Karin Loves Italia

First, Cinque Terre, the series of five villages built into cliffs along the Mediterranean coast.  Our plan was to hike the trails between the villages. Well, you know what they say happens when God knows your plan...she turns up the thermostat! We thought we would escape the torturous heat of the city by fleeing to the coast. Not so much. It was far too hot for hiking, so we somewhat begrudgingly took the ferry between the lovely little towns. If I never see another souvenir shop I will be a-okay with that.  They are ubiquitous eyesores that mar the unique beauty of these quaint, centuries-old towns. I understand the local economies rely on the sales of tee shirts baseball caps, keychains, and other paraphernalia, but sheesh!  I did manage to take some tchotchke-free photos. My husband of 41 years still amuses me. He could simply not get the names of the villages straight.  Riomaggiore became Roger Maris and Rosey O'Grady. Montorosso was consistently called Montesso...

 It is hot. It is so hot. It is unpleasantly hot. It is excruciatingly, unbearably, godawful, curse-worthy hot. I thought 108 degrees wouldn't feel much different from 103 degrees, but it does. It feels much, much worse.  For a little amusement we slip outside periodically to watch Italians pull their petulant dogs down the street to do their business. The dogs do not like this activity. They rebel. They refuse to move. As I was being manicured the other day a woman pulled her pug into the shop where he instantly collapsed onto the cool tile floor. I ruined three nails taking this picture, but I couldn't resist.  Harold and I are not stupid. We knew Florence would likely be hot in July. But hot and excruciatingly, unbearably, godawful curse-worthy hot are two different things. Every Italian we encounter has told us it has never been this bad for this long. But enough about the heat, let's talk about the dirt, shall we? As I said in a past blog, the drought here is unprece...

Italy's government is on the brink of collapse. Prime Minister Draghi offered to resign on Thursday, opening up a path for a new government.  President, Sergio Mattarella, however, did not accept the resignation. Inflation is high, the drought is unprecedented and war in Europe rages on.  But you'll hear no schadenfreude from me. I do not take heart in the fact that the country of my temporary residence is just as effed-up as the one I left three months ago.  I feel sad and discouraged on both fronts. On all fronts. Our earth is the cesspool of the universe right now.  That said, we just returned from a lovely five days on the Amalfi Coast. It has been two weeks since my last blog.  We spent the first in Florence, visiting our favorite haunts, taking long strolls in the evenings when the weather is cool(er), and getting our last minute shopping done. The euro and the dollar are equal at last! We are almost as familiar with Florence now as we are with Newtown. Th...

A few years ago, 60 Minutes  aired a segment about the annual Palio horse race in Siena. It was fascinating.  So much so that Harold and I decided if we were ever to travel to Italy again we would add the Palio to our list of must-see events.  We can now check it off our bucket list.  But rather than saying we "saw" the Palio, it would be more apt to say we "survived" it.  FIRST A BRIEF EXPLANATION The Palio is a horse race that takes place twice a year (July 2nd and August 16th) in Piazza del Campo, the main square (actually oval) of Siena. It has been an ongoing annual event since the 1100s. The Palio's  cancellation due to Covid was the first time it had been cancelled since World War II.  Seventeen horses compete in the race, each representing one of the 17 contrade (districts) of Siena.  The contrade were established in the Middle Ages in order to supply troops to the many military companies that were hired to defend Siena as it fought to pre...