islands of the coast, Korcula, but by the time we got to the ferry port in Orebic, we had lost all interest in the islands. Orebic was wonderful, if a little out of the way. We had driven about 60 kilometers out a peninsula through vineyards and hundreds of roadside wine shops selling the owner's personal brew. Our hotel overlooked the bay and we could clearly see Korcula, but Orebic was clearly a place that local Croatians adored and Marriott had overlooked. After a terrific dinner on the water, we walked through a park and stopped at a lighted bocce court to watch a serious game between two teams of two- a retired policeman and a stone mason versus a vineyard owner and a retail business owner. a waiter from the restaurant across the street was serving the gentlemen drinks. A wonderful vignette.
The last official stop in Croatia before departure was the Plitvice Lakes National Parks. Before leaving the peninsula we stopped at Ston where there was an especially curious walled fortification that curved up and over the mountain. Ston was at one time a possession of the city state of Dubrovnik, which constructed this fortification to protect a salt mine from the Turks and the Venetians. In those days, salt was more valuable than gold. I purchased 100 grams of Fleur de Sal (the so called highest quality salt available) there, and I can tell you it still is.
In order to get to Plitvice, the quickest route is to take A1, the new expressway, which is the Croatian version of an interstate. It is well designed, well organized, clearly signed, scenic and FAST. The other thing that strikes you about A1 is the number of tunnels. Croatians tunnel through everything - beautifully. They do not pave over the top of a mountain when there is an opportunity to go through it. At first, it seemed quite strange, but I have since decided that the practice preserves the pristine nature of the landscape because you are not looking at long expanses of pavement  over tops of every hill. You just have to see it to understand.
Plitivice itself is one of the most popular tourist spots in the country, but I suspect that most foreign visitors do not venture this far into the interior to look at lakes and waterfalls. That is essentially all there is, but that does not begin to describe the beauty of he place. For my fellow Tennesseans and North Carolinians, the forests remind me of the Great Smoky Mountain, and the nearly constant sound of rushing water recalls home. There is more. Plitivice Lakes National Park is a series of terraced lakes which drain into the next mostly through a network of waterfalls. And the water. The colors of green, blue-green and turquoise are beyond belief, but I have pictures. You are welcome to see for yourself.
Now, my friends, I am at the Hotel Aristos, a four star hotel near the airport in Zagreb. It will be a while before I fully absorb all that we have seen. I am weary and energized at the same and look forward to seeing you all again. Safe travels.
Jim

Croatia 2

The coastal highway on the Dalmation coast of Croatia is very much like the Pacific Coast Highway in California. It is a windy, two-lane road sitting on cliffs high above the water below and provides the driver incredible views of the aquamarine, azure and cobalt colored water below. It also provides the driver the ephemeral thrill of flying if his or her attention lingers a bit too long on the scene below.
Our destination this day was Split, a city on the coast that is the gateway to many of Croatia's most famous islands. Unfortunately, as we got closer, what we saw from the highway were numerous high-rise buildings from the soviet area school of design. It was awful - bone chillingly sterile of any human touch. They looked like huge, angular breadsticks jammed into the ground. Lots of them. Now I know why socialism in Croatia never caught on. We kept going to  Dubrovnic, a walled city of unspeakable singularity. It is a simply marvelous to view from the highway overlooking it. So marvelous in fact, that we drove past it  south to a town called Plat, where we checked into the Hotel Plat. From the highway we saw the Siren's call of the swimming pool at the Hotel Plat and decided it was home for the night. Apparently, the hotel property is owned by the government, and, at one time, included 600+ rooms.  The war with Serbia checked into the hotel and what is left is a beautiful harbor on the Adriatic Sea, two restaurants, a bar, and three residential buildings. At least four other buildings were damaged so badly in the war that they are unusable. They stand as skeletons of a more peaceful time and a jarring reminder that war is real and present for many people in the world.
The next day we hired a boat to take us to Dubrovnik and a guide to interpret the city. Once again, we were astounded by the level of damage sustained by the city, an absolutely beautiful UNESCO World Heritage site. Our guide spent 45 days in the city without electricity and water during the siege of the city. How lucky we are to have nothing to complain about. And yet, we still do.

Croatia

Time is running out for me on this vacation...and in the greater sense, but you must promise to travel to Buzet, the center of  Croatia's truffle production zone, on September 8, 2113, when the 200th Anniversary of the town's founding is celebrated. I guarantee that it will be a wonderful time. I know because Leslie and I made it for the Centennial - purely by accident.
We had arrived in Rovinj the previous night by ferry from Venice and walked to the Hotel Park. Rovinj is a walled city, but the wall is mostly gone now. What is left is a friendly, low key, kind of bohemian beach town on the Istrian Peninsula. The Park proved to be an oasis, which we needed after that pit of hell in Venice. They even provided a free walking tour of the city the next day that provided insight into the history and culture of the place. At the very top of the hill in the old city (the area within the ancient walls) is the main Catholic church which is dedicated to Saint Ophemia, the Patron Saint of Rovinj. The story is that she was martyred in Constantinople (I believe) for espousing her belief in one god, eventually canonized by the church and placed in a sarcophagus, which then turned up missing for some 100s of years. Lo and behold, she shows up one day in Rovinj, just like us, except that we used a ferry, which proved to be much quicker. She is adopted as the patron and placed in the church. Sometime afterward, the Venetians, who made their money in shipping and domination before they got into window treatments, took over Rovinj and tried to ferret the old girl back to Venice. The Rovinjians would have none of that, but the Venetians did manage to get away with one of her arms which we have only to assume is in a warehouse of spare limbs somewhere in Italy along with the Venus De Milo's arm and the entire penis and scrotum of an unfortunate and unidentified statue I saw in Florence. Anyway, most of Saint Ophemia is in Rovinj, and every September 16th they open the sarcophagus for viewing, in the event you happen to be there.
The official airing out of Ophemia was not on our agenda; we left immediately in our rental car. There is something really exciting about driving in a country you have never visited before, particularly if you decided to waive the insurance coverage. Cowboy up! So we left Rovinj on our way to Motovun, a beautiful mountain town in the truffle area (we have been told). Never got there. That's how we ended up in in Buzet at the town festival, enjoying stilt-walking musicians, land-based musicians, a balloon animal artist and magicians. We ate roasted pig, and pasta with truffles and drank the local beer and tasted walnut liqueur. It was a blast; however, we had a schedule. We were in a hurry to spend the night in the Hotel Kastel in Crikvenica, a former monastery. I think I can safely say that in general a monastery is not a good candidate for conversion to a hotel. We happened on Hotel Kastel by accident, and that is the last time I will ask the produce manager at a Konzum Market for accommodation recommendations. Actually, I thought the place was ok. It would have been better if the monks had not taken all the good pillows when they vacated the place.

St. Somewhere and Venice

I am somewhat reluctant to reveal where we went next. It is a relatively unspoiled and quite beautiful village south of Florence. I'd like to keep it that way. Nothing personal. Really. It is also a - all together- medieval walled city. It is called San Gimignano. I am telling because the only way to get there is by car or bus,and I know that many of you would ever be caught dead in a bus.
Now that I think of it, there is nothing special about the place. There are fewer tourists than other places we have visited. Ironically, we travel overseas as tourists to go to places and judge the experience expecting to see no other people like us. Are we ruining the places we most love by going there in such numbers?
The village sits as a citadel on top of a hill with spectacular views of the Tuscan countryside all around it. There is a Michelin cited restaurant in the village, and on the day we visited there was a village market in the town square with every manner of produce and regional product.
P.S. Don't go.
From San Gimignano we took the bus to Poggibonsi to catch the train to Venice. It is a shame that the US never developed an effective passenger rail network. Punctual, clean and ubiquitous train lines make travel In Europe a  pleasure.
Leslie had been to Venice before, she knew about the vaparettos or water busses and she knew the area where our hotel was. Please indulge me while I declare that our hotel, the Ca Zose, was run by a coven of the most brusque and inconsiderate people we have experienced on the trip. Again, don't go. This time I mean it.
None of my imaginings about Venice prepared me for the majesty and beauty of the place. It is also the only truly ancient city that I have ever visited, where I can visualize life hundreds of years ago. Other than the invention of motorized boats, I don't think things are done a great deal differently - at least not in the areas around the Grand Canal and tributaries. While there we visited the Peggy Guggenheim Museum of Modern Art. Her personal residence right on the Grand Canal during her years in Venice, was turned into a museum displaying her collection upon her death. I loved this place. The art and the size were perfect. In the evening, we attended a Vivaldi and Hayden concert for strings in a small church. At intermission, i began talking to a Russian man who turned out to be an Orthodox priest. The subject of Syria came up. He questioned whether the US had a right to get involved which i thought was a strange  position for a priest. I told him that I thought that the issue in Syria was more humanitarian than political, and offered that the world would be better off without Putin. I am not sure anything was settled that night, but we did shake hands upon parting.
The next day we raced to St. Mark's Square just ahead of the cruise ship visitors and ducked into the cathedral. Afterward, we took photos of the square, church and Doge's palace. Then we bought 12 hour vaparetto tickets and took off for Murano Island, home of the famous Murano glass forges and Burano Island, the main endeavor of which is looking picturesque. As we were running out of time and had to get to the ferry port by 5PM, we decided to splurge and hire a water taxi to take us on a tour of the Grand Canal before dropping us off at the ferry.
We were on our way to Croatia!

Florence

Italy is full of old stuff. 17th century stuff. 16th century stuff. 15th and older. We have been through numerous churches built prior to 1000 AD, and perhaps rebuilt after some Byzantine went bzerk; the fire of 1457; the earthquakes of 1411, 1511, 1611, 1629, 1740, 1749, 1802 and September 4,1991 on the "first day of my high school" (Italians remember everything!);  reoriented because of the road into town was rerouted; reconstructed the outer walls because of a substandard material scandal; or ordered expanded, renovated, gilted, upgraded etc. by a Cardinal Apiclio Meristemsi with a financial assist from one of a large number of De Medici family members who controlled everything during the Italian Renaissance. Italians just can not leave well enough alone. This is my opinion of Florence.
In my head, there is a huge knot of Gothic, Venitian, Byzantine and Renaissance stuff all filed together under "Impressive" with a sub folder "Pretty". Not very sophisticated, I know. There is just too much stuff. Florence is the worst, or best, depending on your brain's capacity to create coherent folders. The mistake we made was staying two days. In my opinion, you should either swoop into town, walk across the gold bridge, swing through the courtyard of the Uffizi Museum (so you can say you have been there) and get a picture of the fake David in the piazza by Vecchio Palace OR stay for a month or so to really understand the art and the glory of the place. And to learn from the American exchange students that the best pizza in town by far is Gusto Pizza, not far from the Gold Bridge on the side of the river opposite the Uffizi. I, of course, did not do that. You are stuck with the former.
It is safe to say that there is old stuff everywhere. World class old stuff. Not just a half of a column laying around here and there. After a while, I quit looking at it. Leslie had been organized enough to reserve tickets to the Uffizi and Museo Del Academia online, which puts you at the front of a very long line. The Uffizi was once one of the palaces of the Medici family and is now houses the family art collection, one of the greatest in the world. It is an enormous place, too big to enjoy art because you are tired before you get halfway through the place. I admit, however, that it is a spectacular museum. Museo del Academia is the home of Michaelangelo's David, who resides in a specially built rotunda. David is simply breathtaking. Bigger than I imagined and SO BEAUTIFUL! So when I see you photo of David and he has a pigeon sitting on his head and the slightest sign that there is bird poop on his shoulders, I will know that you snapped a quick picture of the fake standing outside in the rain and hubbub. You were not in the room with perfection.

Agriturismo and Vinci

The ride into Vinci again fell a little short of the town. After 45 kilometers through some of the most beautiful countryside in the world, we found ourselves at the bottom of an impossibly steep hill a few kilometers out of Vinci. Our destination was Agriturismo Il Piastrano, which turned out to be rustic inn on a working farm up a second steep hill (how do the riders in the Tour De France do this?). The woman who ran this inn spoke no English, but that did not stop her from giving Leslie a big welcome hug.
The inn overlooks a valley of grape vineyards, olives, fruit trees and a vegetable garden. They make their own wine and olive oil, and the honey from their bees, almost pure white like true sourwood, is the most delicious I have ever tasted. Dinner was served in large, dark hall at seven PM. Everyone at the inn ate together of traditional Tuscan dishes selected by the chef. In particular, the bread and tomato soup was terrific. The rest of our time there was spent at the pool, reading in the courtyard or walking the grounds. This was the most restful place we had been while on this trip.
I should say at this point that we noticed many signs for Agriturismo stays , and, although I am sure there are different qualities, I would not hesitate to try one again.
After breakfast the next day, we climbed on the bikes for a ride into Vinci. Vinci is a medieval, walled city that is famous as the birthplace of Leonardo. The first stop was the museum where the drawings of his inventions have been rendered in wood and other materials, some scaled down and some full size.  His paddle boat was the most whimsical, but the various cranes and hoists were the most fascinating to me. Now i have a greater understanding how the churches and statues were able to be erected.
Leonardo was the illegitimate son of a nobleman and servant woman, but, more importantly for Leslie and I, his birth house was at the top of the steepest 3 kilometer hill I have ever seen. Walking to and from school must have been a bitch. At the house there was a movie about Leonardo starring Leonardo, projected on a curtain which gave it a holographic quality. It was pretty well done, but it spent entirely too much time talking about people of which I had no knowledge or interest - Cardinale Piggnoli Nutso and Ferdinand II of Udaman or some such. The other highlight was an interactive room where you could navigate via a large computer screen Leonardo's famous Last Supper painting and even insert yourself into the painting at the table with Jesus, which did not work at all the way the instructions said it would. Another dinner party I did not make it to.
We rode back to Agriturismo il Piastrano, put our packs and a couple of bottles of the inn's red wine into the owner's van for a ride to the train station. Our bike ride was over, and we were on our way to Florence!

Tuscany 2

The ride from Lucca to Vinci, the birthplace of Leonardo (da Vinci), was a day of contrasts. We started the day on a bike path with a river on our right and a beautiful forest of birch trees on the left. After a short while, we turned to the right over the river bridge, continued on a kilometer or so and entered Lucca. I thought briefly about the 40+ € I'd spent the night before on taxis.
Lucca in the early morning is an immensely enjoyable city- none of the frenetic energy of the previous night. The citizens were doing the simple things - sweeping doorsteps, replenishing the stores and restaurants with push carts - that give order to life. We rode our bikes to the top of the wall and circled the city until we exited the walled city at the Elisa Gate.
The world outside of medieval Lucca is an ugly place. Our bike ride took us past an industrial area where we were temporarily lost. The directions, "Take a right at the paper plant and in 90 meters, go left" proved  impossible to follow. It is a rare form of bad luck to fly across the Atlantic Ocean and hop on a bike for an idyllic vacation in Tuscany and then find yourself stuck in front of a paper plant. Thankfully, it was Sunday and the smoke belching was modest and reverential.
At a small buckle in the road, we found the first open restaurant we had seen in many kilometers. We parked our bikes outside near a 40ish man sitting outside. He told us roll our bikes inside under a canopied terrace out of the sun. He turned out to be from California, a former Marine of 14 years, who had moved there to be closer to his grandparents. we had a delicious lunch, and he was still there when we exited. "Did you like it?", he asked. We assured him that It was a great choice. As we paid, he got up to leave. I can't help but believe that this was another case where a serviceman was quietly and thanklessly looking out for us. I was genuinely touched. Semper Fi.