Verona

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I have never been to Europe. As a child I was taken on many fantastic vacations, but crossing the Atlantic wasn't how any of them began. Once I moved out, my parents soothed their daughterlessness with frequent spectacular trips to Europe which I believe fueled my mother's incredibly inspiring decision to leave a career in law and start another as an art historian. To celebrate my graduation from medical school my parents very generously decided to share their intimate knowledge of Italy in particular with me in a wonderful parent daughter trip to Italy and France.

The day after i graduated from medical school I had several small strokes trying to figure out how to pack a month's worth of clothes into a small carry on, and we'll see how well i did as the weeks wear on. Hopefully I won't end up just wearing shirts with nothing on the bottom like Donald duck by the end of it. Especially since if the first day is any indication, I will have a very wide ass by the end of the trip. But I get ahead of myself.

We flew Air Canada from Calgary to Frankfurt, which I believe is in Germany. This was not the typical torture of domestic flights, for example, we got food. I think. In the delirious nightmare of drifting in an out of sleep while listening to the acadamy award winning film The Artist I may have just been eating part of my pillow. See what I mean by luxury? We had pillows!

Frankfurt airport is not a fun place to be. It's thousands of kilometers of confused people and creepy holograms of attractive German women telling you to put your schnapps in several small bottles and place these in a prominently displayed plastic bag because a large bottle of schnapps hidden in your luggage is proof of terrorist affiliation. This message was on constant loop for our forty minute wait in the security line. Once through security it was on to the gate, which instead of leading to a plane led to a bus, which careened around the tarmack and arrived at our little plane to take us from Frankfurt to Verona. This thankfully was a short flight and getting from the airport to the hotel was relatively painless. My mother went to school in Verona for a month and speaks more Italian than my father and I, which is to say, some. I'm at about the level of the inglorious basterds. Gourlami.

Our hotel is beautiful and old, and much easier to find on foot than in a car. Italians will not get obese in the worldwide trend towards obesity because if you are more than twenty three centimeters wide you will be squished and killed against a very ancient and beatuiful wall by a car. I'm not sure that's how Darwin pictured it, but it's effective.

Unfortunately, soon after arriving at our hotel my dad realized his camera bag, with thousands of dollars of equipment, was mising. Was it left on the plane to Verona? In the taxi? Our lovely hotel manager helped us call the cab company and hopefully it will turn up.

We went for a beautiful walk along the river and to the large public squares. Delicious Italian drinks were had at a few sidewalk restaurants, which delightfully come with a small helping of potato chips just like in ancient times.

Jet lag is a bit of a bitch. My parents advised that the best thing is to just stay awake until Italian bedtime and somehow my Calgary brain will reset. Okay. At eight, which was noon in my brain, I wanted dinner. Or lunch. Or something. Deep and primitive areas of my brain were rattling with feverish excitement that somewhere in the world, I should be eating. My parents laughed. "oh Mary, you can't eat at eight in Italy, thats far too early!". My brain sputtered and fizzed. "early?" it expectorated, "when the hell do they sleep?" "well, they have a siesta in the afternoon, then go to bed late." I pointed out I had not been allowed to have a nap to better ensure that my brain would be on Italian time.

Dinnerlunch was delicious hammy mushroomy pizza, and I especially liked having to order pizza de funghi. More walking, then home to bed. I am in a delightful little pull out chair in the living room of our little apartment. Our bathroom door is slightly wavy glass, which means that you get a slightly blurry view of whatever exciting spectacle is occurring in there, should you happen to accidentally glance over. I have fashioned a pair of blinders by attaching two of the dinning room chairs to my head.

Now it is four in the morning and a thunderstorm is rumbling outside. It's hard to believe I am really here. It is beautiful. We are here in Verona for two more days, then on to Venice. I look forward to riding in the canal boats. Stayed tuned for the trial of the Canadian woman who drowned her daughter in Venice for calling gondolas "canal boats" one too many times.

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Comments

[Hamish]

Blogging
You are funny, not need a helmet funny, but cute funny.

[Auntie Jeanie]

My vicarious trip to Italy
You must have the most exciting trip ever, because I am living my unlikely-to-be-real trip to Italy through your blog.

[Uncle Drew]

Wow
Loved the Blog. Italy is so lucky to have a tourist like you and your family! Uncle Drew

[Ava]

hi Mary
I like your Blog and pictures. I can't wait to read more!!!!!! U r very funny> I would like 2 see a picture of the dining room chairs attached 2 your head :)

[hamish]

persons of interest?
Did you check inside the lampshade? In my limited law enforcement experience, seemingly random events of glass breaking in your vicinity is often caused by small electronic devices emitting high frequency pitches. How about people in dark suits and sunglasses trying to appear inconspicuous? Probably not any of those around eh? Do you really know your parents? Leading a double life me thinks... great cover that, taking their "daughter" on a "vacation"...

[Uncle Drew]

brickwork
The brickwork is awesome. I had to look twice, the two columns kinda looked likes they were on the dance floor doing Y-M-C-A with their hands in the air, the male on the right (just like the lavatory signs), and the girl on the left. Looks like the weather is just fine too! Ah, Italy!