The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing but the Truth

A man named Jim Porter wrote an article for the Sierra Sun in which he discussed the Stolen Valor Act.  This law has two provisions, the intent of which is to prohibit people from giving the impression they have won an honor such as a Purple Heart when in fact no such honor was bestowed upon them.  He discussed two provisions of this law – 704 (a) which among other things makes it a crime to knowingly wear a medal which was bestowed by Congress in connection with the Armed Forces if that medal was fraudulently obtained, and 704 (b), which makes it a crime to falsely represent yourself as having been awarded a medal if in fact you haven’t (i.e., lie about having been awarded a Purple Heart). 

In his article, he talked about how the court struck down a case which was raised pursuant to 704(b) of the Stolen Valor Act because they felt the defendant was entitled to free speech, even if that speech was untruthful.

So my question is, if there is a specific law which states you can’t lie about a particular thing, but this is unconstitutional  because your right to free speech protects your untruthful speech, then what do we make of any other law which requires truthfulness?

What about the laws which require us to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth when we testify in court or in a deposition, or sign a statement about truthfulness for employment applications, loan applications, college applications, etc.?  What is the difference between lying when approaching this type of speech and lying about having earned a Purple Heart?  In the case cited, the person was lying to try to make himself appear to be a more appealing candidate for public office.   We should all be happy to know that our politicians can now justifiably lie as part of their free speech --- but I guess they have always known that. 

Other People's Money

Don't you just love the sound of it?  Other People's Money, OPiuM, the new drug of choice for the American crowd.  I am tired of everyone using my money. I want to feel fully American. Patriotic even.  I NEED to use OPM.  It's my right!!!  Since I don't qualify for the normal entitlement programs (yet), I have to figure out other ways to get access to the your money.

How about this:  I go out to dinner with my Dad, but cleverly forget to bring my wallet!  Thanks Dad! I'll pay you back later!  (See, I already sound like a politician!)

Or maybe this:  I am invited for an afternoon visit to Tahoe with my friend who has rented a fabulous house on the lake's edge.  Hey Bruce!  Glad to see you!  Let's have a drink!  Oh, shoot!  I left all the wine at home, and I had a really good bottle, too!  Darn!  What?  You have some?  Ok, I'll try just a little.   (Hours pass)  WooHoo!  This sure is a nice placsh! Hiccup!  I can't find my car keys! Hiccup!  Where could they be?  I thinth I will need to stay over night.  Hiccup!   zzzzzzzz....

Then there's vendor largess:  Wow!  Thanks for these free skybox tickets to the Sharks games!  Sure I'll send some business your way! You betcha!  Hey, can you pass the chicken wings and Dove bars?  Who are you anyway?  Do I know you?

Taking advantage of neighbors is always good:  Hi Amy, just wanted to drop by and leave you with these lovely roses I picked (from Lena's garden).  Yumm!  It smells good in here!  Did I catch you at dinner time?  The fabulous smells of your great cooking are making me hungry!  I wish I could make dinner too, but my stove and refrigerator are broken.  Such a pity!  Oh no, no!  I wouldn't dream of intruding!  Well, if you insist!  Isn't it lucky I also have these gladlock containers in my purse for the leftovers? 

More neighborly love -  best if left in a note pinned to the front door, while your neighbor is out getting his Saturday morning coffee:  Hi Brian!  Buddy!  How's it going?  Hey man, I hope you don't mind, this morning I needed to borrow your lawn mower, pressure washer, tool chest, barbecue, and chainsaw.  Took them with me to Mariposa - see you Sunday night!  Have a good one, man!  By the way, can you take care of our dogs this weekend? Food's in the pantry, but if you run out, get the jumbo size bag at Safeway and I'll pay you back later! 

Ahhh.  I am really liking this OPiuM business. I am starting to feel just like a real American.  Everyone should have the opportunity to walk a mile in someone else's shoes!  Speaking of which, who might have some shoes I can borrow?  Ma-rieeeeeee!

Is the grass always greener?

Do you ever pass strangers on the street and wonder what their lives are like?  I don't usually indulge in this this sort of pastime, but when I came across the guy in the picture below the other night, I found I could not help but wonder about his life.  I'm sorry the picture is not very clear, but that's what happens when you see something so completely odd that you have to first drop everything you're carrying, then dig through your purse for your cell phone, and then run half a block to get close enough to take a picture:

The man is carrying a lifesize headless mannequin.  Every so often he would stop and adjust it in his arms.  First, it was slung over his shoulder, with the severed neck dragging behind him.  Then he had it gripped across the breasts so that he and the mannequin formed sort of a "T" with the man's body, but he was too wide on the sidewalk, so finally he settled on this grip, across the kneecaps, which seemed to suit him.   All the while he was talking to the girl next to him, as if this was just a normal thing to do. There was not any discussion at all referencing his odd baggage, such as, "When we get home, let's dress up this mannequin", or "I hope my mannequin will fit on the back of my motorcycle." No. Instead they chatted about a song they had heard on the radio and what they planned to do for the weekend, as if carrying a mannequin down the streets of San Francisco at 10 PM at night on a Wednesday was a normal thing to do. 

Who knows? Maybe he always walked around with a mannequin, to avoid feeling lonely.  "Bring a friend," said the invitation.  "Why, don't mind if I do!  I just happen to have a mannequin-friend who would love to come along!  Of course, she doesn't have a head, but don't mind that.  She's quite pleasant otherwise. A great listener!"  I find myself wondering if she is heavy, or maybe she is very light. Maybe she floats, and the reason he wants her is because he is planning on surfing at Ocean Beach the next morning, and his surfboard was stolen.  Riding the waves on a mannequin might be fun, after all.  Hmm.  This is San Francisco. Maybe he just wants to ride the mannequin while his girlfriend watches.  It couldn't be that they would want to have the mannequin watch, because she doesn't have a head.  I don't know.  This is why I don't spend much time wondering about the lives of strangers.  You never know what you might discover.  I guess I should just mind my own business. My mannequin-less business.

Lessons Learned

I have learned a valuable lesson: If you have to go to the emergency room, regardless of the reason for your visit, claim to have chest pains in addition to whatever symptoms you may also be experiencing. This will get you immediately to the front of the line, and shortly thereafter, perched on a comfy gurney and on your way to see a doctor.  When you pay $100 for a visit, this is the treatment you deserve.

Bob was out riding his bike at lunch today and shortly thereafter, he began experiencing flutterings in his heart rhythm, which wouldn’t stop after a sufficient period of rest.  He called his doctor’s office, and was told that since this condition was somewhat of an emergency given his bypass last year, he would receive a call back shortly.  Nonetheless, two hours later, no response.  Well, what can you expect from a doctor who diagnosed a near-MERSA staff infection as bursitis, and was shocked and amazed to learn, despite Bob’s complaints of chest pains, that Bob had a 97% blockage of the main artery in his heart?  Good thing I had insisted on further tests, because this guy was never going to order them. 

Rather than wait for his doctor to eventually finish picking his nose and give us a call back, Bob ended up going into the ER, which is where we are now.

Arriving in the lobby, there is a woman whose lip is swollen to the point it threatens to cover her nose. It is beginning to consume her entire face.  “No, I widn’t hit it wif anyfing,” she struggles to say.  “I don’t fink I ate anyfing unusual.”  She is ushered to a seat to wait.  Apparently she did not understand that she should also say, “And I am also haffing chest pains.” 

Shortly thereafter, a young, athletic looking guy walks in and proceeds to slump to the floor.  “Why are you sitting on the floor?” an orderly asks.  “I didn’t want to faint and fall on the floor,” he says, with a miserable expression on his face.  “Are you having vertigo or feeling dizzy?” inquires the orderly.  “No, I just don’t want to faint. I am in terrible pain, and when that happens sometimes I black out. I didn’t want to fall over and get hurt.”  He is trying to sound calm but is apparently not feeling too well.   I want to whisper to him, “Claim to have chest pains!” but I can’t manage to do it without detection.  “You can’t sit on the floor,” says the orderly.  In a few minutes she returns with a nurse who takes the man’s blood pressure and helps him to a chair.  “So, are you feeling dizzy or having vertigo?” asks the nurse.  “I said no, no dizziness, I just feel faint from the pain.  My ear is in terrible pain. I was seen at 3AM morning and what they gave me doesn’t seem to be helping the infection.”  I immediately perk up and begin listening intently.  Having suffered terribly over the years from horrible ear infections, I can completely understand his pain and misery.  Now I really want to scream “and chest pains!  Remember, you also have chest pains brought on by the stress of the ear pain!”  But instead, he just slumps further in his chair while listening to a lecture on the semantics of the word “dizzy”.  The nurse drones on, “Well, dizziness doesn’t have to mean a spinning feeling. It could also mean a fainting feeling.  So if you say you aren’t dizzy but you are faint, I am not quite sure what you mean. Let me ask again, are you feeling dizzy?”  “Yes, I guess so,” he concedes. “It just really, really hurts. I can’t concentrate.” I see that familiar look pass between the nurse and the orderly.  “Drug seeking behavior!” they seem to be communicating telepathically to each other. “He is just in here to get more vicodin.”  I think about claiming to be the poor boy’s mother and reminding him that while he is not trying to be a burden to the ER staff, he also is having chest pains which for some reason he forgot to mention.  But just then, Bob is wheeled into the back recesses of the hospital for his EKG and the opportunity passes. 

Everything looks good for Bob, but just to be sure, he gets blood tests, a chest Xray, additional EKG’s, an order for a stress test tomorrow morning and an appointment to be fitted with a heart monitor for a 24 hour test, which unfortunately won’t be conducted until July 20th, 9 days from now.  I guess this is the only situation where the severity of having chest pains is outweighed by the scarcity of heart monitors.  No worries.  Bob feels better knowing that he has not had a heart attack.  Now he is hungry and we leave the hospital in search of something vegan.  It’s after 9 PM which in this area, means our choices are fast food or Wheaties with rice milk.  Guess which option wins?  Dinner of champions, here we come!

Man with Too Many Countries

One of the best things about the work I do is the diversity of assignments I get to pursue.  In any given week I might be scheduling speaking events for the local treasury symposium, closing a hush-hush financing transaction, or figuring out a way to bring a few million dollars back to the US from Russia without paying huge fees or suffering an FX loss.  This week, my task was to look for the best payment methods to offer to online consumers in over 200 different countries.  As part of this job, I would also need to ensure my client could minimize its FX gains or losses which arose when they converted the local payments received into US dollars.  To get started on this project, I decided to group all the countries we sold to into the geographic territories that coincided with my client’s regional businesses, and then to further group them by currency, since in many cases a common currency such as Euro, US Dollar, or Australian Dollar was used.  What I learned was this:  There are a lot of bizarre countries out there!  Like Togo.  Where the heck is that located? Oh, right next to the Bight of Benin, Burkina Fasa and Ghana.  Well at least I’ve heard of Ghana.  Not to be confused with Guyana, French Guiana or New Guinea (which is not the same as Guinea-Bissau, or Republic of Guinea).  And then there are the Bailiwicks – the Bailiwick of Guernsey and the Bailiwick of Jersey.  Really???  Even Google had a hard time locating Vanuatu, Tokelau, and Tuvalu.  Do you think the people of these places actually have money to spend buying things online ?  I suppose if you haven't engaged in genocide, you aren't a religious fanatic, or you don't produce oil, then your country may remain in relative obscurity forever. 

One of my favorite finds was Lesotho, whose current ruler is King MoShoeShoe II.  “Give me my shoe shoe and while you’re at it, throw in some sock-socks!”  Down the list of countries appear Nauru, Niue and Aotearoa.  Aotearoa is the native language name for New Zealand, explaining why it appears with the “N” countries on my list.  Then there are all the –stans:  Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Pakistan.  This last country, along with Turkey, has me wondering - Where do you draw the line between Eastern Europe and Middle East?  I have to classify these into regions somehow…

Another odd thing about the countries are the two-digit ISO codes which are used to abbreviate the country names.  AQ is Antarctica.  Hmm. Q.  AX is the Aland Islands.  BJ is the Bight of Benin.  Think about that.  BJ and Bight together don’t exactly bring up happy thoughts.  Nor does the abbreviation for Bermuda.  BM.  Reminds me of a cross country driving trip I once took with Carena.  All the towns put their initials on the hillsides.  We passed W, then C.  Then we came to Battle Mountain.  Could there actually be a nefarious plan behind it, like some kind of strange suggestive-sell for the gas station bathrooms?  I could see the marketing geniuses at work:  “We’ll subliminally entice them into the station by putting a gigantic BM on the side of the hill, but to get to the restrooms, they will have to weave past the aisles of ho-hos, twinkies, and hot pink sno-balls!  Who will be able to resist that much temptation?”

But I digress.  Time passes and I need to figure out how to collect payments from Sao Tome and Palau in currencies other than conch and coconut shells, without violating the drug-trafficking regulations.  Details, details!

Junk Mail

I was having withdrawal from writing my blogs while in Italy and Croatia, but I just couldn't seem to come up with something inspiring to write about.  I thought of calling my friend and owner of Marble Mountain Dude Ranch, Doug Cole, to learn what he's been up to, and whether he had run over any more dogs, set anymore fires, rolled any backhoes, been thrown from any horses, taken any medivac helicopter rides lately, or chopped off any more of his wife's body parts with his chainsaw, but then I became frightened about what I might discover.  Let sleeping dogs lie.  Except if they are lying underneath Doug's pickup, in which case, you should quickly shoo them away and then run for cover to protect yourself as well. 

Coming home, I picked up the mail which as usual was all junk.  Carena and Marie have each received a credit card offer from Chase - in fact, Carena has received two - a regular card and a mileage points card.  Not to be outdone, Marie has received a Citibank credit card offer, but to even things out, Carena has also received a Southwest credit card offer, a Student Loan offer (a little late) and a Capital One card offer (don't they know she is an employee and gets an interest-free card already???)   Then there are the catalogs.  Ballards, Front Gate, Title Nine, Home Decorators, and Lillian Vernon, all addressed to my Dad's ex-wife.  He forwarded his mail to my house temporarily several years ago, and for some horrible reason, when he removed the forwarding, the catalogs continued to come.  Thousands of them.  Catalogs and credit card offers were a toxic mix for Lynn.

Bob has received 6 pieces of junk - 5 free nights at the Marriot of his choice, along with ELITE priveleges and RICH rewards.  So hard to pass by.  A USAA credit card offer (they must know we are still putting one child through college), an announcement for an upcoming sale at REI (hmmm, maybe sea kayaks will be on sale?  Perhaps I can talk Marie into buying us a couple with her new credit card???), a real estate listing for an ugly little house that is described as "charming fixer for young couple -- walk to shops, school, easy commute."  I like how they highlight how easy it is to get away from this dump.  He also received a special invitation from our insurance agent for a get together at a local park - two months from now.  I guess the agent is emphasizing his advance planning skills, just as he suggests we do with our life insurance.  And finally, a Buy One Get One coupon for a giant steak with fries, ribs, and chicken, all coated in Jack Daniels sauce.  Sorry guys, you're barking up the wrong tree.  Now if you had some chicken-shaped vega-curd on the menu, maybe Bob would jump at this special offer. 

Even the dogs have some mail - It's time for their checkups.  How nice.  More reasons to sign up for the credit cards. 

Nothing for me, but there is something addressed to my employees - a flyer for a seminar - "Dealing with Difficult People."  Hmm.  I wonder who ordered THAT???  I will just have to see how many of the employees sign up, and then I will teach them a thing or two...

There's also a bunch of trash mail thrown on the porch by the people that are too cheap to pay for bulk mail delivery -- a yard cleaning service (must have seen our jungle of a front lawn during our vacation), an announcement for the grand opening of another restaurant, 5th one this year in the same bad location, and OH! What is this?? What is this???   "Lost Kitty.  Have you seen this Kitty?"  Welllll, mayyybeeee.  It sort of looks like the Kitty that was under my car wheel yesterday.  "His name is Flint."  The flyer should read "His name WAS Flint."  Poor Flint.  "He has a distinctive black stripe in the middle of his nose".  Yep.  That's right where my tire crossed his face. "Our family is very worried."  And with good reason.  You should keep a better eye on your pets!  "If you have been sheltering him, or if you do see him in the coming days, PLEASE contact me right away." Well, she didn't say "If you have unfortunately run over and killed my cat, and dumped him in your yard waste bin, PLEASE contact me right away," so I guess I am not really under any obligation to call. 

Enough.  I am off to the gym to restart my quest to achieve the 1000 calorie challenge (burn 1000 calories in one hour).  Since vacation, despite all the hiking we did, I can only manage to accomplish the 450 calorie half hour challenge.  Stay tuned!  Gym people watching is always good for a few blogs!  (Especially if they are like Italian people along the lines of my previous "Girls Only" blog!)

The Friendly Skies

I love to travel, but I hate travelling.  Planes, Trains, Buses, especially in the post-911 era just suck the lifeblood out of a person.  We are flying home on American Airlines and our flight is delayed  by about an hour and a half.  We had a two hour connection to clear customs and change planes at JFK which is now looking a bit sketchy.  The airline personnel remain optimistic, and ask that all passengers do the same.  They remind us, with kind and friendly smiles, that anyone who becomes overly upset will be handcuffed and thrown in prison. 

The in-flight entertainment is about to begin.  I am hoping for some real entertainment such as that which one flight had the other day, when a possibly-drunk passenger became irate with another for reclining his seat and a fist fight ensued, requiring the assistance of a couple of F-16’s, and resulting in the plane being diverted to another airport for an emergency landing.  I would like to be diverted – maybe to Spain, or perhaps France, but with my luck, we would probably end up in Iceland. 

There is a Texan who’s about the size of a longhorn sitting across the aisle from me, and he is ignoring the flight crew’s requests to return his seat to the upright position for meal service.  As a result, the elderly man sitting behind him is being bisected by his tray table.  I don’t think he has the stamina for a fist fight in the aisle.  And besides, he couldn’t get out of his seat  even if he wanted to.  He is pinned between the tray table and his chair back in what is proving to be a new form of non-invasive gastro-surgery which is successfully preventing him from eating anything.

Not that he would want to eat what he’s been served.  The meal is pasta, served with stale bread and a side of pasta, several butter pats, and some butter cookies.  This is American Air’s version of fusion cuisine – a blend of Italian and American traditions.  “Why are there two pasta entrées and no salads?” inquires the passenger behind me.  “I am not complaining”, she adds quickly, in case the steward should sense some unrest and inform the hidden air marshall.   “e Coli”, replies the flight attendant.  Oh!  I see they have figured out the source of the cucumber-sprouts e-coli scare – it is coming from airline food!  Any frequent traveler could have guessed that!  The pasta is ziti in a tomato-based sauce, cooked al trente.  Trente means thirty in Italian, and it refers to the number of minutes of overcooking needed to turn pasta from al dente into soggy mush. 

The plane we are on is an older 767-300.  The stewardess comes by, passing out headphones and binoculars.  “The headphones are complementary!” she informs us.  “They can be used over and over!”  Wow!  I feel special.  The binoculars are so you can actually see the movie, which is displayed on one of three six-inch monitors suspended from the plane’s ceiling in the economy cabin – one monitor for every 15 rows of seats.  It’s not as far away as it seems, since fifteen rows of seats fit into a space about the size of a typical entry closet.

The movie has just ended – a sad story about a country singer-turned alcoholic who ends up committing suicide.  I guess the airline movie selection committee felt the passengers could empathize with the ending, given that they all had just finished their meals.  Our cabin attendant has just rushed down the aisle with something that looks like a large gray quilt.  Or could it be a body bag?  The line for the lavoratory is forming, no doubt a result of the digestive pressures of the “meal”.  Oh well.  Everyone likes to return from vacation a few pounds lighter.  As usual, the airline has our best interest at heart.

Once we arrive at JFK, you can tell you have returned home.  Confusion reigns as everyone dashes off the plane  OJ Simpson-style to try to make their connections.  Due to our tight connection we are given a special bright orange paper to waive, allowing us to use special fast lanes.  We breeze through passport control but are required to go through baggage inspection because I have declared that I am bringing home food - dried porcini mushrooms, canned black truffle spread, canned fish pate and a host of other hard to find things I picked up to help me recreate some of the delicious food we've enjoyed.  We approach the inspector and I nonchalantly waive my orange sticker, noting our next flight is leaving any minute.  He is generous and lets us go through without opening our suitcases, and we rush to recheck our bags. 

We then realize we must exit the international terminal, go to the domestic terminal, and reclear security.  Ugh!!!!!!  Several Italians are in the same predicament and we all begin running.  At security we are escorted to the "fast" lane which is so packed it's moving like a snail, and we are told to get into the regular line to get through more quickly.  We comply and end up in an excrutiatingly slow line manned by a dimwit TSA agent who has no clue how to interpret the xray images.  She is scanning and rescanning the bag of a guy 10 people in front of us, and she is convening a coffee clutch with her fellow dimwits to try to understand what she is seeing.  Just pull the f-ing bag off the line and open it up for inspection!  Finally a supervisor does just this, but we all must stand there while the trainee agent observes.  The bag is scanned again, and again it is pulled off for inspection.  I am feeling frantic at this point.  Another delay - the Italians in front of us don't realize they are required to strip naked to pass through the scanners.  Shoes come off, more hand gesturing, then belts and jackets are removed.  Finally we get through and everyone makes a run for the gate.  We are the last group to board, and the plane pushes off.  Then the good news - weather delays in JFK and SFO.  We finally taxi to the runway and are number 30 in line for takeoff.  Everyone turns on their phones and ipods, and the stewardess gets irate. 

Finally we soar into the skies, just in time for the two year old five rows ahead of us to start screaming hysterically.  She pretty much didn't stop for the whole flight home.  When she would blessedly fall asleep, her tiny brother would wake up and pick up where she left off.  The poor parents were frantic, and the mother was rocking the little girl so violently I thought the child would end up with shaken baby syndrome.  At last we land.  Hooray!  Or maybe not.... our bag containing all our gifts is lost.  Damn!  It never made it out of JFK, according to the airline.  It will be delivered to our home tomorrow -- it is already enroute on a plane that will be landing in the middle of the night.  I am fearful it was opened by the ag inspectors and my porcinis were removed!  But Carena is there waiting to chauffeur us home, and it is great to see her smiling face and to give her a great big hug.  We arrive home around 9 PM.  The house looks terrific, except for the jungle of a lawn in the backyard, and the neglected garden, with lettuce plants which have grown to be two feet tall and wide, and flowers overflowing out of all the baskets and pots.  We force ourselves to stay up until about midnight, ensuring a good sleep and a fair chance to adjust to the jet lag.  

I get up early as is my practice, to finish up my blogs and get back to "real" life.  C'est la vie!  Thanks to all for following along, and I hope you enjoyed reading these ramblings as much as Bob and did in creating the stories that made them up!

Foods of Italy

I have had a great time eating my way across Italy.  In fact, I bought so many specialty food items, cookbooks, table cloths, and other food-themed items that we needed to get another suitcase in which to carry them all home.

Our first night in Italy was in the port town of Bari, located on the southern Adriatic coast just above the “heel” of Italy’s boot-shaped silhouette.  We decided to eat at Sumo – a sushi restaurant, since after 16 days away from home, we were craving something familiar.  It was Bob’s first time in Italy so I made him order some bruschetta (why they serve that at a sushi restaurant is beyond me), and it was really good – probably the best we had during our trip.  The tomatoes were extremely fresh and were just slightly cooked  with a terrific infused flavor of basil and balsamic vinegar in just the right proportions.   We followed that with chirashi – an assortment of mixed raw fish typically served with a bowl of rice.  It was light and delicious, with salmon and tuna sliced as thin as prosciutto and piled on a plate with garnishes of sliced lemon.  We asked for wasabi and got strange looks but eventually the waitress brought some out.  The best part of the meal was the drinks – I had some kind of orange-flavored cocktail which was akin to a mojito made of crushed mint and crushed orange wedges, an orange liqueur (the name of which I did not recognize), and vodka.   We selected the restaurant, which was located on the main drag of Emmanuel Vittorio, because there was a large crowd of locals eating there.    

Our second day in Italy was in Matera, where we had a great lunch but a not-so good dinner.  Lunch was freshly made mushroom ravioli in a thyme-based butter/wine sauce, served with a glass of light-bodied locally produced red wine.  Our hosts had recommended some restaurants for dinner but we could not find them, since we’d lost our map earlier in the day, so we picked a place close to our B&B, which turned out to be somewhat disappointing.  We started off with the house anti-pasti platter, made up of assorted olives, artichoke hearts, red bell peppers, and sliced eggplant but each item had the same flavors and could have come out of a can.  Bob had a pasta in marinara sauce which was a bit bland, and I had the house specialty – a skewer of veal sausages which were tasty but too heavy for the hot and humid night.  Wine was only so-so.  I decided to stick with Bob’s plan and avoid eating meat after that.

Our second night in Matera was much better, excellent in fact.  We ate at a place called il Cantuccio and we were lucky to get in without reservations.  Our first plate was labeled as mushroom soup but was actually a brioche split open and filled with chunks of porcini mushrooms sautéed in a thyme infused wine sauce.  Bob enjoyed an excellent tuna tartare which was prepared with a very subtle tarragon-flavored olive oil dressing, and I had a delicious and spicy dish of orriechiette with arrabatica sauce, pancetta, and mozzarella cheeses.   As usual, we were served bread, which in this region is made with a special type of faro that gives the bread a light brown color and moist, slightly chewy texture. It was really good.

The food in Positano was fabulous.  I had done a bit of research on Trip Advisor when planning the trip, and made a note to eat at Bucca di Bacco – a stylish restaurant right on the beach associated with the hotel of the same name, which we’d tried to stay at but couldn’t get in.  Our waiter was very fun and enthusiastic, and talked with us for while about kayaking from Positano to some islands that were about 3 kilometers offshore.  We had salmon tartare as an appetizer (huge portions, delicious, with a slight smoked salmon taste, mixed with olive oil and capers) and then shared an awesome dish of extra-thick tagliatelle (wide, long noodles) with a zesty tomato-based sauce and mixed frutti di mare.  The “fruitti” included razor clams that were about the size of an index finger, quarter-sized regular claims, black mussels,  large prawns, langostini (looked like a cross between a crawdad and a prawn, with long jagged front claws), squid, and octopus.  For our main entrée, we shared the mixed seafood grill, another delicious preparation of chunks of swordfish, ribbon fish (a small mild white fish), octopus, whole squids, and extra large prawns all with a lemon, caper, and parsley infused glaze. 

Our second meal in Positano was disappointing.  The bruschetta was bland and caprese salad uninspiring. I splurged on an order of what I hoped would be a rich, cheesy lasagna but what I was served was slippery, mushy, and boring.  Bob had a grilled fish fillet served with overcooked potato slices lacking any sort of flavor, and flacid vegetables.  The only thing nice about this restaurant was our waiter, who was very attentive and amusing, and the family sitting across from us, from Atherton, with whom we shared lively conversation all evening.  The sea breeze and views were also refreshing, so the evening was not a total loss.

Da Vincenza was our choice for our last night in Positano.  The restaurant has great reviews, and although it doesn’t have waterfront vistas (it’s actually built into a cave in the hillside in the upper regions of town), it had a nice ambiance and good service.  We started out with Spiedini di Polpo i Carciuffi Friti – skewer of octopus and fried artichoke.  The octopus legs were cut into chunks about three inches long, marinated in an herb, wine, and garlic mixture, skewered and grilled to perfection.  The skewer was dressed with a small deep fried artichoke that had been stuffed with a lemon-garlic-breadcrumb mixture.  The artichoke, when fried, had opened out to take the shape of a peony flower and it made a beautiful garnish for the end of the skewer.  The whole dish was surprisingly delicious and remains one of my favorite items from this trip. 

Our shared pasta dish was Gnocchi Sorrentino – a regional dish of potato gnocchi in a red sauce.  It was a little bit bland since we ordered it without the ricotta salata and pecorino parmesan cheese that is usually baked in, to suit Bob’s vegan dietary requirements.  Our entrees were incredible – Bob’s dish was superb – filet of seared tuna, cooked with small bits of fresh tomato, olive oil and just the slightest infusion of tarragon.  Molto Bene!  I had a local rock fish cooked whole and splayed open, crusted and baked with a delicate but crispy mixture of fresh bread crumbs, herbs, and orange zest, and garnished with fresh chopped parsley.  It was hard to leave the Positano cuisine, and I hope to be able to go back again some day!

The next day was spent driving through central Italy up to the very tiny hill town of Filecchio.  We stayed at a B&B run by a British couple, and dinner was included with our room.  Karen served us a mixture of English and Tuscan tradition – appetizer of onion tartlet with persimmon chutney, a chilled melon and basil soup, and a main course of chicken baked in a sauce of rosemary, green olives, and lemon halves.  It was really good and a perfect dish for the cooler, rainy evening we were experiencing.  Dessert was fresh whipped cream with strawberries, and pieces of dark-chocolate covered orange peel.  To make this dinner even nicer, it was served in the farmhouse kitchen which was an amazing 17^th century room, complete with old stone floors and walls, beamed ceilings, and a rustic antique table.  Dinner company was good as well, with six of us taking a leisurely 3 hours to eat our meal. 

For our last supper (how appropriate, given that we were in Milan, home to da Vinci’s Last Supper), I wanted something special and I went on a quest to gather recommendations from far and wide.  Many wonderful places were suggested, and I narrowed the list down with the help of Trip Advisor and the Italian version of Yelp.  Making a short list, I ranked the choices and began calling for reservations, giving up on those who didn’t answer their phone, or who answered but couldn’t understand my horrible Italian.  Several spots were booked for the evening, but we ended up with an excellent venue, written up in the Michelin guide for several years in a row.  Put off at first by the neighborhood, which seemed a little suspect, we walked into this little gem of a place – La Rosa dei Venti. It had only 11 tables and was completely booked for the evening.  We were the only foreigners in the place, and everyone there seemed to have been before, judging by the greetings they were receiving from the wait staff.  The maître de spoke perfect English and he greeted us with a glass of prosseco and an amuse bouche of artfully prepared bruschetta and marinated anchovies.  While we were studying the menu, he brought over a large tray of fish, lobsters, and shellfish, allowing us to inspect our future meal and select the pieces we’d prefer.  We had seen this in Croatia – it is standard offering there, but this was the first time we’d had this treatment in Italy.  For an appetizer, we selected the house assortment of mixed seafood – which consisted of paper-thin slices of raw octopus, marinated calamari, breadcrumb-crusted scampi, and scallops baked in a spinach pesto, all served in little seashells and garnished with spicy sprigs of arugula.  Our primi piatti was bucconcini spaghetti – extra fat noodles – with fresh lobster and an aromatic red sauce.  The presentation of this plate was also lovely, with the lobster shell garnishing the plate.  Our segundi piatti was grilled turbo cooked in a subtle orange sauce.  The fish was extra-fresh and sweet with a mild white flesh. It was incredible.  We had to try dessert since everything else had been so good.  I choose an extra large snow white, light as a feather meringue cookie which was crumbled and served over hazelnut gelato with a warm, dark chocolate sauce.  Bob had a house-made sorbet of tart apples and fig – a unique and flavorful preparation which tasted like biting into a crisp green apple. The house served us an additional finisher of cookies and toffee with our coffee – the smallest of biscotti (about the size of a large kidney bean), quarter-sized ginger cookies, bits of buttery nut toffee, and candied ginger pieces.  The meal was accompanied by a fruity, floral white wine from Sardinia, recommended by the sommelier which complemented the meal perfectly.   I would have to say this was probably the best meal we had during our entire trip.  I am getting inspired to plan a cooking party around the menus from this trip – standby!

Hail to the Chief

Portovenere

Today is our last full day in Italy, and our plan is to drive to Milan, which appears to be about a 3 - 4 hour journey from our B&B near Lucca.  We are trying to decide on a route, with the options including a winding tour through the hills near Garfagnana and then up the autostrade through Parma and into Milan or a trip south through Lucca then out to the coast via La Spezie, past Cinque Terra and Genoa, and then a direct shot into Milan.  In the end, we select this route, with plans to try to get to one or two of the Cinque Terra towns and do some hiking on the "Via della Amore" between the two towns.  The weather report said 50% chance of rain but things look nice at the time, so we decide to skip a stop in Lucca and head straight for Portovenere, where we could catch a boat to Viamaggiore in the Cinque Terra to begin our hike. 

La Spezie is a big port city and has an industrial look and feel to it.  As we exit the autostrade, we wonder if there is a special on donuts near the tollbooth because there are policeman everywhere, with many different kinds of uniforms (sidenote:  we were told by some Italians that if it's raining, you won't get a ticket on the roads because the police uniforms were designed by Armani and the polizia don't like to get them wet!).  Making our way through town to reach Portovenere, we see loads more police and realize many of the main roads are shut down;  the sidewalks are all barricaded with crowd control gates so we determine something big is going to happen but we have no idea what.  We are forced to take a detour (well marked, thank God!) to reach Portovenere and are happy when it appears we've passed all the hubbub. 

The castle, church, and walled city

Chessgame in progress by the harbor

Portovenere is a beautiful and picturesque town, with colorful buildings rising along the promenade that curves around the water's edge, and at the end of town, a walled city houses several churches and historic stone homes and shops.  We make our way to the ferry stop to check out the timetable, and are disappointed to learn that service is suspended due to rough seas (the narrow exit of the port has large waves rolling into it, so this seems appropriate).  There is also some other sign in Italian which we have trouble making out, which says something about the national president.  Since ferries are the only easy option to get to the towns of Cinque Terre from Portovenere, we scrap the plans for doing the hike (it is looking more like rain, anyway), and we decide to have lunch along the promenade.

Things start getting interesting right away.  Teams of  "men in black"  with dark glasses and radios are roaming around everywhere.  Out in the water, what looks like a jet-ski swat team begins circling and patrolling, and the docks are cleared of the ferries. 

At that point, we see a bridal party walking past, apparently coming from the walled city behind us, and we wonder who they are.  The group is small and doesn't appear to be interacting with the Polizia, and when they attempt to board a boat and leave the dock, they are turned away. 

We ask our waitress what is going on, and she tells us the President is coming to town for lunch and will be arriving soon.  Fun!  We finish our lunch and make our way down the the promenade to the restaurant where the President will dine.  The whole place is set up with flowers and linen tablecloths, silver buckets on each table for wine, and a buffet that looks delicious, with a large prosciutto ready for slicing, trays and bowls of fruits and salads, and some beautiful desserts.  The owners and wait staff are standing inside, talking excitedly with huge smiles on their faces.

In front of the President's lunch spot

We decide to hover and make like the papparazzi just in front of the entrance to the restaurant, and are joined by a group of preschool children and their teachers. Crowds begin to form and the secret service men and women move closer as a large yacht pulls in to the harbor.  Three women who look like tourists push their way past us and one of them stands right in front of me. I start to push her aside and tell her to get out my way when Bob stops me - she is an undercover policewomen and I now see her badge.  Oops!  Good thing this is not the US - I would probably have been in handcuffs at that point! 

The president's entourage arrives and a meet and greet ensues with local dignitaries before the group processes to the restaurant.  His aides spot the preschoolers and recognize a photo opportunity, so they approach us and begin patting the heads of the kids, who are very excited to get this attention.  We are less than a meter away and no one seems to mind that my camera (and many others) are right in the face of the president, snapping pictures fast and furiously.  Later, an Italian woman asks me why I care to take such pictures?  I try to explain that it's a unique experience, and she just laughs and walks off with her group.

Having had our excitement for the day, we make our way back to the car to drive up to Milan, putting a memorable end to an incredible vacation.

Up Close and Personal

One of the best things about travelling is having the chance to get up close and personal. I am not just referring to the driving, which remains a constant topic of conversation during dinner with our fellow travelers.  One gentleman from England commented yesterday that Italians learned to how drive by reading cereal boxes as children.  The boxes always contained coupons which could be redeemed for prizes and each coupon instructed the reader to “tear along the dotted line”.  Apropos!  Apparently the Italian children took this quite seriously. 

Bus vs. Motorcycle in Amalfi

And certainly the extraordinarily narrow streets make it quite easy to “reach out and touch someone”  --  if you are brave enough to put your arm out the window and risk amputation as you pass 500-year old stone cottages within 3-5 inches of either side of the car.
 
But traffic aside, what I am referring to is the people we have met on our trip, and the opportunities we’ve had to get to know the local customs and traditions at a level that is not possible without staying in their homes and eating in their kitchens.    One of the benefits of travelling through Croatia and in the interior regions of southern Italy is the lack of Americans tourists.  From the time we landed in Dubrovnik on May 23^rd until we reached Positano on June 6^th, we only saw two Americans.   The absence of familiar company forced us to seek companionship from the people of many different countries, and we had a great time doing so.

Most of these roofs are new, after the war

On our kayaking trip, we had the opportunity to spend a lot of time talking with our guide Vedran about the war between Croatia, Bosnia, and Montenegro in the early 90’s.  Vedran’s family is from Zagreb, which is a very large city and the capital of Croatia.  He was five or six when the war was in full swing.  He remembers the air raids and the need to sleep in the bomb shelters, but his recollection is that it wasn’t that dangerous – the bombings were more a symbolic show of force than an attempt to conquer and destroy.  Southern Croatia took a much more severe beating, with actual street combat  (as evidenced by the bullet holes in the city walls), and other atrocities of war (as depicted in the memorials showing soldiers killing women and children which we saw on our day trip to the Pelanjac peninsula).  Over 80% of the homes inside the walled city of Dubrovnik sustained either collapsed roofs or other collateral damage as a result of a 6 month bombing siege just before the end of the war.  We asked Vedran whether people of his parents’ generation and his generation had a strong hatred for the Bosnians and Montenegrians, or for Muslims in general.  He surprised us by saying that generally this was not the case, especially with the younger generation.  People just want to get on with their lives and get back to the things they enjoyed before the war. 

In Matera, we had the pleasure of getting to know Vincenzo, whose family has been settled in the area for a very long time.  Vincenzo bought his B&B in the Sassi (cave) district to be close to the homes of his two sisters, who live on either side of him.  Despite the cultural differences, we shared laughs about You Tube and spent part of the afternoon discussing art, history, and raising children.   Vincenzo confided he will be turning 40 soon and we talked about the good parts of getting older. 

When we took the hike on the Sentieri Degli Dei, we ended up in the little town of Bomerano and met a really nice man who owned the pizzeria across from the bus stop.  We had approached his son seeking assistance with the bus schedule and the son did not understand English well enough to help us, so he ran and got his father.   The father was a very warm and charming person who was genuinely interested in helping us out, asking where we were from and just wanting to chat.  In the end, he arranged a ride for us back to Amalfi.  While we were in Bomerano, we saw the most hilarious sight – a man “walking” his horse.  The man was riding down the street on his motorcycle and he had the horse’s harness in his hand.  He was driving about 20 miles per hour and the horse was running along beside him down the main thoroughfare.  Hilarious!  It reminded me of Carena’s trip to Mexico when she saw the farmer transporting his horse in the back of his pickup, trying to turn a corner without the horse toppling over and out of the truck.  (Carena also told us that in Puebla, people walked their dogs similarly to this man in Bomerano - they drove up and down the road in their cars with leashes in their hands, their little dogs running along beside the car).

One of the nicest persons we met was a stranger who helped us in the town of Filecchio, a little to the east of Castelnuovo di Garfagnana and south of Barga, up in the Lucca region.  We were trying to find our B&B for the evening and thought the town had only one road based upon the viamichelin map and directions we had printed and brought with us on the trip.  However,  after we reached the village, we saw roads forking to the right and left and they were so narrow we were terrified of going down one and having no way to turn around.  A group of men was standing outside a little store, so I approached them for directions.  “Parla Inglese?”  A long response followed, none of which was in English.  I tried again -  this time showing the map and asking  “Dove il Hotel Fabbro?”.  More confusion – they held the map right side up, upside down, and then convened a town council to try to interpret it.  Although I didn’t understand what they were saying, I am sure it was something like “Oh, that’s what our town looks like on a map!  Hey Giacomo, here is where your house is, and this is where your mother and sister live!”, to which Giacomo responded, “No this is where  my sister lives, over here.  She used to live there but moved last year, remember?”  I interrupted, “Cual direccione?”  “Ah, si, si” – and then about 5 minutes of unintelligible directions, with much hand gesturing -- left, right, up, down, left again.  Giacomo interrupts – “No, no, no!” His hands move right, left, left, up, down, right!  Finally Paolo got into his car and motioned us to follow him.  All the rest of the men nodded their heads in agreement,  “Yes, this is certainly the best way!” We gratefully followed, but could not keep up with Paolo as the road became narrower and narrower.  We pulled in our mirrors to pass between ancient stone homes that look as if they had numerous close encounters of the automotive kind over the past years.  Paolo slowed to wait for us at each turn and led us out of town, into the dense woods.  Hmm. Maybe this was not such a good idea.  Maybe he and Giacomo actually were saying, “Let’s take them to the woods and rob them. We’ll split everything 50-50! “  Maybe that was why they all seemed so happy with Paolo’s suggestion. 

Instead, we arrived safe and sound, and thanked Paolo profusely.  We parked in front of the sign for Hotel Fabbro, at a carport on the top of a somewhat muddy dirt road (it had rained earlier in the day) leading down a heavily wooded hill.  I called the hotel, “Hello, this is Jeanne Schmidt.  We are up at your carport – do you have a shuttle to get down the road?  A British woman answered the phone, “Oh brilliant!  Walk down the road and I’ll meet you on the portico!”  I was hating my baggage after 24 days of travelling.  “With all my luggage?” I whined.  “Is it possible to drive down?”   “Well, you can drive down if you like, but to get out you will have to back up the hill since there is no turnaround.  Most people prefer to walk.  But don’t worry. I’ll send Geran with a wheelbarrow to carry your things!”   

Geran was a cheerful chap who quickly met us and walked us about a hundred yards down to a quintessentially charming  B&B.  The two story stone building dates back to the early 1700’s.  It has a graceful veranda heavily planted with hydrangeas, geraniums, and wysteria, and offers views of the forest and distant mountains which today were covered in clouds but often are dressed in a blanket of snow.  The sitting room is huge and decorated with homey antiques and very comfortable overstuffed chairs.  A bookcase is full of Italian cookbooks and Tuscan-themed interior decorating guides and I quickly decide I am going to sink into the couch near the bookshelf and not emerge until dinner time.  Bob is pleased that the internet is working and pulls out a bottle of 2008 Poggia Castegnano Rossi di Montalcino  and we quickly start to melt and unwind from the stress of travelling all day (7 hours of drive time from Positano, plus all the sight-seeing stops we made along the way).  Geran and his wife Karen come by to chat with us and tell us a bit about their home and their life in Tuscany.  They were originally from the UK and now spend time in both places, after having lived all over Europe in their past lives.  We talk about religion but avoid politics, and then Karen leaves to prepare our dinner. 

Sitting room at Il Fabbro Hotel

The Hotel

Our bedroom window at Il Fabbro

We are joined at dinner by another couple from the UK who have children just a bit older than ours.  Dinner conversation includes discussions about the cost of college and how nice it is when the kids become independent and land firmly on their feet after graduation.  Their youngest son has just enlisted with the R.A.F. for a 16-year commitment.  Apparently, in order to qualify for fighter pilot training, which costs the Royal Air Force over $3 million GBP per recruit (assuming you don’t crash your plane), you must agree to serve a 16 year term.  They were very proud of their son, and he was very excited to pursue his passion for flying high and fast.

I appreciated meeting all sorts of friendly and interesting people on the trip, and I realized that their company staved off the spells of homesickness I was beginning to feel.  I will cherish the memories, but in the end, there is no place like home.

The Path of the Gods

We set out to hike the famous Path of the Gods (Sentiero degli Dei) this morning at 8:30 AM, not sure what to expect.  One guidebook labeled it "extremely difficult".  The Italian advertisements considered it moderately challenging, but then again, they were catering to Italians who are used to mountain goat-like existence, given their preponderance for walking up and down the hills of their home towns.  The first part of the hike, per my guidebook (Walking in Italy) was about 3 miles long, climbing out of Positano and to the very top of the steep hill behind the town. The first  hour and a half of the hike was supposed to take you to the Church of Santa Maria (churches fill every nook and cranny in this country) and then the next one and one-half hours send the hikers through a forest of pines, over to a hill with an odd arch/tunnel/hole through the top part of it, and then down to the tiny hamlet of Monte Pertuso.  Using a map provided by hotel, we started out at 8 AM, following directions to the trail head provided by the concierge.  We soon realized that we had missed the whole first section of the hike I've described above, because the concierge's route had us climb just under 2000 stairs to get to the center of Monte Pertuso directly, instead of ascending up and then down the huge hill behind the town.  We were very upset about this, since we wanted the full experience of the trail.  However,  in Monte Pertuso, we met an Australian couple who had taken the bus there that morning, and were planning on hiking the trail in the same direction as us.  They told us they had tried to do the whole trail yesterday, following the path as laid out in our guidebook, and it had taken them nearly 6 hours just to do the first 3 mile stretch.  Part of their problem involved getting lost for 1 1/2 hours, and then getting rescued and redirected by a local hiking guide, but they also said the trail was incredibly steep and difficult.  After talking with them for a while, we were pretty happy we had selected the "cheeseburger and fries" route outlined by our concierge rather than attempting the guidebook version. 

The "Oh Shit" moment -- we round the corner thinking we are nearly at the street in Monte Pertuso, but instead, another zillion stairs.  There were 1,740 total from Positano to Monte Pertuso

Now you're talking.  This is just what we needed after reaching Monte Pertuso

Leaving Monte Pertuso we continued to climb up a steep road with gradients of 20% or more in some places.  We wound around the coastline and had some spectacular views out to sea as we twisted and turned up the hill.

Finally we reached an old bridge over an enormous, forested chasm in the hillside, and we were able to get off the roadway and begin our walk on the "Path of the Gods".  Climbing high and low, past small streams and up over boulders we made our way for another mile or so to the very small town of Nocelle - you know the town is small when it only has one church.  We followed our book's instructions to go past the shrine to Mary and turn left at the water fountain, and then we departed from civilization for a while and began the wilderness part of the walk, through arid but beautiful landscapes and hillsides covered with an assortment of wildflowers.  Of course, I had to take pictures of them all, because similarly to the walk to the zipline a few days earlier, they provided a reasonable excuse to stop walking/crawling/climbing for at least a minute or two. 

If there were no wildflowers in sight, I stalled by taking pictures of the exquisite coastline, and when that was obscured by trees, rocks, or clouds, I found lizards to photograph.  In fact, this hike could easily be renamed "Walk of the Lizards" since they were so prevalent.

As the sun rose higher in the sky and hills became even steeper, I began to imagine ways to make little harnesses for the lizards so they could help haul me up the trail.  Fatigue was starting to set in as I began to think it would be fun to write a book about all the flora and fauna of the trail.  We saw lots of tracks and I had read there were weasels, porcupines, goats, and an assortment of other various mammals in the area.  I wondered whether it would discourage potential buyers if I included a chapter on "Dung of the Path of the Gods", since there seemed to be a fair amount of it everywhere.  I think delirious hikers like me might be interested in knowing the differences between weasel dung and goat dung, but maybe that's just a personality quirk I have. 

Finally we reached the top of the hill overlooking the town of Praeno, and my guidebook assured me there was not much left.  We passed through a very beautiful saddle in the hills, where rock-walled homes were set above terrace after terrace of grapevines and gardens.  Fantastico!  Especially because they provided more photo-opportunities (i.e., rest stops).  We could now see up the coast to Capri, and down the coast to Amalfi, and the end of the trail -- the town of Bomerano -- was in sight as well. 

Along the final stretch, we walked on the edge of ancient, eroded sheer cliff walls that had numerous cliff-dwellings and caves carved into them.  It was amazing to imaging people living there in some past era.  We reached the end of the trail, and walked into town to the catch the bus down to Amalfi, a distance of 6 kilometers.  We found the SITA bus stop and waited there for about 10 minutes. Then we tried to read the timetable to determine when the next bus would come, and realized we needed to buy tickets in advance. Oops!  Asking around, we learned that several shops sold them, but they were all closed for siesta and would not open until maybe 2:30 or 3 PM - over an hour or more away.  "How about a taxi?" "No problem, if you want to pay 40 Euro!"  Yikes!  We are hungry and exhausted since we hadn't had breakfast or lunch, but 40 Euro is about 55 USD, to go only 6 kilometers.  We then found a local guy and negotiated a lower price, and finally made it into Amalfi by 2 PM.  Too tired to shop or sightsee, we had gelato and beer (my first gelato on this entire vacation, amazingly) and booked a ticket on the ferry back to Positano. 
Walking up the hill from the port to our hotel was a breeze after what we'd just finished, and we found ourselves actually pushing the slow-poke Italians out of our way. Since it was our last afternoon in Positano, we shopped all the way up the hill and bought a variety of gifts to bring home.  Originally we had only planned to stay two nights in Positano, but had added a third after checking in.  This morning, we had to vacate our room, and the hotel moved our things to our new room.  When we arrived, we were pleased to see our new quarters were twice as spacious as our first room, having both a bedroom and a sitting room, plus lounge chairs on the balcony in addition to the little cafe table and chairs.  The bathroom is also larger and is thoughtfully equipped with the Italian Life Alert pull cord.

Pretty floor tile in our new room

We quickly showered then went down to the spa where Bobbio (sounds like Fabio) got a massage, and I had a spa manicure. I wanted a massage but had no money left after shopping this afternoon.  Bob came back to the room in his spa slippers, robe, and little pair of complimentary paper g-string underwear provided by the spa.  Would love to share pictures but that could be a marriage-ending decision.  We are now getting ready to have dinner at Da Vincenzo, a highly rated restaurant up the road from our hotel (we are into walking UP today).  More on the food later!