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Like the Rock of Gibraltar
Back to the ship, under the Abril Bridge and off to Gibraltar. So what’s the big deal about a big rock sticking out of the ocean? Well, the first thing we saw, aside from the rock, was the most beautiful terminal we have visited so far. Marble floors, paintings on the wall and a scale model of Gibraltar greets the passengers going ashore. Once again, we decided to go it on our own and this time, with Harrison and Rochelle, we ended up with Charlie who has a six passenger mini-van not unlike all the other drivers. Not being able to find two more we worked over Charlie to take the four of us for the same rate. 
Well, let me tell you, Gibraltar is not just a rock. First of all, the main airport is built on reclaimed land that now joins Gibraltar with Spain. In order to cross over to Spain the road crosses the main runway and when a plane is landing they close the road.
Before leaving the ship in the morning we watched as NATO jets took off across the bow of our ship as part of their training exercises going on at this time. So around the entire island we went, going to the highest point that is also reached by a cable car that climbs the face of the rock. Along the way we stopped to view the Atlantic, Mediterranean, Straits of Gibraltar, Northern Africa and Spain without so much as turning our head. We worked our way to the top, stopping to visit St. Michael’s Cave, a grotto of spectacular stalagmites and stalactites that also has a small auditorium for recitals. Along the very narrow one-way streets are hundreds of caves that the various Armies dug through the years. At the very top, the Barbary apes were waiting to put on their endless show for us mortals. Is that what we really looked like all those many years ago? The apes are fairly small and very playful; they jump on cars, tease people and do what monkeys do best — act like monkeys. Like us, they are in no danger of going hungry. Our driver keeps a bag of dry pasta to feed them; at least on the boat we get it cooked.
Back down for a brief walk around the main shopping street where we found a rather simple looking Catholic church which provided a good place to barter for a couple of candles for our left over pounds. Once aboard we managed another round of cocktail parties, dinner, a fabulous show and off to bed for a few hours of sleep before arriving in Malaga Spain on Thursday morning.
Feedback: sergio@westsideobserver.com
Sept. 2010
From Russia with Love
Our first visit to St. Petersburg was in 1990. With Ronald Reagan’s admonition, the Berlin Wall had just come down and at the time St. Petersburg was still known as Leningrad. The city was renamed after the fall of Communism in 1991. We heard how much it had changed, and with three full days there we were about to find out how radical that change really was.
Through a friend of a friend we able to find the name of a tour guide, and after endless internet exchanges the program was in place. Natasha was to meet us at the ship immediately after our arrival, and the 14 of us would pile in her minivan and start exploring.
All went well until 600 people aboard ship tried to leave at the same time. The Dixieland jazz band at the bottom of the gangplank helped pass the time, but the Russian custom’s officials would not budge. It’s their country and they were going to move at their own speed. Without ever cracking a smile the six or seven white uniformed, medal laden officers checked and rechecked our documents. Eventually we were allowed on shore.
After the informal introductions, Natasha and Mikhail, her driver, took full command. She spoke perfect English and headed off to show us her lovely city. We started very simply with a quick tour of the immediate area and with the first stop at a local pier area, we all jumped out anxious to photograph and be photographed. The most amazing part was not the memorial to the sailors lost at sea, but rather the two muzzled, baby bears frolicking around the tourists.
Next stop was the Fortress of Peter and Paul, the oldest building in the city which had been used as a political prison during the rule of the tsars. Within the walls is the Cathedral of Peter and Paul which was the first of the many we were to see. 
After our visit, we managed a quick stop at a very small souvenir shop where a lovely young woman greeted us with a tray full of vodka. Actually, we were more interested in the clean, available toilets.
We were told that you could visit the Hermitage every day for eight hours a day, spend three minutes in front of each exhibit and it would take you over eight years to see it all. We saw it all in three and half hours. The Hermitage consists of five connected buildings, including the Winter Palace. The lines are endless and the exhibits mind numbing. We especially enjoyed the paintings of Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, Rembrandt and Rubens as well the countless Impressionists that make the Hermitage one of the largest and most famous museums in the world.
Day two started with a one hour ride to Pushkin to visit Catherine’s Palace, but not before Natasha swung by the local farmers market. This 20,000 square foot building was packed with all sorts of meat products, deli items, cheeses, fruits and vegetables. As we took endless pictures we were offered various items to taste. We passed on most.
With room after room of gold leafed walls, hand carved furnishing, and inlaid floors — and the splendor of the Amber Room — we toured Catherine’s home where she lived and died. It’s no wonder they had a revolution!
The Yusupov Palace allowed us to see where Rasputin was murdered — he was one tough SOB — they poisoned him, shot him and finally dumped him in the river where he froze to death. And if that wasn’t enough, we finished up the day of sightseeing with a canal cruise along the Neva, the main river running through the area where we had astounding views of the city before the heavy rain drove us all down below. 
Our lovely day was spoiled by the sight of a blazing fire destroying one of the more famous Greek Orthodox Churches. It had been undergoing a major restoration. From the bus, and then from our veranda, we could see the flames shooting hundreds of feet in the air as the local fire departments struggled in vain to control the inferno. Later in the evening, we could see the helicopters carrying water buckets in a futile attempt to extinguish the flames. We learned from Natasha the next day that, although the entire building was destroyed, people were able to rush in and save some of the priceless artifacts and manuscripts. What a tragic shame. We felt so sad and so close to these priceless treasures belonging to the people of this marvelous city.
On the last day, we drove out to Peterhof where Peter the Great decided to build a little summer home that just happened to have over 130 fountains scattered across the palace’s grounds. It took over 20 kilometers of underground piping and numerous reservoirs to supply the water for these naturally working fountains and waterfalls. No pumps, just water from the mountains that eventually spills into the adjoining Gulf of Finland.
After touring the dazzling gardens, we moved inside to tour this immensely luxurious imperial estate. For over an hour we again went from one gold leafed room to the next. Natasha pointed out each room, each painting, each piece of furniture and what each architect did and when. She is an amazing woman, and the facts and figures in her head astounded us all.
The one thing that impressed me the most was how many Italian architects, engineers, painters and craftsmen were involved in these structures. I kept reminding our friendly group that, were it not for the Italians, they would be looking at mud huts and tables made of saw horses. No clothes, cars, buildings, high fashion or good food would exist without us Italians. They listened, but almost threw me off the bus.
The Cathedral of Our Savior on Spilled Blood has over 7,000 square feet of mosaics covering the walls and ceilings, and is one of the most memorial buildings we saw in the three days of touring. By the end of the third day, we were all starting to drag a little, and after our fond good-buys, we all literally headed for the showers. The toilet stories would take up a whole chapter, but it was all very nicely summed up by one of our friends who shall remain nameless: “If I had known this I would have worn Depends”.
The part that was so astounding is that most of the buildings we saw were nearly destroyed by the Germans during World War II. They have since been rebuilt from no more that a skeletal frame to the amazing structures that exist today. The elaborately carved moldings, statues, gold leafing, silk covered wells, inlayed floors, and lighting fixtures have all been meticulously reproduced and restored. Along with the more than 10,000 buildings that were destroyed during the war, more than 1.25 million people died in the fighting and as a result of disease and starvation.
We listened intently as Natasha spoke about the average salaries for a workman —about $500 per month. A high paying job would bring in about $1,000 per month. Apartments rent for $300 to $400 a month. During Communism, the Party built housing for the masses and the resulting apartments are what we would consider slums. The tenants have now been able to purchase their miniscule units for no more than the cost of the paperwork, and they can even buy and rent other units as their finances allow. Inflation is 15% per year, and they don’t even mint coins anymore because they are virtually worthless.
The older people have a tough time with the new systems, but the younger ones have taken capitalism to heart. The streets are filled with beautiful young women in tight jeans and spiked heels and everyone walks because the traffic is Manhattan at its worst. The Metro is reliable and inexpensive.
All in all, it was an unforgettable three days and we all came back with a new feeling for this country and its people. We loved all that we saw and did and it will be with us for a long time to come. I certainly hope that it won’t take us 16 years to return, but considering how tired everyone became, it may take us that long to recover.
July 2010
Mayday! Mayday!
Every day should be Sunday in London. It was so nice being able to walk around Green Park, to Buckingham Palace, cross the streets around the Mall without “looking left” and taking the tube to Leicester Square without the usual mass of humanity. No “Changing of the Guards,” in fact, no guards at all. Even the terrorists took a day off. 
Monday was great also because this weekend it’s a bank holiday (May Day) and everything is in slow motion. Most places are closed but the trains are running and so we headed off to Bath bright and early. Nice train and on the minute — so much so that we missed the returning train by about 30 seconds but fortunately they have one every 30 minutes — that’s what I get for stopping for an ice cream but the Rum Raisin cone was worth the wait.
Our dear friends Jan and Ellis are staying in Bath for a couple of days so we let them do the tour guiding. We visited the old Roman baths and what an engineering wonder they are. Not only were the Romans great engineers, they also left behind these great little gadgets you put up to you ear in order to hear all about the amazing work they did: Hot water, cold water, dry heat, wet heat. Too bad the lead pipes they used wiped out the whole empire. They had a ball while it was going on. The lazy ones took only one bath a day and spas were all the rage. Maybe I should find myself a slave to shave my entire body after getting out of the water just as they did.
We did, however, drink the water and suddenly we looked and felt years younger — after the first glass we went skipping down the street just like Dick and Jane. 
The Abbey church in Bath is a wonder in itself, very light and airy and the ceiling looks like it’s made of Murano lace.
Bath is a beautiful city and much larger than I had expected, certainly worth a few days’ stay next time around. There’s a lot of work going on in the center of town and that’s great, but seeing Fisher Development doing a GAP store in Bath was like a splash of cold water in the face. Do they really need one more store, and in Bath of all places? Are they planning to sell Levi togas there?
London woke up Tuesday morning with a vengeance, like a hungry bear waiting to devour us all. The quiet of the long weekend was shattered by the sound of taxis, jackhammers, flower vendors and cell phones. After our usual $60 breakfast at the hotel buffet, we walked eight or nine blocks to the Halcyon Days store so Karen could add to her collection of porcelain boxes. On our way back to the Green Park tube station, we passed endless store windows that looked like something out of GQ magazine — great if you have a size 4 figure or you want to dress like a prince. 
We took the new Jubilee tube line, which cost 30 billion to build, but worth every penny of it. The engineering and architecture are fitting of a James Bond movie. We went down two, long, steep escalators to the never-ending supply of trains where in just minutes we arrived at the Waterloo Station. All very modern, but somehow we miss the old escalators with the wooden steps.
After a few zigs and zags, we found our way to the new “Eye,” which is British Airlines’ version of a Ferris wheel. No tickets until late in the afternoon, so we sat and watched as 20 or more people stepped in and out of each gondola while the wheel continued to turn. It’s a 30 minute round trip that takes you 400 feet up with spectacular views of the city. Lots of tourists and locals and many teenagers with body piercing — a little bit goes a long way, and a few were absolutely disgusting.
We crossed Westminster Bridge, passed Big Ben, and actually saw the first handicapped bathrooms in days. Title 24 definitely does not exist here. Someday I would love to do a series on the bathrooms of London. They are all very clean, some even have scented hand soap, but you had better be pretty agile to get in and out of most of them. Steep stairs, narrow corridors and tight spaces are the norm. 
We tried to get into Parliament but they were out to lunch, literally. No disrespect intended. Having looked left, then right we finally made it across the street to Westminster Abbey. Ten pounds allowed us access to 2,000 years of history and we got it in spades. The ceiling in the side chapel is even more beautiful than the church in Bath. Fortunately, they have a large table covered with a mirror so you can look down and see the detail of the ceiling — it keeps us old geezers from looking up too long and falling flat on our asses.
We saw the chair where most of the kings had been crowned and I could not believe my eyes — the back of the chair was full of carved initials. Those kings were really funny guys! After a quick lunch of fish and chips, we found our way to the Cabinet War Rooms where Churchill and his ministers continued governing during the bombing raids. It brought back many memories of the air raids and black-outs that they endured during the war years. Fortunately for us the bombs never made it to Union Street in San Francisco.
Our next stop was at the National Gallery where we spent three hours looking at priceless artwork. The thing that impressed me the most was the number of grammar school kids visiting the gallery, all of them in nice shirts, ties and jackets. Many of them were lying on the floor with paper and pencil trying to copy the works of art. There is hope. That evening we headed for the Comedy Theater where we saw “Peggy for You,” a very well done typical British comedy.
After yet another gouging at breakfast on Thursday morning we proceeded to zip up our bags and get mentally prepared for our upcoming Mediterranean cruise. Travel days are always long and tiring, but because of Karen’s meticulous planning everything has moved as smoothly as a German Panzer battalion. Who needs Rommel - we have the best to lead us in battle. Bon Voyage.
Feedback: sergio@westsideobserver.com
June 2010
Oh Dear!
In Italian, cervo means deer. After visiting the shops of Porto Cervo all we could say was “Oh, Dear!” Bright and early we pulled into Porto Cervo, our stop on the island of Sardinia. The tender ride in was bumpier than usual due to all the large yachts crisscrossing between our ship and the open water.
The town, about three blocks long, starts and ends just a few hundred feet from the tender landing. From there it’s one beautiful shop after another, and not the souvenir stand type selling hats and T-shirts. I’m talking about Madison Avenue types like Brioni, Rolex, Ferragamo and Zegna, just to name a few, and no one’s embarrassed with their prices. 
Yes, this is Aga Khan’s playground, but what about us poor tourists? I guess some were not so poor after all. We saw women with dozens of bags over their shoulders heading back to the ship. I settled for a lapel pin, but skipped the cap.
We took a taxi tour of the area and brought back stories of gorgeous resorts and lovely beaches. The custom now seems to be to quote hotel prices by the person, rather than by the room. I guess it sounds better to quote $500 per person rather than $1,000 per night.
Judging by the number of mega yachts and beautiful women, which seem to go hand in hand, filling those rooms is a slam dunk. Unfortunately, we didn’t have anywhere near enough time to truly enjoy this beautiful island. Better start saving up, because we’re coming back, and it ain’t gonna be cheap.
The popular Italian song says “Come back to Sorrento,” and as we did, so did about half of Europe. Up early again, we thought we would beat the crowds, get to shore, take the high speed ferry to Capri and see the sights before exploring Sorrento later in the day. This was our first time here and we wanted to see it all.
The boat ride was easy enough, and we did manage to snag a good seat out in the open. That’s the good news. The bad news is that Capri looked like Portofino on steroids. People all over the place. So, where was this beautiful, romantic, idyllic island that we had heard so much about? Capri, the Isle of Dreams, was more like a nightmare. 
Luckily for us, we found a nice taxi driver by the name of Vincenzo who would take us for a two hour tour that, according to him, was going to be the best tour we had ever taken. We didn’t even flinch at his fee -- all we wanted to do was to get out of this sea of humanity.
We sat comfortably in Vincenzo’s convertible taxi with a stretched canvas top, and enjoyed the breeze and the views which were absolutely stunning. The thing that surprised us the most was how rocky and steep the entire area is. Beautiful to see, but someone had to build all of this, and at times, as a builder, I get lost in the details rather than the beauty.
The one main road winds up to Capri and Anicapri, which is the town on the upper part of the island. The driver stopped a few times along the road that literally hangs on the side of the cliffs, to show us the panoramic views. Truly stunning and certainly not for anyone uncomfortable with heights. The road is barely large enough for two vehicles and not an inch more. On a couple of occasions the car’s side mirror had to be bent back so the other car could pass — all skillfully happening over one thousand feet above the glistening Mediterranean below .
Going off the beaten path, Vincenzo showed us homes that were too beautiful for even Architectural Digest. I had never seen anything like it — so much wealth, so much natural beauty. The ride down was just as much fun, and with horns blaring and brakes burning, we hit bottom with a great big sigh of relief. Karen and I split a Margherita pizza as we watched the locals right below us worshiping the sun while sitting on the rocky beaches. Not just pebbles mind you, but three to four inch white rocks. I guess what they didn’t use up in building, landed on the beach. Truly an amazing place, had it not been for the hordes of people trying to destroy three thousand years of history in a single season.
As you might expect, Sorrento was anticlimactic after returning from Capri. It was mid-afternoon and most of the stores were closed. The city is famous for its carved music boxes and lovely inlaid furniture as well as cameos and linens. The last thing I needed was a music box but after taking up 20 minutes of Andrea’s time, I felt obligated to buy something. For an easy 25 Euro, I now have my own music box that very appropriately plays “Come Back to Sorrento.” It’s going to have to play long and hard before we’re lured back. I’d rather be in Sardinia.
Feedback: sergio@westsideobserver.com.
May 2010
Running with
the Jackrabbits
The winter rains have finally stopped, surrendering to a victorious sun while new buds and blossoms emerge, bringing with them a brand new spring. Spring time! A new beginning, another chance at life, new crops, new vintages, new tastes. The hostile winter is quickly being replaced by the aroma of grilled hamburgers and plump hot dogs and what better place to enjoy this rebirth than in Arizona, where it’s time once again for spring training, that yearly pilgrimage that starts in March and ends in October with that grandest prize of all, a World Series ring.
Spring break in Scottsdale is not what you would expect to see in the college Mecca of Florida. You’re not likely to find too many bikinis or beer chugging contests to draw the interest of the world media. These visitors graduated many years ago and they all wear straw hats and drive big cars, unless they’re in wheelchairs. The women all wear resort clothing draped with dozens of beads around their necks as if ready to grace the pages of Playboy’s next Mardi Gras issue — show you my what? Style in the stands is more important than love on the beach, but after all, there’s a time and place for everything. Considering the age group around here, it’s probably just as well. Let’s just stick to baseball and early-bird dinners. 
This is also the weekend where the Giants’ partners gather in Scottsdale to be anointed by the baseball Gods hoping once again to be the best of the best. On Friday night the festivities began with a lavish party hosted by the Charros, a local service group which provides volunteer services at the ballpark, the hospital and many other local causes. The members are as proud as they are handsome in their starched white shirts and crisp blue blazers, ready to welcome you at the door and escort you to the many food stations and refreshment areas. The food stations all have an international flare, but the Italian, Mexican and American venues had a tough time competing with the dessert table heavily laden with various flavors of ice cream, hot sauces and an endless variety of chocolate toppings. The baron of beef ruled, but the hot fudge sundaes won the prize. No one went home hungry or thirsty.
The biggest treat by far for the guests, is the ability to work the room, collecting autographs from all the players, old and new. Orlando Cepeda is always a regular and still fits the name “Baby Bull.” All you need is a handful of baseballs and the autographs are graciously provided. For an autograph hound this is Nirvana, like a 49er prospecting for gold. I managed to grab Barry Zito and Willie McCovey while talking to Rich Aurilia about his cooking talents. He’s as serious about food as he is about assisting in a 6-4-3 double play.
The players walk the room, confident, anxious, ready to start a new season, while the rookies look on, hoping to make the team, sign that big contract and become part of that elite group of in-your-face, front of the sports page athlete who we all take so much for granted.
Another tradition is the Saturday night gathering at Don & Charlie’s where the owners and coaches gather to celebrate the new season and chat about the winning ways of the World Series-bound San Francisco Giants. As in the past Willie Mays and Willie McCovey share the same table and again gladly sign autographs. Outside, customers press their noses against the windows of our room trying to grab a glimpse of these fabulous players — long past their prime, but still heroes in everyone’s mind. Before leaving, Willie Mays always dates and signs the tablecloth. I’m sure that one did not go in the laundry bag that evening.
Following the dinner, Larry Baer introduced the front office staff and the coaches. Duane Kuiper and Mike Krukow had a few choice comments, and then it was Jon Miller’s turn with a few tales while poking a little fun at Lon Simmons, who always takes the time to join us all the way from his home in Hawaii.
Although spring training is always a ritual and while baseball is the main event, man can not live on baseball alone and Scottsdale certainly has its share of fine dining establishments. One of our favorites is Maestro’s City Hall where everything is supersized and the cocktails cost $16. Yes, a plain old Manhattan over ice was 16 bucks. I guess ice is expensive in the desert! Another outstanding dinner house is Lon’s in the Hermosa Inn as well as T Cooks at the Royal Palms and Morton’s Steak House, Ruth’s Chris and Veneto where the baccala Manticato is prepared in the true Venetian tradition.
One of our favorite spots for a take out lunch is AJ’s, a beautiful market that would put Harrods’s to shame and whose deli outshines Carnegie’s in New York. Eddie V’s Edgewater Grille is an anomaly in a land of steaks and ribs where the fish is always fresh and beautifully cooked but a trip to Scottsdale can not be complete without a hamburger at Fuddruckers or a mound of ice cream at the Sugar Bowl.
So now opening day is just a few weeks away and hopefully the Giants will have another winning season, but most of all we all look forward to more of those thrilling games of the past — bottom of the ninth, two outs, bases loaded, three and two count, everyone standing — waiting for that rookie to hit one over the wall and into the bay. Go Giants!
Feedback: sergio@westsideobserver.com.
April 2010
The Luck of the Irish
With names like Liffey and Poddle, Aston Quay, Bachelor’s Walk and Halfpenny Bridge, one would expect Dublin to be a virtual fairyland, a paradise overgrown with four leaf clover, multi-colored grass and sunny skies, pubs bursting with song, and young kids singing and dancing to melodies written 100 years ago.
My first impression of Dublin was of a very industrial city, crowded, congested, noisy and under construction. Our first day was spent driving to Waterford, a nearly three hour ride each way through mostly two lane, heavily traveled roads. The favorite pastime is playing chicken going three and four abreast down narrow country roads. The signs on the side of the road constantly remind you of the number of fatalities since the first of the year. For all the good it does, they should have spent the money on better roads. The accident we passed on the way back will undoubtedly add one more tick to the overcrowded billboard. 
Waterford is a company town that seems to have outgrown the company. We were fortunate enough to get there just in time for the next guided tour of the factory, which proved to be very interesting. We all marched down the carefully marked lanes looking at the various work stations, while staying out of the way of the blowers, carvers and engravers. After a brief photo session along the way, we were cleverly discharged directly into the company store. Now here is a roomful of temptation that only the holiest can resist. We were not so blessed, so with our order form in one hand, and company pencil in the other, we moved from piece to piece. At least we’re in for a grand surprise when the crystal pieces arrive in a couple of months; no one remembered what was bought in the frenzy.
After a quick lunch, again at the company store, we headed for the town of Waterford, a quaint little town gone amuck with a mixture of the old and the new fighting for position. The new shops are trying to replace the old ones, while the old paved streets give way to concrete and asphalt. They should have left it alone. Our one-hour walk around town stretched our legs for the three hour ride that lay ahead. We did stop along the way, however, to admire an old church built in 1225 that still stands, roof gone, walls going, but being rebuilt by the city locals. Two very helpful young men gave us a tour of the remains, never asking for a coin to help in their rebuilding efforts. 
Being that we were staying overnight in Dublin, we felt obligated to do a little pub-crawling, so after a very relaxed dinner aboard ship, we grabbed a taxi for the 15 minute ride back into town. The drivers are so Irish with the great sense of humor that goes with the territory. The six of us, Karen and I, Larry and Kathy and a beautiful couple from southern Italy whom we had met earlier, went from pub to pub, looking for one that would fit our 55 to 75 year old range.
I had read that 50% of the people in Ireland are younger than 30, and by the looks of things, most of them were in the Temple Bar area that night. We did the best we could to keep up, but the Guinness was a bit too bitter for our taste and the smoke too thick. We did shut down the dancing and singing, however, and eventually found our way back to the ship. We all had a ball and agreed that the Irish are great, generous and fun loving — if only we could find some Miller Lite. 
The next day was perfect for strolling through Grafton Street, the main shopping street that starts from Trinity College and ends at St. Stephen’s Green. Our first stop was at the college where we took a walking tour of the campus that eventually placed us at the front door of the Library Building where the Book of Kells is displayed. It must have taken a lot of monks a lot of time to not only write that beautifully illuminated manuscript, but also the thousands of others stored in the Long Room, the longest single library room in the world. Thank God for word processors — no wonder the monks had to invent Champagne and brandy!
The crowds along Grafton St. were staggering, people going every which way, very much in command of their destiny. Our destiny was to try an Irish pub for some great Irish stew, and Dukes was the one recommended by the lady at the flower stand. Delicious food too much smoke.
We toured Stephen’s Green, a lovely park in the center of old town, watching the children feeding the ducks while we admired the colorful gardens encircling the weaving paths with two shopping bags full of “things.” That day, was our 42nd wedding anniversary and the captain was throwing a party for us that night along with 500 other people. 42 years and still talking, what a wonderful way to celebrate our first visit to Ireland.
Feedback: sergio@westsideobserver.com.
March 2010
Looking For Santa
New York, New York, the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps, filled with boundless energy with people always on the go. New York in December sounded like so much fun that we forgot about the unseasonably cold and blustery weather that had been hovering around 35 degrees.
The Ukrainian driver that picked us up at the airport must have been a former fighter pilot in the old country. For a while, we were wishing we were back on United, at least the trunk was clean. He did, however, get us to the hotel without incident and our dinner at Felidia’s that evening was a real treat with the food being as good as what Lidia cooks on channel 9 on Saturday mornings. 
An early wake up call got us to the ABC Studios to see the View — not from the top of the Empire State Building — but the TV program. The instructions from the View said to be at the studio around 8:30. We obliged and as our reward we got to stand in line, in the 35 degree weather for almost half an hour. We were finally given a number and proceeded to wait in a security line for what was by far the strictest search I’ve ever gone through. There was no way that anyone was going to terrorize Barbara Walters! Were they afraid that someone would scribble all over Whoopi with their lipstick?
Precisely at 11:00 a.m. the girls walked on to the cheers and applause that had been rehearsed earlier. During commercial breaks they walked around and talked to the audience. Barbara was extremely friendly and after asking people where they were from, looked at us and said “California, what are you doing here in this weather?”
Speaking of celebrities, Karen said that Sette Mezzo was Oprah’s favorite restaurant in New York so why not give it a try? After a quick phone call and with a nice Italian name like “Sergio” we were a shoe-in for 8:00 p.m.. The restaurant holds about 50 people, is very cozy, very friendly, very busy and as we soon found out, after we sat down, only accepts CASH.
Do you know how difficult it is to look cool while panicked at the same time? “Well, looks like we’ll be OK if we go easy on the wine”. When Karen ordered the Dover Sole a few more beads of perspiration formed on my brow. The funniest part was when the waiter asked if we wanted dessert and we responded loudly and in unison, “No Thank You”.
Once the bill arrived I was hesitant to flip it over, but managed a quiet sigh of relief when I saw the total. “Hey, we could have had dessert after all.” As we left the restaurant I noticed that there was an ATM in the Jewish Deli right next door which would have made dinner a little more relaxing, but then we’d have no story to tell.
Our trip to Little Italy the next day was more like “Where did Little Italy go?” About two blocks of Mulberry Street still claim a few Italian Restaurants and the rest has surrendered to China Town. There’s still a couple of T-Shirt shops and fortunately Ferrara’s Bakery, “America’s Oldest Pasticceria” is still very clean and very young.
As soon as we walked into Bravo Gianni we were warmly greeted by Gianni who proceeded to inform us that a very good friend had sent us a nice bottle of wine.
“What would you like?”
My answer was simple, “The most expensive wine you have.” It was not, but it was still very good and it went well with the table full of mixed antipasto. And followed by a special order of home made pasta with a delicious tomato and basil sauce and finally some of the best Dover sole this side of those white cliffs.
The next day we headed for Radio City Music Hall for the Christmas Spectacular. To call it spectacular would be the understatement of the year. Impossible to describe, the Rockettes rocked, the dancers danced and the stage full of Santas brought the season in full swing.
The show started with a video presentation which was viewed with 3D glasses that came with each program. For the next 10 minutes, Santa and his sleigh flew in and around the skyscrapers of Manhattan in full 3D, with each one of us feeling as if we were right behind him, as we tried to reach for the ornaments floating in space.
For the next hour and a half we were royally entertained by the dancers and singers, and as a finale, they did a spectacular nativity scene with live camels, donkeys and sheep as the Wise Men gathered around Mary, Joseph and the newly born baby Jesus.
With more rain came gridlock, and in New York, “Don’t Block the Box” does not exist, which is great for pedestrians. You never have to wait for the light to change — the traffic isn’t moving anyway.
The menu at Babbo’s is quite different, but the pig’s feet Milanese and bolito misto that I ordered was spectacular. The Nebbiolo went very well with our choices and gave us the courage to get on the subway after dinner and find our way back to our hotel. Best $4 per couple we’ve ever spent, and the people who helped us find the entrance to the subway and pick the correct train were as nice as can be.
Heading back to the hotel the following afternoon we saw that the taxi stand was all backed up, and as we waited our turn, a nice young man peddling a Rickshaw asked us if we wanted a ride. Sure, why not? And so we settled in, got covered up by a plastic sheet and off he went, pedaling up Madison Avenue, running red lights, cutting off cars, getting drenched. Within minutes, he got us back to the hotel just in time to snap a few photos of the two of us getting out from behind the plastic covering as the doorman wondered if he really wanted to acknowledge that we were guests of his hotel.
Finding a taxi to Tribeca Grill was easier than expected, and although our table was waiting for us, Robert Di Niro, who is a partner in the restaurant — was not there to greet us. Bummer! Our corner table was perfect as we joined in with the noisy crowd, all enjoying the good food and excellent service knowing that the end was near.
On the way to the airport we took a quick tour of Hoboken. What a treat and the best part is that the 20 minute Ferry ride to New York is free.
So now it’s back home as we prepare for the holidays with our family, thankful that we had the opportunity to visit New York during Christmas and see first hand that “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause.”
December 2009
Civita di Bagnoregio
We woke up Tuesday morning to a monster thunderstorm, the kind where you see the lightning through tightly closed eyes. We had planned to visit Orvieto, so after breakfast, we headed out in the rain for another day of sightseeing. I had often heard Rick Steves on his Channel 9 travel show talk about Civita di Bagnoregio, and being so close to Orvieto, we decided to go there first.
The road from Todi to Orvieto is about 15 miles of twists and turns littered, interestingly enough, with shall we say, young women in their business attire showing more than their entrepreneurial spirit. Talk about curb service! After more curves and narrower roads we finally arrived at Bagnoregio, a nice old town, but what’s all the fuss about? Five more kilometers and we reached Civita di Bagnoregio, and what a surprise. Here was a sliver of a town sitting on top of an inverted sugar cone. Not even Disney could have thought this one up.
This town sits on top of a sheer cliff overlooking the valley below. It looked deserted from the bottom so we almost didn’t go up the narrow bridge that leads to the town itself. Half way up the bridge we stopped and reconsidered if we were brave enough to continue. It was like being on a narrow scaffold suspended hundreds of feet in the air. Neither one of us wanted to chicken out first, so we proceeded to the top of the steep, narrow, concrete ramp about two blocks long and reached the entrance to the town. It was so beautiful it was surreal. If God ever wanted a second home, this would be it.
We walked around and to our surprise found a small shop advertising bruschetta and local wine. Joining the two other people already there, we sat down at one of the four tables and watched as Antonio cooked the homemade bread on the fireplace embers. Karen and I shared bruschetta with cheese, tomatoes and beans and enjoyed a glass of his freshly made wine. We found out that there are 20 people who live in the town, mostly older people whose parents and grandparents had also lived there. A few other people came in, all Americans, and all had Rick Steve’s book in hand. Following warm handshakes and a bunch of photos we reluctantly left Antonio and his daughter, leaving them to take care of the few others in his shop as we continued to walk around town.
An older woman showed us the old horse-driven stone used to crush olives, which was still residing in the dark, damp cave build by the Etruscans in 300 BC. She told us that a major earthquake in 1695 wiped out five sections of the town, leaving only the one that remains today. After leaving the cave we noticed a small enclosure holding a well fed, good natured pig. Before leaving we said good-bye to the local porker knowing that soon he would be satisfying next year’s visitors with more of that delicious prosciutto cooked on those smoldering embers.
We gave up on Orvieto, having been there twice before and knowing that nothing could surpass Civita. Back to the Relais Todini which is also located on top of a hill overlooking the rolling hills of Umbria with Todi at its back. After more porcini accompanied with delicious local wine we headed back to our room needing to pack but knowing that we would rather look out into the darkness speckled with glittering lights, than deal with the mundane. We’ll enjoy our last night in Todi and deal with Lucca in the moring.
November 2009
The Madness of it All
The real horror of war came into full perspective as we approached the seaside village of Sihanoukville in Cambodia. Yes, they now have improved facilities, shopping areas and air-conditioned buses, but the horrible memories of the not too distant past are still close at hand. We attended a lecture aboard the ship a few days ago and the speaker pointed out the endless atrocities that these poor people have endured. Millions were slaughtered by the Khmer Rouge for no reason and buried in massive, unmarked graves. The most amazing part is that Pol Pot and most of his henchmen never saw the insides of a court house. Pol Pot died of a heart attack at the age of 71.
Cambodia is still one of the poorest countries in the area, and most likely will remain that way for years to come. As Americans, we tried to help by carpet bombing the landscape into oblivion, now we’re trying with tourist dollars. Neither one seems to have worked so far.
Because of the four hour bus ride to and from Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia, we decided to settle for a 15 minute shuttle bus ride to Sihanoukville. The center of town is not like mid-town Manhattan, but more like a chaotic war zone.
Before the shuttle had a chance to park and open its door, we were inundated by a mass of humanity encircling the bus, pushing and shoving one another. Each person trying to grab our attention in order to sell us trinkets, food or rides on the endless Tuk-Tuk taxis that swarm around like locusts.
We managed to push and shove our way to the market place across the street,and what happened next only reinforced our greatest fears. The block long metal building, had every stand imaginable, from garments, jewelry, food, fish and live chickens. All neatly arranged in total chaos with scooters running through, people cooking food, others cleaning fish and sadly, beggars all over the place. Young crippled children crawled on the dirt floors as others offered outstretched hands. The smell in the 85 degree heat was nauseating.
We were reluctant to enter in the first place and now all we wanted to do was to find the quickest way out. Karen got choked up and started to cry and I felt like a war correspondent and continued to film. Outside was not much better than inside. As we walked around the surrounding area we saw tables covered with raw fish drying in the sun, covered with flies, venders selling food that you would not give to a condemned man.
Fortunately for us a nice young man pulled up in his Tuk-Tuk and offered to take us for a ride to look at the surrounding beach areas. Reluctant at first we finally decided that anything had to be better than where we were. After negotiating a price for the half hour tour — the average worker earns $40.00 a month — we jumped in, one looking at the other and thinking “If our children ever did this we would never let them out of the house!”
After a lot of honking, and cutting in and out of traffic, we ended up at Serendipity Beach, a sandy area with chase lounges and anchored boats off shore. This was not Waikiki by any stretch of the imagination — -more venders but luckily no beggars. A very sweet young girl came up to Karen and in perfect English tried to sell her a bracelet. “Take the money but keep the bracelet.” It was such a good deal she brought her friend for the same transaction.
The contrast between the market place and our suite was beyond the realm of comprehension. We will never, ever complain again. Why do so many people have to live in such filth and squalor? We are so spoiled or should I saw “blessed”.
Dinner that evening was at Prime C, the ship’s specialty steak house. My bone-in rib eye was perfectly matched with Michael Chiarello’s 2003 Napa Valley “Gianna” Zinfandel.
We did manage to get a good night’s sleep, considering the nightmare of a day. Today we’re being rewarded with a day at sea and tomorrow we visit Ho Chi Minh City ,formerly know as Saigon. From we’ve read it should be a pleasant experience and believe me we need one.
October 2009
Happy Birthday to Me
Returning to Venice is like meeting an old friend, arms outstretched, a great big hug, a slight brush on the cheek and a warm hello. Venice, where the pigeons outnumber the people and the people are the biggest pigeons of all and where our checkbook is sinking faster than those grand old buildings innocently resting on rotting piles.
Saturday, the 18th, was my birthday and we arose to a beautifully sunny, clear day. After meeting some very dear friends in front of St. Mark's we were picked up by private water taxi and spent the next 3 hours sightseeing along the lagoon, stopping off at Harry's latest cafe for Bellini and delicious pastries.
A brief stop at Burano gave the women a chance to look at some of that beautiful hand made lace and then to Torchello for the celebration. The Cipriani is still owned by the original family and the eight room hotel is a far cry from the luxurious resort of the same name across from St. Marks.
Between birthday cheers and greetings we were treated to
baccala and polenta, prosciutto with figs, grilled fish,
homemade pasta and local entrées all nicely paired with
Bellini, local wines and finally a nice Prosecco to help
extinguish the flames from all those birthday candles. 
After an unforgettable lunch, it was back to St.Marks again by private water taxi zipping along at full throttle with the salt spray in our faces as the boat crashed through the wakes of those less fortunate.
In making our dinner plans, we knew that any local restaurant would pale by comparison, so we opted for a picnic in our room. From past visits we knew of a great bread store, a delicatessen that has mortatella about 18 inches around and a wine shop that sells local wines in used plastic water bottles for about $3 a liter. How much fun can we have in one day?
Sunday morning Karen and I got up at 6 a.m., put on our
cleanest dirty clothes and went for a long walk through
St. Marks and beyond — no people, no pigeons, just empty
churches with candles begging to be lit. We carried that
glorious sunrise with us to breakfast, cleaned up and traded
our rosary beads for a yarmulke and headed for the Jewish
Ghetto. There are only 500 Jews left in Venice, 50 still
live in the Ghetto. We took a tour, visiting three synagogues,
and after a kosher lunch, the two of us headed back. Feeling
like traitors we stopped off at Santa Maria della Salute
and lit a couple of candles.
Monday we were disappointed by the early morning showers but then we had never seen Venice in the rain and it was a whole new world. Everyone slows down and it's a sea of umbrellas. The Italians look so slick carrying their umbrellas and we tourists look so dumb in our plastic slickers. The Guggenheim Museum was on our agenda for the morning and so it was for everyone else. It was so fascinating looking at all the beautiful artwork on the inside while admiring the beauty of the Grand Canal on the outside. After a leisurely lunch it was off to visit the cemetery island.
We had always seen the cemetery from afar but had never
taken the time to visit it. We were the only ones there
and quietly got drenched as we were mesmerized by the fine
marble work dating back hundreds of years. No ghosts, no
pigeons, just the two of us.
Looking like Mary Poppins, we finally surrendered to our
inverted umbrellas and boarded the next vaporetto for St.
Marks. After a hot shower and blow-drying our shoes, we
were primed for our last night in Venice. 
We got cleaned up for dinner only to get to our restaurant totally drenched — all the more reason for a nice hearty bottle of wine to dry us off. It rained just as hard on the way back as we were treated to an old Venetian custom: We had always seen the wooden planks and metal sawhorses stored along the sides of buildings before, but had never had the thrill of "walking the plank.” The elevated walkways are not that wide and the one with the biggest umbrella wins. The best part was watching the young kids wading through St. Mark's, ankle deep in water. We settled for a grappa instead.
Tuesday morning we were awakened by the sound of gondoliers singing to their enchanted visitors, most never having seen a gondola short of a weekend trip to Las Vegas. For us it was our last day in Venice before heading for Florence. Certainly sad to leave but never forgetting the indescribable beauty of this magical place. What a wonderful birthday present.
September 2009
There’s A First Time For Everything
If it takes a State House full of crooked politicians and a bunch of home grown gangsters to run a city then San Francisco should take notice and follow suit. It works great in Chicago and as I’ve said many times before Chicago is a beautiful city, clean, well maintained and full of very nice people and where pedestrians always have the right of way. Homelessness does not exist and graffiti is not to be seen. We’re here for a short stay, just long enough for Karen to spend the day with our granddaughter Katie at the American Girl Place. A 10th birthday present that fit in very well with Spring Break.
Our early Monday morning flight was very normal except for the fact that our United 767 must have just come from the factory and unwrapped just before whisking us off. It still had that new car smell and what a surprise as we sat down in our Business Class seats to find out that we were going to ride backwards! A little unnerving at first and a bit strange as we rolled down the runway seeing what we were leaving rather than where we were headed and landing was just as strange. It seems that the layout had every other pair of seats facing backwards. I remember the old San Francisco streetcars that had movable backrests that could be moved back and forth depending on the direction of travel but these were beautiful Recaro seats that made up into full size beds. Considering the smoothness of the flight and the excellent service it was well worth the experience. At least we now have something new to talk about at the next cocktail party. 
We chose to stay at the Drake Hotel, having stayed here a few times before and because of its stellar location right on Michigan Avenue and directly across from the lake. The Miracle Mile is still miraculous and the spring clothes decorating the windows are in full bloom regardless of the near freezing temperatures outside. Still too early for the beautiful flowers in sidewalk planters to be in full regalia but the parks are clean and perfectly manicured.
Chicago is synonymous with good food and our first night was no exception. With many relatives in the food business Karen and I started out with the Erie Café where my cousin EJ greeted us, entertained us and feed us until we raised our hands in surrender. EJ has a restaurant of his own in Skokie, appropriately called EJ’s Place. What a pleasant surprise when he answered the phone at the Erie Cafe and told me he was filling in for his brothers for a couple of nights. Perfect timing for us and a truly enjoyable evening.
Tuesday night we were hosted to an old fashioned Italian dinner at my cousin Ray’s house where his wife Nancy started us out with home made ravioli followed by roast hens, cutlets, fresh spinach and an amazing dessert. North Beach does not even come close. On the way out we made a side trip to visit President Obama’s house but the area is totally barricaded for blocks and is now the Fort Knox of the neighborhood. Great duty for a bunch of Chicago’s finest.
But man can not live on bread alone so Wednesday we took a 2 hour Architectural River Cruise along the Chicago River while we listened to our guide describe every style of architecture, which architect did what, which building was the tallest until the next one came along and finally showed us the site of the new Chicago Spire skyscraper which when completed will tower over 2,000 feet. I wonder how Donald Trump will feel when his new hotel and condo project will no longer be the 2nd tallest in this marvelous city.
The next treat for us was watching Michael and Laura’s 2 beautiful children as Michael and Laura went out on the town celebrating their 14th wedding anniversary. The concierge had recommended Carmine’s, just a few short blocks down from the hotel. “Carmine’s” sounds so New York, so Little Italy, and so Mafioso! Actually it was great! Good food, excellent service and a waiter that had 2 small children of his own and treated Katie and Andrew like they were family.
Chicago is well known for all its museums, aquarium, planetarium and city parks. Having seen most of them in the past we chose to visit Trump’s new International Hotel and Tower located just off Michigan Avenue and bordering on the Chicago River. After seeing a couple of the rooms and spa I had to tip my cap to Mr. Trump—it is spectacular. The hotel has been open for a year and unfortunately we found out too late but it’s definitely our choice for our next visit. Although we were not guests at the hotel we were welcomed to use the spa facilities so first thing this morning (Friday) Karen and I took advantage of the ultramodern facilities and cursed the fact that our one hour massage went by much too quickly.
The short mile back to our hotel was refreshing if you can call freezing weather and artic winds fun. So cold but so much fun working up an appetite and so for our finale we crossed the street from our hotel to Bloomindales where on the 5th floor there is a great little food court with a restaurant called Frankie’s Scaloppini. The risotto with shrimp and vegetables would rival any you would find in Italy and Karen’s pizza was delicious. I should add that Chicago is also well known for its food as we found out again last night while having dinner at Gene and Giorgetti’s. “Gene,” like my uncle Gene, who was my mother’s brother, and while the restaurant is now run by other members of the family it is still one of the best steak houses in Chicago. The bowser bag barely fit in the taxi.
So now we start to pack and get ready for our very early morning flight back to Burlingame that gets us home in time for an early lunch but not before we get together with 14 of the cousins tonight for a Good Friday dinner celebration. Its been a short but wonderful trip and I really don’t care which way we face heading home—I only hope that those beautiful seats do make up into a bed, I’m looking forward to a long winter’s nap heading west.
Sergio Nibbi came to San Francisco in 1940, where the business he and brother Larry operate maintains its headquarters. Contact: sergio@nibbi.com
July/August 2009
