An ignominious end to our Antarctic journey, if they can catch her!
You'll have to copy and paste the URL, but I promise, it's worth the effort!
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/02/22/lyubov-orlova-russian-ghost-ship-ireland_n_2734859.html?icid=maing-grid10%7Chtmlws-main-bb%7Cdl3%7Csec1_lnk3%26pLid%3D274024
Run, you old whore! Run!
Friday, February 22, 2013
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
St George Island: Please don't go there.
Here's why the world will never beat a path to St George Island, for which those of us who love it are profoundly grateful. In fact, I wrote this to reassure myself that most of my readers won’t come.
It’s 80 miles from the closest airport(s). There’s no public transportation. If you fly in, you have to rent a car. If you come by road, no matter where you drive from, you will spend the last two hours, or more, off the interstate on back roads where the local police love to give tickets to “speeding” tourists.
There is one small hotel and another small motel. If you want to stay here, plan to rent a house. A big house you can share with others who can help you pay for it. Or you can rent a tiny apartment in one of the very few houses that have been partitioned. You can also rent some condos. Cheaper, but little to no privacy.
Sandspurs. Remove your flip-flops at your own risk. Be aware that your dog(s) will collect them in their pads. Bring tweezers.
Your dogs are welcome right on the beach, but they must be leashed and you must pick up their mess, or incensed locals, other renters, and the police will pursue you like the hounds of hell. Start collecting bread bags and newspaper sleeves as soon as you make your reservations or you will have to buy the fancy ones, which are expensive.
There is one fast food place, Subway. All other restaurants are locally owned and charge whatever they want. There is a pizza place geared toward children, with lots of noisy games. Avoid.
There is no boardwalk, no theme parks, no movie theatres. The only “nightlife” is the bars in the aforementioned restaurants. No bands, no dancing. Don’t come here without board games, books and cards. Many rental homes have a supply, too.
There is Wifi and cell phone service, sometimes. Maybe in your house, maybe not. It’s better to plan on not having any. There is basic cable, but maybe bring some DVDs.
No shopping unless you would like to buy a plastic bucket and shovel, bait, or a t-shirt. You can get fresh seafood, though, and cook it at your house. You can find it at roadside stands or the two expensive, small local markets.
The three next nearest towns don’t have any of the usual amenities, either. No chain groceries, no fast food. There is no fast food between the interstate and SGI. Period.
The nearest town of ANY size is Apalachicola, called “Aplach.” This is a kitschy artist colony with lots of antique shopping, art galleries, historical sites, great local seafood, a CVS and a Piggly Wiggly. It’s a 14 mile round trip from SGI, over three picturesque bridges. You can go every day for three weeks and find something different to do every time. This time we really got into browsing antiques. But don’t look for high fashion or nightlife here, either. The nearest “nightlife” is 80 miles away, in the towns with the airports. No fast food in Aplach, either. Dining here is an event. Plan to spend some time.
Some will love it here: retirees, artists, bird watchers, seafood lovers, nature lovers, anglers, boaters, dog-people, dogs.
Many others will hate it: teenagers, shoppers, people who must be constantly entertained, people who don’t like seafood, people who must always be connected by their electronic umbilical cords to somewhere else.
Other things to bring: shorts, tee-shirts, bathing suits, flip flops, money. You don’t have to bring beer and food, but if you don’t, plan to pay. This remote area is expensive.
What not to bring: screaming brats. You will have to entertain your spawn non-stop. If they aren’t used to making their own fun, take them somewhere else so they won’t bother you or us. This isn’t Disney World. If that’s what they like, they’ll hate SGI.
On the other hand, some people should come here, those mentioned under “who will love it.”
Saint George Island is a very quiet, very isolated, beautiful and simple barrier island. All the things that make it a pain to reach serve to repel the kinds of people who would ruin it for the rest of us. Even now, you see the occasional idiot walking on the beach while screaming into a cell phone. But these are rare. Remember, coverage is spotty.
Mostly you see people with their dogs walking on the almost deserted beach, surfcasters trying their luck (mind the sharks), kayakers, birdwatchers, maybe windsurfers. Forget about shelling, though. Families appear for a few hours at a time, because there are no facilities and no lifeguards. You pee in the ocean.
Traffic is sparse; in all of Franklin County, there is one regular traffic light. The other is a blinker, and both are in Aplach. They could still make do with a couple of four-way stops. There are no streetlights on SGI itself, let alone traffic lights.
There’s a State Park on one end of the island, so one fourth of SGI can never be developed at all. The rest is limited to single family dwellings no more than four stories high. No more condos will be built, and the ones that exist now are but three stories high. All the beachfront property feels private, although the whole beach is public access except for Plantation, a gated community on the west end. You can rent in there, though, no problem.
It’s all about the water here: sports on and in it, the wildlife who live here, and the seafood that comes out of it. Endangered sea turtles nest here, and you must give them precedence. If you have a boat, bring it. Rent on the bay side, where you can easily see the spectacular sunsets. If you own a wave-runner, leave it home. They endanger the dolphins and annoy everyone else. We are boycotting the one place that rents them. Thank God they only have six.
Got a telescope? Bring it. There’s no pollution here, light or otherwise. Or just open your eyes. You’ll see plenty of stars without any help from a lens.
There are no crowds here. It’s the most peaceful place on earth, and that’s because it’s remote, inconvenient, expensive, and locked in the past. Unless you love the laid-back vacation style, stay away. Don’t screw it up for the locals and the visitors who already know Saint George Island.
It’s 80 miles from the closest airport(s). There’s no public transportation. If you fly in, you have to rent a car. If you come by road, no matter where you drive from, you will spend the last two hours, or more, off the interstate on back roads where the local police love to give tickets to “speeding” tourists.
There is one small hotel and another small motel. If you want to stay here, plan to rent a house. A big house you can share with others who can help you pay for it. Or you can rent a tiny apartment in one of the very few houses that have been partitioned. You can also rent some condos. Cheaper, but little to no privacy.
Sandspurs. Remove your flip-flops at your own risk. Be aware that your dog(s) will collect them in their pads. Bring tweezers.
Your dogs are welcome right on the beach, but they must be leashed and you must pick up their mess, or incensed locals, other renters, and the police will pursue you like the hounds of hell. Start collecting bread bags and newspaper sleeves as soon as you make your reservations or you will have to buy the fancy ones, which are expensive.
There is one fast food place, Subway. All other restaurants are locally owned and charge whatever they want. There is a pizza place geared toward children, with lots of noisy games. Avoid.
There is no boardwalk, no theme parks, no movie theatres. The only “nightlife” is the bars in the aforementioned restaurants. No bands, no dancing. Don’t come here without board games, books and cards. Many rental homes have a supply, too.
There is Wifi and cell phone service, sometimes. Maybe in your house, maybe not. It’s better to plan on not having any. There is basic cable, but maybe bring some DVDs.
No shopping unless you would like to buy a plastic bucket and shovel, bait, or a t-shirt. You can get fresh seafood, though, and cook it at your house. You can find it at roadside stands or the two expensive, small local markets.
The three next nearest towns don’t have any of the usual amenities, either. No chain groceries, no fast food. There is no fast food between the interstate and SGI. Period.
The nearest town of ANY size is Apalachicola, called “Aplach.” This is a kitschy artist colony with lots of antique shopping, art galleries, historical sites, great local seafood, a CVS and a Piggly Wiggly. It’s a 14 mile round trip from SGI, over three picturesque bridges. You can go every day for three weeks and find something different to do every time. This time we really got into browsing antiques. But don’t look for high fashion or nightlife here, either. The nearest “nightlife” is 80 miles away, in the towns with the airports. No fast food in Aplach, either. Dining here is an event. Plan to spend some time.
Some will love it here: retirees, artists, bird watchers, seafood lovers, nature lovers, anglers, boaters, dog-people, dogs.
Many others will hate it: teenagers, shoppers, people who must be constantly entertained, people who don’t like seafood, people who must always be connected by their electronic umbilical cords to somewhere else.
Other things to bring: shorts, tee-shirts, bathing suits, flip flops, money. You don’t have to bring beer and food, but if you don’t, plan to pay. This remote area is expensive.
What not to bring: screaming brats. You will have to entertain your spawn non-stop. If they aren’t used to making their own fun, take them somewhere else so they won’t bother you or us. This isn’t Disney World. If that’s what they like, they’ll hate SGI.
On the other hand, some people should come here, those mentioned under “who will love it.”
Saint George Island is a very quiet, very isolated, beautiful and simple barrier island. All the things that make it a pain to reach serve to repel the kinds of people who would ruin it for the rest of us. Even now, you see the occasional idiot walking on the beach while screaming into a cell phone. But these are rare. Remember, coverage is spotty.
Mostly you see people with their dogs walking on the almost deserted beach, surfcasters trying their luck (mind the sharks), kayakers, birdwatchers, maybe windsurfers. Forget about shelling, though. Families appear for a few hours at a time, because there are no facilities and no lifeguards. You pee in the ocean.
Traffic is sparse; in all of Franklin County, there is one regular traffic light. The other is a blinker, and both are in Aplach. They could still make do with a couple of four-way stops. There are no streetlights on SGI itself, let alone traffic lights.
There’s a State Park on one end of the island, so one fourth of SGI can never be developed at all. The rest is limited to single family dwellings no more than four stories high. No more condos will be built, and the ones that exist now are but three stories high. All the beachfront property feels private, although the whole beach is public access except for Plantation, a gated community on the west end. You can rent in there, though, no problem.
It’s all about the water here: sports on and in it, the wildlife who live here, and the seafood that comes out of it. Endangered sea turtles nest here, and you must give them precedence. If you have a boat, bring it. Rent on the bay side, where you can easily see the spectacular sunsets. If you own a wave-runner, leave it home. They endanger the dolphins and annoy everyone else. We are boycotting the one place that rents them. Thank God they only have six.
Got a telescope? Bring it. There’s no pollution here, light or otherwise. Or just open your eyes. You’ll see plenty of stars without any help from a lens.
There are no crowds here. It’s the most peaceful place on earth, and that’s because it’s remote, inconvenient, expensive, and locked in the past. Unless you love the laid-back vacation style, stay away. Don’t screw it up for the locals and the visitors who already know Saint George Island.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Take a journey to World War II
http://www.amazon.com/TRUDIES-WAY-TURBULENT-YEARS-ebook/dp/B007O30JES/ref=sr_1_39?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1333176720&sr=1-39
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Legal Homophobia Does Its Dirty Job
So, remember the Miami International Airport gay harassment incident? Well, after some eight months, it's finally been resolved, and not to our satisfaction, and not with Homeland Security's assistance. Instead, I had to work my way through several gay rights organizations until I got to Equality Florida. I began complaining officially the day after it happened, which was the day we got home, which was also the day after the Hilton shuttle incident, which, by the way, still isn't resolved, either, so that wiull make yet another blog entry.
For months, from July through December, I e-mailed tham and snail-mailed them documents and forms and letters. They pretended they hadn't gotten them even though I had proof of receipt. They passed it around until finally I said, fine, next stop is Secretary Napolitano, registered mail. She sent it to the duty stuckee who made up a bunch of craptastic garbage and sent it back, including two letters dated a month apart, in the same envelope, but with no support for his claims. I pursued him like the hounds of hell through mid-December, with the warning that, if I had nothing by January 15, I would start with the gay rights groups.
Surpise, no response again, so I went to PFAW (nothing) and Human Rights Campaign, who responded with nothing but a list of still more groups, so I worked my way through those. Several couldn't be reached electronically. Most didn't bother to respond. I was at the bottom of the list when an earlier one suddenly came to lfe. This was Equality Florida. In less than two days, one of their lawyers discovered the following homophobic policy, backed up by DOMA:
***
According to CBP, their current policy requires that people be related by blood, marriage or adoption in order to file a joint declaration, and that only different-sex marriages are recognized.
https://help.cbp.gov/app/answers/detail/a_id/441/~/travelers-eligible-to-file-a-joint-declaration-on-a-cbp-form-6059b
In case the link doesn't work, here's the relevant bigotry:
Who is eligible to file a joint declaration on a CBP Form 6059B? A joint declaration can be filed on a CBP Form 6059B by persons who meet the following three conditions:
1. Are related by blood, marriage*, or adoption;
2. Lived together in one household at their last permanent residence; and
3. Intend to live together in one household after their arrival in the United States. This is in accordance with 19CFR148.34(b).
* The 1996 Defense of Marriage Act defines marriage for the purposes of federal law as a union between one man and one woman. The CBP form 6059 is a federal document, and as such is subject to Federal law. While individual states may have different definitions of marriage, state law does not determine procedures and policy in a federal environment.
***
So until DOMA is dead, they are allowed to crap on us. The funny thing is, we have been re-entering the US as a family since 1995. Most agents don't even blink. So we think this one troublemaker is the sort of hate-mongering zealot who would vote for Rick Santorum. We will continue trying to re-enter as a couple just to make them work a little harder, until DOMA is gone. But we're willing to bet we won't encounter this stuff again, because it's a pointless regulation that simply doesn't need to be enforced. If it did, they would do it all the time.
For months, from July through December, I e-mailed tham and snail-mailed them documents and forms and letters. They pretended they hadn't gotten them even though I had proof of receipt. They passed it around until finally I said, fine, next stop is Secretary Napolitano, registered mail. She sent it to the duty stuckee who made up a bunch of craptastic garbage and sent it back, including two letters dated a month apart, in the same envelope, but with no support for his claims. I pursued him like the hounds of hell through mid-December, with the warning that, if I had nothing by January 15, I would start with the gay rights groups.
Surpise, no response again, so I went to PFAW (nothing) and Human Rights Campaign, who responded with nothing but a list of still more groups, so I worked my way through those. Several couldn't be reached electronically. Most didn't bother to respond. I was at the bottom of the list when an earlier one suddenly came to lfe. This was Equality Florida. In less than two days, one of their lawyers discovered the following homophobic policy, backed up by DOMA:
***
According to CBP, their current policy requires that people be related by blood, marriage or adoption in order to file a joint declaration, and that only different-sex marriages are recognized.
https://help.cbp.gov/app/answers/detail/a_id/441/~/travelers-eligible-to-file-a-joint-declaration-on-a-cbp-form-6059b
In case the link doesn't work, here's the relevant bigotry:
Who is eligible to file a joint declaration on a CBP Form 6059B? A joint declaration can be filed on a CBP Form 6059B by persons who meet the following three conditions:
1. Are related by blood, marriage*, or adoption;
2. Lived together in one household at their last permanent residence; and
3. Intend to live together in one household after their arrival in the United States. This is in accordance with 19CFR148.34(b).
* The 1996 Defense of Marriage Act defines marriage for the purposes of federal law as a union between one man and one woman. The CBP form 6059 is a federal document, and as such is subject to Federal law. While individual states may have different definitions of marriage, state law does not determine procedures and policy in a federal environment.
***
So until DOMA is dead, they are allowed to crap on us. The funny thing is, we have been re-entering the US as a family since 1995. Most agents don't even blink. So we think this one troublemaker is the sort of hate-mongering zealot who would vote for Rick Santorum. We will continue trying to re-enter as a couple just to make them work a little harder, until DOMA is gone. But we're willing to bet we won't encounter this stuff again, because it's a pointless regulation that simply doesn't need to be enforced. If it did, they would do it all the time.
Friday, October 21, 2011
The Return: The Short Version
I thought we took off around 2 PM, and didn't think to check until about 6 AM. Our flight was 9:30!!!!
We had packed the night before, so we showered (Joyce thought that was a bad idea, but I've been saying all along how hot it was) ran downstairs and got a cab. Got to the airport, he dropped us in the wrong place. Couldn't find a cart, carried luggage top speed. Of course, check-in was at the far end of another terminal. But we made it in plenty of time, and you can guess the rest. Exactly. We took off late.
We were harassed by a US Customs Control Officer in Miami for being gay. If you live at the same address, you process as a family. She split us up. We made a complaint there, and have made one in writing since and just yesterday, because responses have been pitiful, I sent a package to the Secretary of Homeland Security, Janet Napolitano. If I don't get resolution, the media will be next. I don't get why people mess with us. We don't look weak. We are very smart, and we are very stubborn. I never hesitate to carry something all the way to a cabinet department, and so far, at that level, I get what I ask for. Don't mess with me, world.
Then we got on the shuttle bus to our hotel, and I can't say any more because we are still negotiating a settlement. And writing about it makes me sick and angry, so I'll end here for now, and when I get resolution of these issues, I'll come back and tell you all about them.
Happy traveling!
We had packed the night before, so we showered (Joyce thought that was a bad idea, but I've been saying all along how hot it was) ran downstairs and got a cab. Got to the airport, he dropped us in the wrong place. Couldn't find a cart, carried luggage top speed. Of course, check-in was at the far end of another terminal. But we made it in plenty of time, and you can guess the rest. Exactly. We took off late.
We were harassed by a US Customs Control Officer in Miami for being gay. If you live at the same address, you process as a family. She split us up. We made a complaint there, and have made one in writing since and just yesterday, because responses have been pitiful, I sent a package to the Secretary of Homeland Security, Janet Napolitano. If I don't get resolution, the media will be next. I don't get why people mess with us. We don't look weak. We are very smart, and we are very stubborn. I never hesitate to carry something all the way to a cabinet department, and so far, at that level, I get what I ask for. Don't mess with me, world.
Then we got on the shuttle bus to our hotel, and I can't say any more because we are still negotiating a settlement. And writing about it makes me sick and angry, so I'll end here for now, and when I get resolution of these issues, I'll come back and tell you all about them.
Happy traveling!
And finally, la Fontana Trevi
So here's how we always end a visit to Rome, or begin one, or whatever. The point is, we always come here to throw our coins. You throw 10 lire, or some small amount. You stand with your back to it, and throw it over your left shoulder with your right hand. This is to insure that you will one day return to Rome. So far, it's worked every time.
We took a cab from the bridge to the fountain because it was blistering hot. Any other weather and we would have walked, and, oh, the crowds when we got there!
Doesn't the water look cool? It may be, but it was just the hottest day yet, so we got some gelato, took a few pictures, and grabbed a cab back to the hotel.
I could hardly wait to go in the pool. Oddly, Joyce didn't want to, but for no apparent reason. I mean, heck, yeah, we knew the water was freezing, but the kiddie pool would be okay. She decided she wanted to take a bath. I decided she was an idiot and went alone, and I took a book with me so I could stay gone longer. Up on the roof, all the adults were sitting on the bottom of the kiddie pool again, and I joined them. Then I sat in the shade reading until I was completely dry, which means quite a while.
When I got back down, I finally pried it out of Joyce that she was embarrassed about the way we had to get in and out of the pool. The kiddie pool had no railings or steps, so you hed to get down on the deck on your hands and knees. Really? So freakin' what? Do you know these people? How are they getting in and out? Same damn way. Do you care what they look like? No? Well, guess what: they probably never even looked at you!
Was I mad. She wouldn't go with me because some stranger might look at her and think a thought. You've got to be kidding me. Other people's opinions aren't worth crap, for one thing, and chances are they didn't even have any!
So I said I wasn't going to walk to dinner again because she wouldn't go to the pool with me. We had quite an argument. Lots of crying. And here's where the semi-happy ending comes in. She said if I would go with her, she would do something with me that she really didn't want to do. And she didn't put any limitations on cost or, or duration, or type of event. So I get a free trip someplace she doesn't want to go. What do you think? Southeast Asia? Amazon? Nile? Well, it'll be a while before I use this, and I'll be thinking long and hard about it.
So we went to dinner down the street, as usual. See? Our last night in Rome turned out okay after all. Joyce was right; it would have been a shame to waste it, and I'm glad we didn't.
We love Rome, heat, broken streets and all, and we'll return someday, but not to the Radisson BLU.
Radisson BLU fire extinguisher masquerading as "decor."
We took a cab from the bridge to the fountain because it was blistering hot. Any other weather and we would have walked, and, oh, the crowds when we got there!
Doesn't the water look cool? It may be, but it was just the hottest day yet, so we got some gelato, took a few pictures, and grabbed a cab back to the hotel.
I could hardly wait to go in the pool. Oddly, Joyce didn't want to, but for no apparent reason. I mean, heck, yeah, we knew the water was freezing, but the kiddie pool would be okay. She decided she wanted to take a bath. I decided she was an idiot and went alone, and I took a book with me so I could stay gone longer. Up on the roof, all the adults were sitting on the bottom of the kiddie pool again, and I joined them. Then I sat in the shade reading until I was completely dry, which means quite a while.
When I got back down, I finally pried it out of Joyce that she was embarrassed about the way we had to get in and out of the pool. The kiddie pool had no railings or steps, so you hed to get down on the deck on your hands and knees. Really? So freakin' what? Do you know these people? How are they getting in and out? Same damn way. Do you care what they look like? No? Well, guess what: they probably never even looked at you!
Was I mad. She wouldn't go with me because some stranger might look at her and think a thought. You've got to be kidding me. Other people's opinions aren't worth crap, for one thing, and chances are they didn't even have any!
So I said I wasn't going to walk to dinner again because she wouldn't go to the pool with me. We had quite an argument. Lots of crying. And here's where the semi-happy ending comes in. She said if I would go with her, she would do something with me that she really didn't want to do. And she didn't put any limitations on cost or, or duration, or type of event. So I get a free trip someplace she doesn't want to go. What do you think? Southeast Asia? Amazon? Nile? Well, it'll be a while before I use this, and I'll be thinking long and hard about it.
So we went to dinner down the street, as usual. See? Our last night in Rome turned out okay after all. Joyce was right; it would have been a shame to waste it, and I'm glad we didn't.
We love Rome, heat, broken streets and all, and we'll return someday, but not to the Radisson BLU.
Radisson BLU fire extinguisher masquerading as "decor."
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Ponte e Castello Sant'Angelo
Finally, someplace neither of us had ever been, and it was our last day in Rome. All I knew about the place was, the Pope hid there from time to time and there's a tunnel to it from the Vatican. The bridge itself is closed to vehicular traffic, which means you can take a bunch of good pictures.
To get there we took a taxi, and immediately had lunch. See?
Then Joyce spotted a motorcycle lot, to have her picture taken with our mascots, Lucky, Plucky and Trip, again. We have lots of shots like these. I have spared you.
So we went over the bridge. Ecco! E il Tevere!
Paid the earth to get in, and started up a long, dark ramp. It was cool inside. We do okay with ramps. Up and up and up. We came to steps. Joyce went down, I went up. We met later by the restrooms. Here:
When you get up, you can see il Vaticano. Molto bello, vero?
They also have an interesting little museum. The Pope's apartments were closed. That was all Joyce wanted to see, so she didn't miss anything.
You can also see this kind of thing.
There are lots of little nooks and crannies, and a tour, but it was just too hot. And we were still going to the Trevi Fountain, so we decided to save what little strength we had left for that.
Nasty Radisson BLU bed platform on which anyone can damage their kneecap, not just me. Note hideous red shag carpet.
To get there we took a taxi, and immediately had lunch. See?
Then Joyce spotted a motorcycle lot, to have her picture taken with our mascots, Lucky, Plucky and Trip, again. We have lots of shots like these. I have spared you.
So we went over the bridge. Ecco! E il Tevere!
Paid the earth to get in, and started up a long, dark ramp. It was cool inside. We do okay with ramps. Up and up and up. We came to steps. Joyce went down, I went up. We met later by the restrooms. Here:
When you get up, you can see il Vaticano. Molto bello, vero?
They also have an interesting little museum. The Pope's apartments were closed. That was all Joyce wanted to see, so she didn't miss anything.
You can also see this kind of thing.
There are lots of little nooks and crannies, and a tour, but it was just too hot. And we were still going to the Trevi Fountain, so we decided to save what little strength we had left for that.
Nasty Radisson BLU bed platform on which anyone can damage their kneecap, not just me. Note hideous red shag carpet.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Timeless Piazza Navonna
Which was once a hippodrome which is why it's shaped like a racetrack. We love the fountains and the art. It's probably junk like in St Tropez, but we always buy something; this time a do-it-yourself triptych of this trip's monuments.
We had a wonderful tuna salad (much larger and more complex than an American one) under the misting at a cafe, and watched the people, and just relaxed.
After hiking twice as far as necessary to get there, I wasn't inclined to move too much or too soon, but eventually we had to go around and see all the fountains and all the art. We have been here before and will undoubtedly come here again someday. It's one of those special places. Hint: if you've never been, go in late afternoon and stay through sunset so you can see the fountains lit up. The mimes generally come out in the evening as well.
And always try to find something weird. It's not hard.
Radisson BLU hotel shower mold.
We had a wonderful tuna salad (much larger and more complex than an American one) under the misting at a cafe, and watched the people, and just relaxed.
After hiking twice as far as necessary to get there, I wasn't inclined to move too much or too soon, but eventually we had to go around and see all the fountains and all the art. We have been here before and will undoubtedly come here again someday. It's one of those special places. Hint: if you've never been, go in late afternoon and stay through sunset so you can see the fountains lit up. The mimes generally come out in the evening as well.
And always try to find something weird. It's not hard.
Radisson BLU hotel shower mold.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Pantheon and environs
So we left them to move our stuff and took a cab to the Pantheon. From there we knew we could walk to the Piazza Navonna. That's foreshadowing. Pay attention.
It was still hot as hell. Nothing changed. Why should it? It was Rome in July. Anyway, Joyce remarked that on our last visit, eleven years ago, we always took the Metro. We might still have taken it had the weather been agreeable. It's not all that far to walk to the Termini station. But it was really too hot. And don't forget the aging and the blister, and oh, yeah, the three weeks we were on the road already.
So we go there, and right away, Joyce had to have coffee. Not really unreasonable. We never, ever could get the coffeemaker in any of the rooms to work. We just flat gave up on that. I don't need any coffee; I got off caffeine altogether in Kenya and never went back, and even then, it was Diet Coke, not coffee. So we sat in a cafe and had coffee (American for her, cappucino freddo for me) and watched people for a while, and there were a lot of them, too. And I started feeling better, just like any other time I wasn't in the hotel. I would enjoy Rome every day until we went inside the hotel. I mean, we stayed there instead of going straight home because we love it.
Lotsa people.
And weird stuff like this.
And nuns. Yes, Joyce got hold of the camera again. I almost never take pictures of people unless it's unavoidable, and I don't like stupid stuff like the suit of armor you can wear to have your picture taken. None of that. I hate it when she asks people, especially waiters, to take our picture. Maybe you've noticed we have a lot of those. I'm not sure why, but it irks the crap out of me, and moreso on a day after a night like we had just had. But I gritted my teeth, and as you see, we have the pictures to prove it.
Well, luckily, the Pantheon is quite cool inside, crowds notwithstanding. The pictures we took in there totally suck, but there are a couple of salvageable shots. like the Oculus:
and the unbelievable travertine floor.
There's a bunch of tombs but they didn't come out so well. So go see them yourself!
I always wondered what happened in the Pantheon when it rained. So I looked it up, It gets wet! It rains right in, and they rope it off so people don't slip and kill themselves. There's a special drainage system for runoff under the floor. Solved that mystery!
So I had a map and the Piazza Navonna was only about three blocks away. Too bad all the monuments were lined up facing the wrong way on the map, causing us to go in the opposite direction. But while lost, we had yet another wonderful amirena gelato, and Joyce couldn't resist taking a picture of Our Lady of the Motorcycles.
Snappy, up-to-date Radisson BLU paint job.
It was still hot as hell. Nothing changed. Why should it? It was Rome in July. Anyway, Joyce remarked that on our last visit, eleven years ago, we always took the Metro. We might still have taken it had the weather been agreeable. It's not all that far to walk to the Termini station. But it was really too hot. And don't forget the aging and the blister, and oh, yeah, the three weeks we were on the road already.
So we go there, and right away, Joyce had to have coffee. Not really unreasonable. We never, ever could get the coffeemaker in any of the rooms to work. We just flat gave up on that. I don't need any coffee; I got off caffeine altogether in Kenya and never went back, and even then, it was Diet Coke, not coffee. So we sat in a cafe and had coffee (American for her, cappucino freddo for me) and watched people for a while, and there were a lot of them, too. And I started feeling better, just like any other time I wasn't in the hotel. I would enjoy Rome every day until we went inside the hotel. I mean, we stayed there instead of going straight home because we love it.
Lotsa people.
And weird stuff like this.
And nuns. Yes, Joyce got hold of the camera again. I almost never take pictures of people unless it's unavoidable, and I don't like stupid stuff like the suit of armor you can wear to have your picture taken. None of that. I hate it when she asks people, especially waiters, to take our picture. Maybe you've noticed we have a lot of those. I'm not sure why, but it irks the crap out of me, and moreso on a day after a night like we had just had. But I gritted my teeth, and as you see, we have the pictures to prove it.
Well, luckily, the Pantheon is quite cool inside, crowds notwithstanding. The pictures we took in there totally suck, but there are a couple of salvageable shots. like the Oculus:
and the unbelievable travertine floor.
There's a bunch of tombs but they didn't come out so well. So go see them yourself!
I always wondered what happened in the Pantheon when it rained. So I looked it up, It gets wet! It rains right in, and they rope it off so people don't slip and kill themselves. There's a special drainage system for runoff under the floor. Solved that mystery!
So I had a map and the Piazza Navonna was only about three blocks away. Too bad all the monuments were lined up facing the wrong way on the map, causing us to go in the opposite direction. But while lost, we had yet another wonderful amirena gelato, and Joyce couldn't resist taking a picture of Our Lady of the Motorcycles.
Snappy, up-to-date Radisson BLU paint job.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Pukeshake, anyone?
After our nightly hike/limp for a meal,
we retired to our revolting quarters and read. We had no specific appointments for the next day, but our intention was to see the Pantheon and the Piazza Navonna. We figured we'd just get up and go when we felt like it.
Sometime after midnight, we fooled with the lights and window shade until we got the room dark, and went to sleep.
About 2 AM, some of the lights came on. I shut them off. At 2:15, it happened again. We both got up to check switches, and shut everything off again. Fifteen minutes later, same story. On about the fifth iteration of this, Joyce called the front desk. Up came the technico to accuse us of damaging the system. Really? Wouldn't you have to know how it works first?
Another call to the front desk, three way conversation between Joyce, desk and technico. He ultimately realized he couldn't shut the bathroom lights off unless he turned off the air conditioning, and so told us just to leave the air off and the lights would stay off, too.
Unacceptable. Joyce calls front desk again, and they send us a key for a suite which was a about a mile away in another wing on another floor. This is where we discovered the pukeshake stain you'll see at the bottom.
We gathered up enough gear to "camp" in the "junior suite." Big problem. Only one bed. We tried to sleep in it. Well, Joyce of course could sleep, since she immediately drops off and starts snoring like a calliope every night under any circumstances. If we have the sleep machine between us, I can usually, with drugs, and if her Snore Stop works, which it didn't because a. she left it home and b. the Spanish equivalent is not the real thing, get some sleep, but that's not possible in one bed, no matter how large.
I tried sleeping on a bench, and on the floor, but had to rule out the bathtub because of the jets in the bottom of it. Finally at 6 AM I woke her up and told her to get the hell out so I could sleep for a while, and she went back to the room and I guess tried to get them to fix the short in the system, or whatever it was.
Around 10 AM I went back to our room and we drew up a manifesto with which to assault management. Long story short, they moved us to another "junior suite" with two beds, and when I say "moved," I mean they physically picked up and carried every damn thing from our former room to the new one, including the underwear drying in the bathroom and elsewhere. We told them we weren't going to even be there when they did it, and we left. Joyce also got them to remove the first two nights from our bill, although I think they owed us for all four, and they sent us flowers and candy and champagne, too. And in case you weren't keeping track, we were in FIVE different rooms in that hotel.
In our new hallway, between our room and the elevator, was this authentic modern art etched right into the carpet. We told them about it, but in our remaining time there, no effort was made to clean it up.
Radisson BLU hall carpet pukestain.
we retired to our revolting quarters and read. We had no specific appointments for the next day, but our intention was to see the Pantheon and the Piazza Navonna. We figured we'd just get up and go when we felt like it.
Sometime after midnight, we fooled with the lights and window shade until we got the room dark, and went to sleep.
About 2 AM, some of the lights came on. I shut them off. At 2:15, it happened again. We both got up to check switches, and shut everything off again. Fifteen minutes later, same story. On about the fifth iteration of this, Joyce called the front desk. Up came the technico to accuse us of damaging the system. Really? Wouldn't you have to know how it works first?
Another call to the front desk, three way conversation between Joyce, desk and technico. He ultimately realized he couldn't shut the bathroom lights off unless he turned off the air conditioning, and so told us just to leave the air off and the lights would stay off, too.
Unacceptable. Joyce calls front desk again, and they send us a key for a suite which was a about a mile away in another wing on another floor. This is where we discovered the pukeshake stain you'll see at the bottom.
We gathered up enough gear to "camp" in the "junior suite." Big problem. Only one bed. We tried to sleep in it. Well, Joyce of course could sleep, since she immediately drops off and starts snoring like a calliope every night under any circumstances. If we have the sleep machine between us, I can usually, with drugs, and if her Snore Stop works, which it didn't because a. she left it home and b. the Spanish equivalent is not the real thing, get some sleep, but that's not possible in one bed, no matter how large.
I tried sleeping on a bench, and on the floor, but had to rule out the bathtub because of the jets in the bottom of it. Finally at 6 AM I woke her up and told her to get the hell out so I could sleep for a while, and she went back to the room and I guess tried to get them to fix the short in the system, or whatever it was.
Around 10 AM I went back to our room and we drew up a manifesto with which to assault management. Long story short, they moved us to another "junior suite" with two beds, and when I say "moved," I mean they physically picked up and carried every damn thing from our former room to the new one, including the underwear drying in the bathroom and elsewhere. We told them we weren't going to even be there when they did it, and we left. Joyce also got them to remove the first two nights from our bill, although I think they owed us for all four, and they sent us flowers and candy and champagne, too. And in case you weren't keeping track, we were in FIVE different rooms in that hotel.
In our new hallway, between our room and the elevator, was this authentic modern art etched right into the carpet. We told them about it, but in our remaining time there, no effort was made to clean it up.
Radisson BLU hall carpet pukestain.
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