Not Guity

After hearing nearly all of the trial, I am relieved they actually made the right call regardless of the political and personal pressure.

A Little Stroll. - He Said She Said

Continuing our He Said, She Said  Series..

I was determined.

Yes. It was my idea. Although I was rethinking my brilliant idea for at least the first hour and a half. Well it might have been more like the first two and half. 

We were in full trip mode by that Sunday morning. Joints and muscles aching, readying for the next adventure and wondering just how much our poor bodies could take without revolting. 

It was a bit overcast, just a slight threat of a storm.  My poor mind couldn't decide it was happy to see the dark clouds which might threaten our adventure or whether it was upset that we would have missed out on another great memory. 

We spent the morning pondering our itinerary. Our sister stayed back in the room while we went to breakfast with her son and daughter in an adjoining town. 

When we finished the clouds looked less ominous and CnC and I headed toward our destination. 

When my sister, nephew and I were in Cinque Terre, Italy four years ago we hiked some of the trails which spanned the five towns. One of the highlights was a pass between our "home" in Manarola and the next town Corniglia. The cliffs stretching out over the Mediterranean gave us some amazing photos. There was a small suspension bridge that we delighted in crossing while noting that my brother, CnC would have loved and would have provided years of nightmares for our other brother Mike. 

When we planned this trip months previously we were disheartened to find that the path was no longer accessible due to some horrendous flooding which nearly wiped out one of the cinque towns, Vernazza and had washed away some of the trails. 

Knowing how much Mark would love some of the trails, I was determined to make sure he didn't miss out. Upon checking on which trails were open, I found one between the towns but was on a "higher" trail. 

So after some questionable breakfast, we took the train to Corniglia. The previous day, Mark had been "caught" filming the bus driver while he was in a serious argument with some of the men in Corniglia. I'm sure that wasn't the reason that when we got off the train, the driver slammed the bus doors shut just as we approached which would have taken us to the top of the hill where Corniglia sat. 

So we followed a group toward the town to start our hike. Unfortunately the group didn't take the road up, they began waking along a sidewalk which ended with some stairs. And the first landing switched back to more stairs, which switched back to more stairs which switched back to more stairs. And.....  You get the picture. 

This was no small number of steps and switchbacks. See for yourselves. Compare the switchback stairs in the center of the picture to the houses and train station below. 

 I kept falling back from this group that was clearly my age or older. WTH?  They even have a name for this torture, Lardarina. Thirty-three switchbacks with a total of 382 steps. 

Mark had been conditioning for our trip to Italy so he was having to stop several times on the way up to wait on his baby sister. And by the end of the stairs, every person in the big group we had fallen into had passed me.   I later figured out the group that had long outpaced me was actually a hiking tour. At least I felt a little better. 

We stopped at the top for a rest and to figure out where the trail started. No, we had not even started our hike yet. 

After several false starts, I finally had placed our location on the map.  Once we found the trail, it led back to the town and we discovered that we could have cut about 20 minutes from our hike we had realized we had walked past one of the paths. 

So we started up the path. 

In case you didn't know, Italy is old. I mean REALLY old. The ancient Italians had to be some rugged ass characters.   They carved out living quarters in the cliffs and placed stone after stone up and down the mountainsides surrounding the towns. 

We started up the stones steps. The lower path, which didn't seem low four years ago took us about 45 minutes to hike between the towns. This upper path actually started to move toward the other direction switching around the northern backside of the mountain before swinging back south for what seemed like an hour. 

Every time I was certain we were at the top of the hiking trail, the trail curved and switched over to climb even further up. I was constantly amazed that some poor soul actually had placed these uneven stones on this path. Now that had to be slave labor. 

And he delighted in every turn.  That same big brother who used to drag me over to the electric fence when we were little and grab ahold so I could get the snot shocked out of me. He was always about 15 steps up and would look around the next switchback and see another section of rugged stones up and up and up. 

He began filming quite a bit of the trip and my unprintable words when I would see we were never going to reach the top. I threatened to throw his camera off the side of the cliffs. 

He decided to rest while waiting for me to catch up. 

Ok, so intense hiking makes me a bit cranky. 

As we would meet people coming from the other direction, we would ask them how much higher the trail snaked. There never seemed to be a good answer. 

After close to two hours we finally reached the summit. 

You can see the lower path taken last time at the base of the cliff. 

The view was amazing. And discouraging. We could see that although we were at the top, Manarola was a very long way away. It was at this time I was wondering if we might end up stranded on this hike  into the night. 

The trail was the nice and level as we hiked at the top of the mountain. However the occasional steps were carved into stones leaving steps measuring about 6 inches by 4 inches. And if you missed the step, the drop was straight down. 

My legs were good and wobbly by then, but we continued on. As we were letting two couples pass, one of the ladies stopped and asked, "Weren't you guys in San Lorenzo?"  Thinking she was talking about a town nearby, I told her no. Then I realized she was talking about the agriturismo San Lorenzo Podere, in Volterra. 

Before going to Cinque Terre we had spent four nights at a charming working olive farm in Tuscany.   The ancient monastery has five or so rooms and serves the best home made genuine Tuscan meals. The couple had also been staying at the agriturismo when we were and recognized us on a random hiking trail, two hours away and several days later. It was one of those odd coincidences that placed us on the trail at the same time and place as our random acquaintances. 

They continued on. At a faster pace than I could. 

About midway of the leveled trailed, we saw a lesbian couple with a baby sitting on a blanket having a picnic. Just HOW you could hike a trail with a baby is beyond me.  I was struggling with a backpack stuffed with my camera and a lightweight jacket. 

About that time Mark produced two apples from his backpack. Since we started the trail at noon with only a couple bites of a nasty fried egg, that apple was delicious. 

As we rounded the mountain getting closer to Manarola, we found ourselves among the grape farms and the workers tending the vines. It was humbling knowing I was just barely able to make this hike, and here are the Italians who regularly hike the trail to tend to their hectares of grape vines. 

About 45 minutes of hiking the leveled area we came upon Volestra, a place where 200 people call home. It was a quaint little town with a small church.   We were literally up in the clouds. 

At this point we began our descent. Rather than wimping out and taking the winding road down we started down some nice long and wide steps. The thing about Italy is that they don't really want you to know just how many steps await you else you may go mad, they create them to switchback, so you never really know when they will stop. 

I later discovered those wide, ankle breaking stony steps totaled 1,100. When they finally stopped we were still considerably higher than our destination. That is where the trail went cold. Along the way we had found red marks painted into the trail highlighting the red trail on on Cinque Terre hiking map. This was where the painted lines seemed to have stopped.

The trail then split with a sign to Manarola and another one to Scenic Manarola. Mark had remembered one of the hikers telling him to take the Scenic Manarola trail, however the trail looked even more dicey than the dicey areas at the top. 

Away we went, not sure if we were going the right way. Especially since the trail was winding around a hill that was opposite Manarola. We finally began to descend again on some carved stone slick steps that were littered with pebbles. At that point I took the camera off my neck worrying if I fell I might fall right on it damaging it and my ribs. Putting it in the backpack again, we started down very steep uneven carved steps. 

About five minutes into it, I felt my feet slip out from under me, sliding on the pebbles and landing on my backside hard in the stone steps. 

As I was falling, I could tell it was going to hurt, but not be serious, as in I wouldn't be doing cartwheels down the mountainside. It must have scared Mark as I could hear him keep saying, "Ree, Ree" his shortened nickname for me as I was falling. 

When I landed my backside and I decided we were going to be sitting awhile while the pain subsided. 

I emptied my water bottle and couldn't believe just how long we had been hiking. 

Once up again we came upon another sets of signs. One to a church and another labeled something I can't remember. We still weren't sure which way to go and I suddenly realized it was a sign to the church in Manarola. 

Just a few minutes later we were on an easy path with just a few steps to Manarola. 

We made it with only a little bruising. 

All in all it was a great hike. I can't say that I would have attempted it had I known that the trail is considered an expert level and that it would take nearly four hours and weaken my poor ankles for a couple weeks. 

Then again, I would go again. 

My pic of the sunset view of Manarola, taken from the lower trail which is open only to a few more yards from this view.

When's our next trip, Mark?

At least he admits to tormenting me. :-)

Viral is not my desire. Found it. The idiot posted it on CNN website.

Some time around 10 Friday morning, someone must have linked my fake story of Al Roker suing Chef Giada because I am getting a lot of traffic from Facebook on that post.

Knowing how some things take off like wild fire, I would prefer not having my blog among those who create some flash in the pan sensation. I have no idea why anyone would link to anything I write much less a fake story I wrote two years ago. I was sick of getting idiots googling porn on Giada a while back so I added an update before the post to inform everyone the post was a JOKE.

Anyway, I am going to watch the traffic, if it gets out of hand, I will go offline with the whole blog for a bit until I no longer see any visitors from Facebook and Giada.

I swear, men are just OBSESSED with her.

Time Starts Now

I did well in school.   I got my college degree at night. Working full time, I started taking one to two classes a each semester taking years to finally get my degree. 

Geekily, I usually looked forward to the new classes each semester but about mid way I would begin to dread spending the majority of my evening in class. Especially when the weather wold turn nasty and bitter cold. The dreaded walk back to the car in the inky darkness while bundled up like an Eskimo still makes me shiver. 

But as I said I did well. In fact when I finally finished after years and years of this torture I wondered if I would miss it. 

So then just why is one of my most recurring dreams about feeling panicked that I have to get to school and take a test for a class that I have skipped and a test that I didn't study for?  

Never happened in my lifetime. 

And before all you Internet psychologist attempt to diagnose that I have something in my life I don't feel prepared for, think again. I rarely have the dream when things seem out of control. 

Happened again last night. Not one thing is going on that would trigger that feeling. In fact right now is probably the least dramatic time of our lives and it is incredibly wonderful to feel like things are finally settled down. 

It's especially nice to wake up and realize it's been years since I was in class. Years since I studied for an exam and years since I was torturing myself with those ten below zero dark winter nights. 

Don't look.

Does this mean I can't look out?

Too late. 

See?  I told you not to look. 

May 21st, In a Place Far Far Away.

I've decided. 

I really have. 

Lounging here in this cold room with three wooly blankets and my sister's breathing machine humming away I really have decided that we have it all wrong back in the states. 

We spend at least 2/3's of our life.  No. We spend 32/33's of our lives working at jobs we really hate. Putting up with assholes who believe that their next big promotion is hinged upon them proving we are nothing and they are the next big god. 

We worry about having the money to pay for the ultimate Whirlpool front load washer and winning the lottery so we can finally buy a Wolff stove and building a place where we can put in a half acre swimming pond with an outdoor kitchen. 

And we work and toil and save for our someday. Our someday where we can live like kings. Where we can finally look back and say that it was all worth it. 

And I will tell you I am the biggest proponent of believing in being responsible

That means you work for four decades, you don't spend money frivolously. You save and work so that some day. 

Some day. 

Some day. 

Some day, you will have saved enough money to travel. 

And you decide to indulge. You study and research and study some more. And you find the perfect location. You decide on Italy. 

Italy. 

Oh, I remember that from high school. 

Something about Julius Caesar and Et Tu Brute and wine and the Christians and the Lions and whatever else you had to learn to pass a basic history lesson. 

But over three decades after high school you find those obscure facts are not just boring items you had to learn to prove you were smart on school. 

What?  You mean these people actually existed?

But wait, I digress. 

So we find a place to stay a few days in Italy. And since we are going from Venice to Rome anyway, we should spend a few days in Tuscany. 

You look and look and you hear of an uninterrupted town called Volterra. More research and you hear of something called an agriturismo.  You learn that's a working farm. By law, they must make more money off of the farm than they do their guests. 

Hours later you find something interesting. So you go further. You go to the first original photo web page, Flickr and search for the name of the place. You find someone's pictures. Someone from Amsterdam. Arno,  from Amsterdam has several photos of this rustic farm. 

You leave a comment asking for his advice. Several exchanges later you contact the owner and book your trip. 

More research, months go by and after a nightmare of planes trains and automobiles you pull up to a a lonely drive in the impossible hills of bright and dark green Tuscany. 

What awaits you is to absolutely die for. 

I'm not kidding. The scenery is breathtaking. I only wish the English language had better adjectives. 

And after your first two senses of smell and vision are overloaded you sit down to a genuine Tuscan meal. 

Let me make sure you understand this. Here in the good ol You Es of Aye,  we buy whatever is on sale at the Kroger store and we are great at cooking our dinner at 7 Pee Em and we clean the dishes at 7:30  and we sit in front of our big screen TV and chat with one another on Facebook and we wait until someday we can finally take our 12 1/2 day vacation of our dreams. 

And 4,724 miles away there are people who live every day along the Tuscan hillside, planting their garden, harvesting their olives for the presses waiting for some misguided Americans to come where they have dreamed all of their lives. 

I really don't want to go back to to hectic misguided life I live. 

Tonight, late tonight in this farmhouse, I am dreaming of being an Ex Pat. 

I no longer care about American politics. I no longer care how much money I have in Edward Jones. I no longer care about my pretty fully equipped red Lexus SUV. 

I look at these people who's lives are spent trimming the olive trees and harvesting their vegetables and herbs and who travel to the market each day. Who would never ever dream of cooking anything out of season.  They would sooner be part of the Estrucian tortures than cook something out is season. 

Those people who are smart enough to realize that true life is lived by pouring a cup of coffee in the morning while looking out at the most majestic of God's creation. Watching the shadows of the clouds playing peek a boo with the ever so green hillsides of Tuscany heaven. 

And they watch. And wait. 

For the clever Americans. Those that toil for sixty years so they can enjoy this piece of heaven on earth for 4 days. 

WHAT ARE WE THINKING?

Tonight, Ican honestly tell you I don't have a freaking clue. 

Last Night in Venice

And it feels like it's been a week. So far our time has been wonderful.

It's a tough trip, I won't lie about that. We travel well together, this little band of family. But the walking and walking and stairs and walking have my legs screaming.  My calf muscles are like rocks. But I can tell the stairs to our second story flat is getting just a tiny bit easier. 

Tonight we packed up our things as much as possible and then went to dinner. We found a small place that had great atmosphere. 

This morning it was very rainy as we toward the Rialto. As we came upon a Campo I saw the church doors open at Chiesa di S. Salvador. When I entered the outer doors I could hear the sound of the choir. Of course no cameras or video recorders are allowed. I creeped in the inner doors and it was as if I could hear angels singing. 

Then I did something I wasn't supposed to do. I snuck my IPhone quietly out of my pocket, kept it low  to my waist and hit the video button.  The sounds I got might just be worth the wrath if the angels. 

I would post the video if blogger was friends with IPad. Hopefully I can upload it to Mark's netbook later. 

Anyway the rain continued for most of the morning. Knowing we were leaving Venice tomorrow, Brian, Mark and Care Bear decided to go to the train station and get our tickets while Helen and I went back to a small Bar (Coffee shop) we found yesterday. 

While we were finishing our cappachino and pastries Brian called to say the boat would not be running until the afternoon and they were coming our way, perhaps a three minute walk. 

Fifteen minutes later he called to say they were lost. I went out and gave them a couple of cross streets. They thought they were close. Thirty minutes later they were hopelessly lost, which is easy to do in Venice. 

They finally arrived and we all had a good laugh at their expense. Lots of walking later we found a place for lunch and then went up to our room. Helen crashed out for the afternoon and the rest of us went in hopes of going to St. Mark's Cathedral. Unfortunately they were not allowing anyone in and so we decided to go to the top of the Campanile. 

THAT was well worth it. 

Returning back to our apartment, Brian and Care Bear went to get tickets, Helen and Mark went shopping for a bit and I stayed in for an hour or so. 

Then off to dinner and another charming place and now we are finishing up the evening. Done packing, looking at pics and slowing down for the night at 11pm

Next is our favorite agriturismo which means we will not have access to any wi-fi. Which is bad, but it's really not. 

We might perhaps have access again on Friday when we arrive at Manarola in Cinque Terre. By then our legs will either be in great shape or be made of jello. Probably both. 

Buena Notte. 

Charming

We started off yesterday meeting up at my brothers' place separating the Euro into envelopes for each place we were staying.

We left Indy just after 1 p.m. heading to JFK.  

CnC was in the aisle for that flight. 

The flight to Venice seemed longer this time (9 hours) mainly because we had less leg room and less sleep. Then a fairly long boat ride to San Marco where we met our host who took us to our house we were renting. 

Up to the second story and we stepped out onto our small balcony at a glimpse of this. 

And it just kept getting better. 

It was fun watching my niece and CnC getting completely lost in the charm. 

If Blogger would let me post a video from my IPad I would upload the fabulous sound we heard here when someone had paid for a musician and a singer to join them on the gondola ride. 

We found a great place to eat pranza (lunch) and for one in his life just simply sat back and savored every bite of his spaghetti bolognese. Helen ordered the spaghetti carbonara, I ordered pomodoro. Carrie and Brian ordered margharetta pizza. Everything was fabulous. Of course we deliberately avoided the more touristy joints. 

After walking for a couple hours we came back to the flat and napped for a couple of hours. My sister, who is sporting a boot on her broken foot stayed back while the remaining four of us went out for pictures. 

The gondolas were beautiful. 

Then after wandering even more, we decided to grab a very late night bite. 

Only day one. And we feel a billion miles away from reality. 

Nice to have wi-if. 

We're here for three nights and then on to Volterra for four. We won't be online after we leave here for four nights. 

Buena Notte. 

I'm FREE!

Last day at my client's today. The last few months have been a real pain in the ass so I'm sure not shedding any tears. 

And tomorrow we leave for Italy. 

A couple of places we are staying have wireless so I might get a chance to post some pics and a few words if you're lucky. 

In the meantime, enjoy pics from four years ago. See you soon. 

Stealing the Spring Frolic

I was standing in line at the spring frolic with some of my friends when I heard a couple of kids yelling my name. When I looked over they were running towards me yelling, "You won. You won." 

I thought they were joking. Me?  Win?  I went running into the gym where the elementary school principal had just pulled my name from the list of entries to win a new bicycle. 

I had been Mr. Busey's favorite for a year or so. I don't remember why or how I got to be buddies with the principal, but it made me feel kind of special.   I ran up to the stage area and remember hearing the crowd clapping. It was surreal for a 5th grader who was known only for her new cats eye glasses and general nerdiness. 

And I was allowed to pick out my own bike from the Schwinn store. 

It was raining when Mr. Busey arrived at my house in his new car to take me to the Schwinn store. We arrived and much to his chagrin I wanted the boy's version of the banana seat bike. It was one cool bike. 

When we got back to my drive, it had been thundering. And as always was the case, our dog Rebel was panicked from the noise. Which unfortunately for me meant that he would go to any lengths to find a safe place. That safe place happened to be the inside of Mr. Busey's car when I was getting out. It was quite a wrestling match between a scrawny fifth grader and a 60 pound scared wet, muddy mutt. 

I still cringe thinking about  Mr. Busey's face as my stupid dog clawed his muddy paws all over the pristine car seats. I bet he is still cleaning those seats today mumbling under his breath.

But I had my brand new bicycle. I was the coolest kid in the neighborhood. 

(Close approximate without the front disk brake wheel and was all white, no sissy pink)

Everyone loved my new bike. 

Of course with time, I rode it less and less over the next couple of years. 

And one summer day I was outside with my brothers when one of their friends came riding up in one of their bikes. I was standing there while they were talking when I kept thinking that something wasn't quite right about this bike. It was obviously a pieced together job. 

I bent over to take a good look at the disk brakes on the suspicious looking front wheel. 

Now just wait a minute. 

I suddenly realized I hadn't seen my bike for a couple of weeks and here was this chopped up bike in my driveway that was sporting a front wheel that had the only disc brake around the wheel hub that was identical to mine. 

I knew right away it was mine. When we started questioning the kid, he made some lame excuse. 

We found the stripped skeleton of my bicycle up the creek about a 1/4 mile laying in the weeds. 

That was the last bike I have ever owned. Maybe one day I'll buy myself a new bike again. 

I'm still getting the banana seat again too.