Author: TravelGal

The morning of the next day greeted us with heavy rain, dark skies and winter-like temperatures. The weather forecast for nearby Verona, however, was hinting at sunshine. This raised our sinking spirits, for even bundled up in all the warm clothes we could get our hands on, we already started coughing and sneezing at the first signs of rain. Having checked out of the hotel (none of the guests from the wedding party were anywhere to be seen), we were ready to follow the sun.

Leaving Malcesine with its elephants behind, we moved on towards the new destination. Our plan was simple and prosaic: find accommodation for the night, check out the balcony of Juliette and do some sightseeing without being soaked by rain, drink some good Italian wine, and eat some good Italian food. Looking back at the day in Verona, all objectives were achieved!

The trip from Garda to Verona did not take long – less than an hour. For a change I sat behind the wheel, and confused over the discrepancies between GPS instructions and the realities of landscape, sweated like a dog in Chinatown all the way to the city. By the time we parked the car in the center of Verona, I was way too stressed to be friendly. To our mutual credit, we managed not to crash the car or kill each other, trying to decipher the route in the maze of one-way streets, blocked roads, and general chaos of Italian traffic. By way of calming down and restoring diplomatic relationships, we set on a sightseeing expedition and went to explore the surroundings.

The surroundings looked cheerful – the sun was shining, and the buildings around town sprouted a variety of balconies of all shapes and sizes. The little side-street we took off the parking lot, led us to the main square of Verona, where the market rows of stalls, full of cheeses, salamis and wine, were just being set up.

Speaking of balconies – don’t know whether it was the fame of THE balcony, that projected itself onto the other buildings in the city, or Verona historically focused on this particular architectural aspect, but the concentration of balconies on each square inch of the city surface was impressive. You could see all sorts – from barely visible tiny structures with wrought iron railings covered with vines, to huge balustraded stone monstrosities, growing on the sides of buildings and threatening to tip them over with their weight. Even towers had balconies!

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The market became a worthy starting point of our day walk through Verona. It mesmerized with an abundance of colors and gastronomic delicacies, as well as simply tasty, high quality and beautiful-looking food. The bread stall alone was to die for! And I don’t even like bread!… The loafs on display were huge, aromatic, and were piled up in gigantic dough balconies over two tiny girls, slicing these freshly-baked treasures for customers crowded at the front.

The scents, odors and colors of the spice stalls next door could compete with any Turkish bazaar, and huge piles of dried tomatoes were threatening to drive you crazy with their juicy aromas.

Cheese stalls were looming with huge round cheeses, free samples of which were being pushed at all passers-by by the stall owners. Above the cheeses hung rows and rows of salamis of all sorts, prices, and origins. Those were also being offered for free tasting to everybody. All in all, one could easily have a hearty breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the market for free, by simply sampling the foods on offer.

After about an hour spent at the market, we finally noticed a huge ancient Colosseum (aka The Arena) which also happens to be one of Verona‘s main sights, dominating the North-Eastern side of the square.  Nostra culpa, we were carried away and distracted by the cheeses, and almost managed to overlook this gigantic historical and architectural masterpiece. Speak about a pink elephant in a room!… The Colosseum/Arena was quite impressive with an aura of centuries-old ancient stability and grandeur. In warm times of the year it also houses open-air operas, the fame of which made it even to Munich (I vaguely remembered big posters on the streets, advertising the happenings). Considering our generally positive impressions of Verona, I am sure we will be back, and might even risk the opera one day!…

After a lot of walking around we did find the balcony of Juliette, although not without hassle. The hassle was all self-imposed, for we chose not the easiest way of locating the sight. Instead of following the herds of tourists, crowding the city’s streets both in organized groups, led by guides with colorful umbrellas, and in a chaotic “lonely ranger” mode, we did our utmost to avoid them. As a result we almost missed Verona‘s main sight. The absence of a map (which we also refused to buy, following some half-formed pagan prejudices) did not help one little bit. Despite all this, the balcony was localized, visited, and photographed. The impressions and feelings it evoked can best be described as “mixed”. The balcony itself was quite OK – the size of a regular bath tub stuck to the side of the building, big enough to contain two grown-up adults in a vertical position. The fact that Juliette used it alone, and Romeo was confined to the sidewalk underneath it, made it even more spacious.

The house of Juliette’s Dad (and the balcony on the side of it) is situated in a tiny little courtyard, not bigger than 150 square feet (~50 square meters). On busy days a couple hundred tourists squeeze into it in abnormal concentrations, positioning themselves on each other’s heads. The most determined ones make it to the balcony per se, taking selfies with iPhones and iPads in various kissing positions.

Here’s another anthropological curiosity: if you made it to the other side of the world, found the proverbial balcony and after queuing for hours managed to squeeze into it, isn’t it tacky to commit the moment to memory with a shitty-quality picture made by a device not intended for photography?… Why not get a proper camera? Another point to the question about searching for logic where you did not put it…

The Tourist Information Office of Verona, represented by two giggly girls, put us up for the night in a very central Albergo Trento hotel, within walking distance of The Arena, that has obviously seen better days. The owner of the establishment, presiding behind the reception, looked like an excommunicated son of royalty – of advanced age, with respectable grayish sideburns, dressed in a periwinkle blue club jacket, and electric-yellow jeans, matching his Canary-yellow loafers. Full of dignity, he handed us the keys, and wished us a lovely afternoon. His Rubenesque wife, sprouting a fresh perm, about ten layers of skillfully applied makeup, a couture dress, and a mink cape (in late April!) arrived at the hotel when we were just checking in. She dramatically stopped the sports car right at the front door with brakes screeching, and while the junior hotel staff were parking her bright red vehicle out, she threw her mink over the bar in the corner of the lobby and busied herself with an espresso machine, blinding the guests with a smile and a décolleté of an opera diva. Can’t get more Italian than that!…

In search of late lunch aka early dinner, we stumbled upon a brilliant place, called “Osteria Le Veccete“. The place attracted us primarily by gigantic wine bottles, decorating its entrance. The interior of predominantly wine motives supported the idea that we came to the right place. Fantastic food became a bonus to the genius wine selection. We were so thrilled with the place, that returned there in the evening to repeat the wine part of the afternoon program. We would have repeated the culinary one as well, but did not have any free space for that…

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Stumbling back to the hotel way past midnight, through the still buzzing downtown of Verona, decorated with tempting lights of late bars and restaurants, we were happily looking forward to further adventures.

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On the morning of the 3rd day we moved further down South, in the direction of Florence. The clouds and rains from Garda started closing in on Verona, and it was time to follow the sun again. I have never honored Florence with a visit, and this made the destination new for at least half of the travel party.

Weather-wise, Florence was the right decision, as when we made it to the city, the sun was shining, and the temperatures were closer to July than April.  At the same time, all the locals kept talking about walls of rain flooding the city the whole of the previous week.  On the down side, warm temperatures, sunny skies and Easter holidays attracted thousands of other tourists, who we indignantly had to share Florence with.

The first conscious impressions from the city were tall and skinny black guys, actively pushing sunglasses and fake Rolex watches on the main square.  Which made us contemplate the question of commercial monopolies, one of which (clearly on a global level) belonged to the said guys.  I wonder, at which historical/commercial point in time, the spheres and areas of street trade and small businesses were distributed and divided?…  It was definitely then that sunglasses and watches went to the tall natives of the African continent.  Asian expatriates got the grocery shops and nail salons, and Slavic and Mexican girls excelled in keeping other people’s households.  However, this rather chauvinistic breakdown is valid just for Europe and America.  Maybe in Africa and Asia the situation is completely different, and fake Rolexes are being pushed by, say, Estonians, and nail salons are otherwise owned and managed by Uruguayans…

A quick memory trip back to Verona – on the topic of Juliette’s breasts that were somehow left out of the previous part of the story.  The statue of Juliette in the courtyard of her father’s house under the famous balcony boasts a brightly polished right breast, molested by the millions of tourists flowing through the city on a daily basis.  But not only in Verona!  The city of Munich, for example, also has its very own statue of Juliette (right downtown, next to Marienplatz) with an identically shiny right breast.  I never really paid it much attention, until a young girl, who was taking me and an all-girl group of colleagues on a walking tour of downtown Munich told us the anecdote about the breast.  We laughed, but dutifully lined up to touch the right breast, for according to the girl the legend guaranteed meeting “the love of your life” within half a year of the laying of the hands on Juliette’s breast.  Women are such suckers for romance!…  Apparently, it was only the right breast that did miracles – the left one was purely ornamental.  In any case, that city walk took place in November, and in May, exactly 6 months later, I met Nic.  Talk about legends and myths…

But back to Florence.  Having ditched the car at our newly-found stylish digs at Hotel Cellai we went off to explore the surrounding. The main city attraction, the Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Flower (aka Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiori – how come everything sounds so much better in Italian?!…) managed to disappoint, without us even visiting the interior, being closed for the Easter service.  Massive, with light-colored walls covered from top to bottom in mosaics, in all its grandeur it looked suspiciously like a mosque.  Gigantic round cupolas only added to the similarity…

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At the same time, another famous sight of Florence – Michelangelo’s David – made an exceptionally positive impression!  In contrast to some world-famous architectural and sculptural masterpieces (like the Parthenon in Athens) that in reality often turn out to be just miniature copies of their numerous post-card versions, David appeared to be the real deal, and was definitely more impressive “in person”.  The statue turned out to be at least a couple of stories tall, and looked very picturesque on the backdrop of some equally famous building, which we did not recognize due to the absence of a guide book we again did not bother to buy.  For some reason, I remembered my student years, and the art history classes at the State Hermitage Museum of St. Petersburg, where the professors kept talking about “not naturalistic and purely schematic nature of sex organs in the antique statues“.  Don’t know about antique fellows, but David‘s physique was very far from schematic, and the statue happily represented physical health and fertility.  I fully realize the extreme ignorance of comparing antiquity with Renaissance, but my student years are well behind me, and all classical examples seemed to have mixed up in my head.

On the culinary front, Florence surprised us with a suddenly delicious wild boar pasta.  The boar was being offered on every single menu of every single restaurant in town, all the locals were swearing by it, and I finally fell to temptation.  The Florentine specialty did not disappoint for one second!  So much so, that I would have wolfed down three times more than the very decent-size plate I was served, but luckily, I could compensate with wine.

Due to the specifics of the audience, we also visited all 2.5 Irish pubs Florence had on offer. In the first one, I spoiled the evening for a dozen of guys, who before our arrival were sitting in the corner amicably chatting with each other over a sports game on the TV screens above the bar.

Within minutes of arrival I rained on their parade by discovering free WiFi in the pub.  After that the game (as well as any form of interaction) was forgotten, and the remaining time we were at the bar, the guys sat in total silence, each hypnotized by the screen of their cell phone. Civilization…  What are you gonna do about it?…

The second pub, was, in fact, a half. In the sense that a long time ago, when Nic happened to be in Florence last, the place was a full-blown Irish pub.  His built-in navigation system brought us right to the spot. Since then a lot had happened, the place changed hands and the name, and the only remnant of the former glory was Guinness.  A hunky Serbian barman running the place sighed dreamily, remembering the good old days of the Irish pub, when at least a dozen of hot Italian chicks ready for everything were fighting for him every night…  He timely stopped reminiscing, and remembered, that times had changed, he actually had a wife and three kids, and philosophically nodded that everything that happened, happened for the best.  The dreamy look, however, lingered on his face for a bit longer than seemed appropriate for a family man and a father of three…

The third (and last for the evening – we must be getting older, after all!) joint was a proper Irish pub – with rivers of Guinness, loud music, and a motley crew of patrons of all walks of life.  An overly positive slogan above the bar (facing the staff) should be quoted in its entirety: “Smile… Shut the fuck up… Work… And be nice… You are being paid! …Say thanks!”  Fits perfectly to any client-oriented business…  The bar staff obviously followed the proclaimed rule, and the general atmosphere of the place was full of optimism.  Within half an hour of our arrival, we were joined by a local of an American origin with a quiet wife of similar descent.  The guy has been in Florence for about five years, and was obviously missing the idiotic expat company.  We did our best to compensate for lack of idiocy in his life, and although the names of our newly found friends evaporated from our memories much sooner than the after-effects of consumed drinks, the evening was a success!

Miraculously, we found the hotel on the way from the bar, and in the morning, cursing Guinness under our heavy breaths, moved on.  This, however, is a completely different story…

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