AT&T sucks.

That’s really about the length and breadth of the discussion, isn’t it? I could stop the open letter here, couldn’t I? We all know that the coverage is lousy, we all know that the service is also weak, if pleasantly delivered (Jane the operator says, “I’m sorry you’re having trouble with your phone service, have you turned your iPhone off and on again?”), but the reality is the joke is over.

With an economy lagging, people won’t burn money for sport forever, and well, Apple — your stuff has become about burning money for sport.

Apps are neato, but after a while, we’re just downloading monster hunters and new ringtones — not anything that’s helping pay for the kids’ college or making work more efficient.

That means you’re running out of time, Apple — you need to present a true VALUE ADD to your product line that doesn’t involve esoteric OS upgrades or “more super RAM and cores in your CPU.” Nobody cares about that.

We want a phone that works. Period.

I went to Kent School in Kent, Connecticut, it was a boarding school.  The “secret motto” of Kent for students was “Kent Sucks!”  It was like a secret handshake (“You went to Kent?  Kent Sucks!  Hi!”).

While that school has made leaps and bounds and the secret motto has since changed to something more positive, the reality is that AT&T users, and iPhone users in particular have taken up the motto.

AT&T Sucks!  Hey?  You have the iPhone too?  Wow, that’s so true, isn’t it?  Let’s talk about how much AT&T sucks and bond over the experience of lousy service — share war stories.

So, you have a growing cadre of pointlessness to your controlled app space, a market that is continuing to cut back, and will do so even more when the great tidal wave of Commercial Real Estate debt crashes into our broken levy of an economy — and well, you have no value add, Apple.

Fix this.  Release the news on Verizon.  Do it now.

The last thing you’d want to hear is that all the die hard fanboys (like me) start muttering:

Apple sucks.

Once we got here, I was so tired that I ust dropped off the face of the blogosphere — so sorry about that.

The time here was relatively quiet, we pretty much just recuperatd from all the adventures, stayed in the hotel a bit and left things casual.

Angie’s friend Lulu, and her mom, Kristi, came to join us in Madrid, which was a lot of fun. Angie and Lulu were pretty close last year, but then Kristi moved back to Spain to be closer to Lulu’s father and their other child. Being here, they were able to catch up with us and have a good time — it was fun.

We tried to check out the bullfighting museum, but it was a non-starter — closed early by the time we got there (that seems to be a Spanish thing to do — close at Siesta time — and then, close early anyway and never re-open.

We all went to the Palace, which is still an active palace, even though the oyal family lives somewhere else. It was pretty awesome to see all the fancy rooms (like the giant dining room from something out of a period movie of Lords and Ladies all dressed up at a table for 100. But the best part for me and Nate was the Armory — with all the amazing armor and weapons from as far back as the 7th century (!) … alas, no pictures allowed — so we just have to tell you that it was awesome. Armor suits and horse armor and all sorts of amazing stuff.

Here are a few photos that you might enjoy:

Angie, Nate, and Lulu have it out in the Madrid Hotel

Kathy and Angie in Paris at one of Kathy’s favorite places

Angie — somewhere

Angie and Lulu and Donald

The closest we came to a bullfight (meh)

Lulu!                                                                                        Lulu and Kristi

Oh, I guess nobody told Kathy that we couldn’t take pictures at the armory


People going absolutely NUTS when Spain won against Germany!


Count us all in!


As we drove from Barcelona to Madrid, the were just everywhere — it’s about 40 feet high (it’s a billboard)


This is the Gaudi Church in Barcelona — it’s quite beautiful — pretend the crane and ad for eclipse aren’t there

I think we’d say we had a good time … thanks for watching the blog with us.

God Bless, all — see you soon.

Barcelona is not only beautiful, it’s fun — and yes, while we’re staying in a swanked out super hotel — I think we’d be having a pretty good time anyway, since the city is so nice. We’ll have to come back some other time and really enjoy it for what it is — a great city. Come here now!

Tomorrow, we travel to Madrid, where we stay for the remainder of our trip and then fly home. I’m still dreading the flight because we don’t have upgrades on our seats or anything — but who knows, maybe something good will happen anyway.

I got a good workout in today, which made me pretty happy — it was tough to get to the gym in most of the other places — but here in the heart of civilization they actually have health clubs with weights and everything (the last place had some sort of physical therapy chairs that didn’t have any resistance — it was sad and weird.

We went to the Picasso museum, which made me feel like a huge slacker — but maybe it’ll get me off my duff and start writing again… or ever

Once we get to Madrid and I get a few days rest, I’ll do a big photo-spread in the blog so you can see everything. This is a small post because it’s late, and I want to get up tomorrow and go to the gym and then (woohoo) drive for 6 hours to Madrid.

Life is good again. Had a little trouble finding a decent dinner, but came back to the hotel and had a grandiose room service complete with ridiculous things like caviar and foie gras — yes — that’s insane, I know — but well … it was a fun recovery.

Happy Fourth of July from out here in the rest of the world!

So, suffice to say — we were pretty excited about that, she and I — and the day started out well. We had a little pep in our step and decided to just “punt” on Sardinia, not try to do too much, and get outta here in one piece.

After our deliciously cold breakfast (complete with oily cheese slices!), we decided we’d go to another beach and see if we couldn’t find a way to get a little snorkeling in, since Nate was pretty avid about that (being that he was just certified in the Bainbridge Island pool, and wants to be able to tell his buddies stories about his great swimming escapades). So we asked the people behind the desk about a place to snorkel … and they gave us the name of some dive shop nearby that seemed to look pretty good in the brochure (and did end up being good overall…).

We headed off to the dive shop, saw that it was near a beach, and thought we’d have some fun going to the beach after getting the snorkel setup going.

When we got there, we soon learned that this was primarily a scuba dive shop (which we knew), but they had a private area we could snorkel in that was filled with interesting stuff (presumably). They gave us wet suits (mine was a full body scuba suit because they had nothing else), and before we knew it — we were hefting about 30 pounds of gear down to the water for a “quick snorkel.”

In short order, this became a trial — Angie didn’t like the taste of her snorkel, the wet suits were too hot, the water was actually up against a cliff with a platform — no beach — and it was all getting a little hairball.

After a little grappling, I was in the water, helping the kids into the water, and Kathy was struggling to figure out how to fit her glasses on under her mask because she’s basically blind without them. She eventually opted to leave the glasses on the platform and just make do anyway.

So there I am, standing in water up to my neck in a wetsuit with all the snorkel gear and fins, Angie is floating around face down nearby in a wetsuit shorty, fussing with her mask and snorkel, Nate is clinging to my side, the ladder and back and forth (valiantly, I might add, considering his trepidation about swimming in open water), and Kathy’s functionally blind. Rock on! Let’s swim!

We headed out around a sailboat that was anchored nearby, with Nate swimming tandem with me while I dragged the dive buoy (did I mention that I had a weighted buoy with me, a requirement of the dive shop?), Angie’s splashing ahead with mom, and we’re getting along somewhat ok, all things considered. I think at some point, Kathy took the buoy and we set it up as we got around the far side of the sailboat (which was a 30 footer, I believe).

Now we’re in 20 ft of water, trying to “get the joy” going on the snorkel stuff (our original vision was like walking off a beach with a tube in our mouths to look at little crabs, not this) … we swim over to a cliff face, and I’m teaching Nate to float face down with his tube up and just dangle from the rock. He’s a bit freaked out, but getting into it a bit — when Angie and Kathy just start hairballing over Angie’s mask. She’s fussing and flipping out, and complaining that it tastes bad and that water was getting into her mask and fuss, fuss, fuss. So brave Nate wraps his arms around a rock and says, “I’m ok Dad, you can go ahead.” I’m proud of him for that. I swam over to Angie and Kathy, who were grappling with her mask.

Given that I’ve done a bunch of scuba, etc. — I was also acting as the portable dive platform — any time someone needed a break in open water, they’d hang on me and I’d just float and kick, keeping us all afloat (vertical, not like an actual platform, thanks).

So, I come over, wrap my arm around Angie and am starting to help her adjust her mask (again), when she starts shrieking that something bit her and then just starts shrieking that it hurts, it hurts.

I immediately swim us back about five feet and check the water, only to see that there’s a jellyfish about the size of a football right where we were. She’s been stung.

It’s floating towards Kathy, so I tell her to come out towards me and swim around it (she’s blind, mind you) — which she does just fine. Angie is now apoplectic with pain and shrieking (justifiably).

At this point, Nate is rapidly devolving into brainstem survival mode — filled with complete and absolute dread. He’s in deep water, which he hates, hanging on a rock, not sure what is in the water, and well … he’s flipping out. Meanwhile, I’ve got an armful of shrieking Angie, and a functionally blind wife. We paid cash for this experience, mind you.

So Kathy gets over to Nate pretty quick, and he’s yelling that he doesn’t want to die, and she’s telling him he’s not going to die, and I see that the thing is floating towards them — so he’s even more freaked out … and I tell her that I’m getting Angie out of there, and she does likewise with Nate.

So the two of us swim on our backs and rescue-swim the kids back around the sailboat, back to the platform — me, I’m going about a million miles an hour, Kathy’s only doing about half a million — I think we were at the platform in under a two minutes. I pull the fins off Angie in the water, she climbs out, and her arm, from a few inches above her elbow to a few inches below, on the inside, is covered with angry red welts and white swelling — it looked just like the red marks on Dory from Finding Nemo — I kid you not.

Kathy and I got the kids out of the water, got Kathy out of the water, and I swam back to get that stupid buoy. I hate that buoy. I hate this island.

Kathy immediately took Angie back up the cliff path to the dive shop, where they knew what to do (they poured ammonia on the thing to neutralize the acid) — and Angie started calming down. Nate stuck around with me to help me carry all the gear back up the hill … and while we were going up, he valiantly said that he’d let Angie play the computer games when we got back to the hotel

So … with all that excitement, we opted to skip the beach for the rest of the day. We made a lot of jokes about Finding Nemo, called Angie “Jelly Girl” a lot — and talked about “thrill issues” and so forth, and got past it.

Later in the day, Nate wanted to go down to the pool — and he and I had a great time in the water, which was a big plus for blocking any water fear he might have had from this — but I fear the kids may be a little jumpy about the open sea if we don’t do something soon — so I’m hoping we’ll get a chance to get them in the water unventfully pretty soon.

We ended up having a good dinner — we got back here exhausted — I had the joy of driving in the dark with Italian drivers — and all is relatively quiet.

I fought a lot of urges to ask God to smite this island. Smite smite smite.

Well — whatever, we’re leaving soon. I don’t think I’ll ever want to come back. Kathy says she might someday with her sister or something. I have no idea why.

Stupid island full of sullen … whatever…

by the way — Italian for jellyfish is Meduse … that’s fitting.

Angie’s arm is still covered with big angry red marks.

Good night.

Does this place have wifi? Yes, in the lobby. Does this place have room service? Yes, during dinner. Does this place have breakfast included? Yes, cold cereal and automatic coffee from a machine. Does this place have access to the water? Yes, from stone platforms, no beach. Does this place have a restaurant? Yes, but only one price fixe menu, no choices. $40 per person.

Does this place have staff? Yes, behind the counter, sometimes. Does this place have spectacular views? Yes, please pay us $500 per night now. Grazie.

Does this place claim to be a four star resort, that was an anchor of our trip, a break in the middle? A place to rest before traveling to yet another country? Sure does. Viva Italia, we cut corners at your expense.

Well, we headed to a beach that ended up being a bit of a crowded dump (suggested by our hosts). At least the kids liked it. Special occasion for them, we don’t get to the beach much, we’d been looking forward to that. So we’re not sharing with then that plywood on the beach isn’t cool. Nate thinks it’s fun to throw it in the water and try to sink it.

Completely disappointed in this liars hotel. But, at least the kids will have fun until we have to get up at 4am to catch the only boat out of here.

Rant off. At least it’s pretty and Kathy’s great.

We had a personal tour of the city, went to see the David (which is just awesome, really) — and visited a lot of buildings and stuff about the city. Having a guide makes all the difference — our guide, “Ludi”, was so knowledgeable, shared all sorts of interesting history with us — and generally was just a great person to show us around.

After our tour, we hung around the hotel, rested — did a little more shopping, then on Monday we headed out of town towards Pisa and eventually Livorno (where the ferry to Sardinia leaves).

Insert more Italian highway here — nothing to report — basically simplistic, just fast — no big whoop.

Pisa Sucks
Yeah — that’s about it. It’s a one-trick town — and it’s just encrusted with tacky tourism, creepy African guys selling fake watches right by the parking lots (gee, I feel safe leaving all our luggage, thanks) — and crowds of people standing around with their hands up to take the characteristic picture holding the tower up (like these):

[INSERT PICS of PISA]

Kinda missed this first one — I’ll fix it in Photoshop

I’m very, very tall.

Angie is very, very tall.

This is a very good one — the giant Angie holds up the tower while all the little people line up to walk into her pocket.

Nate was of two minds about the whole thing — but will likely enjoy this picture

Here, he is lined up quite well.

Finally, I was fed up with the whole thing, so I pulled it down… there seems to be a small Faye Wrey type person to my left trying to calm me as I do so… (rrraaaarghhh!)

So once we saw that — we left. The whole place was crowded and yucky — there’s a McDonald’s about 100 yards from us. Blech.

Livorno
Ok. So you’re a city that has a primary port for going to points beyond (kinda like Seattle) — here’s a good idea … close off the center of town to auto traffic — oh wait — put all the hotels in the center of town… hmmm… what else can we do? Oh — I know … let’s take down all the street signs… oh, if only there were something else we could figure out to do … hmmm… oh, make half the streets one way. Welcome to Livorno — we don’t want you here.

Kathy got a Google Maps set of instructions from the freeway to our hotel. Since the streets have no names — the directions lasted all of “Step 1 — at the roundabout, take the second turn onto Via Aquadutto 300m” … what Via? What roundabout? Where are we? Hello?

That was majorly frustrating — but finally we found a place to stop … Kathy got out and asked directions from a lady (well, I sort of said, “YOU get out and figure out what’s happening…”) … and they chatted for a while while the lady told her how to get to the hotel using her hands (I guess she did speak English).

So Kathy came back with hand-written notes that were about 10 steps long.

We headed off … took a turn at the third traffic light — took our second right (did she mean after the two do-not-enter streets?), took another turn, did a thing here, then a thing there — hey look … we’re back where Kathy got out. Let’s try again.

Meanwhile — every once in a while, we’d see signs for “Max Hotel ****” … after a few of those — we decided we’d give the good ol’ Max a try.

We followed those signs, and found the Max — which looked pretty nice — were we looking down the barrel of another lost fee to a hotel we’d never see? Well, this time, I got out — chatted with the lady at the desk — and she ended up giving me a map with directions on how to get to our hotel (the “Touring Hotel” (insert geek joke here about this entire situation making even a machine laugh (shout out to Pat))).

SOooo we headed off with our new map (the original Google directions included no map, strangely) … and off we went, into the brink of the restricted zone, prepared to babble in English and beg forgiveness.

Well — thankfully … the city didn’t match the map. So we drove around between the well-marked streets and the unmarked streets and the one-way streets and the Italian traffic, and the yelling (oh, that’s me) … and the general tension … and then we found … more unmarked streets … and weren’t we here before??? and shut up and stop honking at me, you jerk … oh, here’s a gypsy who wants to clean our windshield … no thank you … what?!! … no — *@#&&#@ to you too, jerk! Sure I’ll get out of the — oh, the light’s green … ok … let’s keep going … where are we? Does the map have this street? Can’t stop here … wait, there’s a sign for OUR HOTEL! Follow it … there’s another sign! Yay … wait… there are no more signs … we’re lost again … drive around … back here — where are we going, stop turning the map upside down — ok … wait … I think we’re here… yes, we’re here — there’s the hotel.

Welcome to Livorno.

On review, the hotel itself is nice. It’s a three-star, which makes it your standard Residence Inn or something — not too fancy, not too ugly … just right. Traveling in 3s is fine … 2s, not so much … 1s … well… yick. But I digress.

So, we got all the bags out of the car — Kathy and the kids hoofed them up the tiny tiny elevator (yes, it’s another tiny tiny elevator, but otherwise nice hotel) … and we headed to dinner. We stopped at the Trattoria suggested by the desk guy … and then all of the sudden … it was the hippest place in all Italy. I kid you not … we were standing there, big tired Americans — Nate was in his Indiana Jones t-shirt, Angie was in shorts, we’re all dressed down for driving, I’m wearing sneakers … and the square filled with all the beautiful people in Livorno:

[INSERT LIVORNO PICS]

So, we slinked out of the Trattoria, headed for a pizzeria, and had a decent meal as a family watching Brasil kick Chile around the field.

Next stop — early morning ferry trip — 6am … the day begins with the boat, and (by God’s Grace) ends with the spa/resort on Sardinia.

[I’m currently writing this in Livorno — there’s no wifi, so I’ll post later]

On our way from our hotel, we stopped off at some ruins just sitting there in the middle of town. No markings, nothing — just fenced off and set apart for protection — but otherwise, pretty unbothered. We looked around for a sign, and finally found one that explained that is was originally the most famous Gladiatorial training school in Rome, Magnus Ludus or some such name — and it was so well positioned that it had it’s own special underground connector to the Colosseum a few hundred yards away. Nate thought that was pretty awesome (especially when I started talking about imagining Gladiators in each of the rooms, sometimes bleeding, sometimes getting ready for great battle — all of them training in a big way). He though that was pretty intense — onward to the Colosseum.

On our approach, we decided to sign up for one of the tours — which was a good idea. We learned a lot about the building (Flavian’s Amphitheater, to be exact), and while interesting — it’d just be blather to fill this blog with factoids from the tour (like, did you know that most Gladiators actually didn’t fight to the death until the middle ages of the Empire? They were professional entertainers, never criminals, never against their will — they were incredibly highly paid performers — like professional athletes).

We walked around, took a bunch of cool pictures — but the highlight was that we all wanted to set up a shot to do homage to one of the most important moments in modern Colosseum Gladiatorial contests … the face-off between Chuck Norris and Bruce Lee. So we went looking for places to take the shot — and finally found something somewhat close (if you watch the actual movie, you’ll realize it’s all set — there doesn’t seem to be anything actually filmed on site … maybe one shot — but that seems a stretch, to go all the way to Rome for one shot).

So, here is the original face-off picture:

…which is actually not anywhere real in the Colosseum — but with the magic of (very rough) Photoshop — we were able to take this original photo (shot at the actual Colosseum with two incredibly fierce warriors):

…and make it a bit more of an homage by doing this:

…and finally — for a bit more of the action

…personally, I think the sandals add a certain gladiatorial je ne sais quoi — wouldn’t you say?

…and yes … there IS a picture of me with my shirt off in the Colosseum, but you’ll never see it (Kathy made me do it to match Chuck)

Driving in Italy
Everybody needs to calm down. Yes — the Italians drive fast, they drive in small cars on small roads with small lanes — but generally speaking they’re pretty sane. I had much more trouble handling the road curves at 130kph than I did with the other drivers.

Most of the highways are two lanes each way — so the one on the left is the fast lane, the one on the right is the slow lane, primarily occupied by trucks. Kathy wasn’t a big fan of the proximity of the trucks as we whizzed by — but overall she was ok with my driving (complimented me when we arrived safely even). The biggest thing is, every once in a while, someone comes up behind you going a jillion kabillion miles an hour and demands that you get out of his (always his) way. Well, that’s the correct thing to do in that situation — and don’t signal while you’re changing lanes either — that’s just not done. Once the crazy person flies by — you’re back to driving like a normal person at about 75mph (130kph).

Interestingly — people will come up behind you on the fast lane, flash at you, honk even, TAILGATE like there’s no tomorrow (a little tap on the brakes is fun to do — they hate that ) … but they won’t, just won’t, pass you on the right. Never ever ever. So you gotta get out of their way or they just try to scare you more.

I saw one (count it one) Ferrari on the highway. Meh.

Assisi
So — after a long drive, with a long detour because I missed a turn — we got to Assisi — where St. Francis is from (founder of the Franciscan order (think Friar Tuck)).

We got to the Basilica San Francesco (St. Francis Church) and were getting ready to love the artwork, when we saw that a mass was completing in one of the transcepts. We jumped in, and had a chance to take part in the Holy Communion at Assisi (!) … for Christians, that’s pretty cool. Kinda like showing up in Memphis just as U2 is recording a concert and being allowed to sit and listen. Just cool is all.

After the Mass, Nate and I visited St. Francis’ tomb, which was cool — and then we all wandered around for a bit and then headed to Florence.

Firenze
In Italy, Florence is called Firenze. We drove (and drove and drove) and got to Firenze around 6pm — at which point we started looking for our hotel. Driving in Florence is freaky deeky … the roads go in crazy directions — the majority of them are semi-pedestrian only — it’s all a mess.

Well — we found our hotel after some crazy driving … and I headed in. First I climbed the 20 steps to get to the first floor, at which point (with the family waiting in the car), I entered the tiny elevator (tiny, like 4 square feet — like I could only take one suitcase in with me if I tried — like suck in your gut — tiny) — and rode THAT up two more stories — and then got out of the tiny tiny elevator into the tiny tiny hallway to talk to the tiny tiny old lady behind the tiny tiny desk next to the sign with the TWO tiny tiny stars on it.

Time to leave. Smile, back away from the little old lady — there is no way we’re going through this madness to get the luggage to the rooms — 20 STEEP steps, to the elevator, to the next floor, etc etc? No … no no no. G’bye. Mistake.

So, I head back down the tiny elevator, and see Angie coming up the steep stairs — and she’s got that look on her face like things are bad and getting worse. I turn the corner on the steep stairs (did I mention they were curved?) and down at the door, Kathy is trying politely to explain to all the angry Italians behind her that are being blocked by our car that her husband has just gone into the hotel and will (shout shout shout) he’s going to be right back (shout, honk, shout) … and there’s a line of taxis behind the parked car on this tiny tiny street — and it even looks like maybe some people are getting out of their cars and coming towards my wife.

I’d like to pause here for a second and ask you to envision the scene. I’ve come to the door of this tiny tiny hotel, and my wife is being yelled at by a bunch of angry men in a different language who seem to be beginning to posture towards her — and she’s completely frazzled … and well… got the scene in your head? Ok. Please imagine for yourselves what the proper response would be. Ok. Read on.

Being that I don’t speak any Italian, I had to go to the universal language of “back the hell off or I’m gonna rip your freakin’ Italian head off and shove it into this guy’s ear.” I didn’t direct that sentiment at any particular person’s direction … nor was I seeking any direct confrontation — but almost instantly, my brain-stem needed to communicate to this crowd of foreigners (this seems to happen to me a lot in foreign countries (shout out to Brett)) … well … I needed to communicate, animal to animal, that my wife was not only not alone — but she was married to THIS guy, so get back in your car and shutupayouface. So, well … I did — and I regret that it also involved a little “color” as well. Ask anybody there (including Kathy) — I acted correctly (though she did just tell me that I swore more than I should have — which I agree to completely).

Soooo … anyway… she got in the car, I got in the car and I was just about to start the car and drive away — when some cop comes to the door of the car and starts yelling at me in Italian (probably saying something similar to what I was saying to everyone else). So I showed him the proper respect (after telling him that I didn’t understand him at all) — and he waved me away, I drove off, and well … we needed to find a better hotel.

We drove around a little crazy for a minute or two — and all of the sudden … my old friends Prada, Gucci, Cartier and the lot started showing up … we were in the right district suddenly. Well — we just had to find a different hotel around here and we’d be fine. After a little cooling off all around — we pulled over in front of Cartier just as it was closing. I got out, and as a woman was coming out, I asked her if she could help me.

“Sure.”, she said.
“Well, we had a mistake happen, and we ended up at the wrong hotel and we need to know where a good hotel is.”
“Oh, this one right here is great. You could also try the Savoy in the square over there, but this one is much better.”
“Wow — super — thanks. We’ll try to come by Cartier tomorrow and shop.”
“Great, my name is Cynthia, look me up, ok?”
“You bet. Thanks.”

So… now we’re staying at a Five Star — L hotel … I’m not sure what the “dash L” means — but it’s nice here. The kids have their own room, we have ours — all is well … we’re getting our rest.

Crazy Chances
Once we’d settled a bit — Tatiana, our new best friend at the front desk (she’s the one who saved the day and found the rooms for us) sent us to a restaurant she really likes about 5 minutes away. We went there — the food was nice, the ambiance was quaint — the folks next to us were American (as were most of the patrons, actually), and we chatted them up for a minute or two. Kinda fun.

After dinner — we were walking back to the hotel — when we stopped because a family was taking pictures of each other on the street and we didn’t want to walk through the photo. They smiled and waved us on — and we headed on our way. As we were walking by them, I said out loud, “these people look really familiar to me — seriously” — and we all laughed, just a passing thing, I guess.

Kathy, the kids and I kept walking and I stopped, then headed back to them … having a vague idea…

They were kind of scratching their heads and saying, “You know…” … and I asked them, “Are you Stowells?” … and they burst out with “YES! We are!”

It ends up that we just had a chance meeting with my sister’s husband’s sister — a woman I haven’t seen since the wedding over 15 years ago. I may have seen them at a Christening or something — but wow. We just bumped into each other in … Florence. How fun is that?!!!

What a weird day.

At any point, you can be watching an electric tram go by across cobblestones that were put down by captured slaves two thousand years ago, while looking off in the distance at a skyscraper being built behind the ruins of an ancient 100ft high wall. It’s a hodgepodge of stuff … and the people just live on it and in it.

In the midst of all that is an entire separate country.

The Vatican
We headed to the Vatican on our first real day here, and it was very Vaticany. It’s a very small “city” — more like a college campus with attitude. It covers 100 acres, and has a wall around it, from the times when the Pope was sometimes hated by everyone and treated like a King. Vatican City itself is a sovereign state — the smallest in the world — and we walked around most of it on our way to the Vatican Museum.

We started out at St. Peter’s Square, the place you usually see the pictures of the “throngs of people” when the Pope comes out and waves. Our original understanding was that we had a good chance of seeing him on Wednesday — but after some blank stares and confused looks, we finally determined that he was giving private audiences that day and wasn’t gonna come to the window and wave. So St. Peter’s Square was essentially empty (except for the long line of people waiting to get into the Basilica, but more on that later).

St. Peter’s Square is “outside” the wall, so we just headed around the outside of the city to the entrance for the Museum, where we had tickets. This entrance was originally sort of a “side door” through the wall (which is about 80 feet high), and now leads directly into the museum.

If you imagine the city as a square, most of it is filled with buildings that are all interconnected. The largest of these buildings is the Basilica — and many of the buildings have been translated into the Museum. These buildings include the original Papal apartments, and the Sistine Chapel. There are also gardens in the museum and a variety of statues, busts, and paintings.

So, the standard museum walk ensues, with literally thousands of people walking around with you. The upside is that see all sorts of really awesome stuff (including actual mummies for some reason), the downside is you’re doing it in what feels like the downtown mall the day before Christmas. It was packed with crowds of tours absolutely everywhere.

So … we had a chance to see a lot of cool artwork — we saw original Rafaels, which Kathy liked a lot. These would be the masterpieces that were originally painted onto the walls of the Papal apartments — they were very complex images that make for a lot of meditating and thinking on the stories of the Bible — which is pretty cool. Rafael was a favorite of the Pope and kind fo a painter “rock star” at the time — Michelangelo was actually really frustrated with the competition and the two were kind of enemies. One cool thing is that Rafael had a chance to see the work Michelangelo was doing on the Sistine Chapel (during a closed private viewing) and was so impressed that he painted Michelangelo into one of his Frescos (The School of Athens) — which is in the Pope’s Library (now a public museum). As we wandered, we also saw a whole bunch of statues ranging in size from a few feet to 20 feet tall, and then eventually we made it to the Sistine Chapel.

This Chapel has a great history, Michelangelo did it all in Fresco behind locked doors. Fresco is basically colored plaster, you put it on wet, and when it dries, it is the wall — and it’s gorgeous, of course. Traveling between all these places feels like going from room to room, so when you enter the Sistine Chapel, it’s like walking into the next room. It’s an active chapel, the altar is Sanctified … and you’re supposed to stay quiet (ha!).

So — picture it like this — it’s a huge box. There’s no arches or “churchy” architecture — the ceiling and walls are completely covered with frescos, nothing in between — it’s a huge fresco room — and it’s about 100 feet long by 40 feet wide. It has no seats, nothing but the frescos, the altar and a separation screen towards the back. Now, fill the room with people. No no, I mean fill the room with people — bump bump, excuse me, hey watch your elbow … filled.

Got the picture? A few hundred people in that room, all milling about looking at the (absolutely amazingly gorgeous) frescos? Now — up by the altar, put the guards — who are there ostensibly to ensure that there are no pictures, that people treat the room as a chapel (ha!) and that people are silent (ha, har, HA ha hardy har!).

The ceiling is about 20–30 feet above, so you’re craning your neck to look at stuff, there’s this milling crowd of people, there’s that low hum that’s created when crowds “whisper” … there’s a regular angry yelling from one of the older guards (who really needs a vacation) “Silencio! SiiiLEEEENCio!!!!”

It was — to say the least — surreal … but wonderfully beautiful. No pictures allowed.

So eventually — we went through a “secret” shortcut (along with a few hundred other people) that got us directly to the Basilica (which means “wow, that’s just too big — who built this?” in Latin).

To give you an idea of how large this is … we decided to jump a chain so we could just go right in — and the kids and I made it (it wasn’t a crime, just a desire not to walk “all the way over there” to get around the chain — but Kathy was busted by one of the guards and had to go out through one of the front doors and come in through the other right next to it (a simple U-turn through two doors). The place is so huge that we lost each other during that simple turn around.

No no — I don’t think you understand how large this, the largest church in the world, actually is.

Upon entering — you see the entire space — which is built to hold a congregation of 60,000 people (that’s sitting down in rows) — the ceilings are so high you ignore them — they’re just way up there, hundreds of feet above. Now a church is normally shaped like a cross — with each leg having a name. The “bottom” of the cross is called the Nave, the two “arms” of the cross are called the Transcepts, and the “top” of the cross is called the Sanctuary (that’s where the altar tends to be in most churches, along with the choir stalls, and other holy holy stuff.

So — we come in through one of the doors, and here’s this vast space … large enough to hold a jumbo jet — large enough to hold (with steeple) an entire cathedral (more on that in a second) … you’re just like “whoa — dude, this is y’know … huge.”

Over on the right is the Pieta (a pieta is any artwork depicting Mary with the fallen body of Christ, sad) by Michelangelo. It’s one of the most famous masterpieces ever made — and that talented jerk did it when he was 24. It’s quite lovely.

So — you stroll along in this vaste gigantic space, amazed at how large it is … and head to the Altar (which stands seven stories tall), and all of the sudden you realize that this vast cavern of a building (the Basilica itself covers 6 acres of floor), the cavern you’ve been wandering through is actually only the Nave — the lower leg of the cross … the Transcepts open up in either direction a hundred yards each, and then behind the altar is the vast sanctuary space — which is also the size of a football field. Big church.

Aside from the fact that the entire airplane hangar is made out of marble and filled with masterpieces, it’s also got some pretty cool holy spots. In the Western Transcept is a small chapel nook commemorating the place where the Apostle Peter was crucified. Yeah, the spot where it happened. How do they know that? Because the obilisk outside in the center of St. Peter’s Square was actually the turning point for a Roman raceway, which was a public place of entertainment that was well known. We thus know that this was the place of entertainment in which Peter was crucified — and from the layout, we know where. Presto … we have the actual location. Trippy.

Of course, for those who don’t know it — Peter himself is buried in a (fancy) crypt directly underneath the altar, you can look down in there (it’s filled with gold leaf and stuff — not like some sort of creepy dark place) — and well … that’s kinda cool too. Here’s this ratty, white-trash fisherman — semi-educated, hot-headed — loudmouth at times … best friend of Jesus … and well … “upon this rock” … God built His Church … and what a church it is. Kinda cool.

So … how big is this church? In a slightly grandiose style, they’ve put brass markers into the floor leading away from the altar, showing where other churches would be in comparison to size. The smallest one, nearest to the altar — yeah, that would be St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York (the cute little Cathedral for the entire City of New York, yeah).

No joke — on rollerskates — from East to West, it’d probably take you two minutes to cross … from top to bottom, maybe four.

Big place.

We finished off the visit with a few postcards from Vatican City, because they have their own post office. You get the fancy Vatican City stamp and Postmark, from the smallest sovereign state in the world. Kinda cool.

Next post — the Colosseum.

While we were headed to the church, Angie and I got on the train and this guy jumped on after us to share his music:

I have to admit, this is probably the coolest looking French dude I’ve ever seen.

Inspired by the museum, Angie and I made a commentary piece on Abbey Road for her first album:

So … moving right along — we got to Monday:

First I had an AMAZING run for 6.05 miles … I ran from the hotel at 6:30am, through the city, which was empty:

…at which point i got lost … but finally found the river Seine…

…and headed for the distant point of my run…

…listened to alternative music the entire time…

then ran back to the hotel for a total of 6.05 miles. Sadly, I was unaware of how long a 10k run is (6.2 miles) … had I known, I would have clocked the extra thousand feet … but I missed the turn on that one and well — I ran a 9.6k in Paris (there’s always Rome, Barcelona, Madrid and Sardinia to make it up).

Soo… once I got back, stretched down, got ready — it was time to go to Disneyland!!!!

The kids and I headed out on the train through the very colorful and beautiful Metro:

and then got on the R. E. R. — which is a suburban train that heads directly to Disneyland.

Whilst on the train, we met a bunch of very excited and funny Irish girls (we’re from Limerick, have ye been there? It’s much better than Dublin. You should come and visit!). They too were headed to Disneyland — ready for the rides and stuff, here’s a picture of them:

Disneybland

So, what did we think of the place?

…it was ok…

…but we still figured out how to have fun on our own…

I’d say the biggest hangup with Disneybland is that it’s run by Europeans, mainly French. That’s not actually a hit on them — I think there’s something about the “over the top happy” thing that is uniquely American — and they just don’t get it. It’d be like getting the nuance of singing an ancient national ballad in French … only the French could sing it with the depth and total affect that is needed — an American might do a decent cover — but could not get the absolute impact.

So it goes with Disneybland — they all could care less that you’re there … that’s obvious — that’s France. “Welcome to Disney, what do you want?” But more important — they just don’t get the joke, ya know? Disneybland — the sullenest place in the world (what do you mean by that?).

Aside from one guy on the tower of death drop, who was slightly colorful, there was not a single giant smile in the place — they couldn’t be bothered with such effort — for the sake of what? Don’t you know that life is empty and meaningless — have you not read Sartre? Are you not aware that Existential being deems us all to be awaiting our own demise with no hope for the future — like empty bubbles of pointless hope in a river of heartless objectivity? — would you like grand frites with that? Please, keep your hands and feet in the ride at all times — not that it really matters — nothing really matters, does it?

We went on a bunch of decent enough rides — since rides don’t need to really be translated (well, the Star Wars “experience” was a little less fun because it was all in French) — but otherwise — they are all just roller coasters after all. We went on a tower drop like the one in Universal Studios. We went on Space Mountain: Mission 2 (twice!). We went on an Aerosmith roller coaster, which was pretty random … I mean — let’s also go on a NY Mets roller coaster, or perhaps a Donkey Kong roller coaster … Aerosmith? Just sort of out there, imho (it was in the Disney Studios park — which is their passing homage to Universal Studios park in California). The rides themselves were pretty fun, once you slogged through the emotional despair that is French service.

But we did actually have a good time — Nate started to melt down at the end because we were all a bit tired (did I mention my run in the morning?) … but overall — we had a decent time strolling around the grounds, and in a bizarre way, sort of enjoying the true magic of Disney by witnessing its absence in this faux place.

(Final observation — not a decent character to be found in Disneybland. All the sad seconds and supporting characters live there. Their rockstar is Ratatouille — primarily because he’s French, after all … but yeah, folks like THIS GUY:)

But the ULTIMATE example of how much the French miss the beat — it would have to be the “parade” through main street. Here’s the video. Mind you, you’ll have to live through the jostling video — but note a few things:

1 — most of the food shacks are closed (we cannot be bothered with serving you food, we are French, we sit, we smoke — move along)
2 — the expressions and demeanor of the people in the red jackets (who I believe used to work for the Secret Police prior to working at Disneybland)
3 — the music … the shrill, desperate sounds of the French trying to sound happy
4 — the clear and unadulterated lack of visceral response in my otherwise happy American kids
5 — the length of the parade as compared to the ones in Disneyland USA, which are vast
6 — as a reference, I give an example at the end of how it SHOULD be going — because I’m American, I’m wired for it

[Note: this is a large video, so it may need to stream, click it — poke at it — it’ll eventually work]

and finally … I posted an album of Euro Disneybland pictures on Facebook — it’s a public album, you don’t need Facebook to see it (calm down Pat (shout out to Pat)).

MUSIC!!!!
We got back to the hotel at about 8:30, and Nate was flipping out because we originally had planned to get up at 5am for an early flight to Rome (Kathy rescheduled the flight — we’re leaving at 2pm now) … and he was really missing his buddies at home, and his Legos.

I wandered out to get some food — found a street crepe the size of my head, but threw it away after the first bite because the “freshly cooked” chicken was actually cold (scary).

At some passable sashimi (they don’t know how to do sushi, really — they just have salmon and tuna and serve it in the same plastic containers that we get sushi in the supermarket)

…and then the music started…

*boom*boom*boom*boom — frenchyfrenchyfrenchyBOOM — bompityboompityscratchscratch *boom*boom*boom (repeat)

Ya see — it’s “Music Festival” time! (Joy).

What this consists of is a lot of random places around Paris just play music very loud — the French all come out in their “rock and roll clothing” and stand around being cool to music. That’s cool … except that some Bistro around the corner from our hotel decided they needed to be the loudest place in the entire world — all night long.

Well… I could go into how that sat — but basically, we waited until who knows when and the music ended. We got some sleep, and here we are — it’s the AM … we’re headed to Rome — things are going well … the kids are sleeping in … and we’re pretty happy.

Next stop — ROMA!