General Travel

March 15, 2014

Retired in Rome Journal: A room with a view — my new penthouse apartment

My 350-square-foot terrace overlooking the Tiber River. OK, so it's not the Seine ...

I have found a new home, a new home in Rome. My dream apartment pales in comparison to what I eventually found. What do you do when reality surpasses your dreams? Here’s what I did: I got out of bed, opened my glass door and walked out on to a 350-square-foot terrace overlooking the Tiber. At my penthouse balcony five floors up, I could see joggers chugging up Lungotevere, the long street that snakes up the river from Centro Storico in the heart of the city to Rome’s gritty southern edge. If I cut down a couple of trees, I could see St. Peter’s Basilica. I asked my new landlady where I could find a chainsaw in Rome.

March 11, 2014

Retired in Rome Journal: Amalfi Coast the great escape for expat problems

The balcony at my AirBnB in Praiano, a little speck on the Amalfi Coast.

I’ve been to the Amalfi twice before. How much do I love it? A framed oil painting of Positano, my favorite town in Italy, hung above my TV in Denver for 11 years. Whenever I got stressed, I would lay on my couch and stare at the multi-layered rows of bed & breakfasts, pensions and villas that cascade down a steep hill toward the turquoise Tyrrhenian Sea. I could be devastated by a diagnosis of brain cancer, the ax murder of a sibling or a pending trip to Nebraska and stare at that painting. I’d smell the sweet fragrance of lemon trees from the Amalfi. Suddenly, life is sweet again.

March 1, 2014

Retired in Rome Journal: Dinner on a piazza went from a no-no to a yes-yes thanks to Obika’ and its smoked bufala mozzarella

Twenty-year-aged Parma ham and smoked bufala mozzarella at Obika', in the heart of pulsating Campo dei Fiori.

I know Obika’. In 2006 I wrote about it in A Moveable Feast, the traveling food column I wrote for The Denver Post for eight years. Obika’ comes from the Neapolitan word “obica,” meaning, “We are here.” However, the Neapolitan alphabet has no “k.” The Neapolitan owner, Silvio Ursini, is a Bvlgari jewelry exec who started Obika’ in 2004 due to two obsessions: mozzarella and Japanese culture. He switched the “c” to a “k” to give it a Japanese bent and an accent on the end just to be hip.

February 27, 2014

Retired in Rome Journal: Trip to Roman barber not such a hair-raising experience

Gildo: "The best barber in Rome," according to my friend, Alessandro.

The problem is Roman men don’t do barbers. They either live at home and have their mothers cut their hair as short as when they were 10 years old or they never cut it and let it hang down the back of their necks. Lots of guys walk around here looking like Fabio. You ladies wonder how Roman men can have such long, flowing, jet-black locks? There are no barbers.

February 22, 2014

Retired in Rome Journal: Roman Forum tour is a path worth beating

The remains of Nero's palace high atop Palatine Hill

If you’ve never been to the Forum, you must let your imagination wander. It’s a series of temples missing half their Ionian columns, halves of buildings and scattered blocks of marble everywhere. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you came across a training camp for vandals. But if you close your eyes — particularly after a bottle of Chianti — and let your mind drift, you can imagine beautiful Romans in bright white togas, strolling down marble lanes between palaces, basilicas and temples.

February 20, 2014

Retired in Rome Journal: Wild night out in Sicily is a trip into the mysterious island’s dark side

Palermo’s Ballaro neighborhood once was home to Norman court officials in the 11th century. Now it’s home to Palermo’s growing number of African immigrants who are trying to add some spice and life to the darkest, dustiest streets in the city. It’s just across the major boulevard, Corso Turkory, from my B&B and I quickly went from a bustling street full of retail stores, small groceries and cafes to dark, narrow streets lit by lone lamp posts hanging next to dreary beat-up apartment houses.

February 11, 2014

Retired in Rome Journal: Night at the Thea-tah turns very sexy very fast

A scene from "A Chi Gioverebbe" in Piccolo Teatro.

I counted 50 people packed into a room no bigger than my 200-square-foot living room down the alley. I sat on an end table under a row of shot glasses from which the actresses kept grabbing. With my limited Italian comprehension, I believe it was about an Italian bordello from the ‘50s. A sleazy journalist is one of the customers (I deny ANY connection) and he seemed to try and convince the ladies that he should write an article about their dead hooker. I think. I don’t know. It may have been about a small Tuscan boy coming of age on an olive farm.

February 9, 2014

Retired in Rome Journal: Day trip to Lago Bracciano area is Rome off the beaten path

I arrived on a cool, cloudy day which means I saw the lake different than nearly every Roman who has visited it. It was practically empty. Normally, its sliver-narrow beach is lined with umbrellas from Romans escaping the heat. Yesterday, the 22-square-mile lake had only a couple of passersby. One middle-aged man in a heavy coat stood on the bank and held his head up to the sky with his eyes closed, trying to will some glimpse of sun onto his face. The lake isn’t massive but is so close to Rome it looks like the Pacific Ocean. It’s cobalt blue and surrounded by the rolling hills of the rugged northern Lazio countryside.

February 7, 2014

Retired in Rome Journal: Rome’s crime museum a macabre way to while away an afternoon

Two of the guillotines used after the French introduced it Rome during Napoleonic rule.

Rome’s criminal history goes back farther than any other civilization this side of Greece. The Ancient Romans had their own form of punishment. The Emperor Diocletian killed 17,000 in the Colosseum in one month. Caesar Augustus, considered one of the most popular emperors in Rome history, killed 10,000. They covered Christians with pitch, stick them on giant stakes high in the air in the middle of the Colosseum and set them on fire. They were considered the first “night games” in sport history. The Christians burned incense to erase the stench.

February 3, 2014

Retired in Rome Journal: Broncos pass quietly in the night from Rome pub

The scene in Abbey Theatre, one of Rome's many Irish pubs, the night, er, morning of the Super Bowl.

British and Irish pubs are big in Italy. One reason is the expat population here is nearing the numbers of the Mexican population in Arizona. Another is pubs serve good beer and Italy’s national brew is Peroni, which the Italians have labeled, “La birra della senza tetto” (The beer of the homeless.) That’s partially true. You see very few drunks in Rome but the ones that are passed out, an empty liter bottle of Peroni is usually within arm’s reach. (I have learned to emphasize the “O” in tetto. I more than once called it “La birra della senza tetta” (The beer of the titless.).

February 2, 2014

Retired in Rome Journal: Cooking class one more step into the gastronomic center of Rome

Andre teaches us all how to make penne pasta with sausage, pumpkin and fennel, pizzettes; tiramisu.

Yesterday I learned to be a better cook. I took my first cooking class in Rome. I emphasize first. When you’re retired, you’re shocked at how much time you have. I find myself revolving my days around one scheduled event. The rest of the time is spent with whimsical wanderings through the windy streets of Centro Storico or lounging on my couch reading about soccer. Or I’m in the kitchen making up recipes with whatever ingredients happen to look good in the market that day. Right now, my fettuccine with sausage and bell peppers would go for about $20 in any Italian restaurant in Denver.

January 27, 2014

Retired in Rome Journal: Hash House Harriers running club a great $#@*&! way to spend a Sunday

The Hash House Harriers bills itself as “A Drinking Club with a Running Problem.” They meet every Sunday for what’s a combination run/scavenger hunt through parts of the city you’ll never find in “Lonely Planet.” Everyone has punted their Christian names long ago. They are given “hash names,” all based on embarrassing pratfalls, obvious physical abnormalities and just plain dumb luck. That’s why I wasn’t startled when a French woman in the group approached me, held out her hand and said, “Hello. Eatamypussy.”

«‹ 49 50 51 52 ›»