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Retired in Rome Journal: Prague Castle a disappointment but Church of SS Cyril a terrifying look at Czech’s haunting past

St. Vitus Cathedral is Czech Republic's largest church and is the anchor of Prague Castle.

A long walk up a broad staircase took me to some spectacular panoramic views of Prague. It truly is a beautiful city with all its red brick roofs, statuesque churches and a river snaking through it all. For 57 years under communism, Prague was as gray as a KGB trenchcoat. From above the city today, it looks like it received a paint job, a facelift and some new clothes. If Prague was a woman, she could definitely join the other European capitals at the ball.

However, I saw no signs of a castle. I saw two stern men in powder blue suits staring straight ahead and guarding the huge archway of Matthias Gate. It led to a series of souvenir shops and tourist information booths that made me feel I was stepping into a Czech Disneyland.

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Retired in Rome Journal: Prague’s run to the West was the fleetest of all

Old Town Square, with 18th century St. Nicholas Church, has measured Prague's pulse since the 10th century.

But comparing modern Czech Republic to its communist past is like comparing my Rome to the Roman Empire. Czechoslovakia seems that long ago. I had dessert last night at Cafe Savoy, one of the most exclusive restaurants in Prague. It’s where the movers and shakers meet and eat under crystal chandeliers, in booths of gold-wood paneling with white tablecloths. Opened in 1893, the beautifully hand-painted roof was covered for protection in World War I. During Czechoslovakia’s communism era, from 1945-2002, one of the best restaurants in Eastern Europe was a storage area.

I asked my waiter what he remembers of communism.

“Nothing,” he said. “It ended six years before I was born.”

Welcome to the Czech Republic.
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Retired in Rome Journal: Mick Jagger can get plenty of satisfaction in Saint-Tropez

Plage des Graniers is a 15-minute walk from Saint-Tropez's bustling, crowded harbor.

Coming into the famous port, Saint-Tropez’s buildings look like sandstone castles. It’s almost a uniform beige tint that gives Saint-Tropez a fairyland feel to it. Sticking up from the apartment complexes and government buildings is the pink and gold bell tower of Notre Dame de l’Assomption Church. The first impression I had of Saint-Tropez was of a quiet, little fishing village with charming architecture and boats bobbing up and down on a quiet harbor.

Then we docked.
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Retired in Rome Journal: Canne$ is affordable if you can find a place to park your Ferrari

Cannes' harbor is right next to Le Palais where they hold the film festival every May.

La Croisette hotels such as Le Grand, J.W. Marriott, Carlton and Grand Hyatt Martinez all have their private beaches. Sculpted bodies, a few even without surgery, lie poleaxed on white-cushioned lanais chairs atop man-made wooden jetties 50 meters into the sea. In between the hotels are the brand names of every overpriced luxury clothes and accessory store on a woman’s wish list. Prada. Salvatore Ferragamo. Jimmy Choo. Yves Saint Laurent. Hugo Boss. Ralph Lauren. Every window display is presented like art in the Louvre. Can you justify charging 1,000 euros for a handbag just because it’s backlit?
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Retired in Rome Journal: Cannes a movie set for the rich and famous

Me with one of the best views in France.

I had a dream last night. I was in the bathroom of the Carlton Cannes Hotel and Jack Nicholson came up next to me and took a pee.

You don’t have to dream that here. That can actually happen — in late May, of course. That’s when 30,000 people in the movie biz and 4,000 journalists descend on this Mediterranean beach town and give the world a preview of what they’ll see in the theaters that year. I never covered the Cannes Film Festival. I haven’t written a movie review since a movie lit class my junior year in high school. (I barbecued an awful French film called “Le Bucher,” a, believe it or not, “sympathetic” look at a French serial killer. I got a C-minus. The only good my last review did was show me ways to disembowel my obviously illiterate lit teacher and it gave me a voice for how I’d later cover sports for 40 years.)

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Retired in Rome Journal: Lungo il Tevere is Rome’s gift to Tiber River and embattled Romans

For 12 straight summers, Rome has lined the Tiber River with temporary restaurants, bars, boutiques and art galleries.

Rome has cleaned up the Tiber in one regard. With Lungo il Tevere, for the 12th straight summer, the city has placed temporary bars, restaurants, exhibits, boutiques and novelty stores all along the west bank of the Tiber and Isola Tiburina. From Ponte Sublicio, just across the bridge from my apartment, to Ponte Sisto in Trastevere, a distance of about 800 meters, you can do everything from smoke a hookah to buy an 1960s rock album to listen to rock bands to just sit in overstuffed couches with a loved one and stare out at a river you never saw look better. From June 12-Aug. 31, the Tiber looks like the class ugly duckling with ratty clothes getting a total makeover. Suddenly, all of Rome wants to be with her.
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Retired in Rome Journal: Porchetta sandwich the one great escape from Rome in July

The porchetta sandwich, famous around Rome since the 15th century.

Porchetta (por-KET-ah) is a suckling pig stuffed with rosemary, garlic and fennel, among other yummy herbs and spices, then roasted on a spit for six to eight hours. It’s then cut into chunks and placed between two thick slices of fresh Italian bread. It’s the ultimate panino (or, as Americans insist on calling them, panini). It was invented in the 15th century — although legend has it that Emperor Nero liked eating porchetta as much as Christians — around the time of the Renaissance. It was when Italy was emerging from a great economic abyss and learned how to celebrate again. The porchetta became the focus of many feasts. While the porchetta was first devoured in nearby Ariccia, Frascati has become the place to eat suckling pig today.

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Retired in Rome Journal: Six-month anniversary marks a lot of learning about my favorite city on earth

My friends from Poland, Italy and Gibraltar at the Expats Living in Rome Meetup aperitivo in Colle Oppio, the wooded area above the OS Club above the Colosseum.

After six months, la dolce vita is sweeter than I ever imagined it would be. My mind has expanded as well as my circle of friends and, occasionally, thanks to an extraordinary market, so has my retirement account. I have a beautiful penthouse apartment with a gorgeous terrace view of the Tiber River. New clothes from one of Rome’s biannual sales fill my walk-in closet.

But those are mere material pleasures. Talking about Rome in terms of material wealth is like describing the woman of your dreams by discussing only her bust size.

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Retired in Rome Journal: Europe’s Ugliest Bike Ride is nearly as ugly as the Tiber River itself

The "path" leading to the bike path along the Tiber River.

My euphoria lasted all of about one kilometer. That’s all it took before the bike path diverted toward the street above as both banks of the Tiber were suddenly dominated by brush and rocks. Not even on Rome’s periphery, I had hit a dead end. The Tiber is not only gross. It’s unaccommodating. It’s like the city planners are telling joggers and bikers, “Look, if you think this river is a petri dish so far, you should see what lies ahead. Go back.”
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Retired in Rome Journal: Ghetto of Ancient Rome still visible in the shadow of Prada

This building is an example of squalid conditions the massive poor population lived in during Ancient Rome.

Rome functioned on slave labor. The working class, thus, had very little work and very little money. They were hungry, angry and desperate. They turned some neighborhoods in Ancient Rome into seething cauldrons of violence, gangs and fear. Thugs roamed the narrow windy streets with knives, cutting the throats of wealthy Romans who got lost on too much wine. Gangs set fires to lure firemen then jumped from behind smoke screens to knife them to death.

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Retired in Rome Journal: Rome wasn’t built in a day and neither is learning the Italian language

The essential tools of learning Italian: an Italian dictionary (notice how well worn), an Italian verb book, an Italian newspaper and the first of many bottles of Italian wine.

Learning a foreign language is without question the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It is maddening, excruciating, time consuming, all encompassing, humbling, humiliating and, at times, just plain cruel. It is my daily challenge, one that never leaves me. It’s like military boot camp where a commanding officer is constantly telling you you’re not good enough. The Italian language is my drill sergeant. Sometimes he’s kind; sometimes he’s cruel. But he never leaves me alone. When I walk out of this apartment, he is all over my back. And he always will be.

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Retired in Rome Journal: World Cup in Roman piazza a sobering look at Italy’s soccer-mad populace

Italian fans gather in Rome before Saturday's midnight World Cup match between Italy and England.

The World Cup in Italy is my ultimate fantasy. It’s my threesome with Miss Sweden and Miss Russia. It’s my winning the Pulitzer and Lotto on the same day. Anyone who has read this blog knows Italy is my favorite country. What people don’t know is what’s my favorite sports event. I’ve covered nine Final Fours, eight national college football championships, six Olympics, two Super Bowls, three World Series and the 2010 U.S. Olympic Curling Trials. (OK, one doesn’t count. Sorry. The Super Bowl is more of a pain in the ass.) By far the greatest event I ever covered was the 2006 World Cup in Germany.

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